AN- this is my final Spike and Kayla fic, coz frankly I'm running out of ideas and I don't wanna end up hunting for other people's so this is the final one. It's basically one of the ways that Kayla could have been sired, however, the Kayla character is ambiguous (I hope I spelled that right) and could have been sired in a number of ways. If I come up with any other unusual stories concerning her demise I'll post them...if anybody cares. :) Thankyou, once again, to all my fabulous readers, reviewers and even those weirdos who come on just to insult what I've written. Enjoy!
Dark Shadows Over Motel Murders
by Drookit Duck
AN- This be a little mini-fic episode circulating over Kayla's death. I felt bored and decided to continue my little story with a flashback set during Spike and Dru's original journey to Sunnydale to kill the Slayer and a small detour that they made on the way to a nearby motel (to feed on the owner and his clients and to attend to some unfinished business). Enjoy!
A dark figure passed down the street, his long shadow blackening even the darkest of the nights' own shadowy walls. He turned sharply and disappeared, his long leather trench coat whipping the wall of the building.
A man stood, bathed partially in streetlight. Spike approached him slowly but confidently. The man dropped his cigarette and blew smoke into the damp night air. The smoke circled in a cloud in the lamplight. He lit another cigarette.
"Ah, Spike." the man smiled lop-sidedly. His voice was gruff and rasping. His hair greying and thinning. He wasn't old, but had aged himself prematurely with cigarettes. He reached out a hand in welcome.
Spike came close enough to speak at normal level and stopped. Going any closer put himself at a greater risk than was necessary. As much as putting himself at risk was a regular part of Spike's life, it was an unnecessary danger at this particular moment and would inconvenience him greatly leaving Dru unprotected in her weakened state.
"Joe." he acknowledged with a nod, "How's the family?"
The man snorted and took a drag on his cigarette.
"Dead." the man said, "Same as the last time you asked."
Spike hadn't forgotten, he just enjoyed the man's response. It was so casual.
"You got the money, Joe?" Spike asked.
The man sneered and nodded.
"You know I wouldn't screw you over, vampire." he said.
"Now," Spike reminded him, "That would be bloody stupid."
The man reached a hand into his pocket and slowly brought out a gun. Spike watched cautiously as the man raised it and then brought out a wad of carefully counted cash.
"Now, Joe, you wouldn't want to do anything you'd regret later." Spike said keeping his eyes on the other man's eyes for signs of fear, "I mean..." Spike let his face morph into his demon visage, "You might not live very long if you piss me off."
The man shot two shots. One bullet whooshed past Spike missing him, but the other caught him in the side of the neck. Spike fell in agony as the boiling sensation seared through him from the wound. But he knew that he must get up. He looked up angrily. It had started to rain but he could still hear, see and smell the debtor who ran from him. He got to his feet and ran after him. Just as he was closing in on the man, Joe fired another bullet catching Spike in the shin. He ignored the foul pain and continued in his pursuit.
The man ran as fast as he could. He was terrified. Relying on feeble bullets to kill a vampire had been foolish, but he knew little of these creatures. He turned a corner and halted suddenly as he came face to face with Spike. He gasped, shocked by the speed of the vampire.
Spike smirked and flashed his fangs menacingly. The ugly bullet wound on his neck, surprisingly deep providing he was still conscious, giving him a more sinister appearance. The man fell back as the vampire launched at him, latching onto his neck with his powerful fangs.
Spike stood up and lit his victim's last remaining cigarette. It was a cheap brand, popular with such arrogant people. He raided Joe's pockets and brought fourth several wads of cash. $100 was rightfully his after his services as a hitman for the foolish Joe. There was also $450 and £210 in cash. Spike pocketed it. He lifted the handgun. It was spent. The idiot had had only three bullets and had expected to come out tops over Spike? The prissy-fool.
Spike lifted a hand to his furiously bleeding throat. He should dig the bullets from his wounds before they healed, unless he wanted to cut them out afresh. He kicked the body into the gutter and limped in the direction of the motel. Bloody expensive temporary accomodation.
As he neared the motel he noticed a silhouette standing just outside the entrance. Spike paused, not wanting further confrontation. But the shadow remained still. He continued towards the building. The silhouette was a girl. She was about between eighteen and twenty years old; red hair; big boots laced up to her shins. She flicked her hair out of her face as he approached.
"Hi." she said. She had a British accent - Scottish if he wasn't mistaken.
"Evening." Spike acknowledged. He stopped and lit one of his own cigarettes. He offered one to the girl but she shook her head.
"So polite." she commented, "Very nice." she looked at him and smiled as he took a drag on his cigarette. He looked around to the side of her, to the room where Dru was resting.
The young girl noticed the wound on his neck.
"You're hurt." she said, sounding truly anxious. She stepped forward, Spike stepped back covering his neck with his hand.
"It's nothing." he said. Each word shooting pain from the wound.
"What happened?"
The girl seemed desperate for conversation and seemed to have a genuine interest. Spike wasn't quite anxious to get back to Dru who was in one of her swings. On the morning of their arrival she'd made him sleep on the floor and hadn't shown much appreciation of him for a few days. But he was used to her rampant mood-swings by now.
"Just some business." he said lifting the cigarette to his lips again.
"Let me clean it. It needs fixing." she said.
He shrugged away from her, "I'm alright."
She looked down at his blood-soaked trouser leg.
"What?" he followed her gaze.
"Nice boots!" she said, smiling.
Spike smiled, smooth, he thought.
She stood up and took his arm, "At least let me clean you up."
Spike let her lead him into her hired motel room. On the floor lay two suitcases. She disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared with supplies. Apart from the suitcases the room seemed rather empty.
"I'm Kayla, by the way." she said inspecting the neck wound.
"Spike." he said.
"Ah. Very 'punk rock'." she frowned, "There's still a bullet in here."
"Actually I was known as Spike bef-" he cut himself off.
She skillfully dug out the bullet from his wound and cleaned up the blood.
"That'll take some healing." she said.
"Nah. Day or two and it'll be gone."
She smiled, "If you say so."
"So," he looked down as she rolled up his blood-soaked trouser leg to remove the bullet from the other wound," What's a nice little British girl like you doing in a place like this?"
"I'm not a little girl." she corrected, "And I'm sightseeing before I go to University."
Spike nodded, "Right. And what sights are there 'round here?"
She looked up and reached out for a bandage, "The Hellmouth." she said simply.
"You know 'bout that?" he asked, shocked and blowing part of his cover.
"Yeah. That where you're headed?"
Spike didn't feel like lying, "Yeah. Me an' Dru."
"You're friend?"
"My girlfriend."
She nodded, she'd seen them arriving.
She handed him the other bullet.
"Wanna souvenir?"
"Not really." he placed the spent bullet on the bedside table. Kayla sat next to him and let her hair out of it's loose ponytail.
"How will I ever repay your kindness?" Spike asked, knowing exactly how he intended to show his gratitude. Kayla smiled.
"Oh you don't have to do that." she said kicking the bowl of warm water out of the way, "I'd rather help out than leave someone with a bullet in their neck. You should have really let me call an ambulance."
Spike moved over as if her were to whisper something in her ear. He suddenly felt the urge, not only to feed but to...
Spike and Dru 'checked out' before morning. Sunnydale awaited and they had an engagement to kill the Slayer.
A few days later, once Spike was over his huff about failing in his attempt to kill the Slayer he and Drusilla lay in their new fourposter bed. He opened the newspaper to come to a large photograph of the very motel that they'd stayed at.
'Dark Shadows over Motel Murders' the headline read.
'The mutilated bodies of several guests and the owner of the 'Happy Stay Motel' on the outskirts of Sunnydale were recovered yesterday. They seem to have been killed by psychotic murderers with little to no motive other than a free night's stay. The killers and any traces of them have disappeared. Some of the bodies were found in extraordinary places. The body of the owner was found in one of clothes driers. All the victims seem to have suffered a particular neck wound...'
Spike smirked and folded the paper back up again, laying it on the bed.
"What is it, My Pet?" Dru asked, licking his cheek.
"Nothing, Love. Nothing to worry yourself about."
End.