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Chapter five


Spike blinked his eyes open, slowly overcoming the sleepy haze surrounding his brain. A distinct odor assaulted his senses. Smoke?


'Is someone having barbecue?'


Sharp pain raced up his hand, burning his nerve endings in a debilitating and very familiar manner. Spike sat up, jerked his hand out of the sunlight that was attacking him with its deadly rays and scowled at his smoldering hand. He scooted further away into the shadows between the buildings.


“Not a barbecue then. Bloody hell.” Spike sighed and took in his surroundings. Next time he drank himself into a bloody stupor, he'd better make it to a hotel before he passed out.


He sat in a dirty alleyway between two old warehouses. Taking in the broken windows and no signs of life as far as he could tell, Spike supposed he was probably in an older district somewhere in the seedier part of LA. Good thing he passed out between the buildings and not in front of them or he'd be very crispy right now. Not that he cared.


He could handle physical pain--hell, he sought it out. He could take a good brawl any day. Cuts, bruises, they came as quick as they left. Anything would be better than the dull throbbing pain in his heart that drowned out his rational thought. It was as if a snake had wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed it tighter and tighter with every breath he took, but never allowed him the release of dead.


He'd never been completely alone, not like this. Sure, there were times he and Dru had parted their ways but they always ended up together again in the end. Not this time though. How would he survive like this?


Spike leaned against the wall behind him and banged his head against it, his jaw clenched. The pain in his hand diminished to a bearable level, the incident left red welts in its wake. To complete his utter misery, his head was pounding.


'Probably shouldn't have banged your head against the brick wall, you pillock!'


Spike squeezed his eyes shut to avoid aggravating his eyes with the indirect sunlight. He hated this part, this agony of the real world rushing back after the numb indifference of being drunk had worn off. He hated being hangover as much as he loved drowning his sorrow with his old friend Jack.


'Need some more booze.'


Spike squinted at the bottles lying around him. Unfortunately, they were all empty. He glowered at them.


Eyes closed, Spike let his mind drift and suddenly a weird sensation come over him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. It eluded him. It felt as if he should remember something, something really important, essential even. However, every time he tried to reach out to the memory, this feeling, or whatever it was he was supposed to remember, it slipped between his fingers to the deep oblivion beyond his reach. For a moment,


Spike could swear he felt a weird protectiveness that was completely out of place and scent of flowers and vanilla around him.


Spike frowned, opened his eyes fully and immediately regretted it as his head started to pound even more. His sensitive eyes were not accustomed to the overwhelming brightness of the day. He patted the pockets of his duster for smokes and groaned when he couldn't find any. Could his existence get any worse?


Speaking of, he took a proper look at himself for the first time and his jaw dropped.


What the hell was he wearing? Colours! Lots of them!


'Bloody hell, what did I do last night?'


Spike, the self-proclaimed Big Bad, was wearing cream coloured dress pants that were now stained with dirt and something green, and a two sizes too small baby blue t-shirt with a Hello Kitty logo emblazoned on it. Spike unknotted an offensive fluffy thing wrapped around his neck and shoulders and stared at it in horror. He was wearing a bloody cashmere sweater, and it was pink! Spike threw it away from him onto the dirty pavement as if it was threatening to bite him. He looked at his feet and flinched.


Sneakers. He was one of the most evil vampires and he was wearing sneakers? They weren't even the same colour, one was red and the other was black!


'That cinches it. I'm never drinking again.'


He looked like a Nancy boy--no--he looked like the bloody king of the tribe. Well, at least he still had his duster and not some furry coat. Spike shuddered at the idea.


Snippets of memories of last night were slowly coming back to him like a fragmented film. He remembered going back to his car and putting on his duster, buttoning it up to cover his state of undress after he’d stormed out of the house, and away from the cheating bitch, dressed only in a towel.


His first stop had been the liquor store, which he raided and took with him several bottles of booze as his souvenir. The clerk snickered when he saw his bare feet and his obvious lack of clothes hidden by the coat, but it soon died on his lips as Spike grinned at him in full game-face. One look at the sharp points of his fangs made the git piss himself in fear.


Spike was on him in a flash of blurry vampiric speed and tore his throat out, a geyser of blood spattering Spike's face right before he drained the life out of the man in messy slurps and dropped his body on the floor of the store with a satisfying thump. He took several bottles of vodka with him, drank them all, and after that...Spike couldn't remember. There was a considerable gap in his memory.


Spike stretched out his legs in front of him and drew his duster tighter around him, hiding the t-shirt from his view.


At some point he must have sneaked into a store or two to nick some clothes, but he must have been three sheets to the wind by then, considering his choice of attire.


The memory of going into a demon bar when he ran out of the liquor was coming back to him now. He had sat down for a couple of tequila shots with the grace of a staggering drunken sailor. And since he had nothing better to do, seeking information about the slayer's whereabouts seemed convenient in a place like that.


Demons were like old hags- they liked to gossip. However, when Spike had first entered and started to ask around, everybody seemed to look at him warily. Like he had some kind of life threatening contagious disease. Spike had glanced down at what he wore and understood. Of course none self respecting demon would take him seriously with a pink cashmere sweater wrapped around his shoulders and wearing a Hello Kitty t-shirt.


'Go bloody figures... sodding bigots, the lot of them!'


Spike was too hammered to care. Anyway, he'd thought he looked smashing at the time.


After he'd been dismissed for what had felt like hundredth time, Spike started to stir up some trouble with the locals just for the fun of it. He'd gotten into a brawl with a K'ravolsky demon – nasty bugger that smelt like sewers and had big floppy ears – and after smashing several chairs and tables the owner had finally decided to throw them both out.


Spike, even as wasted as he had been, managed to get the upper hand and pin the bigger demon down. While he was at it, he questioned him about the slayer and got a pretty disturbing bit of news. Apparently, nobody really knew anything about her at all; she had just disappeared few months ago.


Spike simply could not accept that the whole lot of trouble and heartache he went through was all for nothing. So he decided to up the ante and squeezed the demon's windpipe almost to the point of completely cutting off his oxygen. Unlike Spike, this demon required oxygen to live.


The K'ravolsky scratched desperately at Spike's hands and squeaked out something unintelligible, obviously deciding to volunteer more information after all. Spike loosened his hold on his throat just enough to allow the demon to speak.


Spike hazily recalled the conversation after that. The demon decided that he knew something after all, and indicated that the slayer had fallen into the hands of some vampire clan that collected all sorts of unique creatures. Obviously the slayer was a first class trophy for them. What did they use her for, Spike didn't know. But he sure as hell intended to find out, because nobody messed with what was his. Nobody.


He then proceeded to tear off the demon's head, whose green goo splattered all over his trousers and shirt.


'Well, that explains the stains on my pants.' For a minute there, he worried that he’d been frolicking with some less savory demon species.


Spike stood up, his ever present restless energy not allowing him to sit for too long. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He hated waiting.


As he recalled the events of his last night's tryst, the fierce feeling of rage consumed him at the idea of some other vampire touching his slayer. The rage ran so deep and intense that red blots of hatred clouded his vision for a moment, the carnal feeling of possessiveness rushing through his veins and setting every cell of his body aflame.


Spike started to pace, a caged tiger waiting to be let out and unleash its wrath.


The demon inside him growled and snarled, tearing through the handsome illusion of his human face as if it was nothing but a costume hiding his true self from the outside world. Spike's hands clenched into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palm, drawing the crimson blood that trickled down and splattered on the ground. Drip. Drip. Drip.


He didn't understand why he so easily lost control over his emotions, over the beast within. He just knew he had to destroy whoever was in his path to get to the slayer, and he always followed his blood. She was his to kill. He wanted to tear off their limbs for taking away his chance at being the legend among the vampires, to have those three notches on his belt that would give him the ultimate bragging rights and prove wrong to anyone that had ever doubted him. He wanted to maim. To kill.


Spike continued pacing the length of the alley as he waited for the sun to go down.


******



Buffy groaned as she stretched out her sore muscles. She didn't think there was a single nerve in her body that didn't hurt, the electric shocks of pain zapping every single one of them at regular intervals. Better to sleep through the healing process than stay awake and do nothing but drown in her misery.


'Not like there's anything better to do anyway.'


Buffy sighed dejectedly and curled up on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest in a futile attempt at fighting off the cold and unconsciously trying to protect herself. She was slowly drifting off, her breath evening out and her heart rate slowing down considerably. She'd get at least ten minutes of peaceful slumber before the nightmares welcomed her with a toothy grin and arms smelling of death.


Suddenly sharp pain raced to the front of Buffy's skull, rendering her instantly awake. Buffy gritted her teeth and tightly squeezed her eyes shut to block out the invisible needles assaulting the area behind them. A kaleidoscope of colours and shapes flickered behind Buffy's closed eyelids, making her nauseated. She couldn't do anything to stop it, it kept intensifying until the point where Buffy was sure her head was going to explode and splatter the surrounding walls with her brain. She clutched at her head, sharp dirty nails digging into her scalp, almost tearing out her hair in the process.


After a minute, the intensity of the pain dwindled down to a slight throbbing. Buffy slowly relaxed the tense grip she had on her hair and opened her eyes.


Then she quickly closed them shut again, heavy breathing wracking her small frame.


She tentatively opened one eyelid and gasped, both her eyes wide open now.


It was all so blurry, like Buffy was looking at her surroundings from under the liquid veil of water. Shapes and colours melding together to form a vortex of reality. She could see.


Buffy had hoped of course, in some corner of her mind there was a little glimmer of wishful longing that her sight would come back to her. She just didn't really believe she'd live long enough for it to happen, not long enough to see the world around her again.


Buffy quickly stood on wobbly legs, frantically turning around as much as she could with the chains hindering her movements. Devouring everything she could set her eyes on like a starved man would his first meal after a long while.


She could see her cell, the small depressing room with stone walls and metallic door. The only source of light was a bulb swinging softly to and fro, moved by an invisible breeze and casting long flickering shadows on the walls. The light illuminating the testimony of her suffering, dark brown blotches and smears of her blood darkening the floor.


Buffy shuddered and turned her attention away from the spectacle. She raised her hand and looked at it, chains clinking with protest against the sudden movement.


Buffy wriggled her fingers in front of her eyes and it didn't matter that she couldn't see it in detail. A lone tear slipped unnoticed down Buffy's cheek as she realized something. She could gain advantage by pretending to still be blind, and mapping out the maze of dungeons when she was led through them. Hope blossomed in her chest, filling out her lungs and squeezing her heart.


Maybe, just maybe, she could escape.



******



Minions notified Lukas right after they had spotted the commotion on their surveillance system. Lukas strode into the high-tech room dressed in his expensive suit and narrowed his green eyes at one of the monitors before him. One lone slight girl was writhing on the ground in agony, clutching her head. Then it suddenly stopped, she quickly stood and started looking around her.


The Slayer was recuperating, it seemed. Well, that put an unpleasant obstacle in his way. He’d known that this day would come eventually. Still it had come much sooner than expected.


Lukas sighed and cast a glance at the closest minion. “You - make sure to double the number of guards watching the Slayer's cell. And you,” Lukas looked at another minion, “Go get me the list of our clients and bidders. We've got work to do, and if I catch any of you slacking off on your duties, you'll meet the business end of a stake. Got it?” He looked at each of them, murder glinting in his eyes as he stared them down imperiously.


“What are you waiting for, morons? Get on it! Now!” They scattered like mice, and fled from their master.


Lukas hated the minions, all brawn and no brain. Nothing could make his temper flare more than their stupidity. Though, he had to admit, he loved the power he had over them, that sweet feeling of pleasure that ran through him when they flinched or lowered their eyes when he caught them looking. They'd lick his shoes if he ordered them to. Not that he'd let their dirty appendages get anywhere near his expensive shoes. They always managed to screw something up, that's why he did the important things himself. However, this time Lukas had to rely on them to do these small tasks for him and hope they'd do something right for a change.


Lukas was a proud member of his vampire family, an ancient clan, rich, with influence all over the underworld. They dabbled into the black market, drugs, weapons, anything they could get their hands on that would bring them more money. Lukas was young, only a century old, but he managed to work his way through the ranks with his sharp mind and knack for making money. Now, he alone had the responsibility of taking care of their special 'collection'.


His family had collected all kinds of unique beings, the Slayer being the jewel amongst them. They had collected a few slayers throughout the centuries. They were careful though, never kidnapping more than one in space of a lifetime. Doing so would have done nothing but draw unnecessary attention from the Council of Watchers, and they didn't have time to deal with the morally challenged measly humans.


Needless to say he'd done his homework before he set up the ambush to kidnap the current slayer. He'd read all the records from the previous keepers, ancient tomes about the origin of the first slayer. He'd known about the serum, they'd used it before. Found out about it from the stolen Watcher's diaries lifetimes ago, the serum used for a slayer's eighteen birthday. They modified it for their own purposes of course. Adding some more questionable... ingredients. Lukas had known it would come to this.


After some time, the Slayer's immune system would build resistance against the drug, finding an antidote to fight it, and when it did, the Slayer would slowly start to recuperate. Her eyesight would come first, then her strength would follow. After that it would just be a matter of time before Buffy Summers would become a liability instead of a profitable business article.


She had to go. And Lukas would make the most of it.


A minion entered the surveillance room and handed Lukas the list of bidders. Lukas scanned it briefly, withdrew his cell phone from the pocket of his black pants and called the bidder with the highest offer.


“Hello, Leonard, I've got good news for you.” One corner of Lukas' thin lips lifted in a beginning of a smile, he could almost smell the dollar bills.


******



The iron door banged against the wall as Lukas strode into Buffy's cell, a pair of guards standing behind him.


“So nice to see you again, sunshine! You look smashing today! How appropriate, now that I'm bringing such good news for you,” Lukas said in a jovial voice and clapped his hands together.


Buffy managed to resist the urge to lift her head and look at him. She had to keep up her charade; she had to make him believe that nothing was amiss.


Lukas crouched down next to Buffy and lifted her chin with his forefinger, but the only thing he found in her face were blank eyes staring off into the space.


Lukas chuckled in amusement and then as quickly as he got amused, he got angry, his volatile temper manifesting yet again. He stood up with an annoyed huff and started pacing the length of the cell, his feet leaving tracks in the dirt on the floor. Lukas exhaled a long breath, trying to control his rising irritation and not to strangle the insolent slayer. Not when he was so close to getting rid of her.


“So, you really think you can fool me, don't you kid? That is a very dangerous game you're trying to play,” he said in a low menacing voice.


Buffy still hadn't lifted her head or looked at him, just in case this was just one of the mind games he enjoyed so much. Just looking for a reason to punish her. He couldn't possibly know anything... could he?


“Just to sate your curiosity, because I'm feeling very charitable right now, you've been under our surveillance since you got here, and if you think for one second that nobody would notice the changes in you, than you're nothing but a stupid child!” Lukas snarled and raked his hand through his hair.


He marched towards Buffy and knelt down in front of her. She crouched against the wall, and tried to scoot further away from his barely restrained anger, but there was nowhere else to go. Lukas drew his hand back and struck Buffy across her face, the force of the blow making her head snap to one side, her hair obscuring half of her face.


“I know you can see.” He cocked one eyebrow at her and grinned smugly. Buffy faced him, her sight clear now, and the hatred in her eyes was so deep, so ingrained into her very soul that it shined straight through, pure energy that would render any man speechless.


However, Lukas could in no way be considered a man. He was a monster.


“Please stop looking at me like I've drowned your puppy. God, but I hate those fluffy beasts! Now, where was I? Oh yes, we're going on a road trip.” He patted Buffy's head patronizingly and stood up.


Lukas beckoned his guards as he would a waitress, and they proceeded to step forward. One of them grabbed Buffy as she struggled while the other gave her a shot of sedatives that would render an elephant unconscious. They unlocked Buffy's chains, hauled her on a stretcher and wheeled her out through the numerous twists and turns of the underground tunnels.


They had a road trip awaiting them. The delivery straight to the Hellmouth.


Lukas couldn't afford to keep the buyer waiting.


TBC