I don't own BTVS or Angel, but I would play paper-rock-scissors for 'em. :)
I don't own the guys (or girls) in this story, but I would fight a gaggle
of geese for any one of them. All right, I'm about to go crazy. Everywhere
I look I see the name 'Spike'. Like on that 'Rugrats Go Wild' movie and the
new television station ''Spike TV'. Just thought you should know. Okay, now
I need to warn you guys. Some of the stuff coming up may be unpleasant and
I'm not going to R rate it, but it could get pretty bad. Not very graphic,
but bad. Anyway... Cryptic enough for you? Good.
On with the show.
::The Dalliance of the Eagles- Empty Chairs::
"I got sand in me boots." Spike kicked out his right foot and shook it, fiercely.
"What are you doing; the hokey pokey?" Wesley stopped to stare at Spike's little display. He was shaking his left foot now and growling.
"If you two don't hush, you're going to get sand in your mouths." Angel muttered, just within the two men's range of hearing.
"How? I don't remember sand whipping up into my mouth, the last time I was at the beach." Angel shot Spike a look and he nodded, in understanding. "I see. You were making a really wimpy threat, to make us shut up." Spike sighed. "You're stupid, I hope you know."
"Hush." Angel sniffed the air and grunted. "Blood." Angel sniffed the air again and growled. "Penn."
"Umm. Let me guess. Me Spike. You Tarzan?" Spike shook his head and skipped ahead of his Sire. "You're being broody again. Let's make this into a game. Like hide and seek, with killing."
Angel decided to ignore his childe, completely. The only problem was he would keep talking if Angel gave him open silence. "Fred didn't seem too upset when you put her in the cab to Cordy's, did she?" He directed the question at Wesley, in hopes that he would get the hint and carry on the conversation, without complaint.
"No." Wesley obviously didn't get what Angel was attempting.
Angel tried again. "Did you call Gunn and tell him what was up?"
"Yes. I called him and told him about your dream." Wesley grinned and shook his head. "Apparently, he and Cordelia are in the process of trying to coax Connor out of the bathroom. It seems that Gunn explained the process of 'fixing' a cat."
"What a wuss." Spike chortled, but the two men ignored him.
"Why would he do something like that? Isn't that my job department?" Angel stretched his arms out behind his back and grinned up at the night sky.
"What? Explaining difficult things in life, to him?" Wesley asked, with interest.
"No, riling him up." Angel grinned over at the British man, who chuckled under his breath.
"I don't know if that's up to you, or not. It probably has to do with what type of father you are trying to be. Are you more interested in being the stern father figure or the friendly, more of a brother type?" Wesley said, in his all too logical way.
"He already has a brother figure, ta." Spike huffed and stooped down to untie his Doc Martins. "I can rile him up, enough to drive him crazy, if that's what you want." Spike pulled off one boot, after the other, and slipped off his socks. "I hate sand." He picked up his shoes and carried them in the hand that didn't hold a crossbow.
Angel watched Spike closely and shook his head. Some people would sit in agitated silence, if they were upset. Others would talk about it. Spike took the most annoying approach; he sulked, loudly. "Let's check out that abandoned beach house, over there." Angel pointed over to the right and started in that direction.
"How do you know that it's abandoned?" Wesley asked, as he rushed to keep up with Angel's fast pace.
Angel threw an amused glance back at Wesley, making the man nod. "You forget I'm *special* sometimes, don't you?"
Wesley rolled his eyes. "Special can be a relative term, you know."
Spike grinned. "Relative to what, is the problem. In this situation, mental capacity is the most logical place my mind jumps."
"Shut up, Will." Angel tried not to smile, but failed. He just made sure Spike didn't see him. Sometimes Spike's small annoyances could be funny, when he tried to be humorous himself.
Spike shrugged and dropped his boots in the sand, at the bottom stairs, of the house. "So Tarzan, do you think my adversary is in there?"
"No." Angel shook his head. "But I do think he's been staying here. It's also possible that he'll be back. He like familiarity." Angel started up the stairs and looked back at Spike. "Why, don't you stay here and keep an eye out..."
Spike shook his head and pushed Angel up the stairs. "I'm coming with." Spike looked over at Wesley, who nodded and stood guard, at the bottom of the stairway. "Besides, I'm not sure I remember what Penn looks like. Last thing I need is for some wanker to sneak up on me and stake me in the back."
"He wouldn't do that. He wants to torture you, first."
"Stop warning me Angelus. I know what you think is going to happen to me and it's not going to happen."
Spike and Angel stopped on the porch and looked around. The smell of blood was thick in the air. A glass doorway was left open, only a few feet away from where they were standing. Spike took a step toward the open doorway and stopped when Angel grabbed his shoulder. "Be careful." Was all he said.
Spike knew his Sire would follow close behind, but he was given full reign in this 'assignment', with just those two words. Spike crept toward the door and opened it, slowly. He took a step inside, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Just as he did this, Angel flipped on the light. "Damn you, Angel. Are you trying to blind me?" He growled.
"Chill." Angel took a step past his irate childe and looked around the room. He hissed in disgust.
"Did you just say 'chill'? That was creepy, Angelus. Don't ever do it again." Spike rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and opened them, letting them readjust to the light. "Oh, bollucks. This is disgusting. Even animals don't sleep in their own filth."
The room was trashed, ceiling to floor. Moth-eaten sheets hung over the windows, all around the room. Cockroaches hissed and skittered across the floor, in an attempt to hide themselves, from the light. A bed, which seemed to have been used as a giant sponge to soak up blood, lay in the corner. Spike walked over to the bed and grimaced. On the other side, laid a litter of puppies. Their insides were hollowed out and refilled, with what seemed to be shiny stones. Their stomachs were flapping open. Spike almost had the urge to take the small animals and give them a decent burial. Six dead puppies, one young woman, and a rat had died, so far. What did it all add up to?
Spike turned toward Angel, who was stooped at the other side of the room, reading out of a small book. "It's a journal." Angel took a deep, cleansing breath and read. "Today, I found the perfect man. He was a big hulking man, large and over-powering. He put up quite a fight. He reminded me..." Angel swallowed hard. "... of my Sire. I almost changed him, but I decided that he was unworthy, at the last minute. His last words were 'Tell her I'm sorry.' Maybe I'll try to find out who 'her' is. One thing is for certain, though. I'm going to stick with someone less powerful and more intelligent. I need someone I get on with, someone that compliments me, not just physically, but mentally, as well." Angel put down the book and shook his head. This was his creation... his son.
"He's psychotic. He has to die." Spike reiterated his earlier opinion. After starring at the mess for another moment, Spike continued through the room and headed around a counter that led into a small kitchenette area. He glanced around the area and realized that all the cabinet doors had been pried off of their hinges. "Oh gods." Spike dropped to his knees and reached into an open cabinet, pulling out a piece of paper. "Pretty picture. Angel, I suppose this is yours?"
Angel walked over to his childe's stooping form and looked over his shoulder. "Yep." Angel reached down and pulled the picture out of Spike's grasp. It was the charcoal drawing he had done, of Spike, only nights before.
"It's good." Spike's shoulders slumped. "Looks like me. Looks like me, when I'm scared."
"No, not scared. You were unsure. Vulnerable looking." Angel shook his head. "But still you had those stubborn eyes." Angel smirked. "That's why he took it. That's what he wants to see."
"Well, he's going to be so very glad." Spike stood up from his stooping position and brushed off the seat of his pants. "If it's stubborn he wants, it's stubborn he'll get. Gimme' your knife."
"What are you going to do?" Angel asked suspiciously.
"I'm going to return the favor and leave this bugger a prezzie. Now, gimme' your knife."
Angel handed Spike his knife, reluctantly. It wasn't that he didn't trust Spike. He just didn't trust the grin that had snuck over his childe's features.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Penn dropped the young man, who was slumping in his arms. He looked down at the pale face and lifeless eyes and wondered what he had seen in this one. There was always something, of course. Nobody killed without reason: Human, animal, or demon. Well, some humans did, but not him. There was always something that drew him. He just forgot what it was, sometimes.
Penn walked down the sidewalk and looked up the stars. It would be moments, seconds perhaps, until someone found the young man slumped against the wall, there. They would either assume that he was a homeless boy, sleeping on the sidewalk, or that he was a drunken teen, passed out against the wall.
Penn sniffed the air and grinned. He could smell the ocean, already. He loved living on the beach. The room he slept in had no windows that let in direct sunlight, especially since he put up those curtains. They were a good idea, he decided. Sometimes people would walk by and try to peak in the house. That was a bad thing, during the day. He could only hope that someone would wonder in at night, though. He usually left the door open, just in case a homeless person would wonder in off the streets. They always made nice midnight snacks.
"Hey, honey, want a friend tonight?"
The girl was no older than fourteen, Penn decided. "No thank you, Judy. I don't need a friend."
The girl smiled in, what most probably found, an enticing manner. "My name's not Judy, doll, but it could be..." The girl sauntered over to Penn and rubbed up against him. "..if you like."
Penn shook his head and pushed the girl away. "I don't like."
The girl put on a pretty little pout and turned away. "All right, then." She repositioned herself against the wall she had been leaning on and sighed, loudly. "Too bad. You were the prettiest person to pass me by, all night long."
"Really?" Penn gave the girl a harsh little smile. "I saw a little girl on the next street over, who offered to be my sex slave for the whole night. She was, at least, twice as pretty as you. Her legs reached up to here..." Penn made a chopping motion at his neck. ".and she had lips that were rich and red. You look slightly used, darling. I don't know a man, with good taste, who would touch such a disgusting little guttersnipe, like you."
The girl's face turned pale, as Penn told her his opinion. The worst decline she had ever received was a no. She never expected anyone to lay into her, like that. "Okay, I get it. You think I'm ugly."
"No, not particularly. You are filthy, though. A disgusting little tramp. A sick perversion on what women are supposed to be, with your short skirt and tall boots. What is that piece of cloth supposed to be? A shirt?" Penn tugged on the shirt and smiled at the gasp it pulled out of the girl. "Who are you supposed to be kidding? You let men undress you for milk money, but you become the fragile flower, when a man who isn't interested in you for sex, touches you?"
"Leave me alone." The girl backed up against the wall and started to cry. "It's not like I... I didn't want... I..." The girl gasped for air, but it seemed that her lungs wouldn't cooperate. She wasn't sure, but in the dim light from the street lights she thought she had seen the man's eyes glow. Fear gripped her heart.
Penn pulled the girl into his chest and hugged her. "You poor, sick, filthy child." The girl tried to pull herself out of Penn's grasp, but she failed. He held her tighter, pushing her face into his torso. He squeezed her tighter, until his arms became a crushing vice. The girl gasped, as her ribcage was crushed against Penn's unyielding body. Penn wasn't satisfied until the girl sighed out her last breath. "You're free now." He muttered into the girl's hair, as he kissed her temple. He dropped her to the ground, as he had the man, only moments before.
It was starting to get insatiable. This hunger for death. It wasn't a hunger for blood. That he could deal with. He was truly wanting to kill so may different things, at all moments of the day and night. He figures if he could kill something, virtually indestructible, it may quench this need.
Penn walked away from the crushed form, of the girl he had just killed, and headed toward home. He sighed and shook his head. Virtually indestructible. What was a constant throughout the years? What had always stuck around?
Angelus was ensouled and unsouled as fast as the direction of the wind could change. People died all the time. The ocean would rise and fall. The sun grew hotter and the clouds thinned out. Comedians weren't always funny, policemen weren't always the good guy, and vampires were not always blood sucking fiends. Nothing was a constant in his life. Except maybe one thing. Spike. Yes, he was as easy to kill as any master vampire, but Spike had something that stuck with him, whether he had a soul or not. His will. He had a determination that couldn't be touched. He was so resolute about how he felt on any and every subject. Penn wanted to tear it apart. Kill it, so to speak. He wanted to break him; break William the Bloody.
Before Penn knew it, he was at the foot of his staircase. He headed upstairs and stopped on the porch. He turned toward the ocean and smiled out at the waves. They lapped up against the beach and ran back toward the reefs, over and over. They were a constant, until the change of seasons. Well, he decided, by that time, I will be long gone. Penn took a deep breath and almost choked on it. Angel. Spike. Here. His mind flashed danger signals at him, as he turned his back toward the lapping waves. He prowled toward the open doorway and peered into the darkness. The smell was fading away. They were no longer inside. Why? Had they not realized it was his place?
Penn walked in the doorway and turned on the light. "Shit." His journal was pierced to the wall with a sharp knife. Carved into the wall, next to it, was a message signed in blood. All it read was, 'BRING IT ON BRO!', but the signature was what sealed the deal. It was signed, WILLIAM.
TBC
-Thank you, so much for all the lovely reviews! I hope you were ready for this chapter progression. If you felt that that last kill was unnecessary, I apologize. The truth is, I just felt the need to show how crazy Penn really is. I was actually starting to feel sorry for my own characterization of him, and that really pissed me off... forgive my language. Anyway, it was bound to happen and it's bound to get more intense, as I proceed. *shrug* Hey, if you like. Tell me. If not... you can tell me too. I'm not prejudice. Anyway, thank you so much, guys! I love you all.-
('Judy' is an old term for prostitute, originating in England. That's why Penn called the young girl Judy, not because he thought that was her name.)
--The sub-title was called 'Empty Chairs' which is a song by Don McLean. Apparently, I unintentionally named my last two chapters after two other Don McLean songs. Well, I figured third times a charm. Hope I'm right.--
On with the show.
::The Dalliance of the Eagles- Empty Chairs::
"I got sand in me boots." Spike kicked out his right foot and shook it, fiercely.
"What are you doing; the hokey pokey?" Wesley stopped to stare at Spike's little display. He was shaking his left foot now and growling.
"If you two don't hush, you're going to get sand in your mouths." Angel muttered, just within the two men's range of hearing.
"How? I don't remember sand whipping up into my mouth, the last time I was at the beach." Angel shot Spike a look and he nodded, in understanding. "I see. You were making a really wimpy threat, to make us shut up." Spike sighed. "You're stupid, I hope you know."
"Hush." Angel sniffed the air and grunted. "Blood." Angel sniffed the air again and growled. "Penn."
"Umm. Let me guess. Me Spike. You Tarzan?" Spike shook his head and skipped ahead of his Sire. "You're being broody again. Let's make this into a game. Like hide and seek, with killing."
Angel decided to ignore his childe, completely. The only problem was he would keep talking if Angel gave him open silence. "Fred didn't seem too upset when you put her in the cab to Cordy's, did she?" He directed the question at Wesley, in hopes that he would get the hint and carry on the conversation, without complaint.
"No." Wesley obviously didn't get what Angel was attempting.
Angel tried again. "Did you call Gunn and tell him what was up?"
"Yes. I called him and told him about your dream." Wesley grinned and shook his head. "Apparently, he and Cordelia are in the process of trying to coax Connor out of the bathroom. It seems that Gunn explained the process of 'fixing' a cat."
"What a wuss." Spike chortled, but the two men ignored him.
"Why would he do something like that? Isn't that my job department?" Angel stretched his arms out behind his back and grinned up at the night sky.
"What? Explaining difficult things in life, to him?" Wesley asked, with interest.
"No, riling him up." Angel grinned over at the British man, who chuckled under his breath.
"I don't know if that's up to you, or not. It probably has to do with what type of father you are trying to be. Are you more interested in being the stern father figure or the friendly, more of a brother type?" Wesley said, in his all too logical way.
"He already has a brother figure, ta." Spike huffed and stooped down to untie his Doc Martins. "I can rile him up, enough to drive him crazy, if that's what you want." Spike pulled off one boot, after the other, and slipped off his socks. "I hate sand." He picked up his shoes and carried them in the hand that didn't hold a crossbow.
Angel watched Spike closely and shook his head. Some people would sit in agitated silence, if they were upset. Others would talk about it. Spike took the most annoying approach; he sulked, loudly. "Let's check out that abandoned beach house, over there." Angel pointed over to the right and started in that direction.
"How do you know that it's abandoned?" Wesley asked, as he rushed to keep up with Angel's fast pace.
Angel threw an amused glance back at Wesley, making the man nod. "You forget I'm *special* sometimes, don't you?"
Wesley rolled his eyes. "Special can be a relative term, you know."
Spike grinned. "Relative to what, is the problem. In this situation, mental capacity is the most logical place my mind jumps."
"Shut up, Will." Angel tried not to smile, but failed. He just made sure Spike didn't see him. Sometimes Spike's small annoyances could be funny, when he tried to be humorous himself.
Spike shrugged and dropped his boots in the sand, at the bottom stairs, of the house. "So Tarzan, do you think my adversary is in there?"
"No." Angel shook his head. "But I do think he's been staying here. It's also possible that he'll be back. He like familiarity." Angel started up the stairs and looked back at Spike. "Why, don't you stay here and keep an eye out..."
Spike shook his head and pushed Angel up the stairs. "I'm coming with." Spike looked over at Wesley, who nodded and stood guard, at the bottom of the stairway. "Besides, I'm not sure I remember what Penn looks like. Last thing I need is for some wanker to sneak up on me and stake me in the back."
"He wouldn't do that. He wants to torture you, first."
"Stop warning me Angelus. I know what you think is going to happen to me and it's not going to happen."
Spike and Angel stopped on the porch and looked around. The smell of blood was thick in the air. A glass doorway was left open, only a few feet away from where they were standing. Spike took a step toward the open doorway and stopped when Angel grabbed his shoulder. "Be careful." Was all he said.
Spike knew his Sire would follow close behind, but he was given full reign in this 'assignment', with just those two words. Spike crept toward the door and opened it, slowly. He took a step inside, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Just as he did this, Angel flipped on the light. "Damn you, Angel. Are you trying to blind me?" He growled.
"Chill." Angel took a step past his irate childe and looked around the room. He hissed in disgust.
"Did you just say 'chill'? That was creepy, Angelus. Don't ever do it again." Spike rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and opened them, letting them readjust to the light. "Oh, bollucks. This is disgusting. Even animals don't sleep in their own filth."
The room was trashed, ceiling to floor. Moth-eaten sheets hung over the windows, all around the room. Cockroaches hissed and skittered across the floor, in an attempt to hide themselves, from the light. A bed, which seemed to have been used as a giant sponge to soak up blood, lay in the corner. Spike walked over to the bed and grimaced. On the other side, laid a litter of puppies. Their insides were hollowed out and refilled, with what seemed to be shiny stones. Their stomachs were flapping open. Spike almost had the urge to take the small animals and give them a decent burial. Six dead puppies, one young woman, and a rat had died, so far. What did it all add up to?
Spike turned toward Angel, who was stooped at the other side of the room, reading out of a small book. "It's a journal." Angel took a deep, cleansing breath and read. "Today, I found the perfect man. He was a big hulking man, large and over-powering. He put up quite a fight. He reminded me..." Angel swallowed hard. "... of my Sire. I almost changed him, but I decided that he was unworthy, at the last minute. His last words were 'Tell her I'm sorry.' Maybe I'll try to find out who 'her' is. One thing is for certain, though. I'm going to stick with someone less powerful and more intelligent. I need someone I get on with, someone that compliments me, not just physically, but mentally, as well." Angel put down the book and shook his head. This was his creation... his son.
"He's psychotic. He has to die." Spike reiterated his earlier opinion. After starring at the mess for another moment, Spike continued through the room and headed around a counter that led into a small kitchenette area. He glanced around the area and realized that all the cabinet doors had been pried off of their hinges. "Oh gods." Spike dropped to his knees and reached into an open cabinet, pulling out a piece of paper. "Pretty picture. Angel, I suppose this is yours?"
Angel walked over to his childe's stooping form and looked over his shoulder. "Yep." Angel reached down and pulled the picture out of Spike's grasp. It was the charcoal drawing he had done, of Spike, only nights before.
"It's good." Spike's shoulders slumped. "Looks like me. Looks like me, when I'm scared."
"No, not scared. You were unsure. Vulnerable looking." Angel shook his head. "But still you had those stubborn eyes." Angel smirked. "That's why he took it. That's what he wants to see."
"Well, he's going to be so very glad." Spike stood up from his stooping position and brushed off the seat of his pants. "If it's stubborn he wants, it's stubborn he'll get. Gimme' your knife."
"What are you going to do?" Angel asked suspiciously.
"I'm going to return the favor and leave this bugger a prezzie. Now, gimme' your knife."
Angel handed Spike his knife, reluctantly. It wasn't that he didn't trust Spike. He just didn't trust the grin that had snuck over his childe's features.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Penn dropped the young man, who was slumping in his arms. He looked down at the pale face and lifeless eyes and wondered what he had seen in this one. There was always something, of course. Nobody killed without reason: Human, animal, or demon. Well, some humans did, but not him. There was always something that drew him. He just forgot what it was, sometimes.
Penn walked down the sidewalk and looked up the stars. It would be moments, seconds perhaps, until someone found the young man slumped against the wall, there. They would either assume that he was a homeless boy, sleeping on the sidewalk, or that he was a drunken teen, passed out against the wall.
Penn sniffed the air and grinned. He could smell the ocean, already. He loved living on the beach. The room he slept in had no windows that let in direct sunlight, especially since he put up those curtains. They were a good idea, he decided. Sometimes people would walk by and try to peak in the house. That was a bad thing, during the day. He could only hope that someone would wonder in at night, though. He usually left the door open, just in case a homeless person would wonder in off the streets. They always made nice midnight snacks.
"Hey, honey, want a friend tonight?"
The girl was no older than fourteen, Penn decided. "No thank you, Judy. I don't need a friend."
The girl smiled in, what most probably found, an enticing manner. "My name's not Judy, doll, but it could be..." The girl sauntered over to Penn and rubbed up against him. "..if you like."
Penn shook his head and pushed the girl away. "I don't like."
The girl put on a pretty little pout and turned away. "All right, then." She repositioned herself against the wall she had been leaning on and sighed, loudly. "Too bad. You were the prettiest person to pass me by, all night long."
"Really?" Penn gave the girl a harsh little smile. "I saw a little girl on the next street over, who offered to be my sex slave for the whole night. She was, at least, twice as pretty as you. Her legs reached up to here..." Penn made a chopping motion at his neck. ".and she had lips that were rich and red. You look slightly used, darling. I don't know a man, with good taste, who would touch such a disgusting little guttersnipe, like you."
The girl's face turned pale, as Penn told her his opinion. The worst decline she had ever received was a no. She never expected anyone to lay into her, like that. "Okay, I get it. You think I'm ugly."
"No, not particularly. You are filthy, though. A disgusting little tramp. A sick perversion on what women are supposed to be, with your short skirt and tall boots. What is that piece of cloth supposed to be? A shirt?" Penn tugged on the shirt and smiled at the gasp it pulled out of the girl. "Who are you supposed to be kidding? You let men undress you for milk money, but you become the fragile flower, when a man who isn't interested in you for sex, touches you?"
"Leave me alone." The girl backed up against the wall and started to cry. "It's not like I... I didn't want... I..." The girl gasped for air, but it seemed that her lungs wouldn't cooperate. She wasn't sure, but in the dim light from the street lights she thought she had seen the man's eyes glow. Fear gripped her heart.
Penn pulled the girl into his chest and hugged her. "You poor, sick, filthy child." The girl tried to pull herself out of Penn's grasp, but she failed. He held her tighter, pushing her face into his torso. He squeezed her tighter, until his arms became a crushing vice. The girl gasped, as her ribcage was crushed against Penn's unyielding body. Penn wasn't satisfied until the girl sighed out her last breath. "You're free now." He muttered into the girl's hair, as he kissed her temple. He dropped her to the ground, as he had the man, only moments before.
It was starting to get insatiable. This hunger for death. It wasn't a hunger for blood. That he could deal with. He was truly wanting to kill so may different things, at all moments of the day and night. He figures if he could kill something, virtually indestructible, it may quench this need.
Penn walked away from the crushed form, of the girl he had just killed, and headed toward home. He sighed and shook his head. Virtually indestructible. What was a constant throughout the years? What had always stuck around?
Angelus was ensouled and unsouled as fast as the direction of the wind could change. People died all the time. The ocean would rise and fall. The sun grew hotter and the clouds thinned out. Comedians weren't always funny, policemen weren't always the good guy, and vampires were not always blood sucking fiends. Nothing was a constant in his life. Except maybe one thing. Spike. Yes, he was as easy to kill as any master vampire, but Spike had something that stuck with him, whether he had a soul or not. His will. He had a determination that couldn't be touched. He was so resolute about how he felt on any and every subject. Penn wanted to tear it apart. Kill it, so to speak. He wanted to break him; break William the Bloody.
Before Penn knew it, he was at the foot of his staircase. He headed upstairs and stopped on the porch. He turned toward the ocean and smiled out at the waves. They lapped up against the beach and ran back toward the reefs, over and over. They were a constant, until the change of seasons. Well, he decided, by that time, I will be long gone. Penn took a deep breath and almost choked on it. Angel. Spike. Here. His mind flashed danger signals at him, as he turned his back toward the lapping waves. He prowled toward the open doorway and peered into the darkness. The smell was fading away. They were no longer inside. Why? Had they not realized it was his place?
Penn walked in the doorway and turned on the light. "Shit." His journal was pierced to the wall with a sharp knife. Carved into the wall, next to it, was a message signed in blood. All it read was, 'BRING IT ON BRO!', but the signature was what sealed the deal. It was signed, WILLIAM.
TBC
-Thank you, so much for all the lovely reviews! I hope you were ready for this chapter progression. If you felt that that last kill was unnecessary, I apologize. The truth is, I just felt the need to show how crazy Penn really is. I was actually starting to feel sorry for my own characterization of him, and that really pissed me off... forgive my language. Anyway, it was bound to happen and it's bound to get more intense, as I proceed. *shrug* Hey, if you like. Tell me. If not... you can tell me too. I'm not prejudice. Anyway, thank you so much, guys! I love you all.-
('Judy' is an old term for prostitute, originating in England. That's why Penn called the young girl Judy, not because he thought that was her name.)
--The sub-title was called 'Empty Chairs' which is a song by Don McLean. Apparently, I unintentionally named my last two chapters after two other Don McLean songs. Well, I figured third times a charm. Hope I'm right.--
