Kidnaped
Chapter 1: 20 Years, Trouble Lurks
It isn't a smart idea to breathe above the girl's neck, and especially in vamped form. Unfortunately I did so, and she immediately went into screaming terror. And it was screaming terror that shoved her back to unconsciousness.
Stupid screaming terror. Why couldn't more girls be like Buffy: strong, beautiful, and brave? If there were more Buffies in the world (ironically there are; the thousands of fresh vampire slayers), I'd be dead faster or least no more hero - duties to do. For me the best way to live my endless life is to walk around the streets of LA sulking. However rescuing the - once - in -a - while - danzel - in - distress cuts in my me time.
The night was still young, and Saturday night in some deserted alley wasn't a great way to spend it. So I kept patting her cheek, hoping she'll wake. Nothing happened.
"Wake up, lass. . .girl. . .missy." My soul was speaking again. My soul would want me to stay here until it knew she was alright. My soul was one the who told me to save her.
"Hey Spike." A woman from behind calls me. Drat. That didn't come from missy's mouth.
I knew exactly who she was without looking first. She made the first move as soon as I got safe distance away from "my victim." She tries piercing my heart, but my hand blocked the blow. That hand clenched to hers which jammed unbelievable pressure onto the stake. Doing so, I've forced her to stay a little longer.
We meet, eyes straight down at her disgruntled face. Remarkably she looks the same as she did 20 years ago. Overly mascara eyelashes. Scarlet red lips. Flowing blond hair. Sassy personality hidden deep within "I going to get you" kind of smile. There was no way she could look so young without being vamped or at least I hoped she wasn't. Vamped Buffy (I'd imagine) would kill me in a full frontal attack; no stopping until she could dance on my ashes. This Buffy hesitated at the girl's quiet presence. She couldn't kill into my eyes.
"Buffy," I say confused.
The alley then flashes to a dark dreary gym. The doors were left half-open. Barely a foot of light crept inside the empty place. We fill the space with much room leftover.
The girl rests comfortably offside on the bleachers. Buffy and I stand in the very middle. We both wear the same attire from the alley. I'm still in my black shirt and pants. She's still in her skinny jeans and her dirty pink shirt. A stake still separates us.
I loosen my grip to the point where she can let go, but she willingly holds on. She wants to yank the stake, and go again for a more accurate try. The girl's far away now. There's no more distractions. She goes to a point of trying so hard. Her weight would pull her to my direction while I stand waiting for it to end. It's like King Arthur removing Excalibur out of the stone. Then when he gets his beloved stick, he would use it to kill the vicious dragon, me.
Music stops this charade. A center light from nowhere flashes on us. She's blinded for a second so I take advantage and grip her into a forced slow dance. She doesn't complain about the dancing part, but she continues on the stake quest.
The light dims down to soft blue. We dance to the song Sleepwalk, but it was more like Buffy gently swinging to the tune.
"Stop and answer me. Why are you like this?" I command softly into her ear.
She "urghs" desperately as a response.
Stubbornness: a sure sign of vampirism, and yet another quality she posses. Vampires are also not themselves without a soul. She's more like a soulless fiend I use to manifest. This Buffy relishes the thought of killing me by the way she endures the stake's perseverance. It wouldn't bulge and so was my love for her.
"You know I never loved someone like you," I say a very true fact. The infinite hookers/strippers love were worthless compared to hers, and Dru will always be a no good sire.
A short lived grin is all I got.
"This is isn't how I. . ."Before I could finish, the girl wakes from her slumber and heads toward our way. Buffy immediately lets go, looking completely enticed of what's happening.
The girl morphed into Angel. Angel joins her side. He gives me a maniacal smirk as if I did something wrong and I should have listened. He reaches for my hand, and pulls the stake out with ease. He then places it in her hands. It slips through her fingers.
She's crying. Whatever resentment she had becomes ever growing water-works. She leaves the two of us alone, and sobs towards the deadly sunlight. Surprisingly there are no ashy remainders.
The doors shut to an engulfing darkness. We are alone. I can't see anymore, but I could hear Angel's movements perfectly. He doesn't move until he reaches for something in his jacket.
"Sorry buddy," he says. The gunshot follows after.
I wake up in a trunk of a station wagon. If I pull my head up, I catch glimpses of a fiery redhead at the driver's seat. I try to touch my surroundings. Lucky me. They're all sprayed with holy water: the back seats to the tinted windows. I'm screwed. From past experiences of being held against my will (which were basically loony fans who thought I was Billy Idol), I decided not to scream (or at least constantly plead mercy). Past experiences tell me screaming leads nowhere.