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Part
2: Blood & Rhetoric
Section
2.2: Empty
NOTES: All
sections of Part 2 take place immediately before Normal
Again.
All song lyrics in Part 2 are from "Psycho
Killer," Talking Heads, 1977.
I
can't seem to face up to the
facts
I'm tense and nervous and I
Can't relax
I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire
Don't touch me I'm a real live wire…
“You want to know something about yourself, Spike? It’s pretty interesting,
really.”
Warren tries once again to wind a wad of noodles around the chopsticks. Most
of them wriggle back into the carton but he manages to get a few into his mouth.
A couple land on the front of his shirt en route. He picks them off distractedly
with his fingers and drops them into his mouth. Stupid chopsticks.
He looks up at the vampire who is sitting against the wall, legs splayed out
before him, hands lying listlessly in his lap. He’s looking better now… kinda.
Not so much like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. A little more like… oh… the
emaciated corpse of a disaster victim, maybe. Yesterday, Warren had even noticed
a trace of blood beading up in the gouges around his face where he’d freaked
out and scratched at himself during the upload. Good sign. Means things are circulating
again. He’s probably starting to heal now. Still a far cry from Mister Big
Bad Vampire With the Big Black Coat. The way he looks now, Warren can't believe
he had ever been afraid of him. I mean, come on, how could he have ever let himself
be intimidated by this guy? Completely harmless. The coat is wadded in a ball
nearby. Spike had begun using it as a pillow these last few days. Adapting to
his situation. Another good sign.
The prisoner’s head is tilted back against the wall as he attempts to affect
an air of boredom. Warren knows better. The eyes are a dead giveaway. The vampire's
gaze is focused with deep interest on the cooler at Warren's side. Has been since
he'd brought it in and set it down beside him. This has become their little dinner
routine now. Warren brings in the cooler. Lets him see it there. Lets him think
about what's inside. Makes himself comfortable. Then they have a little talk.
Well… mostly Warren talks. Spike listens. Over the last few days, the vampire
has learned to pay attention. Has learned not to interrupt. He has learned to
respond when it is expected of him. And then, when Warren is finished speaking,
if he is satisfied that Spike has behaved, he will take out the bag of blood
and toss it into the cage. Most of the time, Spike behaves.
Warren smiles.
"That little piece of silicon in your brain. It's a pretty complex little
piece of technology. You should feel special."
Spike doesn't react. Too bad. Must not feel special.
"Whoever put it in there designed it to be a hell of a lot more than a shock
collar, that's for sure. Only it looks like they didn't get to mess around with
it too much. Like maybe they were interrupted."
He stops and studies Spike for a moment. Again, no reaction.
"So who was it, exactly." Warren leans in a bit, eyes glinting. "Did
you kill ‘em?"
Sharp blue eyes shift momentarily from the cooler to Warren. Something flickers
there for a second. Warren senses it. Something like recognition. The vampire
is peering into him. Uncomfortable he looks down at his Chow Mein; begins to
wrestle with the chopsticks again. When he looks up again, Spike has returned
his attention to the cooler.
When the vampire speaks it is not to Warren but to the blood, "Government
blokes. Dunno really. No."
"No, you didn't kill them?"
Another pause. "No."
"Well, what happened, then?"
"Got away."
"That's it? You just… got away?"
"Pretty much."
"How long did they have you?"
"Dunno. Few days."
“A few days, huh?” Warren cocks his head at the vampire and grins. "So… how
long have I had you?"
No response.
Warren waits for Spike to raise his gaze once again from the cooler. He indicates
it with a glance of his own. "How long? You know, just an offhand estimate."
Spike manages to hold out for awhile before finally lowering his eyes, defeated.
"Longer."
"It's only been, like, a month, Buffy. I wouldn't worry about it. I mean,
you know how Spike is and…"
Buffy interrupts with a strained laugh and stares into her mocha.
"A-and this thing with Xander," Tara continues, "With– with
the wedding and everything… you know he's okay too, wherever he is. He probably
just needs some time away, you know, to sort things out…"
"Tara, I… I think…" Buffy's voice drops to a whisper, "…I
think I killed him…"
"You think you killed Xander?"
Buffy furrows her brow. "What– No! Spike! I think I killed Spike!"
"What? Why… why would you think that?"
Buffy just looks at her, eyes glistening and desperate. |
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