Chapter Nine

Now in my corner, I've got the ceiling in my eyes,

Arms holding up my knees, and rocking back and forth's my life...

Dawn became aware that she was on her stomach on a stone floor. She squinted, even before she opened her eyes, wondering, before anything else, where Spike was. Spike. She formed the word on her suddenly dry lips. "Spike," she croaked, rolling onto her back.

Something was wrong. It was too bright in here. As her focus returned, Dawn realized with sinking annoyance more than anything else, that she was not on the floor of the crypt with Spike. The next thing she realized was that there was, however, a vampire leering down at her.

With a yelp, she scrambled back on her hands, finding a wall against which to cower as the vampire straightened. His face reverted to its human form, but he retained his leer.

"Don't worry, pumpkin," he grinned, "if I's wanted to eat kiddies, I's wouldn't be ere." He sat himself down on the stone floor opposite her. "I's here for the same reason's you."

"You're a prisoner?" Dawn asked, her eyes darting frantically around the room for something with which to defend herself. There was nothing. Not a stick of furniture or free lump of stone. The room was completely bare.

"Prisoner?" The vampire laughed. "No, blimey, no!" He chuckled through his thick Cockney accent. "I's was oppin along, mindin me own bloody business, when this bloke, what with a white shirt comes along, pops me on the ead." He made a motion simulating the blow to the head. "So I's wakes up and says to m'self, 'Right Charlie, it's time to off this bugger,' but I's finds m'self ere, with not a drop o' blood in the ole damn place!"

"So you are a prisoner," Dawn concluded.

"Now hang on," Charlie answered, "I's wasn't finished. So I's sits here for weeks on end, not so much as a 'ow d'you do mate?' left ere to rot, I's was. When up come this bloke, what knocked me on the ead, and he says to me 'Right, Charlie, it's been six days, an' you've not ad a drop o' blood. If you can go another five days, I'll give you a soul, and you can eat as many feller's as you like. But if you eat so much as a rat between now an' then, I'll keep the soul, an' cut you into five undred pieces before's I stake you.'" Charlie was quite involved in his retelling of the story. "So I says to m'self, I says 'Charlie, ol' boy, it's painful death or a soul, wha'cha gonna do?' An' it was about that time that the first o' you lot started showin' up." He indicated Dawn's person. "An' let me tell you, I ad a helluva time fightin' off the urge to devour each'n every one've ya. But I did it, and three days ago, I's got m'soul. An' it feels better'n ever. So old bloke he's been kind enough to let me stay, snackin' on pigs n' sheep and whatnot, to train me so's not to eat people."

"Why do you stay?" Dawn asked, feeling somewhat less endangered now that she had heard the story into which Charlie had apparently put a lot of effort.

"Because, pumpkin," he grinned, "now as I've got a soul, if I eat somebody an' old bloke out there ears about it, I'll be dead, but not permanent-like dead, the soul e gave me'll spend eternity in some fire pit."

Dawn was silent for a long moment, which, as Charlie's grin faded, became more and more awkward. "Well," she said at last. "Best of luck with that. I'm totally in support of the vampire-with-a-soul thing," she forced a grin onto her face. There was not a trace of fear left in her as she rested her aching back against the stone wall. Frankly, the novelty of teleportation had worn off a while ago.

"Thanks, pumpkin, I's appreciates at," Charlie's grin returned.

Dawn looked about the room as if for the first time. It was made of rough hewn stone, as if built by not too competent stone masons during a time when creativity went unrewarded. There was a small wooden door at one end of the room and a slit of a window at the other.

Dawn at first wanted to look out the window to see where she was, but decided against it, in favor of resting against the wall.

Hours passed as she drifted in and out of sleep, to the sounds of Charlie alternately whistling off-key to himself, or trying to sing softly, also horribly off-key.

An undetermined amount of time had passed when Dawn shifted onto her left side, pulling her left arm up to cushion her head. She frowned as a slight tingling sensation burned at the crook of her elbow. She sat up and was about to roll up her sleeve when she realized what it was: the scars of her first vampire bite. She rubbed at them absently through her sleeve and laid back down, trying to get comfortable; a difficult task on the uneven stone floor.

Soon, however, it became apparent that no amount of shifting would allow her to ignore the very clear and vivid itch that originated deep inside her elbow. She gripped the arm tightly with her right hand, trying to conceal this from Charlie on the other side of the room, while still trying to get comfortable enough to sleep away her imprisonment.

After about ten minutes, the itching had spread up and down her arm, and was now accompanied by an acute crawling sensation under her skin all over her body. It took her several uneasy minutes to realize what was happening. She was going through withdrawal. She had never really thought about the effects posing as a blood junkie might cause. She certainly never expected this kind of discomfort. She shifted anxiously around, against the wall, finally deciding on a position facing away from Charlie, in case her eyes became bloodshot, she reasoned.

She remained completely motionless for some minutes, at first trying to analyze the effects she was undergoing. Her bones felt too small. her skin felt like it was crawling off her flesh. Her heart became loud in her ears, pattering fast and shallow. Her stomach eventually felt as though it would turn itself inside out.

She was unable to pretend like everything was okay when the shivering started. She sat up again, pulling her sweater tight around her, sinking her neck into her collar, unable to stop the quivering of her muscles. She clenched her jaw tight as the effect reached her teeth. She closed her eyes, miserable.

Dawn huddled there, her knees up to her chest, her arms crossed as though it were twenty degrees below zero. She breathed quickly, her little gasps almost coming in time with the knotting in her stomach; the jerking of her gut. She sat there for endless hours, in her mind, the amazement of the speed at which these symptoms had overcome her now gone completely. She called on every reserve of will to ignore this, to fight it, and finally, to give in to it.

The thought blazed through her mind like a brush-fire. Ask him. Let him bite you. Her stomach twisted at the thought. Twisted even more than it was already twisting. Some back corner of her mind squeaked that if he bit her, then these symptoms would come back again in a few days, worse than they were now. That voice was buried by the sudden wave of nausea that washed over her. She doubled over, onto her hands and knees, fighting the urge to dry heave. She could feel the cold sweat on her forehead. She could feel the hand on her shoulder as Charlie said something. Something she couldn't hear through the ringing and pounding in her ears.

"Pumpkin?" His words sounded in agonizing slow motion in her mind, as deep as his voice was, it scored across her eardrum, stabbing into her head like an icepick. She moaned in response.

The thought was still there, dominating all the others. Ask him. Let him help you. The thought was so reasonable. So practical. So perfectly sane that Dawn was sure for a moment that this was her conscience speaking, that this was the voice of right and good. Then the squeaking voice in the deeper, darker recesses spoke up again, screaming at her not to do it.

"Charlie," she managed to say through chattering teeth, she had to intentionally slow down the words as they came out of her mouth, "I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

He had pulled her to a sitting position against the wall and was now looking at her intently. "Sure, pumpkin, anythin' to elp. You sick with somethin'?"

"Sort of," she said, nothing but urgency driving her mind. With a pale, clammy, shaking hand, she rolled up her left sleeve to reveal the two small pin pricks. At this moment, the squeaking voice was shrieking as loud as it could for her to stop. She ignored it, concentrating on the delicate operation of phrasing the question to follow. "Could you?" She asked, offering her arm to him. "Would you, please?" she added, an edge of desperation tinting her voice.

Charlie at first looked confused, glancing from her pale sweat covered face to her arm. Then understanding dawned on him and a serious, saddened look filled his eyes. "Oh, now... pumpkin," he began, backing away from her. "You don't really want tha' do you?" He asked.

"I need it," Dawn pleaded. "I'll die if you don't help me. Please!"

"But.. But," Charlie continued, fighting the temptation himself, "but I'm a changed man! I's don't do that no more. Pig's blood's all I'll eat," he explained, weakly.

"Charlie, please," Dawn begged, "I'm asking you, please help me. I can't stand this feeling!" She collapsed forward again, supporting herself with one arm, offering the other to him.

Charlie looked like he was in severe pain as he backed away, until he found himself again the wall. "I can't," he defended, "if ol' bloke catches me, e'll kill me!"

"I'll take responsibility," Dawn gasped through the breath of nausea. "If you don't help me," she croaked, "you'll be killing me."

Charlie thought about this, then started forward. He slowly squatted by the girl who collapsed onto her stomach, her eyes closed. He took her left arm, hesitantly at first, and brought it to his mouth. He inhaled deeply.