The Ghost's Curse
Chapter Seven
Two days to go. Well, isn't that grand? Spike thought to himself as he took another gulp from the bottle on the table in front of him. The liquor didn't really help with the visions he kept seeing, but he could try to fool himself that it did. Something had to. He couldn't go on like this forever. That ghost kid was there in his mind all the time now, never letting him go. But then, it wouldn't go on forever, would it? In two days, this would be over. In two days, everything would be over. He was getting to the point where he wondered if maybe that was a good thing. But he couldn't die now, when he'd already survived far worse than this. He could live forever if he tried hard enough, and for him that was actually true. But he had to try. If all he wanted to do was just give up, even trying could be hard.
He could hear her in his mind at all times, a constant companion, showing him visions and dreams of what she had in store and of things that came before. If he could understand any of what she showed him, he would have liked to have a glimpse at her past, at his future. But none of it made sense to him. It was all a jumble of images that weren't in any recognisable sequence or order... it meant nothing to him. And there was that name. Rachel. Who was that? He wanted to know, but he didn't know any way to find out. It wasn't like he could just search the name Rachel and be able to find her... Rachel wasn't an unusual name. In fact, it was pretty bleeding common. So how could he find out who Rachel was?
Then Spike realised, he did know a way to find her. Rider. She was a witch; she could find this Rachel for him. He'd call her later. Well, earlier, even. Tomorrow. He wasn't going to try phoning her right now - it was past three in the morning. Like as not she'd be asleep, same as any sane person was at this hour. But maybe, if he asked her to try to find this Rachel, he could get some answers. It seemed pointless - he'd already saved the girl, he already knew how to save himself. But saving two people who were at risk wasn't enough. He could stop this. Maybe. But he wasn't sure how. This wasn't something he could fight. He wasn't even sure what they could do. But trying to understand the ghost better made a lot of sense. It seemed like a decent starting place at least.
But what he had to do first was find someone to watch the copy of his tape. He needed to get it back from Rider first. Maybe she'd watched it, that'd be useful. For him at least. Thing was, it was kind of hard to pick someone to watch it. It wasn't like he actually wanted to kill anyone. Not these days. So he didn't really know what to do. Not to mention, most people had heard of this tape. They knew what it did when they watched it. They knew what would happen to them. So finding someone stupid enough to risk watching a tape that could kill them was gonna be easier said than done. But he couldn't give up, he couldn't let this girl win. Even if he did have to kill someone.
Grace looked at the clock. It was now only a matter of hours until day seven for her. After that, she'd know if she really would survive. But until then, she felt doubt still inside of her. It couldn't really be so easy. She couldn't really be safe already. She was still terrified, her every muscle tensed so much she felt frozen. What if it wasn't true? What if she had to do more to leave? Maybe she was being irrational, she didn't know, but she knew she didn't feel safe. Everything still felt the same. She felt like someone was chasing her.
As the second hand, and then the minute hand, slowly crept forwards, Grace became more afraid. She noticed she was shaking. She felt like hiding, but didn't know why. Maybe it was just a reaction to her fear. At least if she died, she might be able to see Meg. She'd barely had a chance to mourn for her sister. She'd gone from Grace's death, to fearing for her own life. It was too much. How did any of this even happen? If only her sister had never watched that stupid tape, then everything would be all right. If only...
Finally, the time had come. Grace felt dread building in her stomach, like a lead weight inside her. She was so scared she felt sick. She heard static, and wasn't sure if it was coming from the television or her own head. She didn't want to find out. She kept looking at the clock. If it kept moving, if it moved past the time she'd been given, only then would she know if she'd survive.
The second hand kept ticking, unbearably slowly. Grace held her breath. Then the minute hand moved. And it moved again, after the second hand had moved a full circle. A ring. It kept moving, even as Grace stared at it. She let out her breath. She was still alive. It was the seventh day, and she was still alive. She was going to live. She didn't quite know what to make of that. She had been awaiting her own death all this time, knowing it would happen, and feeling so utterly powerless. But she had survived.
Spike walked up to Rider's house. He rang the doorbell. There were footsteps inside, and then she stood in the doorway with an annoyed expression on her face.
"What do you want?" she asked. "Because I'm actually in the middle of something-"
"I need the tape," Spike said.
Rider frowned. "Tape? I don't have a tape... Oh! The disk you gave me. It took me a sec, seeing as it's no longer a tape... Right." She disappeared back into the house. Spike could have followed her - she'd invited him in already, from last time. But he didn't see a reason to. So he waited. Seemed he did a lot of waiting recently.
Rider came back, carrying the cursed tape in her hand. "I guess it's good that you're taking it now. There isn't really much I can do with it, short of watching it. And I'm not going to do that. That's a crazy thing to do. I mean, not that I'm calling you crazy or anything..."
Spike shrugged. "Must be, mustn't I, to do the things I do." He took the disk from Rider's hand. He was almost disappointed that she hadn't watched it. Would have made it easier for him. He noticed that she was trembling, sweat glistening on her skin. "Be seeing you, then."
"Yeah. Bye," said Rider.
Spike turned to leave, but then turned back. "Almost forgot - I heard a name. She told me it. There's this person called Rachel. I know she has something to do with Samara's past, but I can't find her. Couldn't you do like, a locating spell type thing to find her? Since googling Rachel would come up with a few too many results..."
"Honestly? I don't think there is anything I could do. I mean, I could try, but if all I know about her is that she's called Rachel, it might take a while. Ideally I'd need something of hers. I'm guessing you don't have anything?" Rider seemed to be getting more aggravated with every passing second.
"No. All I know is what I said. Name's Rachel, she's got something to do with Samara. Don't know what."
"Then I really don't think I can help. Goodbye," she said through gritted teeth. The moment Spike left, she slammed the door shut.
Spike didn't have time to worry about her. He needed to find someone to watch his tape. If he didn't do that, he'd die. He didn't want to die. He wasn't afraid - or liked to think he wasn't - but it wasn't something he especially desired. It was something he had to deal with a lot, however. He did a lot of things that could get him killed. Had done, on one occasion. But closing the Hellmouth happened to be a much better reason to die than being the prey of some ghost kid with an anger problem. He didn't want to let her win. It sounded like a pathetic reason to sentence an innocent person to death, even if he could figure a way to save others. It was nothing but cowardice. But maybe Spike was a coward, at times.
He walked away, the disk in his pocket feeling as if it weighed a ton. He didn't want to do this. But he was still going to.
It wasn't as hard to find someone willing to watch the tape as he'd thought it would be. Of course, if had been, he probably wouldn't be here when tomorrow came. He sat in a bar - not a demon bar, just a regular one - with a boy sitting across from him. It was a boy, not a man. He looked barely old enough to be here. In fact, Spike doubted that he was. Rich kid like him probably wouldn't have too much trouble getting a fake I.D. He was holding the disk Spike had just passed him, his hands shaking slightly. He was bloody terrified.
"This is really it?" the kid asked. "The cursed tape?"
"The very same. Just remember, make a copy, and get someone else to watch it before the seven days is up. If you don't, well... You know what'll happen."
"I'll die." The kid's face barely seemed to hold expression as he said those words. He just looked... bored.
"That's right. And don't say you don't believe it - I know you do, or you wouldn't be watching it."
The kid grunted in acknowledgement that Spike had spoken, but didn't speak a word. He just kept looking at the disk in his hands, turning it over as if to make sure it was real. He looked at his with marvel in his eyes. To him, it was a treasure, rather than a curse. Poor kid didn't know a thing. After another drink, the kid left, back to his home. Where he was, more than likely, about to watch the tape.
Spike watched him leave. He didn't wonder if he was doing the right thing, because he knew he wasn't. He really wasn't. If that kid didn't get anyone to watch his tape, then Spike had, for all intents and purposes, killed him. And for what? Just because he wanted to live a while longer? He ordered another bottle of cheap bourbon, drank half of it in one gulp. It was the only thing likely to make him feel better right now.
A while later he left. It was a good thing he wasn't driving tonight - he knew he would have crashed. That would be bloody inconvenient, it would. So he walked. Down darkened, narrow alleyways, stayed away from the light. He splashed through a puddle on the ground, destroying the reflection of the buildings behind him. Was hardly fair, that they got reflections and he didn't. Wasn't like the buildings wanted to look at themselves.
The attack caught him of guard, intoxicated as he was, and he could do nothing. Strong arms grasped him and held him down. He looked up, into the face of his attacker. He didn't recognise her at first. But after a moment, when his vision refocused, he realised who it was. Wasn't like he knew all that many blue girls.
"Illyria!? Bloody hell, what are you doing?"
Illyria got to her feet and brushed herself off. Her wide, unnaturally blue eyes stared into his. "I was checking your reflexes," she said. He felt convinced that she just wanted to hit something. There wasn't anything Illyria liked more than a good spot of violence.
"Yeah, well, can you try doing that when I'm sober next time?"
"You shouldn't allow yourself to become so inebriated. It would be easy for an opponent to take advantage of your temporary weakness." Illyria started walking off. Spike scrambled up off the ground and hurried after her.
"What enemies? Wolfram and Hart don't seem to have done too much since last year. Trying to recuperate, probably. Same as us. Where have you been anyway?"
"Where I choose to spend my time is none of your concern."
It still seemed strange to Spike how different she was from Fred. It wasn't just the superficial differences - her blueness, the leather and all that - but how she acted. Illyria was so much colder. Although she was in a human body, there was never any doubt in Spike's mind that she wasn't human at all.
Spike almost wished for something to attack them on their way back to the hotel. It would have broken the empty loneliness that had descended over them as a shroud. Would have broken the monotony a nice bit. But their walk back to the Hyperion was uneventful. It was a shame - it left Spike plenty of time to think about the terrible decision he had made earlier. He didn't want to - brooding was Angel's thing. But he couldn't banish the thoughts from his mind. Worse than that, he couldn't banish the ghost from his mind. She was whispering to him again, seeming louder than ever. Tomorrow, it would be his seventh day. The day he would have died. The visions should stop after that point. He was looking forward to it; he didn't know how much more of this he could take.
