Moving On.
The next day Spencer paced his apartment. He removed the clothes he'd chosen and put on a bathrobe over blue pyjamas. He wanted to be fresh and ready for when Floyd arrived. He'd stripped the bed and given everything a very hot wash. He'd cleaned and made sure that the bathroom was perfect. The place was spotless. He was as ready as he'd ever be. He pulled the curtains closed, put his black jeans and Tshirt back on and with a glass of wine in his hands he sat and waited.
A thump, which made Spencer jump... a sound from somewhere distant... then the lights went out and a blast of stinking hot air swept through the apartment.
'It's just me.' It was Floyd's voice. He sounded tired. For a moment Spencer didn't move and then he placed the wine glass on the side table and turned to where the voice came from.
'Is everything ready?' Spencer asked the darkness.
'For sure.' This time the voice was closer. 'Sam is waiting.'
Now Spencer got to his feet? 'Sam?' He didn't want Sam here! He'd be very happy if he never saw him again. 'Here?'
'Sit down... just sit will you. It's been a long... a long night and I'm knackered. Sam's not here. He's dead.'
Spencer sat down again slowly. Dead. Floyd said that would be so. Why was he surprised? Why was he feeling shocked? What was this gut wrenching pain he was suddenly feeling and why were there tears suddenly running down his face. A finger touched him just below the eye, wiped at the wetness and then Floyd moved away again.
'Floyd...'
'I didn't touch him. They'll find him eventually. Maybe not today... or this week even, but they will find him. Probably. I stayed with him until it was over. He lasted longer than Levin did. It was slow and possibly painful. He had a broken neck. Maybe he felt nothing. But it's done and I was with him to ensure his passage. Now... your turn.'
'Passage.' Spencer said the word. Let it roll around in his mouth a while. 'Floyd – I need to ask you something.'
'I'm listening... a letter to mummy? How sweet. You want this to look like suicide or murder? Either is fine. Make a choice.'
'Floyd...'
'We could make it look like a robbery, maybe? Or a lover getting over frisky? I could rape you with a table leg; could do that anyway if you want... that would give Agent Aaron Hotchner something to think about when he looked at the photos. What do you think?'
'Floyd...'
'Or you could go onto the roof and jump.'
'Floyd! You said you'd listen and you're not. Please, listen.'
'I'm listening, Babes. You sound worried. But you did say you'd die for me, didn't you? I can't see the problem. Is that how you want to be found dressed? Got anything kinky on under there?'
'No! Listen to me!'
'I'm listening.'
'When I die... when I'm dead... will you be – will you mutilate me?' The words were a whisper but oddly his brain was allowing him to speak properly today.
'If you want.' There was a huff sound as Floyd sat on the couch. 'Is that what you want?'
'No! No... I don't. I wondered if it was necessary.'
'Ah.' Floyd picked up Spencer's wine glass and drank the contents. 'No... not necessary. You are one of the two who – erm – brought me back, so in that respect I have part of you in me. As I do Sam... who I didn't touch... as I said. I have something for you.' A bag was dropped onto Spencer's lap. 'Now I'm leaving you for an hour. Take what is needed from the bag. Put the rest in the drawer next to the bed... along with the sex toys and lube... then bring the rest and leave it in here. Write a goodbye note if you've not done so already... I'll be back. I promise. Don't do anything else until I return... promise me.'
'I promise.' Spencer rattled the bag. 'Leave what I need here and put the rest in the drawer by the bed.'
'Good boy. And don't forget the note.'
'And a note.'
'Then if you do exactly what I've asked, I'll let you see what you're dying for.' There was another rush of hot air and the lights sprang back on again. The apartment now stank of hot metal and old dirt, but Spencer didn't really take much notice of that. He stared down at the brown bag in his lap, picked it up and without opening the top he knew what was inside. With a sigh he tipped everything out onto the table and looked down at four phials of something, a band to tie around his arm and a few needles. He winced as he looked at it sitting there and slowly got up and took the things to the bedroom, leaving behind one of everything. He opened the bedside drawer and looked in at the toys he used with Floyd or alone – recently alone and again he winced... rolled the things around in his hand and then dropped it into the drawer. They tumbled amongst the litter of half used bottles of things and objects which would put a blush on most men's faces and slammed the drawer shut again. He sat on the edge on the bed he'd stripped off earlier and wondered what the hell had happened to his life. He'd lost everyone and everything. No one stuck around. No one was allowed to. Floyd saw to that. The only person left alive who he truly loved was his mother and she hardly knew who he was now. He thought about the books Floyd had arranged to be delivered. They'd have nowhere to go now. They'd sit in the lock up for fifty odd years and then be sold to some collector. That brought the sting of tears at the back of Spencer's eyes. One of the most thoughtful things Floyd had ever done – apart from arranging his death so smoothly – was going to be forgotten then sold off. He wiped at his eyes and went back to the lounge, sitting at the desk now, he had a letter to write. He wanted to ask for forgiveness for being such a coward as to take his own life, but that wasn't true. He wasn't being a coward. He needed to be with Floyd. He had to do this to move on and that was maybe stupid but not cowardly. He sat as the clock ticked away the hour, staring at the bit of white paper and the fountain pen in his hand and in the end he just wrote Goodbye and then his name and the date. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Apologise to Dave and Aaron? No... no need. They'd be angry, might even be sad, but had they believed him... even when he'd lied... if they'd told him that it was OK to be what he was – whatever that was – then maybe, but no... no need. A simple goodbye was more than enough. He put the pen down on the paper so it'd not be missed and walked back to his chair where he sat for the next half an hour waiting.
If Floyd didn't return – what then? Do it anyway? He would. He'd had enough now. If Floyd was just his imagination – if he'd gone mad... if none of this was real, then what sort of a life would that be? He'd be locked away and told what they wanted him to believe... they'd try to take all he had left away from him and that was something Spencer couldn't have happen.
He looked at the phial on the table, laying on its side and wondered if he'd gone out and bought it himself and his own insanity had made up the story about Floyd. He prodded it with a finger. There was more than one dose available here... very much so. He picked it up and looked at it, sniffed at the small bottle... picked up the needle and looked at the plastic covering and was about to put them back down again when again that waft of warm air and the lights went out. Either his mind had snapped or Floyd was back.
'Are you ready, Babes?' Spencer felt a hand touch his shoulder. 'Did you write the note?'
'Floyd, are you real? Have I gone mad?'
'Totally bonkers sweet thing. Go lay on the couch. Here.' Floyd's hand took Spencer's and in the pitch blackness he was guided to the couch. 'Lay down.'
'Floyd... you can see in this darkness?'
'I can see perfectly well. You look lovely. Lay back and relax.' Floyd shoved him onto the couch. 'You put the other things away?'
'In the drawer. And yes, I wrote a note.'
'Good... now you're going to have to do this yourself or some bastard will note something odd. A knot done back to front or a needle at the wrong angle... and for this reason I'm going to put the lights back on again. Second thoughts?' Floyd asked.
'No... I just wonder... you know... if you're just a voice in my head or if you're real. Either way – well one way it won't matter and the other I'll be with you? I will?'
'You will.'
Spencer heard Floyd sit down in the chair. 'I'm ready.'
'Good.' A click of the fingers and the lounge lights flicked back to life.
Spencer lay on the couch still clutching the phial in his hand but he was staring at Floyd. 'Dear god.' He moaned. 'Now I know this isn't my imagination.' He picked up the band and twisted it around his arm. 'You look stunning. Why hide from me. I thought you'd be some monster...'
'I am some monster. Now kill yourself and stop talking. I would help but I need your fingerprints on everything and not mine. Not that they'd be able to trace me, but we need no doubts here. I don't want fingers pointing at me for something I've not done. This is you... your choice. Your decision. I'm just a casual observer.'
A choice. He was sure that if he refused, Floyd would kill him anyway. This way he had a small bit of control? At least that's what he wanted to think. His decision. His choice. No coercion. Spencer tore the needle from the packaging and drew up a full syringe of what he assumed to be heroin. 'This will kill me?'
'Fuck... yeah... I hope so! That will kill a fucking army. Hurry.'
'A kiss?'
'Soon... soon, Babes... just do it will you, before I get all soft hearted and tell you that you don't have to and I was just fucking with you all along... quickly.'
Floyd moved once Spencer had done what had been asked... or rather what he'd been told to do. Proving he'd die for him... rather sweet. Floyd thought it was sweet. He sat on the edge of the coffee table and watched the convulsions. It was beautiful. Spencer had bitten his tongue and there was blood in with the foam dripping down the side of his face. Floyd leaned in quickly and breathed over Spencer's slightly open mouth. 'See you in hell, Babes.'
It didn't take long. But the finished result was fantastic. Spencer's eyes were open, the arm with the needle still in it was dangling down, his fingers touching the floor. His hair was damp with sweat. His lips, were pale blue and the darkness under his eyes had increased. Spencer's Tshirt was slightly rucked up at the side showing the curve above his hips and the pale skin just below his ribs. He was quite a fabulous corpse. Floyd stayed with him until daylight. That would have been more than enough time for him to have made the transition. Now all he had to do was go home and collect his gang of very pretty boys and drag them through hell to gain his pardon. He took Spencer's right hand in his and squeezed gently. 'With me...' He whispered.
Such larks they'd have.
Such fun.
The corpse someone found at the side of the road had not been there long. The crime scene was protected by a white fabric construction. People with cameras took photos of the side of the road and put little yellow markers down. The body was photographed and one poor chap had to climb down into the ditch, which was not too deep, just under four foot, and carefully, with his gloves on took more photos. As the body was laying on its front with jeans around his knees they thought it could have been maybe two things... someone taking a rest break at the side of the road got hit by a car, or a sexual attack. For now it could have been either. It was after the body was lifted and they could see the definite marks on his face, that they guessed this was no accident.
Tests showed a few things. His stomach had very little in it... He'd not eaten in a while. He had a broken jaw, his front teeth had been shattered, his neck was broken... his skull fractured. He had a massive bleed on the brain, but he'd actually drowned in the dirty water at the bottom of the ditch. He was sexually active... had syphilis, but they didn't think he'd been raped. Nice boy. He also had a small wallet in his back pocket. Inside there were a few photographs and someone's business card. Someone called Levin Lopez. The three photos turned out to be of Levin too. There were a few coins in change and nothing else. There was no actual ID. They decided to contact Mr Lopez. For now he was their only suspect...
Sam sat on a bench in the stinking heat. The bench was on a platform in a tunnel. The tunnel was curved at the top and covered in tiles which made up swirling patterns enough to make even the most sane person lose his mind. Sam was still wearing the dirty jeans he'd died in. He was still without shoes... and now no Tshirt. He felt damp and sweaty and he could definitely smell himself. Dirty ditch water and piss. He could taste blood in his mouth... and his teeth were jagged and broken. His nose hurt and he got swimmy in the head when he tried to turn his neck.
Someone was crying, but he was ignoring that. He had enough problems of his own.
A distorted voice echoed over a tannoy system. He couldn't make out what it was saying, but for a minute it repeated the same thing over and over again. The crying sound stopped.
Sam leaned back and rested his head on the cold tiles behind him. It didn't hurt quite so much when he did that. Not like when he tried to turn it left or right and it felt as though he was screwing his head off. He let out a sigh... and that seemed to start to crying again. Sam closed his eyes. Floyd would come... he knew Floyd would come for him. But how long would he have to wait?
The remains of Levin Lopez where discovered the day after they found Sam in the ditch. There was no doubt though that Levin had been murdered. You don't pack yourself up and put yourself in plastic bags in the freezer by accident.
There was a lot of shocked faces at Levin's lovely apartment. Three hardened CSI's had to leave to be sick in private and away from the scene. Levin's head was found in a green bucket in a cupboard in the lounge. There were also jugs of blood in the fridge. Long bones on the kitchen counters (lovely black marble). The bones had been split and the marrow removed. They found the stomach in the washing machine... some other bits in the dishwasher and in the hot tub were a pair of eyes. There was blood splattered on the ceiling and in browning splats on the corridor walls... fingers in the knife drawer. Toes with the nails torn off sitting on the shelf next to the TV. They'd been chewed. Rib bones scattered around the bedroom... also had human teeth marks in them. Genitals were in the underwear drawer. Skin was found carefully removed and rolled up between strips of plastic and stored in the vegetable tray in the fridge.
They searched the place, taking everything they could find. The only parts of Levin they didn't locate were his toenails, his heart and his liver.
In a back room which was accessed through the second elevator door was a photography studio and a small and seedy home cinema. Mr Lopez had a massive collection of porn... he also had a good collection of photos of the person who had been found in the ditch. The trouble was, that Levin had been dead longer than Sam had... So Mr Lopez couldn't have killed him. They also found in Levin's cell phone, the phone number for Spencer Reid. It was there that they went to next... and there that wrong assumptions began to be made.
Levin sat on the platform in the tunnel. He was wearing one of his long leather coats in dark red. It was rich in fancy embroidery with beading around the collar and on the end of the sleeves. He was hot and frankly, terrified. The last thing he could remember before ending up here was seeing Sam sitting across him pressing the knife into his chest. There was nothing after that. He'd been alone here at first and had walked up and down the dimly lit platform which disappeared into the distance at each end. There was no exit apart from the actual tunnel which had one set of silvery coloured tracks snaking away into the darkness. He'd decided that climbing down and walking along them until he found something was ridiculous. There was not one part of him that thought it was a good idea, so he sat... fiddled and waited.
A muffled whining sound... Levin thought a train was arriving at first, but it was another person. He didn't go and see who it was. Courage failed. He emptied his bladder instead and sat in a pool of piss and shook and cried. There was nothing else to do. He released snot and tears until the tannoy system started babbling something. It shocked him out of the cycle he was in, and he sat and listened, but couldn't make out what was being said. It didn't sound like a language he'd ever heard. It stopped after about a minute and the tears quickly came back again. Once or twice he glanced at the shadowy figure sitting nearly at the other end of the platform. All the time it stayed where it was and didn't bother him, Levin was happy; well as happy as a dead man can be anyway. He wanted to move... sit further down the bench he was on. It was getting uncomfortable. He wanted to take his coat off... but stayed still... and almost motionless sitting in a puddle of his own stink and willing whoever or whatever that was further down... to stay... or go away, but not to come closer. Please just go away. Leave me alone.
They found Spencer exactly how Floyd had left him. His lips a bit bluer, the sweat had dried out. His fingers gently curled as they met the floor. They said he'd been there for about twenty four hours. He was an ex FED so of course other people got involved. Hotch went and identified him and stood in the autopsy room looking at the dead face which belonged to the body covered with a simple white sheet. Hotch was angry. He was more than angry he was beside himself with fury. How dare Spencer do something like this! After everything he'd been through! Why do this? Floyd had to be involved in some way. Hotch wouldn't believe that Floyd was dead. This must have been him... and now Spencer was connected with Levin who was connected with Sam... and it seemed that Spencer was the most recent death of the three of them and oddly the least damaged. A massive drug overdose, they told him. No signs of violence. To the man standing there in the white lab coat this was just an ordinary junky death.
'Check everything. Then check it all again. He wouldn't have done this.'
The man in the lab coat nodded. 'There's nothing left to check. I would tell you if there was something odd here, but there isn't. He's typical of the type. He's underweight... he has a lot of evidence of drug abuse... his arms... between his toes, other places. He was a long term user. I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner, though I will say that this had to be purposeful. No one with this much experience would have made an error like that. There's no sign anywhere that he's been forced. There are scrape marks on his back and a small mark under his chin. He's sexually active... but hadn't been raped... if that's your thought?'
'I had not thought other than he wouldn't have done this. Are you sure? I mean very sure that someone else didn't inject him? That he was conscious when he was drugged?'
The man looked over the table at Hotch. 'I understand that you want a reason, but all I have is the evidence here.' He gestured at Spencer and then pulled the sheet up over his face. 'We are doing tests on the hair. We've done blood tests. It was a heroin overdose. That's all I can tell you.'
'And the scrapes on his back? The bruising?'
'Minor. A few days old. Maybe from falling from a chair or such? I can't tell you how. I can only tell you what the tests show. There will be more tests. I can tell you more when... well when my examination is complete.'
'Yes... ' Hotch looked at the white sheet again and then walked from the room. He needed to get out and fill his lungs with fresh air, but firstly he needed to talk to the team who were investigating what Hotch saw as murder.
'It was suicide.' Hotch was then told. 'He left a note. There's nothing suspicious. There were more drugs in the bedroom... a couple of sets of prints... mainly Dr Reid's, and a known drug dealer from the east of the city. No one else. There is nothing more to say. It wasn't murder.'
Closing it? Closing the case? No... 'No... no it was murder.' Hotch hissed at them. 'Reid wouldn't have done this.'
'Evidence seems to say otherwise, Agent Hotchner. We will of course check his stomach contents. There is nothing else to check... apart from historical evidence of drug use which will show in the hair. We will have to wait for that. I'm not expecting any surprises.'
There was a few seconds of intense pain and then Spencer felt as though he was falling, slipping sideways off the world and into somewhere else. A hand grasped his and held tightly and as he fell and slipped and slid a voice spoke to him, but the words were whipped away in the wind which had picked up. A hot metallic wind which snatched at his hair and tried to force itself into his lungs. Spencer took a few gasping breaths and held onto the hand holding his. He thought that he should be afraid. He should be screaming. He should be struggling, but he knew the hand holding his. He knew the way it gripped too tightly and the way the thumb massaged his hand. All the time he was with Floyd there was nothing that could go wrong. He was safe. Finally... not even knowing where he was going to end up, he was with Floyd and that was all that mattered to him now. Just the two of them at last. Even if he fell for an eternity that wouldn't matter. Not now. Spencer had not felt this free and sure of everything since that first ride on the back of Floyd's bike. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to explain to the darkness that it could leave now. He had everything he'd ever wanted. Floyd had chosen him... him! It made his heart pound like a silly school boy. It made the blood rush to awkward places. It made his flesh tingle and his eyes water...
'Nearly there.' A voice in his ear.
He wanted to ask where, but he couldn't form the right words. He didn't want to arrive anywhere. He didn't want to be nearly there. He never wanted this feeling to finish.
But it did.
Of course it did... and all of those happy thoughts left him with a howling cry as he stood on the platform and looked around... and saw that they were no longer alone. He wanted to ask if Floyd had brought them here too. Had he held their hands and guided them to this strange place, but the very idea that he'd done that to Levin... Levin! Levin of all the people! Why him? Why that strange creature.
'He's The Seraphim.' Floyd seemed to know what Spencer was thinking. 'Where else would I send him?'
'A Seraph?' Spencer found himself asking.
For a short moment, Floyd was silent, as though considering a reply. 'The Seraphim is in a respect a bit of a jape. He's a cowardly fraudster. He claims... or actually I doubt if he's going to claim very much at all now. Memories have a habit of slipping away, but he once claimed to have the ear of the gods. Or a god. In a small village called Beyegva – actually it was just outside the village... a tiny place consisting of one small road and a few buildings, Levin Vasilev pretended to be what he wasn't. They found him guilty of fraud and they beat him bloody and set fire to him. It was after that the name Seraphim started to be used. Of course the pretty young Russian boy died... but that was hundreds of years ago. Creatures walk the earth... they might not be noticed, but sometimes they are. Others can see beyond the disguise. Not that Levin even attempted to disguise the fact that he was what he was.'
Spencer turned to look at the rocking sobbing form sitting on the bench. 'He's not a natural creature. He seemed to float. He seemed... wrong.'
'He's... he's... Blindingly stupid. That's all I can say. He's been killed so many times for crimes against the gods that it would make your head spin. Me? I've been fatally slaughtered only a few times. Levin there... he wins the fuck up award... Don't trust him, Spencer.'
'Then you won't mind me asking what the hell he's doing here? I guess that this is your idea?'
'Sam... now I have a soft spot for him. I remember the day I first looked into those dark eyes like it was only yesterday. Sam... Sam can't be trusted either, but he's useful. He can twist time... sometimes he can even get it right. He'll do as he's told, but needs to be kept on a short leash. Levin will do as he's told because he doesn't have the bottle to do otherwise. I'll use him for trade if necessary. He's nothing. But I warn you, Spencer, die down here and that's it. I'll have to go and find a new kid to train and groom... and I'm getting too old for all of that. So we are going to get along. And you are going to put up with this shit, because you and Sam wanted me back... well I'm back. This is what you got.'
'But...' Spencer was going to complain again. Moan like a child that he wanted Floyd to himself. 'I'm in hell.' He said... because he was stumped for anything else.
'Don't worry... it can be a nice place. You'll see. You might even like it here.'
'And if I don't?'
'Then you're going to be a miserable bitch and that would make me unhappy... I have no intention of staying here, Spence. We'll get out... might be some time though... and the chances of Levin making it very far are slim... so don't form a bond with the little shit. He's not worth it.'
'Oh.' Spencer sighed... just as a flow of hot air rushed down the tunnel, buffeting him and almost knocking him off his feet... and the tannoy started up again.
'What's going on?' Spencer grabbed hold of Floyd, thinking that he was going to get swept away down the tunnel.
'With me.'
Floyd pulled Spencer reluctantly behind him as he marched quickly down the platform towards Sam. He pushed Spencer down to sit and instructed him to keep his mouth shut and sit still. Spencer nodded and Sam hissed between his broken teeth as Floyd walked on in the direction of Levin who had his hands over his ears, still rocking back and forth on the metal bench.
'Great.' Sam said over the racket coming out of the walls. 'Just when I think I've lost everything and my life has turned to shit... you turn up to confirm it.'
'This is all to do with what we did in the cemetery.' Spencer replied in a accusatory tone.
'And you'd rather we left him?' Sam's eyes darted in Spencer's direction, but his head stayed resting on the wall tiles. 'It seems that what we did didn't work quite as I'd hoped. Nothing ever does. Everything I do turns shitty. You know, just once, I'd like things to work out properly. For you to disappear and for me and Floyd to be on our own.'
Spencer made a small sound... he was thinking the same thing. 'How did you end up here?'
'I fucked up and got myself killed by some fucking pervert. What about you?'
'Same.' Spencer replied. He didn't want to tell Sam that he'd actually chosen to do this. The most ridiculous thing he'd done... one of the most... At least it came in the top ten of stupid things he'd done when his hormones were controlling his ability to think straight. They could both hear Levin shouting something and Floyd shouting something back, but the wind from the tunnel was growing stronger, blowing words away, and the tannoy was still blaring something neither of them understood... and now there was an odd screeching and rumbling sound. Spencer assumed rightly that a train was arriving.
'Levin was too.' Sam said and that put a bit of a smirk on Spencer's lips. 'Do you know what Floyd has got planned?'
Spencer shook his head and started to stand up, but Sam grabbed at his hand and pulled him back down again. 'I'm going to see what's going on.' Spencer told him.
'No... don't leave me here. I hate you. I really fucking hate you. You are the most annoying cunt I've ever met, but I'd rather the company of a cunt than no one and Floyd said to wait.'
So for a few seconds longer they sat holding hands and listening to Levin howling... but it didn't sound like anger to Spencer. It sounded to him like the cry of someone terrified. Sam seemed to know where he was... Spencer was able to accept what was thrown at him, however weird it was. Levin was in a panic. Spencer wondered if Floyd would just throw him in front of the train... and he wondered if he... Spencer... would feel any sorry or horror if it happened. He felt stripped of all emotion. He didn't think anything would scare him or surprise him again. He sighed and squeezed Sam's hand. 'I'll wait. But not because I like you.' He told Sam.
'Thanks.' And Sam let out a shuddering sob.
Floyd was dragging a reluctant Levin behind him... actually dragging him by an arm as Levin kicked and howled and lashed out with his free hand, as the train arrived. Call it a train... it's the nearest Spencer could compare it with. The engine was a huge green cylinder with a fan attached to the front. There was a chimney bellowing out smoke and a small opening which looked like a window near the back. The thing filled most of the tunnel, but behind it there were six carriages... open topped and big enough for each to carry about ten people. The carriages were dull metal and as it clanged and scraped to a halt, Floyd dragged Levin to one of them, picked him up and threw him inside. He then motioned for Spencer and Sam to join him.
Sam seemed to know what to do, but he was moving slowly and holding his head with one hand. He pulled down a small door way which clattered onto the tiled floor of the platform, making a small bridge for them to walk over and into the carriage which Levin was already trying to climb back out of. Spencer climbed in, Sam followed and Floyd bounced from the platform not bothering to use the doorway, but landed firmly on Levin who cried out and struggled until he realised that Floyd wasn't going to let him up. Sam pulled the doorway back into place and the small train screeched back into action as they sat down on the floor of the carriage.
Now Floyd spoke to the three of them as he moved off Levin to sit beside Spencer. 'None of us are happy with this situation, but this is where we are and this is what we need to deal with. I'm not going to put up with childish complaints and moaning. You're going to do exactly what I tell you or I will finish you here. Is that all understood? Levin... put this on.' He threw some leg irons at him. 'Sam too.'
'What? Leg irons? I'm not wearing them!' Sam protested.
'What did I just tell you? You do it my way or it's not done at all. Put the fuckers on and stop complaining.'
'But that's not fair! I did what I needed to do and I got Spencer involved so he'd be part of it and what do I get in exchange? I get left to die in a fucking ditch and wear leg irons! You fucking bastard. Why are you so bloody horrible all the time? What is it that makes people want to be around you?'
'I don't want to be around him.' Levin muttered as he put the things around his ankles. 'I just don't want to be fed to the monsters. This is a nightmare. I'll wake up soon.' Though his lips didn't move and his face stayed emotionless, he sounded as though he actually meant that. 'I'll wake up, but I hope you lot don't.' He added.
Spencer didn't get leg irons... and then Sam frowned and noted what they were all wearing. 'Oh... I get to wear shitty fucking crap which I died in and Spencer's got nice jeans and Levin has his bloody leather shit on and he died in pyjamas so why isn't he in piss stained red silk? And why does he smell nice and why does Spencer smell of coconuts and I stink of shit, piss and old ditch water? And my neck hurts and you look lovely too... all dressed in weird breeches and that super lovely coat and I don't even get a fucking shirt to wear.'
Floyd leaned towards Sam and touched him on the foot. 'Put the damned things on and stop the whining or I'll knock those broken stumps of teeth right out of your bloody ungrateful face.'
'Ungrateful! What does that mean? I bloody died! I think I have a reason to be pissed off. I had everything. I had someone who loved me. I had a super place to live. I had every damned thing I could want and you took it all away from me because... because...'
'Because you stuck a knife in Levin's chest.' Floyd helped him out. 'You did it. Not me. I went back and sat with him until he was gone. I comforted him...'
'Hmm...' Levin sighed.
'… and then ate a bit... but Levin you're very sweet... very sweet... tempt me and I'll picnic on you again. Now... put those fucks on and do as you're told. You're my dog and you will learn to behave like one. Here.'
Sam snatched up the next thing thrown at him. 'A collar? You're fucking me!'
'I'm not... I've got Spencer for that.'
'But my neck is agony and this'll make it worse.'
'I can sort out your pain if you want.' Floyd went to his knees and leaned towards Sam. Smoke from the train's chimney billowed around his head making Levin start sneezing and coughing. Spencer sat with a hand covering his mouth and nose and Floyd put a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder... another on the top of his head. 'I'll cure you of all pain...' Floyd's hands twitched slightly and Sam let out a scream of...'
'NO! Please no!'
'Next time I hear you complain that your neck hurts, I'll fucking pull your head off. Get the collar on.'
And for a minute... maybe ten... or an hour or two... it was hard to tell. Spencer couldn't see much, just the odd flash of light came from somewhere, but otherwise it was complete darkness. Levin's eyes were red and puffy and Sam was sniffing and muttering under his breath. Floyd took the chance to rest a hand on Spencer's leg and give him a loving squeeze.
It was him Floyd wanted. Spencer was now sure of that. The only one not shouted at. The only one not in irons... the only one who chose the way he arrived... it sort of slipped Spencer's mind as Floyd's hand moved up his leg and stroked his inner thigh, that Floyd had told him to do this. He wondered if his body had been found yet; what they thought... did they feel guilty? He wasn't sure if he wanted them to or not. After all it was him who sent everyone away. It was him who refused to talk to people. It was him who had isolated himself from everyone... but still... they could have tried a bit harder couldn't they? Surely if a man was on the verge of suicide someone would have noticed? No... And all reasonable thoughts stopped as Floyd rubbed at him through the fabric of the black jeans he'd chosen to die in.
It was when the odd glimmer of light became more frequent and Spencer could actually see... albeit like in an old silent movie (except here right now, there was a lot of sound)... Sam and Levin were sitting as far apart from each other as possible, but they'd both done as asked. Sam's collar had a chain attached. The other end of it was wrapped around Floyd's left hand. The smoke was dying back, the flickering effect gradually left and the light grew brighter. Floyd turned to his companions as the train started to slow.
'If you want to survive this, then you will do what I say. Sam, Levin... even if you're spoken to you will remain silent. There is a great risk that I'll be forced to show how serious I am about what's going on and I hate to tell you this but the completion of my task means a fuck lot more to me than your lives. Levin... die down here and they will eat your sweet soul and you are damned forever. Do not forget that. Sam, this is your home. Death here will mean I will be able to pick you up again later, but death hurts and damages and you'll feel the results, so unless you want to end up crippled and without your skin, you'll do what is asked of you. Spencer, you will speak only if directly asked a question and you will attempt to keep your answers very short... yes or no... preferably. Sam and Spencer, you two went to the trouble to bring me back... but even I can't get what I want for free. There's always a price to be paid. I am in debt and I am going to pay it back... Levin... you are here for different reasons. This is not your home... and you'll never be able to go home. So make the most of life when you can. So...' The train chugged and squeaked into another station; a platform on either side, stretching out almost as far as they could see. There were doors, pillars, walkways and stairs... but no people. 'So …' Floyd continued. 'Just remember what I've said and we might make it through. At least one of us might and that person had best be me.' Floyd flashed them one of his smiles and now that the train was stationary he stood, pulling Sam grunting to his feet with him.
'But...' Sam started... and then shut up again when Floyd glared at him. At least he wasn't having to slap him before they'd even got off the train...
Now they stood on the cold tiled floor. Spencer stood to Floyd's right. Levin walked just behind Spencer and Sam trailed along on his chain behind Floyd. 'When we arrive you will all go to your knees and look at the floor. Sam, Levin... you will stay on your knees unless told to rise. Spencer, follow my lead. If I stand, you stand. And for us... just one knee... the left, will be correct. Keep your eyes down though. Try not to respond to anything. Sam... stop pulling now... or I'll tie you to a post and leave you here.'
'It's just...' But Sam didn't finish. Floyd tugged on the chain and Sam let out a yelp of pain as he was propelled forwards by his sore neck. Floyd spun on Sam and spoke to him so closely that their lips touched.
'No more talking. I don't want to have to prove anything to these creatures and you're making it appear that I have no control over you. As it is I don't want to have you in chains and collar, but that's the only way you're ever going to start to listen to me. Keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll have you gagged. Probably with your own cock. Now shut the fuck up and try to live more than a few minutes.'
Floyd glanced at Levin who was crouched down rubbing at his ankles. The creature was so weak that already it was hurting his precious skin. Floyd thought to say something to him too, but somehow he thought for now, at least, Levin was going to do as he was told... out of fear mostly. Sam though... Sam was going to be trouble... Floyd turned again to look at a flight of white stone steps which seemed to disappear up into the ceiling.
Sam counted two hundred steps before they reached the top, but he'd lost his place occasionally and wasn't actually sure... he thought it was rather more than that. Levin counted five, slipped, knocked his shins on the edge of the white stone and gave up trying to do anything but walk with a stupidly short bit of chain between his leg irons. Spencer didn't count. He guessed two hundred and fifty and was correct. Floyd had never bothered to count them before and didn't now. He was thinking of all the thing which could go wrong when they arrived at where they were going to. He concentrated on willing Sam to be quiet and for Levin not to fall and break his stupid neck. It would be a shame, as he was such a pretty thing.
They were greeted at the top of the stairs, which opened onto a big square landing, by a man with a bent back, a pair of green shorts and an extra head growing upside down out of his stomach. Floyd let got of Spencer's hand and fisted his forehead and both heads nodded back... the stomach one swaying side to side as well... both heads had long greasy brown hair. The hair of the lower head almost touched the floor.
'He's in a good mood.' The stomach head said. 'It might be your lucky day.' And gestured at a distant door. Floyd didn't reply and nodded again and walked off towards the door, grabbing hold of Spencer again in what Spencer might have thought a loving gesture, but no... it was more of a possessiveness causing him to do it. Let everyone see who this person belonged to.
The doors were made of bone. They were about ten foot high and each of the double doors was about five foot wide. Spencer could see bits of arm bone, hands, skulls... leg bone, rib... all parts which seemed to be welded together with something... or melted together maybe. It was hideous and mystical... The sort of thing you'd see in an old horror movie. Over the top in its grossness. And perhaps a warning to anyone who walked through them. Sam hissed between his broken teeth and Levin felt like his bowels were going to open in terror... but the doors opened as though by magic to reveal what was the other side.
It was the size of a cathedral. That at least was Spencer's first thought. The room beyond the bone doors was excessively huge and magnificent. And noisy. There were fluted columns, overly fancy domed ceiling with every sort of art imaginable painted on it... none of it very comforting. There was gold paint or maybe it was real gold, touching most everything he could see. Lights twinkled from lanterns dangling from chains... thousands of them causing the room to have an odd golden glow to it. He couldn't see windows and he couldn't see the floor. Maybe there were no windows... but the floor was unseen because of the many hundreds of people... oh people was a very loose interpretation which Spencer's brain made up. They didn't all look like people. Not as you'd think of them... but there were certainly hundreds of them and they all swivelled around and stared at the four of them standing in the doorway. And silence... Not a mutter...
Then someone coughed. But before that happened Spencer was able to look across the barrage of people standing there... some were short... maybe only two foot tall, but they weren't children. They looked more like very short and fierce elves with long pointed ears and long pointed nails on hands and feet... too many fingers and toes... and no clothing or genitals. Their skin was pale blue and they didn't look as though they were there there to have a party. Small daggers hung from slim silver coloured belts which hung at hip level. Their eyes were huge and took up most of their faces and mouths tiny and on right there on the tip of their pointed chins. Spencer's head span... then locked into place. He wasn't going to be freaked out by some creatures he could just kick out of the way. However, these little things were not the only sorts of weird things here. There were creatures who had they been standing upright would have been nine or ten foot tall, but they were bent over, their hands resting on the floor on horribly long arms which had too many elbows. They had no hair but things like worms which wriggled and writhed grew out of their heads... these massive monsters had tiny little piggy eyes which blinked constantly. Spencer thought they should swap eyes with the little blue things. It would look better.
There were some who looked to be more human though. Some stood pale and naked... some were dark as night... some had on fancy gowns and tight corsets and some were in clothing much like Floyd had on. And there were others... other things with wings, things with horns... things with a face made of eyes... or just a mouth and no eyes... or too many heads, like the one they'd seen outside and they had all turned and were all staring at these four who were trying not to stare back. Spencer could hear Levin was sobbing, Sam was taking lots of little short breaths and Floyd took a step forward. The crowd took a step back; smaller creatures pushing back behind the larger ones with eyes which seemed to have grown even bigger. When a voice suddenly boomed, Levin sighed a soft sound and fell on his face in a faint, Sam twitched and sidled closer to Floyd and Spencer blinked and squeezed Floyd's hand tighter.
'Make room for our guests.' The voice bellowed and echoed around the huge room. Someone giggled, someone let out a low growl, but the things standing in front of them moved to the side to give them space to walk forwards. Firstly, Floyd let go of Spencer, took a few steps towards Levin and grabbed the chain between his ankles and dragged him around. Then the four of them slowly made their way forwards, with Levin now making little keening sounds.
The things parted in front of them, and closed again behind their backs so they walked in a bubble of monster free space through the mostly silent crowd. Whoever had called out didn't speak again for now... but there was still the odd titter or growl to be heard from further back in the crowd.
A helpful man, who was dressed in knee breeches, fancy shoes and a frock coat stepped forwards.
'Let me take your baggage.' He put a grey coloured hand out in front of Floyd.
'Touch me and you'll regret it.' Floyd snapped back at him. The man moved again back into the crowd. No one else offered to drag Levin for him. No one else that stupid or brave.
Spencer could see the floor now though. It was made up of tiny little bits of coloured glass which seemed to show scenes of different sorts of creatures doing different sorts of things to each other. Once he'd figured out that it was a gigantic mosaic of a demonic orgy, he stopped trying to look and concentrated on the things which were encircling him. He wondered if this was how famous rock stars felt when the paparazzi was surrounding them. It put a twitch of a smile on his face, but seeing the wet nosed dog faced thing grinning at him, Spencer stopped with the small smile and closed his mind down completely for a while. It seemed easier to cope with the onslaught of weirdness if he did that.
Reid didn't notice at first that they'd stopped walking. It was Floyd grabbing his hand again which brought him back to where he was and again he was forced to accept where he was... not in his apartment where he very much would rather have been. Levin was on his knees. Sam too... and Floyd was dragging Spencer down likewise, but as instructed beforehand, Spencer went down to just the one knee and he kept his eyes downwards and really he'd like to have kept them there forever, never having to look at anything again other that the small blue swirl he was kneeling in front of. Floyd's hand tightened as the voice boomed again.
'Get up. Stop grovelling. You're like the plague, Flanders... always irritating... and always leave a mess behind you. Get up and look me in the damned eyes and tell me what you want of me this time.'
Floyd and Spencer got to their feet, though Spencer kept his eyes down, Floyd glared up at the monster of a man sitting of a massive stone throne. This man was about nine foot tall, muscles like twisted rope and was dressed in nothing but a loin cloth. His hair was wild, black and sticking out of his head in foot long cork screws. His face, hard, as though carved from stone was greyish black, like old iron... and his eyes were white as though blind. Next to him sat a female... just as tall and also just as muscular. Her breasts were pert and hard... her nipples seemed to be made of silver and her hair was straight and hanging over her dark grey shoulders. There was a slight snarl on her almost good looking face. The other side sat a boy... though still over six foot tall, he still had the almost not quite cooked look about him. Or maybe it was a slightly melted look. He was lithe and narrow... no muscles on display on that one, but the look of spite on his gun metal grey face was easy to see. Floyd looked at each of them and gave the salute of the fist on the forehead. Spencer stood staring at the woman's breasts, not quite able to take his eyes off them. Sam stayed on his knees and kept his eyes down. He already knew what was going to be there. He'd been here before and begged for his life, only to have it turned down. He didn't reckon his chances were going to be good. Tears and snot dripped from his face onto the floor between his hands. His legs ached from walking awkwardly up the stairs and his neck hurt like a son of a bitch, but there was nothing he could do now. Floyd had as good as thrown him into the fires of hell. Levin was also still on his hands and knees. He'd never been here before, but he'd heard the stories and he really wished he'd not. There were tears and snot falling from Levin's face too... and a goodly helping of vomit to add to it. A sudden warmth spread between his legs as his bladder let go again. He wasn't sure how that happened... how much piss can one man hold? A lot it seemed.
Floyd's voice seemed almost... maybe worried, as he spoke. 'Your Majesty – It would please me to talk to you in private.'
This brought on much laughter from the crowd behind him. The big man who seemed to be a king leaned forwards slightly... his strange hair wobbled and twisted as he moved. It almost seemed to have a life of its own. 'Silence you dogs!' He called at the crowd. 'And you, Flanders... you want something from me... ask.'
Floyd was grinding his teeth and his hand tightened on Spencer's. 'Your Majesty – I need but the name of one creature, so that I can continue my journey.'
'The name of the one who took your head?' The king asked.
'No – I know who took my head. I require the name of the one who took Hazar's head.'
'Hazar?' The king sat upright again and there was again some tittering going on in the crowd. The king looked over Floyd's head and asked for the room to be cleared. It seemed that Floyd was going to get his talk in private after all.
The room cleared slowly. There were a lot of them to leave through that one door of bone and down the steps. By the time the doors slammed shut again, Spencer had allowed his brain to close down. There was no need to try to understand things. He'd tried that in the past and it never really got him anywhere but mostly dead. This time he was going to just float along with Floyd and not resist anything.
Now there were the four of them and the three sitting on a raised dais on their thrones.
'You bring your rubbish with you.' The King spoke in a slightly lower voice this time, but it was still like a shout. Floyd didn't reply to this comment, but he pulled Spencer a bit closer to him.
'The Seraphim, an imp and a dead faggot... you keep strange companions.' A very high pitched voice belonged to who Spencer assumed was the queen. It was like dragging chalk down a blackboard. The sort of sound which made your teeth vibrate.
'The dead faggot is my mate.' Floyd said, but Spencer could still hear worry in his voice. 'The imp is my spawn and The Seraphim is my bargaining chip... or arrow fodder, whichever is needed first.'
The queen was about to speak again, but the giant of a king put his hand up to silence her.
'Your mate. You can prove you claim? Your spawn... again prove it... The Seraphim... whatever insane reason you thought you could bring that thing here was misplaced. And then you ask me for the name of the one who took the head of an Angel? You are more insane than previously assumed.'
'I see.' Floyd let go of Spencer and took a step forwards. 'You wish me to prove that is my spawn?' A click of the fingers and a jerk on the chain and Sam came scuttling forwards. 'This is my spawn. I'm not sure how you'd wish me to prove such a claim, other than why else would I bring it here with me? And how would you want me to prove that Spencer is my mate? I know you doubt my word...'
'Doubt it?' The voice boomed. 'I know what you are, Flanders, if that's what you choose to call yourself... I know you're not of this place and I know that you wish to return to your own. I also know that that is something which will never happen... Doesn't matter how many of us you kill... there will always be more of us and I don't think one whining little maggot is going to be able to destroy the whole of our world. No... that's not going to happen. You should go back to where you came from. You're not liked or wanted here, Flanders. You still have something about you...'
'Something very nasty.' The queen squealed... and the younger one barked like a dog for a few seconds... 'We don't like it.'
'You leak from your soul a presence which makes us uncomfortable.' The king spoke slowly as though to a fool. 'I will tell you something which you might not have thought of before. Where you come from, Flanders, things are made of the purest of light and love. Fall from grace and you're expelled. As you did and as you were... but being less than pure does not a monster make. So what exactly happened to you to make you such a vile creature, who still carries that light in his soul. What sort of monster can carry that purity to a degree that it makes me feel ill to look at it and yet behave in a manner to make others think that you're one of us? What happened to you, Flanders? What turned you into this backstabbing, treacherous cunt?'
Floyd stepped back again, dragging Sam with him and grasped Spencer's hand. 'Other backstabbing treacherous cunts caused this outcome. I am what I am. I don't disguise it. I don't pretend to be something I'm not. All three of my companions are aware of what I'm capable of. Yet they are with me.'
'One of them because his mind has gone, one of them because you've got him in chains and a collar and The Seraphim... now that one interests me. I would have him... in exchange for the information you want.'
Floyd glanced at the useless lump of something on the floor and then turned back to the king sitting firmly on his stone chair. 'I'd rather keep him. He might be of some use once he's got over the surprise of ending up here. I'm not sure he's quite aware of what's going on yet, and letting him go just so you can throw him to your dogs is not on my agenda... it must be that bit of goodness you see in me which prevents me from doing that. But I have a good idea that you don't have the answer to my question anyway... and I'm loath to throw away something so very pretty for nothing. Maybe you'll accept the dog?'
'You'd keep The Seraphim and hand over your spawn?'
'Well I'm a bit of a shit like that, but yes. Have him. But first I want the name of the one who took the head of Hazar. Which I don't think you have, so really the whole conversation is moot. I will leave and find my answers somewhere else. I was wrong in the assumption that you knew everything.' Floyd pulled on Spencer and started to step backwards, dragging Sam with him and kicking out at Levin... 'Get up.' He hissed at him. 'Or stay here and die.'
The king didn't tell Floyd what he wanted to know. Sam wasn't handed over... and Spencer was so confused that he thought he was going to throw up. Those creatures could have squashed them like flies, yet they sat there howling and shouting... and not rising from their thrones. The king bellowed. The queen squealed and the prince – if that's what he was – barked like a dog, yet they didn't rise from where they were sitting or even look as though they were thinking about it. The four of them rushed through the bone door to see the place had emptied completely. Spencer was expecting to see milling crowds of madness, but the place was just a landing with steps going down and the man with the two heads standing there with a quizzical look on his faces.
'With out the free passage...' The lower head started to say. 'You'll get no further than the end of your prick. Have a care where you step and who you step upon.'
Spencer found he was staring at the lower head with its over inflated lips and crooked yellow teeth. But Floyd spoke to it. 'I never asked your opinion.'
'I opine when I feel. You can't just come here and make demands. You've upset him now. Heads will roll.'
'I can come and make demands. I just did make demands... and here I am... about to pull one of your heads off if you don't remove yourself from my sight now.'
'And the information you wanted... is there a price?'
'Of course there's a price.' Floyd pulled on Sam's lead... Levin was walking slowly but with a clanking of chains towards the stairway. 'But not from you.'
'But I might know.' Both faces pulled themselves into grins.
'Even if you did...' Floyd pushed the thing out of the way. 'We're leaving.'
'And you'll not see the end of your mission.' The creature hissed at Floyd's back. 'They might be in awe of you. They might say that they love you. They might cow and bend a knee to you, but they'll also tear you apart just to get to that bit of light. You... you and that Seraphim, both... You don't belong here Isgar! Go to your own hell! Go to your burned forests and dried up lakes! Stop trying to be what you're not!'
The voice echoed down the stairs and Spencer could feel Floyd's fingernails digging into his hand and he could hear Sam's whining and Levin's fear... Levin's fear was a very... surface thing. He didn't seem to be trying to pretend that he was anything but terrified. Spencer had listened to what had been said. He'd maybe not looked as though he was listening, but he had been. It was the visuals he was ignoring for now. He'd come to that later. Let it seep into his brain gradually. He'd speculate for a while. Use his imagination to attempt to make this a dream. Yet he knew, very well, that he'd taken drugs. He'd injected it into his arm. He'd felt the needle break his skin. He remembered that initial rush, so maybe that's all this was... Perhaps it was a crazy high. The most crazy of highs... Then again... maybe, it was real. That was going to have to wait. He was going to have to wait. Eventually he'd know if he was locked into a nightmare brought on my brain damage and drugs and too many smacks to the head... or if he'd died and been dragged down to hell by the only man he'd ever loved. He glanced across at Sam who was stumbling down the stairs and complaining that his neck hurt and then looked at Levin who was walking sideways down the stairs and clinging hold of the hand rail... finally he look at Floyd who happened to be looking right back at him.
'You've a million questions to ask. Ask before you explode.' Floyd told him.
'No... there's nothing.' Spencer replied and squeezed his hand. 'I would like to know why those giants didn't squash you to the mosaic flooring though.'
Floyd gave Spencer a smirk. 'We were out of range.'
'And had they stood?'
'Then I would have been in trouble, but they can't stand. Their arses are secured to the thrones they sit upon. We were safe all the time they didn't call someone to fill us with arrows... but they wouldn't have done that, because as they said... they revile me... yet they fucking shitting themselves with fear. I'm not one of this lot. Sam is... Sam will do OK here if he minds what he says and understands that if he gets in my way or threatens what I have to do... I will kill him. Levin has latent memories of this place. He's been here before, but can't place when or why. He just knows that this isn't where he wants to be, but he'll be of use. A distraction. All the time they're looking at Levin, they're not looking at you, or me.'
'And what exactly is it you have to do?'
'Kill someone. Find him. Kill him and take his head back to the people who sent me. Then and only then will my resurrection be complete and I'll be able to return.'
Spencer nodded. 'A hit... OK. You need to kill a... monster. And then you can return... what about me?'
Floyd looked confused. 'You?'
'I'm dead.' That sounded so strange to say... silly even. Ridiculous. 'So what about me. Do I go back too?'
'No... no, Babes... you're dead. Silly thing.' Floyd gave him a quick kiss on the side of the face. 'This is my resurrection plan. You have to make your own. Go begging for your life. But it's unlikely it'll be given. Suicides are such a wrangle to get around. They'll not let you return. Nope... Let's get going. Levin looks as though he's about to fall asleep there.'
