The Alternate
He opened his eyes, and hastily shut them again. Something was most definitely wrong. An overwhelming stench surrounded him, and he felt as if he were lying on the cold hard ground, instead of his comfortable feather bed. His head ached and his mind felt fuzzy, as though in a dream. He opened one eye cautiously. Directly in front of him lay a red cylinder of some sort of metal. A roundish opening at one end leaked a brownish fluid, which was attracting a steady stream of ants. There were words, inscribed on the cylinder in an elaborate script. He focused on the sideways words…Coca-Cola. The words were meaningless to him. He shut his eyes again. Try to think. Attack the problem logically. Was this a dream? It didn't feel like a dream...the ground was definitely hard and cold; the smell was all too real. Had he lost his memory? He had read of such things happening in Father's medical books.
Ah, Father's books, well that was a good start. He decided to start with the basics. Name? William Atherton. Middle name? Charles. Age? 23 on last birthday which was...February the… twelfth! Yes. So far so good. Occupation? This was a little more difficult, but ah yes...Clerk in Uncle Charles's bookshoppe…."The Mighty Pen."
He felt his headache recede slightly and opened his eyes again to look for more clues as to his mysterious situation. Next to the cylinder, he saw a slightly crushed oblong carton of brightly painted cardboard. An advertisement of some sort. The carton was labeled "Hamburger Helper." Well, thought William, this was a bit more useful. At least he recognized the word "helper." I could use one now...He thought with a certain rueful humour. Was Hamburger a proper name? He had once had a German professor named Hamburger back at school. Though why he would lend his name to such a gaudy enterprise as that carton, William had no idea.
He stared at the cylinder and the carton. He appeared to be surrounded by rubbish...Banana peels, a pile of unmistakable coffee grounds, sacks made of some white non-porous material. He sat up, with some effort. The sky above him was bright and sunny, and felt extremely warm for …May. Let's get to the hard bit, William thought. What is the last thing I remember? This is where things got very hazy. He rubbed his eyes and tried to concentrate. There had been a party. Ah yes. Cecily's brother had come home from abroad and she had thrown a soiree for him. Cecily. Beautiful Cecily.
Suddenly the memories came back all at once, flooding William with pain and humiliation. The horrid way Cecily's brother and his chums had treated him...mocking his poetry, calling him names. And he, making a total ass of himself, proffering his love for Cecily only to have her say… William leapt up. It was all too clear to him now. That woman in the barn, where he had slunk after his disgrace at the party. She must have had friends waiting in the stalls...ruffians! They must have drugged him somehow and robbed him and left him here in a trash heap as some sort of a foul prank! He looked around but all was fuzzy and indistinct. My spectacles! What have they done with them?
He searched his pockets, but suddenly realized that he was not wearing his own clothing. Instead of his best grey suit, which he had donned for the soiree, he appeared to be wearing tight black trousers of some coarse fabric, a black shirt and a long black leather coat. High steel-toed workman's boots clad his feet. The clothing reeked of tobacco, a foul habit. Whoever had owned these clothes, was undoubtedly a very low sort of person, though he rather liked the feel of the black leather coat. With one last hope of finding his spectacles, William felt the top of his head. His longish hair, rather fine and curly had been cut off, and slicked back with some sort of grease. In the name of God...What had happened to him?
William looked around as best he could. There was trash everywhere...tons of it. There were places like this outside London, he knew, perhaps he wasn't too far from home. What he needed was a constable. Someone to whom he could make a report and who would help him get back to his proper life. "Hello? Hello?" He called out, but he could make out no other people in this vast wasteland of refuse.
The sun was very hot, not at all typical London weather. Suddenly, as he neared the edge of the rubbish piles, he thought he saw a figure, a man, rummaging through the trash. William squinted...The man appeared to be wearing a very brightly coloured shirt and loose trousers. He looked like an islander of some sort. Perhaps, I have been transported to an island, William thought...an island of trash. "You there, good sir," he called out as loudly as he could.
Xander had gone back to the dump this morning to look for an end table he had caught a glimpse of yesterday in their search for the Toth demon. If he was ever going to move to a decent place he needed furniture and this table had looked perfectly good, just needing a little TLC. But where exactly had the fight taken place? Which pile of crap exactly? As he turned a corner he saw Spike standing near a mound of trash. There was something odd about seeing him there, but Xander couldn't quite put his finger on it. Spike had been there for the great demon battle, had in fact been zapped by the Demon's magic wand thing, but had run off instantly, so they couldn't even ask him if he had been hurt. Not that a little electric shock would hurt a vampire anyway. My God! Xander suddenly realized why it had seemed strange to see Spike standing there in the morning sun. He was just about to call out when Spike saw him, "You there, good sir!"
"Good sir?" thought Xander. Of all the names that Spike had called him over the years, THAT was one for the books! "Spike! Get out of the sun! Are you crazy?"
He ran to Spike, who was just standing there looking somewhat dazed. "What's happening? Why aren't you spontaneously combusting?"
William looked at this strange young man who was shouting at him...some nonsense about spikes and combustion. At least he seemed to speak English, of a sort. He suddenly felt very weak and dizzy, and realized that he hadn't eaten since yesterday luncheon. "Please sir, I have been assailed by ruffians, and they have stolen my money and clothing and left me for dead in this trash heap. Could you please summon a member of the constabulary?"
"What...Who? Uh, Spike could you please speak English? Or at least the kind of English that normal people can understand? "
William opened his mouth to answer, but instead fainted right at Xander's feet. Oh My God, thought Xander...I knew this sun wasn't good for him, though why he isn't actually a pile of dust, I have no idea. Of course, a pile of dust would be a lot easier to lift. He dragged Spike into the shade of a tree. He put his hand on Spike's forehead. Strange...it was as warm as his hand. Well, it was pretty hot outside. He thought he saw the flicker of a pulse at the vampire's neck. To be sure, he reached for Spike's wrist. Incredible...he could feel the blood racing through Spike's veins. He put his hand over Spike's mouth...sure enough he could feel warm breath. Spike was alive...a human! The Toth demon must have zapped him back to life. Jeez...No wonder he fainted! Xander couldn't wait to tell Giles...not to mention Buffy and the whole gang! It was a damn miracle. ****************************************************************************
He opened his eyes. Good...it was almost sunset. Spike sat up in bed and looked around. The crypt's tiny windows leaked late afternoon sunlight. But that would soon fade and he could get out. He flexed his muscles. God, he felt bloody great this evening! What ever that demon had been packing in that magic wand of his was flaming terrific! That little jolt had filled him with a power that he could still feel. He looked down at Harmony sleeping beside him. Lazy twit. Well, I did keep her pretty busy last night. He smirked. Well at least she wouldn't be bitching and moaning about him not paying her enough attention lately. He smacked her hard on the rump and jumped out of bed. It was too soon to go out, but Spike was restless, and full of excess energy.
He looked around the crypt. His eye fell on the table laden with Harmony's unicorn collection. Bloody, tacky, sentimental crap! Why did he let her clutter up his home with such garbage? And her idiotic Jumble puzzles that she did in pencil because she was too stupid to do them in ink. Everything about Harmony irked him this evening. He was still naked, but that didn't bother him. He pulled over a large crate, which he had brought back from the dump a few days before, and started throwing unicorns into it. China, porcelain, glass, he threw them in willy nilly, enjoying the crashing sound they made. Harmony sat up at the noise. Still half asleep, she saw what Spike was doing.
"Spike! Nooo!" she screamed and jumped up, grabbing her robe. "Those are MY unicorns...I've been collecting them for, like, months!"
"Shut up, you stupid bint!" Spike continued to toss the unicorns into the bin.
Harmony whined, "Spike...what's gotten into you? Why are you being so mean?"
"Didn't seem to bother you last night, pet." Spike picked up the newspapers with the puzzles and threw them into the bin after the unicorns. Harmony started to smile, thinking about what a tiger Spike had been last night. And she had been worried that he didn't like her anymore. Suddenly she remembered that he had just destroyed her collection. She burst into tears. "Spike, baby...it's bad enough that we have to live in a cemetery in this disgusting old tomb. I was just trying to make the place a little more...attractive." She was working up a good head of steam now. "It's not like you ever took me to Paris or any of the other things you promised. W just keep staying here in stupid Sunnydale where everybody hates us and the Slayer kicks your ass whenever she wants to!"
At the mention of the Slayer, Spike bent down and picked up a pencil that had dropped to the floor. He studied it as though he had never seen one before. He turned to Harmony and said mildly. "Harmony, shut up. That's the last time I'm telling you."
"But Spike...it is so not fair. We could go anywhere, but you just want to stay here because of the Slayer."
Spike walked up to Harmony. He lifted her chin and looked her in the eye. "I told you to shut up." He rammed the pencil into her heart. Harmony gave him one anguished look and dissolved into a pile of dust on the floor. Spike shook his head, "Nothing worse than a whiny woman."
Spike took out a dustpan and broom, and swept up Harmony and dumped her in the bin with the unicorn debris. For good measure he ripped down the frilly curtains she had hung over the tiny windows, and gathered her clothing and dumped it in the bin also. Her jewelry he could sell, though knowing Harmony, she had probably been too stupid to steal anything valuable. With his crypt finally the way he wanted it, Spike put on his clothing and lifted the heavy bin easily. He would drop it off at the dump on his way into town. He was ready for the evening.
Out on the streets of Sunnydale it was early evening. People were rushing home before full darkness fell. Brainless humans, thinking they were safe in the twilight. Spike gnashed his teeth with frustration. Recently he had almost become resigned to having that sodding government chip in his head, but tonight he raged at the injustice. Well, he could still scare people into handing over some cash. It was better than nothing. And he was starving...and that disgusting butcher's blood cost money. A middle-aged woman was hurrying down the street toward the alley where Spike was hiding. She was clutching a large bag of groceries. Perfect. She looked at her watch anxiously; dinner would be late if she didn't hurry. In full vamp face and with a tremendous growl, black coat flapping behind him, Spike swooped down in front of the woman.
Unexpectedly, she was quick to react. Hurling the bag of groceries at Spike, she slipped past him with surprising dexterity and ran like hell down the street. Spike ran after her, though he knew it was a mistake...even grabbing her would bring the excruciating pain. But his blood lust was raging, and he couldn't help himself. He caught the woman easily and flinched, waiting for the tearing pain, but it didn't come. He pulled the woman to him, and recklessly sank his fangs into her neck, still no pain, no bloody freaking pain at all! He drank deep…fresh living blood for the first time in almost a year! Holy bloody hell, he was cured! That demon with the magic wand had cured him! Spike laughed with glee, tossing the woman aside like a rag doll. Holy Flaming shit...watch out Sunnydale and the Slayer… the Big Bad Spike is back!!