I'm wrapped in the depths of these deeds that have made me

I can't bring the sound from my head though I try

I can't seem to find my way up from the basement

A demon holds my place on earth till I die

-- Neko Case, "Furnace Room Lullaby"



I thought I could fake it but I can't.

As long as I didn't hurt anyone I thought I could fake it. You know? Being sane? I thought I could make everyone believe the old Spike was back. That the big bad was back in town, but the big bad's on holiday and isn't planning a quick trip home.

That's me as the big bad. Me, the big bad. I was never the big bad, at least not the biggest, though bigger than most. The visions, the visions, they're about the real one. Warren Glory Adam, Mayor (never met the bloke, but it had to be him) Dru Master Buffy. Why Buffy? Not evil, never evil.

Maybe that's in history somewhere; never was too keen on history, never had the patience.

And Dru. She wears madness like a tailored suit. Why couldn't this have happened to her? Wouldn't even have noticed, she wears it so well. Me, the sleeves are too long and the neck's too tight and the belt doesn't go all the way around.

And the shoes are mismatched. Bloody shoes!

So here I am, stuck, stuck in the basement, tormented by visions of what I've done and villains and other people I've never met before, and I can't stop hearing them, I can't get their voices out of my head, whether it's real or not they're always there.

God damn bastard Angel, never telling me how hard it was, this soul business. Why couldn't he have said something? I would have made sure I'd phrased the question better to that demon, I'll tell you that right now. Always made fun of him for brooding, feeling all guilty and all. Pathetic, I said, pathertic.

Well, who's the pathetic one now? Not Angel, too right about that, he's off on his crusade to save the world, dealing with it by trying to atone for what he'd done wrong, Xena without that chakram thingy.

So that's what I tried. Make up for it by my actions. Only I couldn't, not with Anya being all perceptive and everybody hating me (violated the girl, or I tried to; why wouldn't they hate me, I hate me). I don't think I can do it. Maybe that's his gig and I have to get me another.I have to say I'm sorry to him, I didn't know how hard it was, how well he's handled it. Sure, you eat a few rats here and there, but he never went out of his head. Me? I need the Enterprise to get back, I think.

So here I am again, stuck, stuck in the basement, the cross still marking my chest (it's a good burn) trying to get some sleep. (Let me rest in peace, let me get some sleep.)

Failing. Failing, miserably, the voices marching in a counterpoint to the boiler, listening to my furnace room lullaby.