That Dark Night
"Mornin' Doc." Spike winked at the older woman mischievously as he flipped the chair around and draped his arms over the wooden slats. "Good night's sleep did wonders."
Not that he'd slept, in fact, he'd done the exact opposite. His eyes were opened; he was seeing the world for the first time. Nothing could be ruled out, anything was possible. Bring on the angels, the dragons, the sorcerers, and the psychics. He was wide open and willing to believe in any strange, supernatural, mystical, bizarre, alien, creature that he happened upon. The first glimpse, a demon bar on the south side, had only whetted his appetite. Of course, he'd stepped into the room, looked around with eyes bugging out of his skull and stepped right out again, but it was a start. One look around that room had been enough proof that the city of Boston housed more than human beings in its bustling streets. In a way, it made his own changes easier to deal with. The fact that he was stronger, faster, and healed fast enough that he could watch the skin knit back together if he wanted to. Freaky? Yeah. Exciting? Hell yeah.
The question was now, how much could he do? How far could he push? Where was his limit? So far he hadn't found it, had barely pushed into territory where his lungs and muscles burned, and even then, it was only a matter of seconds before he was ready to head back for more. How far, how high could he jump? How much weight could he lift? How fast could he run? He wanted to ask where it had come from, why and how he had changed. As far as he knew, he hadn't been bitten by any radioactive spiders or picked up an aversion to green rocks. Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. That philosophy also kept the nagging doubts at bay. The whys and the whats that he was pretty sure he didn't actually want to know.
"Good morning, Davis." Dr. Olivia Coleman peered over the ebony rims of her glasses with a reserved smile. "You're feeling better, obviously. That's wonderful." She sounded reluctant to believe his abrupt change from brooding and anxious to upbeat and happy.
"Brand new man." The fact that his voice was positively chipper almost made him laugh out loud. Since he didn't think she needed any more reasons to put him under closer scrutiny, he choked down the urge to laugh and kept his excitement to an acceptable level.
Compliments of the weather, she was already looking at him as though he'd lost his mind. Boston was choked in a heat wave in the triple digits, with humidity; it was probably going be a goddamn miserable day and he was sitting in her office with a blissful smile plastered over his face. He was sweating, soaked from the moisture-laden air, and no fan, no air-conditioning could shake away the lethargy brought by heat, except that he didn't feel lethargic at all. He was practically vibrating with energy. He'd be stuck in the office going over interview transcripts, searching through crime scene photos, and generally getting nowhere for the rest of the day. And it sounded bloody brilliant to Spike. Because Davis "Spike" Williams was not losing his mind, not going bug-shagging crazy, and had not killed anyone. The stress was not getting to him and he was not losing his edge. He'd merely been let in on the world's greatest secret; the fucking boogeyman was real.
"Good, good." Solemn brown eyes regarded him thoughtfully for a few seconds before she pushed away from her desk and moved to the filing cabinet. "I have a few questions for you, if you have a minute."
"No problem." A few minutes with the shrink was hardly a stiff price to pay to get back to work.
God, what a life. Job he loved, good apartment, and super powers to boot. Who'd complain about that? What he really wanted was to get down to the crime lab to find out what had come of the fingerprints they'd lifted off of the doll. It would be their first real piece of evidence. But appeasing the psyche Nazi took priority since it was her good words that would keep him off of Merritt's radar.
"You've got a few months before you're up for evaluation." Pulling a thick folder from the cabinet, she adjusted her glasses as she sat down and began sifting through the papers. It was his file, of course, but he was still a little surprised to see how full it was. "Merritt says you've dealt with the publicity of this case adeptly."
"Haven't said much."
"Precisely his point." She smiled wryly. "You handle yourself well with the press and that's not something we can say about all of our detectives. You answer their questions succinctly without giving them any information, no show-boating, no exaggeration."
"Just the facts, ma'am."
"How do you feel about the press?"
"Does it look bad if I say I'd like to throttle the lot of 'em?"
"I believe most of us feel that way some of the time." Papers shuffled through her hands as she kept looking through his file. "Do you have a girlfriend? Are you dating?"
"Not at the moment." Spike glanced around the office, anxious to get back to his desk and away from the questions that he knew by heart. It was a familiar dance. She knew full well that her usual subtlety didn't work on Spike; a degree in psychology gave him the benefit of insight into the questions she wasn't asking, the seemingly harmless answers that gave the rest of the officers away. Regardless of their five-year stalemate, they always danced. She slipped in the delicately worded probes and he fended them off with vague, nebulous answers or ignored the subtext completely.
The rolled cuff of his white shirt brushed against the arm of his chair as he fidgeted, whispering with the hint of another hazy memory. White was for brides and angels. He paused for a moment, trying to catch hold of the déjà vu before it disappeared. Did he know someone named Angel? Whatever it was, whatever memories and strange images continued to wind their way into his consciousness would eventually make sense. He just had to get up, do his job, and have faith that life would sort itself out.
Faith.
There was another word that seemed to be loitering about his brain like a bored teenager with a spray can of mixed emotions, painting images and colors that he couldn't put his finger on. It was a good thing. Sort of. Maybe. Not too sure on that. Good or bad and whatever the hell it meant, it was definitely there and waiting like a bear trap for him to find the right trigger. But nothing was going to dampen his mood today. Not when he'd spent the last two days doing the impossible and experiencing the adrenaline high of his life. Somewhere in the background, Dr. Coleman was still talking to him. He reined in his thoughts as they kept straining to race through the possibilities of his new world.
"In the five years that I have known you, Davis, you have given me that same exact answer every time I've asked. Not at the moment." She motioned to the stack of papers. "I evaluate every member of this precinct once a year, sometimes more often, and I almost always ask them the same questions. Your answers never change."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not necessarily. In many instances, I believe it shows that your level of understanding of the world around you. Your grasp of human nature and society, is highly developed for a man in his late twenties. While others are still trying to figure out what this life is all about, you already know. You've found your niche." The delicate chains around her glasses tinkled as she slid them off and let them hang loosely around her neck. "The one thing that you haven't managed to find is a partner. Someone to share your life with."
"I've got a partner, Doc." Her frankness surprised him. This was a new dance and one that he wasn't prepared for.
"You know what I meant."
He knew. It was a question he'd been asking himself every night since he'd first rolled over expecting someone to be there, knowing without doubt that someone should have been there, and found nothing but empty space. Since then, he'd realized there was a gaping hole in his life that should have been filled. Maybe it was biology telling him to settle down and pitch in his contribution to the gene pool. Maybe it was good, old-fashioned human loneliness.
"I date," he offered lamely. "Can't hardly get out of it. Gage always drags some poor bird into my world."
"But you don't actively seek out female companionship."
Hesitating, he wondered where she was headed. "Don't seek out men either, if that's what you're asking."
"I just find it fascinating from a psychiatrist's point of view that you've remained single all these years. You're an attractive man, you're mature, have an excellent sense of humor, and you're respectful toward women in general. But the only woman you've ever mentioned in your evaluations is your mother."
"Great lady." Squirming wasn't exactly dignified behavior for a homicide detective. He squirmed anyway.
"What are you looking for in a companion?"
"Same thing as everyone else." Spike shrugged and looked away, still embarrassed by her unusual praise. He wanted someone who burned. With life, with passion. Who had an edge and a strength. His equal, someone who could keep him on his toes and always surprise him, who made him feel like he'd caught fire because she was raw with it, dark and razor sharp from really living. The kind of woman who would roll up her sleeves and dive in, willing to get her hands dirty. Who felt out of place in Tiffany's with her jeans, tank tops, and boots made for kicking ass. A woman who wasn't afraid to be alive even when it hurt like Hell.
"Is it commitment that bothers you? Fear of being hurt?"
"What? No. Just haven't found the one, is all."
"The one." Brown and silver hair slipped from behind her ear as she tipped her head to the side. "Do you believe there is such thing as the one?"
Spike frowned. "Yeah. Guess I do. Maybe not just one in the whole world, maybe there's a few. Two or three."
"Do you believe in love?"
"Course I do. Not much experience with it."
"Do you want to find her? This one."
"Eventually."
"Describe her to me."
"Doc, it's really nice of you to be concerned. But I'm fine." Spike glanced at the door.
"Humor me. Just a brief description."
"Two eyes, two ears," he started jokingly, shifting in the uncomfortable chair and wondering what he had to say to get out of her office. "Someone who's seen a bit of the world, seen what it's about, warts and all."
"Someone who can handle what you do." There was a sympathetic smile on her face.
"Most people can't," he answered bluntly, completely forgoing the usual jab and parry of their typical conversations and settling for brute honesty. "You've talked half the guys through one or two divorces, watched their lives fall apart. Wives leaving because they can't take the pressure. Not knowing if he's gonna be coming home with a bullet or in a body bag."
"But they manage. And most of them keep trying."
"Lot of alimony, if you ask me."
"A relationship can serve as a valuable buffer against the stress of the job, Davis." With a quick shake of her head, she lifted her reading glasses to their perch and turned back to the file. "You told me you've been having nightmares and I gave you a bottle of chemicals to help you sleep. I won't lie to you, medication is not the best option. Maybe you need someone there to chase the nightmares away."
"Right poetic, Doc."
"And quite true."
Spike exhaled slowly as he organized his thoughts, "Maybe it's not about the big things, the Shakespeare love and death scenes. What is love anyway? Sacrifice? Pain? Maybe it doesn't have to be." He paused, noting the quiet look of expectation on her face and plunged back into it. "Maybe you can fall in love and be with the same woman for a lifetime without questioning, without wondering if there's anyone else out there. Maybe you can fall in love and drown in someone. Love them so much that you'll change your life, change yourself, change everything because they seep into you, into your blood, until you think you can't be anything without them. Even if it's wrong."
"What do you mean by wrong?"
"The usual." He wasn't sure what he meant, knew that it was more than just the usual, deeper and more complex. "Maybe that's love and maybe it's not. Maybe it doesn't need to be about how long you were with her or how much you changed for her."
"Maybe it's about the little things?"
"Yeah. Maybe it's about finding someone who sees the same shades of gray, who knows that inside every honest man is a thief and doesn't care. Judging someone by their actions instead of who or what they are. Someone who will take you the way you are, without changes, without question. Who wants you for all the reasons you're wrong as well as the reasons you're right." He trailed off, lost in thought as he tried to make sense of the words. "Guess I believe that I'll know her when I find her. That she'll just…fit."
"Until then?"
"Until then I'm not going to worry about it." Suddenly aware of his rambling and unexpected revelation, he straightened self-consciously in the chair and struggled not to look unnerved.
Closing the file abruptly, she smiled with a comforting cheerfulness. "I know you're itching to get out of here, Davis. It's one of the qualities that makes you a good cop, you love the work."
"Thanks." Spike stood up, half saluting as he returned the smile.
"One favor. Next time you're in here, Mr. Williams, I want to hear that you're out there looking for her."
He winked again on his way out. "It's a deal."
Lost in thought, he made his way through the hallways toward the crime lab. Where had all of that come from and why did it feel so real? So personal. More flashes, bits and pieces of dreams. That voice. If he wasn't crazy then it was either a memory or someone was fucking with his head. Neither could be ruled out until he'd made more progress on that list of psychics Gage had pulled out of the phone book. The murders had put a crimp in their evening activities and he hadn't been able to really dig into the search. Of the three psychic and New Age shops he'd visited, he was instinctively sure there wasn't a single bit of bona fide magic or supernatural in the building. There were still a lot of maybes and maybes didn't solve murder cases.
Deciding to worry about cryptic dreams and Dr. Coleman's fixation with his love life after he'd put the Dollhouse Killer behind bars, he rapped sharply on the crime lab door before edging it open. "Clear?" He'd made the mistake of barging into Tyler Adams' lab only once; he'd knocked over a stack of petrie dishes and ruining three weeks worth of analysis. The chemist was a little strange. but he did good work and could berate a careless soul along with the best drill sergeants.
"Blue skies," Tyler called out from somewhere in the maze of desks and computers. That was his code phrase for All Clear.
"Heard you've got good news for me." Spike cautiously moved a stack of print outs and settled onto a chair.
"Weird news." Gold-rimmed glasses appeared around the corner. Those and the short brown hair sticking out at odd angles gave Tyler his trademark flustered look. He always seemed to be in the middle of something, juggling projects like a three ring circus and pursuing his own worlds of thought. Digging through the mounds of paper that had turned into an avalanche on his desk, he finally produced a thick tan packet and tossed it to Spike. "Your suspect has a history you wouldn't believe. I pulled the prints and ran them through the usual databases, etc, etc."
"What'd you find?" Spike opened the packet and frowned as several case files slipped out.
"Same prints in a mass murder in Sunnydale, California. Six people in a train car. About the same time, a bunch of lawyers bit the dust in Los Angeles. Identical prints found at both scenes and, you'll love this, there was a lovely porcelain doll on the train in Sunnydale. Blindfolded and everything."
"Same guy."
"Woman. I think." Tyler grinned and tapped one of the case files. "Open up the Los Angeles one. What do you call killing off a bunch of lawyers?"
Spike raised an eyebrow, "Not a clue."
"A good start." Chuckling at his own joke, Tyler sorted through the papers. "There were survivors from this one. A Lindsey McDonald was one of them. He's an assistant D.A. in Oklahoma now and well known for doing pro bono cases. There were a couple other survivors but they disappeared about three years ago, McDonald is the only one still alive and accounted for. Here's the catch, he's not talking. None of them ever did and their law firm pretty much took the LAPD for a ride."
"You did all this yourself?"
"Got curious." Tyler cleared himself a seat. "First, I called Sunnydale to check with their forensics and ask them about the investigation. They laughed."
"Laughed?"
"Yeah. Said it wasn't their jurisdiction."
"What?"
"That's what I thought. So I called Los Angeles and they directed me to a Kate Lockley. Former homicide for LAPD with a bit of a Mulder reputation. She's up north in San Francisco running a private detective agency now. A little suspicious but very helpful with what happened to the survivors of the Los Angeles massacre. She didn't seem to like the lawyers much either."
"But no one's found anything on the killer." He frowned down at the photographs. It had to be the same killer. Same wounds on the necks of the victims, the doll, the fingerprints. At the very least, it was enough for him.
"Not a thing and this Lockley woman told me it was hopeless. In a few more words than that. Basically, she thinks the killer won't ever be caught. Can't be caught was closer to what she said."
"Great. Why'd you say woman?"
"Ms. Lockley." Eyes sparkling excitedly, Tyler sifted through the pages and pulled out a piece of notepaper. "Said our best chance finding the bitch who did this was talking to someone at this number. I didn't ask how she figured it was a woman but she seemed pretty sure about it. Kinda got the impression there was a lot she wasn't telling me."
"Angel Investigations." Spike stared down at the numbers. Familiarity stirred. Strangely enough, he didn't feel compelled to call the number and discover what waited at the other end of the phone lines.
"My guess? There're probably more murders out there with this chick's signature written all over them if we knew where to look. She's a Houdini though, has to be if she's getting away with it."
"If she's a serial." Taking a deep breath, Spike closed the folder. "Then she's FBI. Any red flags come up when you ran the prints?"
"No. I wanted to talk to you before I started the dominoes crashing. You know the feds, they'll come in and screw everything up."
"But they've got more resources. If the killer's been on the west coast, we'll need them to bridge the gap." He wasn't happy about handing over his case to the FBI, even if it meant he wouldn't have to deal with the press any more.
"There's a clear connection to Sunnydale, less so to Los Angeles. Just two might not be enough for them to stick their noses in."
"Your mind works in diabolical ways, Ty." Spike slipped the case files back into the envelope and stood up. "How long?"
"I'll sit on them 'til the end of the week at least. If someone hasn't picked up on it by now, they won't. You know the feds, can't find their asses with both hands. Don't quote me on that though, probably get me thrown in jail."
"Yeah. Anything else?"
"Still working on the murder weapon. The autopsy reports should be on your desk in a few hours and the ME will be in later if you have questions." Tyler disappeared into a canyon of file folders and books. "Found one interesting thing on the wounds that supports Ms. Lockley's theory. Trace amounts of lipstick. Ran a check on the dye and came up with a few matches. My favorite – Wicked Plum."
"She bit them?" They'd tested every type of two-pronged instrument that could have been used to pierce the skin of the victims. Every type but one. Teeth. Vampire teeth. Studying the photographs again, he realized that he'd suspected it all along.
"Chromatography results should be in with the autopsies and since Merritt wants a blow by blow of this rat's nest, I sent him a copy of my results too."
"Thanks."
"No problem, Spike. Just nail the psycho for me." The chemist's back was disappearing back into the depths of the lab, his mind already moving on to his next project.
"Count on it." Envelope bouncing lightly against his thigh, Spike left the crime lab and went in search of his partner.
Can't be caught. It made sense. Had it happened a week ago, he wouldn't have believed it could be a woman and all of his training, all of his experience would have led him in the wrong direction. Serial mass murderers were extremely rare and broke most of the profiling models; if the killer was a woman, she was that much more unusual. One of a kind even. They'd be writing books about her for decades. But that was a week ago. Looking at the pictures from Sunnydale and Los Angeles, he had a pretty good idea of what had killed those people.
No luck for the reporters looking for a Pulitzer and crime writers who needed a bestseller. He couldn't say anything, didn't dare even mention it to Gage. People didn't want to know what lurked in the shadows after they were tucked safely in bed, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Kate Lockley knew and possibly the people at Angel Investigations knew as well. Not the Sunnydale PD's jurisdiction? What was that supposed to mean? Any murder within the town limits was their jurisdiction. It wasn't what they were saying that Spike found the most fascinating; it was what they weren't saying. At least he knew what he was looking for. A vampire with a fetish for dolls and massacres.
How many vampires like that could there be?
"Spike!" Gage caught his attention, juggling two cups of coffee and a stack of napkins. "Merritt red-lined a couple of leads that need to be taken care of. High profile stuff, you know the drill."
"Let me guess. The Mayor's wife saw a prowler and thinks it's our killer." Spike shook his head without bothering to hide his disgust. Power was power and they all toed the line like good little soldiers when it came to the members of the Boston elite. Accepting the coffee, he followed Gage through the main floor and into the elevator. "Got prints and some interesting info from Ty."
"Finally something other than crackpots with goth neighbors. I am so sick of this vampire shit."
"Either our killer's female or a cross dresser."
"Huh?"
Spike grinned, watching his partner's eyes widen. "Lipstick on the wounds and get this, two more killing sprees to match our lovely lady's profile." He dug out the photographs from Sunnydale and Los Angeles as they started across the parking garage. "Same prints. Former detective from LA says it's a woman and we'll need more than the luck of the Irish to catch her."
"No shit." Gage frowned down at the photos as he climbed into the squad car. "Why haven't the Feds picked up on it?"
"No idea. Ty's gonna sit on it for us."
"May his pocket protector never crack." Laughing, he started the engine and handed the pictures back. "At least we have a ballpark to play in now. Here's the address for the club. Navigate."
Spike tossed the folder into the back seat and buckled up as they left the garage. "Dreamscape?"
"Don't ask me about it yet, I'm still pissed off." He gunned the engine for emphasis, tires squealing out of the parking stall. "I did talk to someone who sells those freaky dolls while you were in getting your head checked. Apparently Chucky-ette isn't a run of the mill Matell assembly line special, she's a collector's item and worth a bundle if you're into that kind of thing." Sandy blond hair shone as they pulled into the sunlight, accenting Gage's tan skin and hazel eyes. "Memo, doll collectors are weird. Not weird in a Mystery Science 3000 way either. More like Boo Radley in a dress."
"Boo Radley was a good guy."
"Still freaky."
"Missed the tolerance workshop?"
"Yada, yada and you know what I think of that PC bullshit. Criminal is criminal, don't care if the asshole has purple polka dots or zebra stripes."
"Fangs?" Spike raised an eyebrow as Gage stopped at a red light.
"Where do you think the vampire myth came from?" He fiddled with the radio for a second. "I read about that psycho, Vlad Tepish, in high school. The guy who drank the blood of his enemies and stuck heads on spikes or whatever. And people with that skin condition who can't go out in the day. Maybe that's where this all started."
"Or vampires could be real," Spike suggested with a grin.
"And you were a vampire in a past life." Gage rolled his eyes and accelerated through the intersection, weaving through traffic deftly. "How're those nightmares coming anyway? You've been pretty Rainbow Brite the last couple of days. No freaking out, no smoking, no new hair colors. Not that the blond doesn't look awesome on you. What's up?"
"Better living through chemicals, my friend."
"Coleman give you the green light?"
"Wants me to settle down and get a dog."
"You get the spiel too?" Gage laughed before giving Spike a carefully masked once over, trying to hide his relief. "Just stress then?"
"Doctor's prescription, the love of a good woman." Spike almost laughed at the familiar male posturing of showing emotion without showing emotion. Worrying without admitting that they were worrying. It was comforting to know that despite the casual banter, Gage would have done anything to help him. Would still do anything if Spike needed him.
"That's what I'm talking about. Soon as Doll Lady is in prison orange, we're hitting the town and you, my friend, are getting laid." He slapped one hand on Spike's shoulder playfully as he slid the car into a parking space. "Glad to have you back, partner o' mine."
"Glad to be back, mate." Even if it meant keeping his mouth shut and not ruining Gage's pretty picture of the world. In this case, ignorance probably provided a certain level of security if not safety. He would see it eventually. All Spike could do now was watch his partner's back and wait for the case, the moment, where that comfortable naiveté would be stripped away. Truthfully, the nightmares had been the best prep work he could have hoped for, opening his eyes without plunging him into a life-threatening situation right away. They had planted the ideas and he'd been so thrilled to realize that he wasn't going crazy that he hadn't freaked out or panicked. Well, maybe a little.
"Right. Here's the quick and dirty version." Gage squinted at the scribbled note in his hand. "The Mayor's daughter, princess that she is, hangs out here on a regular basis. And the young lady, who is such a reliable judge of character and can tell a criminal from a pineapple, has seen a suspicious young man hanging around and talking about the killings. So we're putting the good citizens' tax dollars to work and investigating this nightclub."
"Want to try that without the sarcasm this time?"
"Tastes better with it."
"Does anyone know we're coming?"
"I was hoping that the element of surprise would enable us to catch the pineapple. I mean the killer."
Trying hard not to laugh, Spike climbed out of the car. It was an innocuous brick building with an inset double door entrance framed by posters advertising Ladies Night and a live DJ on Friday nights. The feeling of déjà vu was so common that he almost dismissed it before he glanced down the street and realized that it was less than fifty yards from the alley where one of the victims had been killed. Frowning, he ducked back into the car and pulled the map of Boston out of the glove box. He knew every location by memory, every detail branded into his consciousness after he'd seen the bodies in the warehouse. He'd been there somehow, seen it happen, in one of the dreams where his brain was being hijacked by a psychotic killer. Why the bitch wanted him to watch people die, see through her eyes as she killed them, was beyond him. He figured it was all part of an elaborate mind fuck. Probably just for kicks.
"Spike?"
Spike held up one hand in a wait signal before fishing a pen out of his shirt pocket and marking dark X's where he had seen the deaths. "Here, here, here. These are the places I saw in my dreams, where the people died. Here, here." His frown deepened as he added the last mark and double-checked the address of the club. The murder sites formed a near perfect circle and sitting at the center was Dreamscape.
"Holy shit," Gage whispered.
Maybe the killer didn't even realize that they were linked somehow, that he had dreamed her picking and choosing the victims. He'd seen a hundred thousand more in older clothes, foreign clothes, from every city and walk of life that he could recall. She'd let him in to the blood soaked memories of her past and now, he was convinced that he'd found her almost by accident. He'd been reluctant to put down the locations on the map, as though it would make the dreams come to life. Now he'd stumbled into her rabbit hole and his skin was almost tingling with the anticipation of finally putting a face to the voice that had haunted him. There was just one problem now. Gage.
"Maybe this won't be such a waste of time after all." Gage glanced up and down the street before starting toward the club, pounding on the door loud enough to alert someone to their presence. During broad daylight, the building looked deserted.
Spike didn't say anything, merely shrugging and checking the badge clipped to his belt as he refolded and stowed the map. In and out, talk to the management and get Gage out of there. That was the plan. Then he would be free to come back later and find her. Sure, the case would be unsolved and the killer would never be behind bars, but he would know that she wouldn't be killing any more innocent people. Just a pile of dust was all that would be left behind by the time he was finished with the Dollhouse Killer.
The manager of Dreamscape had a irritated look on her face when she opened the door. "What do you want?"
"Detective Matthews and Detective Williams, ma'am." Gage held up his badge. "Just need to ask you and the staff a few questions."
"This is about Jake, isn't it?" She ran her fingers through limp blond hair with a sigh. "Come in then. It's a waste of your time but ask away. I'm sure Jenny's dad wants to make sure his baby is safe."
"Jenny?" Spike stepped into the cool darkness of the building.
"Jennifer Mondale. Mayor's daughter." She shrugged and motioned for them to follow her. "I've got some of the cleaning and bar staff here now, but you'll have to come back later to catch the bouncers. There's not much we can tell you. Jake's a regular. On the weird side, probably didn't have a date all through high school and isn't doing much better now that he's in college."
"How do you know he's in college?"
"He's got the look. Burning the candle at both ends. See enough of them, you get to know the signs." Ushering them into the main room, she nodded toward the bar. "Jake's been following Jenny around like a lost puppy dog for the past few weeks. She probably just wants him to get lost."
"What kind of crowd do you normally get?" Spike ran one hand down the smooth surface of the bar, watching the shadowy reflection in the bottles mimic his movements.
"All kinds, especially when classes are on. We used to get a lot more of the goth type. Black clothes, black hair, most with vampire fixations. I know a lot of the regulars and they're good people with unusual clothing tastes. Not a one of them actually thinks they're really a vampire, they just like to be open to that kind of thing. Ghosts, paranormal, that kind of stuff." Digging a bottled water out of the cooler, she politely offered them one before leaning against the bar.
"No one suspicious then." Claiming one of the bar stools, Spike sat down and continued his perusal of the surroundings. Where was she? Underground? Was there a basement? Sewer access maybe. Did the manager even know the killer was nearby? She cast a reflection so she wasn't a vampire.
"I'm pretty sure the tip you got was about Jake and it's probably just a cruel joke. But I can give you a description or you can come back tonight and see him for yourself, I'm sure he'll be here. He's just a dumb kid though." Shaking her head tiredly, she rolled the bottle of water against her temple. "I get a few of the It crowd every year, sometimes I have to tell the guys to keep their eyes out for the occasional psycho or let the bodyguards brief them before their clients show up. They say jump, I say how high on the way up. Jenny's a good kid, but she's a drama queen."
"So you're sure there's nothing to this."
"Absolutely."
"Then you won't mind if we come back tonight and ask Jake a few questions." Spike smiled, ignoring her sigh. "I promise we'll try to blend."
"A few yards of black leather, Detective and you'd fit right in. Your partner, on the other hand, screams Long Island." She waved at Gage, giving him the once over.
"Hey!" Gage grinned broadly. "I happen to be from Long Island, thank you very much. But I'll defer to my partner in this and allow him to instruct me in proper club wear."
"It's really not his fault. He was born with a bloody silver spoon in his mouth and his parents are so disappointed in him." Spike turned on the charm and winked, pleased when she seemed to relax and give them a genuine smile. "But don't worry about us, we won't ruin your business. I'm assuming you have patrons who wouldn't be happy to see the police."
"I have patrons who like to think they're on the wrong side of the law and I have a few who probably are. It's impossible to keep them all out even when you try as hard as you can. I'm more worried that Jenny Mondale and her pack of harpies will look at you two like a pair of hot fudge sundaes. The last thing you need to do your job is a bunch of prima donnas asking to see your guns and badges. The last thing I need too. They'll be screaming over every little thing to get you back here again." She raised one eyebrow at Gage's surprised expression. "Oh come on, you both look like something out of GQ and you know it."
"I guess that's a compliment. I didn't catch your name."
"Probably because I don't hand it out."
"Don't suppose you could make an exception."
"You'd probably just arrest me if I didn't. It's Marian."
Spike almost laughed when he realized that Gage was flirting. Shaking his head, he abandoned the stool to look around. Wandering past the DJ booth, he felt almost at home in the dim lights with speaker stacks in the corners and rows of theater lighting hanging from the ceiling. It was easy to picture the crowd, stomping and writhing to the rhythm of the music, bathed in the flashing lights and the heady scent of alcohol, sweat, and smoke. Almost familiar. It had been a few years since he'd hit the club circuit. Coming back later than night wouldn't have to be all about work, he could get in some of that looking he'd promised Dr. Coleman he'd do. Of course, he still had to convince Gage to stay away until he found the vampire.
"You lookin' for something?" The nasal voice cut through Spike's thoughts. A tall, muscular man was standing in the doorway wiping his hands on a dish towel.
"Just looking," Spike responded casually, pivoting just enough for the man to get a good look at the gun holster and badge.
"Hard to find something if you don't know what you're lookin' for," the dishwasher answered cryptically, tossing the towel over his shoulder and taking a step back.
"I know what I'm looking for."
"That so? Or just figuring you'll know it when you see it?" An ugly smile spread across his face.
"Maybe," Spike answered guardedly. He was beginning to think that the man was the kind who didn't show up in a mirror.
"Could be that whatever you're lookin' for, it's lookin' for you too." With a shrug, the man reached to the right and flipped a latch. Spike realized that it was a door, nearly invisible in the wall until it slipped out a fraction of an inch.
"Could be." Cautiously, he took a step toward the door, keeping an eye on the hulking brute in the hallway. The dishwasher was still grinning evilly over his shoulder as he turned around and started down the hall, disappearing into a doorway at the far end. Behind the thin panel was a set of narrow steps descending into the basement storage area.
Spike glanced back once to see that Gage was still talking with the manager before slipping into the darkness, taking the steps slowly as he crept into the shadows. The tickling sensation along his spine increased as the stairs leveled out. Feeling around for a switch, he squinted against the sudden flood of light as a bank of fluorescent lights sprung to life. Boxes of supplies and crates of liquor were stacked around the room, spread over the floor in a maze of corridors. At the far end, another door beckoned irresistibly. Padding silently through the boxes, both eyes on the door ahead, he could hear the staccato of his heartbeat as it sped up in anticipation.
The musty smell of earth and mold greeted him as he opened the door, scraping the bottom against the concrete floor loudly. Holding his breath, he listened intently for any sign that his prey had heard the sounds. Nothing but silence. Oppressive as a tomb, the air was stale and ancient, trapped beneath the surface of the earth for years, undisturbed. His footsteps were muted by the heavy layer of dust as he moved down the corridor. A tunnel. It was narrow, barely enough for two men standing shoulder to shoulder and slanted just slightly downhill. He kept his fingers on the wall to keep him oriented; it was too dark to make out anything but vague outlines of shadows as he kept walking. The tunnel turned right and then left; it became colder and darker with each step he took.
Twin slivers of light appeared around a final right turn, tall and hair-thin, he approached what he hoped was a door with one hand on his gun and the other stretched out in front of him. Rough wood met his fingertips, giving slightly as he applied pressure. He pushed harder and it drifted inward on well-oiled hinges to reveal a dimly lit room. A single light bulb hummed in the center of the underground room, illuminating several support beams and a few scattered crates. Another set of stairs. Probably an access tunnel between buildings, functioning as a supply route or a quick method of getting between two establishments. Then again, it could have been built to facilitate the movement of certain flammable patrons during the daylight hours. Curious, he stepped into the room and started toward the steps on the other side.
He felt her before he saw her.
Whirling around, his eyes caught the quick movement of metal a second before a pale arm snaked out of the darkness and 20,000 volts screamed into his side. Nerves barely registered hitting the ground as they raced to account for being hit with the stun gun. Fabric whispered softly, his eyes struggling to focus as she stepped into the dim light, electricity still crackling ominously in her hand. Tall and elegant, her raven hair was swept up into a pile of curls with tendrils trailing down her neck enticingly. Alabaster skin was wrapped in deep blue velvet and black leather, molded to her lithe body like a glove.
Ruby lips curled into a smile as she tipped her head to the side and gazed hungrily down at him. "I like this game much better."
"Miss Hawkins? Frye Birkman at your service."
For a second, Faith didn't realize the man was talking to her. Until he held out his hand expectantly and she remembered that she'd chosen the name Faith Hawkins to go along with her new life. Mustering a cautious smile, she shook his hand firmly before pulling away and stuffing her hands back into her jacket pockets awkwardly.
"They sent me to pick you up, give you the options, etc. etc." He was tall, legs stretched out impossibly long in front of him as he sat in the chair. Surrounded by the Sunnydale gang, he looked out of place with tousled brown hair that stuck out around his ears, freckles across the bridge of his nose, and an infectiously cheerful smile. Worn sneakers poked out of crisply pressed trousers as he tapped his feet to an unheard drummer and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing incongruously tanned, well-toned arms.
"Cool." Faith was already feeling awkward with everyone trailing through the airport to say goodbye.
"Don't let me rain on the Going Away Parade. You've got me for the whole flight so there's no rush." Hazel eyes sparkled playfully.
The smile she gave him was stiffly mechanical, an automatic response rather than the desire to use those muscles. Instead of talking, she turned back to the motley group of Scoobies that had collected in the terminal. Surprisingly, most of them had produced going away presents of some kind before leaving the Summers house. Nothing grand, they had insisted as they pushed and mashed everything into the brand new luggage set. It left her searching for the right thing to do, a fish out of water gasping for breath and doomed to flop around pathetically until it died. That was a morbid comparison; a stark contrast to the bright, if slightly forced, laughter of the strange group of friends.
It had all happened so fast. She'd jumped at the chance to get out of Sunnydale and actually get paid for what she would do anyway. Iverson had gone through the contract with a fine-tooth comb and explained every paragraph in more detail than Faith had wanted. But she was touched that he even cared enough to do that. Enough to ask her what she wanted. A few signatures later, there was a new identity in her hands and she could finally lay Faith Lehane to rest with the past she wanted to forget. There was barely time enough to secure a new set of clothes and the luggage to pack them in before the plane ticket arrived and the reality of her new life finally began to sink in. She wondered if this was how it felt to graduate from high school or move away to go to college. Maybe she could take a few classes, get her GED at least. Between killing monsters, there was probably time for that much. Hell, Buffy had been inching her way through a college degree for years so it had to be possible.
Dawn's hand rested lightly on her elbow, pale fingers brushing long brown hair back from her shoulder. "You know you're always welcome here."
"Yeah, I know." Time for the awkward goodbyes. Steeling herself against unwanted emotions, she plastered a half smile on her face and quickly hugged Dawn goodbye. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Like that eliminates anything." Dawn rolled her eyes as she pulled away. "But I promise not to kill anything human at least."
"Good. Unless it's Xander on one of his comic book rants and then you're totally cool to ice him."
"Ugh. Don't tempt me." Stepping back to make way for the rest of the Scoobies, Dawn took a seat to wait for the rest to say their goodbyes.
"Well, good luck and everything." Willow was bouncing a little as she stepped up to give Faith an awkward hug, enveloping the Slayer in the scent of incense and cinnamon. "Let us know if you need anything, kay?"
Faith quickly disentangled herself from the witch's arms, but managed a smile. "Thanks. For everything."
"Hey, anything for a fellow Scoob."
Red was replaced by blonde and Faith found herself staring down at her boots, wondering what she was supposed to say to Buffy. The last few weeks had been more than civil, almost friendly, and she had actually started to wonder if there would ever be a day that the tension between them would finally disappear forever.
"I'm a little jealous," Buffy said softly. "Off to see the world. All those exotic places and I'll still be stuck on the Hellmouth. Again."
Faith shrugged, glancing anywhere but Buffy's earnest face. "We sorta talked about traveling after it was all over. Spike and me. I think that he wanted to see England again."
"I'm sure he'd be glad you're leaving. Sunnydale wasn't the best place for either of you." Buffy could be so soft, so warm, when she wanted to be. It was a side that Faith had only just begun to see, the pieces of Buffy that were usually reserved for Dawn or the rest of the gang.
"Yeah." She couldn't think of anything else to say.
Buffy's hand touched her arm, warmth seeping through the jacket sleeve. "Just don't die, okay? And call if you need anything."
"Sure." Faith risked a look up, seeing the familiar smile of comfort and concern. Acting on impulse, she caught Buffy's hand before she pulled away. "If you need help. Big bad or something. Let me know."
"Thanks. We will." Her fingers tightened for a moment before she stepped back and Faith shoved her hand back in the jacket pocket. Giles had already said his goodbye, as English and Watchery as it was, and he merely nodded her directly. That left one more. Xander. Unexpectedly, she noted that the others moved away once he started toward her, putting more distance between them.
"Looks like they don't want to be in crossfire." Xander had his hands buried in his pants pockets.
"Worried over nothing then. That little pocket rocket of yours would probably take me on if I tried anything." Faith felt her face flush and winced. "I meant Jane. Not in a sex way at all. Shit. I'm just going to fuck this up."
"Hey, it's cool. And that's a pretty accurate description of her. Referring to her size, of course." The smile was familiar even if it had been years since she'd seen it.
"Yeah, well. I think I've heard it all. Call if you need anything, don't die, yada, yada. And my flight's ready to board, so why don't we just skip to the handshake or whatever we're supposed to do and call it good." She blushed deeper when she realized that she was rambling, unable to meet Xander's gaze. There was no animosity or hostility in his face and that surprised her.
"I just hope you know that they all meant it. There're not just the words you tell people before they fly away and never come back." He shook his head when she opened her mouth to protest. "I'm not saying you should come back and no one really expects you to. There are a lot of memories in this place and sometimes it's hard to make new ones when you're surrounded by all the ghosts. Besides, lots of places need a Slayer like you."
She smiled in spite of herself. "Like me?"
"I know it makes you uncomfortable, the whole talking thing. Especially with me, for some unknown reason that both of us will take to the grave rather than talk about like civilized adults. But there's one thing I wanted to tell you." Even with her jaw clenched tightly to keep any sound from escaping, the breath caught in her throat as he pulled her tightly against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. His voice was tender, whispering against her hair. "It'll get easier, I promise. You'll always wonder what it would be like if he was there, with you. But it gets easier."
Closing her eyes tightly, she buried her face against the soft cloth of his t-shirt and swallowed back the shaky tears that were hell-bent on embarrassing her further. It was comfort, pure and unconditional comfort, and just for a moment, she let him comfort her. Before she pushed away firmly and tried to give him a real smile, because he knew how she felt.
"Thanks, Xander." Then it was awkward, shuffling feet and hmm-hawing a sloppy goodbye.
There was a lot of waving as she draped the strap of the duffle bag over her shoulder and forced herself to make her way to the terminal. Concentrating on the tennis shoes of the unflappable Frye Birkman, she managed to get through the crowds of people and give her ticket to the right maroon vested woman with too much hairspray and eye make-up. Luggage checked and only the duffle at her side, she bumped down the narrow aisle of the 767, following Birkman automatically and hoping that their seats were together. Ridiculous, of course, since he was just as much of a stranger as anyone else on the flight.
"You look nervous. Don't like to fly?" He nodded toward a bank of seats. "Take the window if you want. I'll get your bag."
"Thanks." She kept her voice cool, unwilling to let him know how grateful she was for the offer. The chance to get away from strangers' eyes and be safely hidden, anonymous, among the upholstered seats. Squeezing past him, she buckled herself in quickly and turned her face to the window, staring bleakly out at the tarmac.
"This plane lands in New York and where you go after that is up to you. The options are almost limitless actually. We have teams in most of the major cities of the world." Frye buckled in next to her, his long legs at angles to keep his knees from bumping the seat in front of him. "If you want to stay stateside, there are a few dozen teams who'd love to have you."
It was a strange feeling to be wanted, coveted. To be the sought after commodity. The teams didn't care that she wasn't Buffy, only that she was one of the three Slayers and that she was possibly going to work with them. Dragging her gaze from the narrow window, she tried to pay attention to what he was saying. Places she could go and build a new life; the whole world had opened up to her and she felt like a child stepping out into reality for the first time, unprepared and frightened. But anything was better than Sunnydale and gradually, tiny butterflies of excitement began to flutter inside her stomach.
"I can tell you where I'd want you to go, if that means anything to you." She wasn't sure if there was any double meaning hidden in his words, couldn't read his hazel eyes or pick any nuances out of his smooth baritone voice. "Boston. We've got our hands full there and a Slayer could really make a difference."
"Boston," she repeated dumbly. "I grew up in Boston." In half the time. She'd hit the street after her mother had woken up one morning following a drunken binge and demanded to know who she was, what she was doing in the house. A few days later she met her first Watcher and the rest was all part of the same hazy nightmare.
"Even better. You already know the ropes and you can get right in. I gotta tell you, Boston's the place to be right now." Frye glanced around quickly as the plane began to taxi down the runway. "You all right?"
"Fine," Faith answered shortly, shying away from his concern.
"I run command central for the Boston group, keep everyone connected and the info fresh off the press. We've been tracking rumors of a vampire taking over the underground for the few years, but we don't have much on him. Calls himself a Master."
"They all do," she added dryly.
He gave her a lopsided grin as he nodded. "The guy's an eel. He's got connections and an army of minions besides. We think he's actually someone pretty high up in the Boston social scene. Far as we can tell, he's definitely living in the now. We've traced restaurants, dance clubs, bars, shipping companies, and storage warehouses. All fronts for him, run by people he controls and I'm pretty sure it doesn't stop there. It probably goes all the way to the Mayor."
"It usually is the Mayor."
"I heard Sunnydale had a bad one a few years back."
Faith turned away and hoped that was enough to end the conversation. "You could say that."
"Anyway, if that doesn't peak your interest, we've got someone else who might. She's one of the most unique vampires we've come across. Special Ops tracked her halfway across the globe and she's settled in Boston for the time being, killed a few people and made a few headlines. Crazy as a loon. They say she has at least one Slayer to her name."
"Drusilla," Faith murmured softly, it could only be her. "Just one Slayer. Kendra."
"Good to know." He shifted in the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. "We've got a few files on her. Where she came from, that kind of thing. Gotta say, I'm glad I wasn't in Europe when all four of them were still together. Angelus, Darla, Drusilla, and William the Bloody. Can you imagine?"
She stared down at her hands. "I never met Darla or Dru, but I know Angel pretty well."
"Now that he's got a soul. That's some seriously twisted stuff. I guess Darla's been dust twice now, according to the file, and William the Bloody disappeared a few years ago. Until you found him."
Wincing, she unconsciously reached for the scars on her wrists, rubbing them nervously.
He regarded her somberly for a moment. "Hell, if I'd killed the vampire who'd taken out two Slayers, I'd be bragging about it to everyone I met."
"You didn't know him," she spat fiercely.
"Okay, okay. No problem." For a moment, he was silent, watching her intently. "Did he give you those scars?"
"What?" Faith glanced down at her hands, noticed that she was tracing the pale skin banded around her wrists. "No. He saved my life. Don't talk about him, please."
"Oh. Guess I don't know much about it."
"You don't know anything about him." She rested her head against the seat and watched the land drift by below them, peeking out of the fluffy white clouds.
"Right. Back to business then." He pulled a briefcase out of the overhead bin and sat back down. "Here's a list of places you can go."
"Boston," she responded quickly. "I'm going to Boston."
"Great." Shuffling through the contents of the case, he dug out a thick manilla packet. "Everything you'll need is in there. I've got a car waiting for me at the airport so I'll drop you off. Apartment keys, car keys, spending money until you get an account set up, and all the documentation you'll need. You'll have to furnish the place by yourself, of course, but it's pretty swank."
The packet was heavy, sitting in her lap like a lead weight. Did she really want to go to Boston? Back home to the old stomping grounds where there were more ghosts and demons than real, human memories. Back to where it had all started. Maybe she could finally put them to rest and leave them behind her. Spike would be proud of her, even encourage her to face the past. And there was Drusilla. She couldn't deny that she wanted to meet the vampire who had held Spike's heart for a hundred years; she wanted to ask her a few questions, wanted to hear stories of what her dark warrior had been before Sunnydale and the chip. On the plus side, if the vampire Master who'd set himself up to rule Boston actually turned out to be someone high up, the Mayor even, maybe she could make up for her own alliance with Mayor Wilkins by preventing another Mayor Wilkins. Maybe.
Welcome to adulthood, Faith, she told herself amusedly as she fiddled with the edges of the packet. No more little girl. She would be part of a team and there would be people depending on her, innocents needing to be saved. Slayers had responsibilities. Determined to tune out the man beside her and hoping to get some sleep, she closed her eyes and curled against the seat. The steady thrum of the engine was soothing in her ears, vibrations lulling her into a semi relaxed state as the bright clouds wisped by her window.
By the time the world stopped moving, Spike had a pretty good idea what airline luggage felt like. After being trussed up like a turkey, blind folded and thrown over the shoulder of what had to be another vampire, he was carried, dragged, and finally dumped unceremoniously into another basement. All the while, the crazy bitch with the tazer was humming and singing nursery rhymes.
"Hey," Spike protested as his arms were yanked roughly behind him and secured to a support pillar. "I bruise easily." His only response was a grunt and the tightening of the rope around his wrists.
"You have been a bad, bad boy," came the sing-song voice of the psychotic vampire. "Running away from mummy, hiding away where she couldn't find you."
"Give the old bird my apologies." Spike twisted, trying to decide where her voice was coming from. Her laughter was a soft alto rumble, bubbly like a schoolgirl, and he felt the cold touch of her fingers against his cheek.
"They tried to keep you from me, my dark knight. Buried you away so you wouldn't know me." Fingernails scratched lightly down his neck. "But the stars whispered it to me…told me where to find you. To bring you home."
"I don't suppose anyone has told you that you don't make a whit of sense, luv," Spike answered wryly. "Be a doll and take the blindfold off."
He was surprised when she complied, icy fingers moving behind his head to untie the scarf and pull it away from his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he immediately sought her out and tried to soak in every detail of her face. Blue eyes, smooth skin without a mark or scar anywhere to be seen. She was wearing heavy eyeliner and mascara, giving her eyes a smoky look. The voice, he knew from the dreams. He was amused to discover that she didn't make any more sense in real life than she did in her inflicted hallucinations. Strangely enough, he realized that he wasn't afraid of her.
"You were supposed to play." Her eyes were far away, looking into her own world. "But you didn't stay until the end and the curtain fell without you. Ruined all the fun, couldn't read all the lines."
"All very well, I'm sure." The ropes were snug, rubbing only slightly against his skin as he tested their strength.
"Supposed to burn in sunlight, swallowed up into the earth, you were. I saw it playing across the moon." Long dark lashes fluttered as she shifted, leather and velvet stretching around her curves. "You burned up in the heavens instead and they buried you away, sent you back to mend and patch."
"Lovely." He wasn't actually listening to her madness, twisting his hands slowly as he tried to find a weakness in his bonds. The knot was thick and clumsy, gradually working loose under his teasing fingers.
"Dug and dug into the earth and dirt until I found you." One hand slipped through his hair, tangling into the curls. "To bring you back where the Slayer can't touch you, make you my Spike again."
His ears caught on the word again and for the first time, she had his undivided attention. "What are you talking about?" he asked uneasily.
"We'll be a family again. I'll be grandmum and you'll be Daddy."
"You keep saying that word…again."
"Poor little Spike. Doesn't remember. Can't find himself. So lost." She smiled as she kissed his cheek lightly. "Don't worry. Mummy will make it all better again."
"And there's that word." Spike tried to pull away from her. That's when he saw them. A pair of brown boots lying on the cold, stone floor. Feeling as though he'd been doused with ice water, his veins suddenly frozen and stiff, he strained against the ropes as he tried to see what was behind her. Brown boots met cuffs of stone washed blue jeans leading up to the faded plaid button up shirt. A Boston PD badge shone faintly from the belt.
"See? We're a family already." She pulled away from him, moving smoothly along the ground to cradle Gage's deathly pale face in her arms.
"Oh God. No." His lungs refused to expand, bound by a weight he couldn't see or feel. Couldn't breathe. Not Gage. Please, not Gage. Hot tears flooded the back of his eyes when he saw the blood on his partner's lips. He should have told him, should have warned him. Done something, anything to prepare him or at least get him out of harm's way. Beside him, half hidden in the shadows, he saw the limp body of the club manager also stained with blood at her neck and lips.
"All we need is a new Daddy. Our Daddy is lost forever." She pressed a gentle kiss onto Gage's forehead before settling him back onto the ground and returning to Spike's side. "No tears, my William, we'll be happy again."
He hadn't realized he was crying, his eyes locked on the bodies as his mind refused to believe that Gage was gone. Forever. Or at least until he rose again with fangs and bloodlust coursing through dead veins Until he crawled out of the basement and began murdering the very people he had sworn to protect and serve. His throat constricted, cutting off air and forcing him to gasp painfully.
"Mummy will make the pain go away." The vampire whispered into his ear. He could feel her lips against his skin and felt the moment that her face shifted, ridges rising out of smooth skin and fangs slipping past to rub against his neck.
Screaming silently in defiance, he pulled hard against the ropes and tried to shoulder her away from him. It didn't fucking matter what she did to him, if she turned him into a vampire or not, but he wasn't going to let that happen to Gage. Couldn't let that happen. Strong hands took hold of his shoulders and pinned him to the support beam.
"Bad Spike," she cooed.
"Crazy bitch."
The curse dissolved into a hiss as her fangs sunk into his skin. He could feel her sucking his blood through the wounds, hear it slipping past her teeth and down her throat. Everything came crashing back, brutally forcing its way through his consciousness. Blood, death, pain. Memories. Not hers but his. He shook violently against the onslaught of images and sensation that dragged him down into the heart of a world that he had only just discovered. Vampire. Vampire with a chip. He didn't look like a vampire named Spike. He was Spike. A hundred and thirty years pounded into his brain, mixed with a scattering of life. William's memories. Bloody awful poetry, Cecily. Angelus, Angel. Sunnydale, the Initiative. Buffy Summers.
Oh God.
He wanted to throw up.
Cutting through the haze of the past was the realization that someone was screaming. Drusilla. He was thrown to the side with the force of her pushing away from him, clutching her throat and howling with pain. Her lips and chin were burnt, red and blistering as she frantically tried to wipe away his blood. Straining against the ropes, he pulled desperately at the knot until he felt it give and the ropes slipped free. There was nothing he could do for Gage, he was already gone. He moved cautiously toward Drusilla. She was curled into a ball in the corner, whimpering and sobbing.
"Dru…luv." His voice sounded strange in his ears. Raw, accented. Touching her shoulder lightly, he winced when she looked up at him with wet eyes. The skin of her lips had burned away, leaving a garish, skull-like smile red with blood and scorched flesh.
"Spike." The word was harsh, mangled by the damage to her mouth and throat. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to cover the grotesque wound with her hands. "Look what you've done," she whispered, her voice shaking with pain. She held out her hands to him; cracks were appearing in her pale skin, spider webbing over her fingers and up her arms. Flakes of gray, dead, skin began to fall away as she trembled. "You've poisoned me."
"I'm sorry. Dru." And he was.
His broken apology was barely audible, buried by the sounds of her crying. Her hands crumbled when he reached for them, collapsing into dust in his fingers. It kept spreading, turning her to ash in his arms. He struggled to hold on to her, his own tears slipping down his cheeks and staining them with her. Blue eyes were wide and sad, the last piece of her to turn gray and disappear into the hollow of her skull a moment before it fell to pieces. He choked on the dust, his hands and arms coated with it. Drained and in shock, he stumbled away from the corner where she had died. His mind was dazed, spinning in circles as he looked around.
There was a pile of packing crates full of paper goods stacked along the wall. Pulling the top crate off of the tower, he hurled it toward the far wall and watched it burst apart, splintering and scattering its contents as it impacted the wall. He found two workable stakes sifting through the debris and numbly crossed the room back to his partner's body. Iron feet and leaden legs dragged, unwilling to move and refusing to bend. Fingers wouldn't close tight enough around the wood, wouldn't grip, wouldn't do what they needed to do. The woman was easier, reaching out with a quick jab that would keep her safely in the ground. Gage's skin was cold to the touch, his body heavy in spite of the loss of blood as Spike lifted his head and shoulders onto his lap. Trembling, he smoothed away a lock of sandy hair, remembering how it would fall into his eyes and the way Gage would go cross-eyed a moment before he brushed it away and laughed about needing a haircut.
"Remember that time you stapled your jacket to the desk?" His voice quavered in the heavy quiet. "Don't know if that was even real, mate. Maybe all those memories of you, being human, being a cop. Maybe those are the lies." He had to close his eyes. Couldn't watch as the stake pierced ribs and skin to drive through Gage's dead heart. The sound was unexpected. Wood ripping through flesh, lukewarm blood oozing up against his hand and threatening to turn his stomach inside out. Why did it have to be Gage?
"Maybe the rest are lies. Maybe Spike is the lie." The words were hollow, echoing through the room as he stroked Gage's hair softly. "I just wanted to protect you." Tears blurred his vision, coming back instantly when he tried to blink them away. "God, I just wanted you to be safe." Finally breaking down, he pulled the body into his arms and sobbed quietly against blood stained skin. "I'm sorry, so sorry, so sorry."
When he had no tears left, his eyes raw and painfully dry, he sunk back against the wall and stared into space. There was dust on his clothes, blood on his skin. That was all that was left of people he had loved, people who had loved him. His brain wasn't functioning enough to do more than replay the events over and over again, searching for a way he could have changed things. If he'd found Dru sooner, if he'd gone looking for her instead of cowering in his feared insanity. If he hadn't just brushed them off as dreams or hallucinations. If he'd known. But he hadn't known that they were real and that his dreams were a hideous mixture of Dru's escapades and his own memories. He really had killed those people. Some of them at least. It was almost as sickening as the sliver of wood sticking garishly out of Gage's chest. Traumatic enough to keep his thought pattern in a permanent loop of avoidance, searching for an escape, a way to explain away the hundred plus years of memories that now lay bare and festering.
There was nothing but pain and more pain. Vaguely he registered that the dates didn't match up, that there was still a gap in his memories from then and now. Bitterly, he dismissed it, not caring how he had gotten from Sunnydale to Boston or what he had been doing in that empty space. Judging from his past, he'd found a way to get the chip removed and started killing people again. He couldn't explain his memories of a human life. Of Davis Williams' life. Of friends and family he wasn't even sure really existed. How had his heart started beating again?
"Doesn't matter now, does it?" he asked the empty room dully, motioning to the bodies and pile of dust. "Killing people even when I'm not a vampire. Trying not to kill people and still do a bang-up job of it."
Footsteps sounded in his ears but he didn't move. If it was more vampires, let them come. He'd show them what it really meant to be a Master vampire. Now that he had the added bonus of poison blood - he couldn't even begin to explain that one - the odds were heavily in his favor. He kept his eyes on the door, watching disinterestedly as the footsteps came closer and eventually the wooden panels exploded inward. Men in SWAT style uniforms with guns in their hands and stakes on their belts filed into the room. He greeted them with a hollow laugh.
"Bit late for the party."
"We're looking for a vampire." One of the men stepped forward to check both of the bodies. "Long dark hair, blue eyes. Nutty as a fruitcake."
Spike leaned back against the wall, nodding toward the corner. "Pile of dust."
"You killed her?" The man looked up in disbelief.
"Yeah. I killed her." It was hard to say, words sticking in his throat as he tried to force them out. "She turned them. Manager of the place upstairs and," his voice broke. "And my partner."
"We'll take care of the bodies, sir."
Spike watched as the man respectfully closed the sightless eyes of the two dead bodies and nodded his thanks. "FBI?"
"Not exactly." He glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the team moved in and out of the room. "We've been following the vampire, Drusilla, for a few years now. South America, Europe. She finally came back to the states a month ago and we've been trying to track her down."
So that was why the FBI hadn't gotten involved; the world wasn't as clueless as it pretended to be. He almost started laughing again as he remembered the Sunnydale PD saying it wasn't their jurisdiction. Buffy would probably have a fit if she realized they knew all about her and stayed away from suspicious cases on purpose. No more cursing their incompetence and disappearing acts, they were merely making way for the professionals.
"We think she was convinced to come back by the vampire who's trying to gain control of the city. At least the demon underground." The soldier holstered his gun and shifted into a crouch. "It was possible that she could have led us to him."
Spike raised one eyebrow mockingly. "Sorry to fuck up your plans."
"I'm sorry we didn't bag her soon enough to save your partner," he countered sympathetically. "But we will catch the monster who brought her here."
He wanted to get out of there, but his limbs wouldn't move. It wasn't until more men showed up with body bags that he realized he would eventually have to leave, that he couldn't stay in the room and let the world pass by without him. There was a human life waiting for him. A job, an apartment. They would be empty now but he was still expected to show up, to catch murderers and solve crimes. It seemed so petty to track down idiots with guns and knives when there were real monsters roaming the streets in search of blood and life.
"We'll handle everything from here on out, Mister?"
"Williams. Davis Williams, Boston Homicide."
"Can we take you to the hospital? You should get that taken care of."
Spike touched the bloody wound on his neck, drying and congealing into a sticky mess where Drusilla had bitten him. She'd tried to turn him back into a vampire so she could have a family again. His Angelus to her Darla, emulating the twisted family they had before the curse. How thoughtful of her to include Gage, his only human friend in more than a hundred and thirty years. Maybe his entire existence.
"Detective Williams?"
"I'm alright," Spike answered, stiffly getting to his feet. He had a hundred questions waiting to be answered. The one question he did not have was what he was going to do now. He knew that answer with more certainty than he had ever felt in his life. Gage was dead and someone was going to pay for it.
"Thank you for coming." Spike's smile was strained and he was fighting the British accent with every syllable. Another hand to shake and another stranger to thank for being there, for wandering around the room and looking into a casket to see his dead partner.
"He was a good man," the anonymous lady told him somberly.
"The best," Spike agreed automatically. On to the next idiot with only hollow condolences that meant nothing when compared to the fact that Gage would never open his eyes again.
"He would be proud of you." This face and voice was familiar. Gage's father, Daniel Matthews, took Spike's hand in a bear grip and placed one hand on his shoulder. "He knew what he was signing up for, that it wasn't just a game. You caught the bad guy. I'm sure he's at peace." The man's voice was thick with emotion, swallowing once before heading back into the crowd of people to deal with his own grief and explain to family members.
Explain. As though anyone could explain why Gage was dead.
The official story was that Spike and Gage had found the Dollhouse Killer. Detective Matthews had been lost in the line of duty. Spike had been injured, but had managed to kill the sociopath terrorizing the city. The good people of Boston could sleep soundly at night once more. Except, of course, for the newspaper hero who spent his nights either staring at the bottom of a whiskey bottle and chain smoking or skulking through the shadows and killing every undead monster he could get his hands on.
"Spike." Lieutenant Merritt's deep bass voice shattered his thoughts. A former Seal and bald as a cue ball, the Lieutenant cut an imposing figure of broad shoulders and muscular torso. There were tattoos on his biceps that he kept carefully hidden from anyone beyond the force, relics of his younger, wilder days. Grey eyes were characteristically intense, with a sadness that was unusual. "I thought it was a goose chase or I never would have sent you without back up."
Spike appreciated the statement and only shook his head automatically. "Can't predict those things. Part of the job."
"I should have. That's part of my job."
Their conversation was cut short by more viewers and a couple of reporters who were risking their very lives just by being there. It took every ounce of Spike's control to keep from snapping their necks or at least smashing their cameras and shoving their ballpoints through their eye sockets. Where was a railroad spike when you needed one?
Merritt caught Spike's attention once more. "I want you to take some time off. Talk to Dr. Coleman, do some thinking. Just relax. You put in a request for a week, take three or four. Whatever it takes."
"Sir."
"Just do it, Williams. These things take time and I can't use you if you're off your game. You know that." His voice softened and he smiled sadly. "I don't want to lose both of you."
Spike nodded, working at the lump in his throat as he watched the Lieutenant weave through the crowd.
A vacation would be nice. Drive up and down the Appalachians for real this time, do some camping. Pick up a few souvenirs. Crack a few skulls. Dusting vampires in Boston had given him too high of a profile. If he had any hope of catching the Master pulling the strings, he had to come in through the back door. That meant he'd have to lie low and do more thinking than killing. As smart as the undead bastard was, he would still make mistakes and all Spike had to do was be patient. Waiting wouldn't be easy but it would be worth it.
Gage was worth it.