Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Memories from Dust
Chapter Two: Snap, Crack
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'Twas only a matter of seconds before the butler Edmund found himself immobilized by Spike and Angelus, Darla's hands placed firmly around his head. He stared at me, eyes wide with horror.
"You said you weren't a monster." He accused, and then Darla wrenched his neck, and with a simple crack he was dead. The three released their grasps upon him and his dead body fell to the floor with a thud.
"I'm not a monster." I whispered, but the dead don't hear much.
Drusilla clapped her hands gleefully. "Crack, snap, crack, snap!" She said in a singsong voice.
"William, dispose of the body." Darla said as Angelus shut the heavy front door. "I'll take the first floor, William will take the second, and Dru and Angelus will check the third."
"Crack, snap, crack, snap!" Drusilla continued singing.
I couldn't take my eyes off the dead figure lying at my feet. I wasn't a monster. The four around me surely were, but I was not.
"Why do you look so shocked, little lamb?" Drusilla asked me. "All good boys must someday die."
I'm not a monster.
She ran her cold fingers through my hair and began to sing again.
"The little lamb's gone from the pasture, where oh where has it gone? 'Twas stolen by the hungry wolves, with teeth as sharp as knives."
I'm not a monster.
"Are we wolves then, pet?" Spike asked her.
"Yes. We rip and tear and crack and snap, and scatter blood to all the winds. East, south, north west, scattering, scattering, scat."
Spike chuckled. "Go on, pet, Angelus wants you to help him."
"Scattering, scattering, scat." She sang, skipping her 'daddy'.
"I'm not a monster." I whispered, frozen in front of the dead man as the tears welled up in my eyes. "I'm not a monster."
"Aimee." Spike said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I spun around, directing a blow at his face. He easily caught my arm and held it away from himself. (I did land a good kick on his leg, but he showed no reaction to that.)
"I'm not a monster!" I practically yelled.
"Shhhh, don't worry love, course you're not." He comforted me, and I and I found myself held by his arms. "'S alright, pet." I was sobbing into the arms of the demon who had gotten me into this whole mess, and I didn't care.
* * * * * * *
Spike led me up to the second floor, as it was his job to get rid of anyone there and he didn't seem to know what to do with me. I followed silently behind him, half expecting something to jump out of the shadows and attack me, and only half-caring.
Many of the first rooms, though elaborately furnished, were empty; they seemed to be guestrooms. I could only just make out the outlines of these rooms as it was pitch dark save for the moon's small gleam of silver light. In the hallways it was even worse: I couldn't see a thing and would have caused quite a racket had Spike not led me carefully down the carpeted floors.
Finally we entered a room that held a sleeping couple. They seemed to be older, likely the two to whom this estate belonged. I held my breath as Spike shut the door quietly behind us, letting go of my hand as I shrank into the corner to watch, wondering what would happen.
It wasn't much of a spectacle.
Spike leaned over the bed quietly, placing two hands firmly around the old woman's neck. There was a sharp cracking sound as he yanked her head sideways. (Snap, crack, snap, crack, Drusilla's voice sprang to mind.) If it weren't for the unnatural angle of her neck, I would have thought she was still sleeping.
Spike moved to the other side of the bed and did the same to her husband. It all happened so quickly, so quietly.
Nothing spectacular, yet I was shaking with rage and a little bit of fear.
"W-what . . ." I stammered. "Y-you, you killed them."
He didn't answer.
"You killed them!"
"We can't have them getting out and alerting the townspeople that we're here, now can we?"
"But you can't just kill them!" I was shouting now, all the fear had gone and now I was just angry, furiously so. "You don't just walk into someone's house in the middle of the night, and then kill them for your safety!"
"Seems to me as though I just did." He said coldly.
My eyes narrowed and within moments I had sprang across the room and attempted to land a kick where it counts most. But Spike's reflexes were faster than mine, and he grabbed my foot so that I spun far off balance and landed in an undignified heap on the floor.
(I would like to point out, for my sake, that it is very hard to fight anyone while wearing a full-length dress.)
He began walking towards the door leading to the adjacent room, but I would have none of that. With a cry of rage I picked my self off the floor and ran at him, grabbing his arm and digging my nails into it, attempting to drag him to the floor or at least cause him minor discomfort.
"Shut up girl!" He said, slapping me across the face so hard that I found myself once again on the floor. "You're going to wake up the rest!"
"That would be a shame." I said sarcastically. "Then it might be hard for you to kill them."
I ran past him, landing another hard kick on his leg (this one at least caused him to wince) on my way through the door, tumbling into the next room as his blow landed where I had been only seconds before.
But Spike had been correct about one thing, and I had awakened the occupant of this room.
"Who's there?" Asked the young man, sitting up tensely in bed. He struck a match, the flame magnifying as he lit an oil candle. The candle set and eerie glow around the room, which already seemed strange enough.
I was crouched on a deep red carpet, my fingers sinking into the softness of it. The walls were painted stark white; it would have been blinding in the full force of sunlight.
The man looked to be somewhere in his early twenties. Sitting up in the large bed with the wine red comforter and satin sheets of a lighter shade of red, he looked Spike over cautiously.
"Who are you?" The man asked, pushing his untidy dark brown hair out of his eyes.
"Spike."
"What are you doing in my house?" The man was getting out of bed, never dropping his gaze on Spike. As his feet hit the floor, I noticed he was wearing red silk pajamas the same color as the sheets.
"Jus' stopped in for a bit. Needed a place t' go, this seemed nice enough." Spike answered casually, as though it was normal to show up at other people's houses in the middle of the night.
"What did you do to my aunt and uncle?" He asked, obviously referring to the older couple lying dead in the adjacent room.
"Killed 'em." Spike said, still casual. "Couldn't risk them letting out the word that we're here."
"We?" He asked, the first sign of fear in his voice. He glanced around the room, spotting me for the first time. The fear fell from his face, replaced with the smug look he had been wearing before. "And who's this?" The man asked, indicating to me. "Your wife, or some whore you picked off the street?"
Spike remained silent, though I thought I could detect a soft growl coming from his chest.
"Because it does get a bit tiresome around here at times." The man continued. "The girl's pretty enough, if you feel like sharing—"
He never got to finish this sentence as Spike roared and launched himself at the man, ripping his head of savagely so the silk-clad body fell to the floor with hardly a sound, the noise softened by the thickness of the carpet.
"I don't like to share." Was all Spike said, tossing the head aside.
The dead man was bleeding, and I would have considered the carpet's color blood red were it not for the thick, scarlet-brown liquid seeping into it that made it painfully obvious that the carpet was not that color at all. Even as we left the room blood continued leaking out of the man like wine from an overturned goblet, yet not a single drop marred the white, white walls.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Did you like it? Would you like another chapter? Reviews make me write faster!
Memories from Dust
Chapter Two: Snap, Crack
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
'Twas only a matter of seconds before the butler Edmund found himself immobilized by Spike and Angelus, Darla's hands placed firmly around his head. He stared at me, eyes wide with horror.
"You said you weren't a monster." He accused, and then Darla wrenched his neck, and with a simple crack he was dead. The three released their grasps upon him and his dead body fell to the floor with a thud.
"I'm not a monster." I whispered, but the dead don't hear much.
Drusilla clapped her hands gleefully. "Crack, snap, crack, snap!" She said in a singsong voice.
"William, dispose of the body." Darla said as Angelus shut the heavy front door. "I'll take the first floor, William will take the second, and Dru and Angelus will check the third."
"Crack, snap, crack, snap!" Drusilla continued singing.
I couldn't take my eyes off the dead figure lying at my feet. I wasn't a monster. The four around me surely were, but I was not.
"Why do you look so shocked, little lamb?" Drusilla asked me. "All good boys must someday die."
I'm not a monster.
She ran her cold fingers through my hair and began to sing again.
"The little lamb's gone from the pasture, where oh where has it gone? 'Twas stolen by the hungry wolves, with teeth as sharp as knives."
I'm not a monster.
"Are we wolves then, pet?" Spike asked her.
"Yes. We rip and tear and crack and snap, and scatter blood to all the winds. East, south, north west, scattering, scattering, scat."
Spike chuckled. "Go on, pet, Angelus wants you to help him."
"Scattering, scattering, scat." She sang, skipping her 'daddy'.
"I'm not a monster." I whispered, frozen in front of the dead man as the tears welled up in my eyes. "I'm not a monster."
"Aimee." Spike said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I spun around, directing a blow at his face. He easily caught my arm and held it away from himself. (I did land a good kick on his leg, but he showed no reaction to that.)
"I'm not a monster!" I practically yelled.
"Shhhh, don't worry love, course you're not." He comforted me, and I and I found myself held by his arms. "'S alright, pet." I was sobbing into the arms of the demon who had gotten me into this whole mess, and I didn't care.
* * * * * * *
Spike led me up to the second floor, as it was his job to get rid of anyone there and he didn't seem to know what to do with me. I followed silently behind him, half expecting something to jump out of the shadows and attack me, and only half-caring.
Many of the first rooms, though elaborately furnished, were empty; they seemed to be guestrooms. I could only just make out the outlines of these rooms as it was pitch dark save for the moon's small gleam of silver light. In the hallways it was even worse: I couldn't see a thing and would have caused quite a racket had Spike not led me carefully down the carpeted floors.
Finally we entered a room that held a sleeping couple. They seemed to be older, likely the two to whom this estate belonged. I held my breath as Spike shut the door quietly behind us, letting go of my hand as I shrank into the corner to watch, wondering what would happen.
It wasn't much of a spectacle.
Spike leaned over the bed quietly, placing two hands firmly around the old woman's neck. There was a sharp cracking sound as he yanked her head sideways. (Snap, crack, snap, crack, Drusilla's voice sprang to mind.) If it weren't for the unnatural angle of her neck, I would have thought she was still sleeping.
Spike moved to the other side of the bed and did the same to her husband. It all happened so quickly, so quietly.
Nothing spectacular, yet I was shaking with rage and a little bit of fear.
"W-what . . ." I stammered. "Y-you, you killed them."
He didn't answer.
"You killed them!"
"We can't have them getting out and alerting the townspeople that we're here, now can we?"
"But you can't just kill them!" I was shouting now, all the fear had gone and now I was just angry, furiously so. "You don't just walk into someone's house in the middle of the night, and then kill them for your safety!"
"Seems to me as though I just did." He said coldly.
My eyes narrowed and within moments I had sprang across the room and attempted to land a kick where it counts most. But Spike's reflexes were faster than mine, and he grabbed my foot so that I spun far off balance and landed in an undignified heap on the floor.
(I would like to point out, for my sake, that it is very hard to fight anyone while wearing a full-length dress.)
He began walking towards the door leading to the adjacent room, but I would have none of that. With a cry of rage I picked my self off the floor and ran at him, grabbing his arm and digging my nails into it, attempting to drag him to the floor or at least cause him minor discomfort.
"Shut up girl!" He said, slapping me across the face so hard that I found myself once again on the floor. "You're going to wake up the rest!"
"That would be a shame." I said sarcastically. "Then it might be hard for you to kill them."
I ran past him, landing another hard kick on his leg (this one at least caused him to wince) on my way through the door, tumbling into the next room as his blow landed where I had been only seconds before.
But Spike had been correct about one thing, and I had awakened the occupant of this room.
"Who's there?" Asked the young man, sitting up tensely in bed. He struck a match, the flame magnifying as he lit an oil candle. The candle set and eerie glow around the room, which already seemed strange enough.
I was crouched on a deep red carpet, my fingers sinking into the softness of it. The walls were painted stark white; it would have been blinding in the full force of sunlight.
The man looked to be somewhere in his early twenties. Sitting up in the large bed with the wine red comforter and satin sheets of a lighter shade of red, he looked Spike over cautiously.
"Who are you?" The man asked, pushing his untidy dark brown hair out of his eyes.
"Spike."
"What are you doing in my house?" The man was getting out of bed, never dropping his gaze on Spike. As his feet hit the floor, I noticed he was wearing red silk pajamas the same color as the sheets.
"Jus' stopped in for a bit. Needed a place t' go, this seemed nice enough." Spike answered casually, as though it was normal to show up at other people's houses in the middle of the night.
"What did you do to my aunt and uncle?" He asked, obviously referring to the older couple lying dead in the adjacent room.
"Killed 'em." Spike said, still casual. "Couldn't risk them letting out the word that we're here."
"We?" He asked, the first sign of fear in his voice. He glanced around the room, spotting me for the first time. The fear fell from his face, replaced with the smug look he had been wearing before. "And who's this?" The man asked, indicating to me. "Your wife, or some whore you picked off the street?"
Spike remained silent, though I thought I could detect a soft growl coming from his chest.
"Because it does get a bit tiresome around here at times." The man continued. "The girl's pretty enough, if you feel like sharing—"
He never got to finish this sentence as Spike roared and launched himself at the man, ripping his head of savagely so the silk-clad body fell to the floor with hardly a sound, the noise softened by the thickness of the carpet.
"I don't like to share." Was all Spike said, tossing the head aside.
The dead man was bleeding, and I would have considered the carpet's color blood red were it not for the thick, scarlet-brown liquid seeping into it that made it painfully obvious that the carpet was not that color at all. Even as we left the room blood continued leaking out of the man like wine from an overturned goblet, yet not a single drop marred the white, white walls.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Did you like it? Would you like another chapter? Reviews make me write faster!