chapter 15, who is he? – part I

Something wrong was going on inside the restaurant, thought Carlo as he adjusted Dawn's unconscious body in his arms. Signs of wrongness (as his girl’s big sis might say) were everywhere. First of all, it was too dark and too hot in N.Y.C. for December. Where was the snow, the slush or the icy wind tearing the skin off his lips? Instead, it was raining. Gallons of the wet stuff had fallen on top of their heads since they'd walked out of the apartment. And the stench, he wrinkled his nose. New York had its share of bad smells, but this was extra out there.

Then add to that, he'd missed his Mom's phone call.

Carlo walked to the front of the restaurant and saw the door was ajar and stopped. Shit. This was wrong, too. His Mom never left it open, not unless it was during business hours. He pushed the door open with a swing of his hip and stepped cautiously inside. He then shifted Dawn's body in his arms again. She hadn't moved that much since he'd lifted her off the pavement. Every now and then she'd shiver or make a small moaning sound, other than that—nothing. He couldn't let himself worry about her though. She had to be all right. As soon as he got her to his Mom, she'd be fine.

Carlo walked through the foyer and into the dining room of the restaurant, which was next to the sit-down meal counter. It was very dark. Damned dark. But each time the lightning flashed, Carlo got a glimpse of the familiar chrome-topped tables scattered throughout the dining area. They were set for breakfast. A full bottle of ketchup, a pair of salt and pepper shakers, and a small white bowl filled with packets of sugar and Equal sat clustered in the center of each table. Carlo glanced around the room. It appeared normal everywhere else, too. The way it always looked in the hour or so before dawn and the breakfast rush. Chairs pushed in, white paper napkins underneath polished forks. No more than four settings per table. Spoons came with the coffee. You had to ask for a knife. Carlo had learned all about setting a table and the rules for serving customers from his Mom when he was seven years-old.

He lumbered forward. His legs and arms felt like they were buried in cement. He then looked down at Dawn. She wasn't a featherweight, he smiled and straightened his spine. Then he took a deep breath.

“Bad smelling shit, man,” he muttered. The odor was getting worse.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something white lying on top of the counter, distracting him from the smell, and he inched closer to get a better look. It was a pile of papers resting on top of the counter, most likely receipts, he figured. They were stacked next to a coffee mug and his mother's reading glasses.

Suddenly, the room lit up like a firestorm as bolts of lightening ripped through the sky outside. It blinded him for a second and he blinked his eyes rapidly and staggered toward the counter.

Then he paused. He thought he'd seen a body on the floor behind the counter.

“Moms,” he called out, tightening his hold on Dawn.

Another burst of lightning tore through the dark in short jagged strips. Carlo jumped, barely managing to hang on to Dawn. He was certain he had seen something during the stroboscope show sprawled on the floor behind the counter next to the display case. The muscles in his face tightened as the flashes of lightening gave him glimpse after glimpse of the body on the floor.

Carlo stumbled backward until he hit the wall behind him. Dawn's arms were still draped around his shoulders as his spine smacked against the wall and he froze. Then inch by inch, he slid down the hard surface until he was sitting on the floor. Slowly, he stretched his legs out in front of him. He was surprised he could move.

His mother's favorite printed blouse and blue strapless heels covered the torso and feet of the body he'd seen on the floor. Blood was everywhere, glistening pools of black shimmered as the lightening bolts flashed. He couldn't scream; he was shaking too hard. It was as if his entire body was submerged in ice. He just stared straight ahead, unable to move or to look away.

“Dawn.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “My Moms—.” The words stuck in his throat. He knew if he said them aloud it meant what he'd seen was true.

“Something hurt my Mom, Dawn.”

He felt her stir. “Please, wake up. My Mom. Dawn. She's dead.”


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The rain poured from the sky. Hard, needle-like drops so hot and sharp they felt like hot coals burning her skin. Buffy wiped the water from her face and tried to ignore the the rain as she looked over the edge of the rooftop into the alley behind Mom's Restaurant. A black cloud was rising from the concrete and snaking its way around the four people standing in the alley. Buffy leaned forward, but she couldn’t make out if they were male or female.

She glanced at Spike. He was perched on the ledge in a crouched position. Maybe he could see what was going on better than she could. But he hadn't said a word since they arrived on the roof, keeping the non-verbal Spike thing going. It bugged her, but she wasn’t about to beg him to talk. He'd say something when he had something to say.

She looked down into the alley as Spike’s hand brushed her sleeve.

“Is that Willow?” he pointed.

She hadn't been able to tell if the bodies in the alley belonged to humans or vampires, let alone to someone she knew. She certainly hadn't recognized Willow. “Are you sure?” She squinted through the rain.

“I can smell her and Anya, too.”

“Huh?” She dropped to her knees and gripped the edge of the ledge. “What the hell is Anya? No. Take that back. What the hell are Willow and Anya doing here?”

Buffy turned and looked at Spike.


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He had to stop himself from grabbing her. Spike wanted to pull Buffy away from the ledge, turn her around to face him and then shake her. Let's go! He wanted to yell at her. Let's run, now. But he'd already smelled it. The stench from the alley; it was the smell of ancient legends and the decaying bones of the world's first vampires. Spike's nostrils flared as the odors rushed into him. He wished he could get Buffy away from it, but he he had to stay in the alley. Dawn would be in the alley soon. He could smell her because her scent was different from the demons and the humans. And, she was near.

He shifted his focus to the thin man standing in front of Willow and Jacob and next to Anya. He wasn’t much taller than Willow and a foot shorter than Jacob, but all three of them were looking at him as if their lives depended on what he did next. Interesting thought Spike, Willow and Anya weren’t the types to stand silently waiting for a man to make the first move. This thin creature in a dirty white suit must be the portal jumper.

Spike watched calmly as the portal jumper slowly lifted his head. He had looked up at Spike. And even through the sheets of falling rain, Spike could see the man’s eyes; just like he knew the bloody bastard could see his.

“Spike, did you hear that?”

“What?” He turned abruptly, startled by the sound of Buffy's voice.

Then he heard a shrill scream coming from the alley.

Spike stood up quickly, stepped to the edge of the ledge and jumped from the rooftop.


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Spike landed on the ground slightly behind Willow. She and Jacob didn’t flinch as he stepped in between them and the portal jumper.

Spike stood in front of the small man who was staring at him smugly. He was even thinner up close, thought Spike. The man’s suit clung to his bones in bunches and his skin was so white it was nearly translucent. Spike's eyes traveled down to his mud covered tennis shoes and then returned to the portal jumper’s face. Spike was thinking that the portal jumper could be his brother. He looked like Spike had before he was turned, only with black hair and no glasses and William had not been emaciated. He was so thin, Spike could hear the raindrops as they bounced off the man's cheekbones.

Then Spike heard Buffy land behind him. He didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes on the portal jumper. The little man was licking his lips slowly and as Spike watched him, he suddenly had a urge to run. Not away. Spike felt an intense desire to feel the power of the muscles in his legs and back rippling as he raced through the streets and leapt from rooftop to rooftop. It was a feral and primitive sensation, sweeping through his body. His flesh tingled. He could hear the sounds in the alley expanding around him in surges. Then he felt something warm pounding inside his chest.

What the bloody hell was happening?

Then he knew that everything around him was changing.

The tiny feet of rats scurrying beneath the dumpsters sounded like horse hoofs beating on cobblestone streets. The blood racing through the human bodies near him screamed in his ears. The rain had stopped and the thunder had drifted far away, making popping sounds in the distance, but he could hear and see the storm as if it was still above his head. He could also feel the rays of the sun, even though the sky was dark. Then he looked down at the black fog seeping through the concrete and climbing up his legs and over his groin. He glanced at Buffy. The odor of her sweat still lingered on her skin from their rooftop jaunt. He swallowed hard as he visualized her naked, wet body writhing urgently against his.

Spike tilted his head and looked into the eyes of the portal jumper. His demon was raging inside his chest, stronger and more alive than it had ever been. He turned away from the creature's eyes, but he still felt them burrowing into his head. His body was shaking and the alley was getting warmer. Then Spike smelled her. He spun around and saw Dawn walking toward him from underneath the exit sign of Mom's Restaurant, and Carlo was at her side.


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Spike had startled Buffy. He’d jumped from the rooftop without a warning. She hadn’t expected it, but she hadn't hesitated before leaping off the rooftop behind him at the sound of Anya's screams.

She had landed near Spike and slightly behind Willow. She glanced around quickly, taking in the scene. Willow and Anya and Jacob stood rigidly staring at the odd looking man in front of them in the stripped suit. Buffy figured he had to be the portal jumper. Not physically a scary guy, she decided. Smallish and paper thin, he probably could wear her jeans. However, she sensed this was the thing that had given her the super vamp wiggins earlier. Spike had sworn he wasn't a vamp, but her Slayer instincts were telling her differently.

Buffy veered to her right, stepping around Willow, and closer to Spike. She was inches away from him, when suddenly she couldn't move. A black mist had circled her ankles and clasped around them like shackles, chaining her to the ground.

to be continued…