| |
Part
3: Blood & Love
Section
3.2: Dead Weight Hollow
inside I was hollow inside
But I couldn't find out what the reason was
Why I was
Hollow inside Hollow inside Hollow inside
Why I was
Hollow inside Hollow inside Hollow inside…
– Hollow Inside
Buzzcocks, 1979
“Dammit!” Warren kicks the Playstation out of his way as he paces.
Jonathan and Andrew both freeze and emit synchronized whimpers as it crashes
against the wall and shatters, spilling its electronic innards on the floor. “Do
we have everything?”
“All of the… uh… essentials… I guess…” Andrew answers,
looking wistfully at the rows of action figures Warren has ordered them to leave
behind.
“Except for the Playstation.” Jonathan adds under his breath.
“Good. Lets roll.” He pauses and marches up to the Big Board, double-checking
the trap. It’s a go. He scrawls the words “Too Late!” and turns
to face the others. “Well, what are you guys waiting for? To the escape
pod.”
They each grab a final box and hurry up the stairs and out the door.
“So… what are we gonna do now?” Andrew asks once they’re
in the van. Warren is standing over the body sprawled on the floor, scowling
down at it.
Warren sighs. Things aren’t exactly going according to plan. They had been
able to retrieve Spike by summoning the Fyarl demons as a distraction, but that
was the only thing that had actually worked out last night. Their security had
been compromised and so far, the vamp had turned out to be pretty useless. He
aims a frustrated kick at the vampire’s ribs. His foot connects with a hollow
thud, but the body doesn’t even move. Even more useless now. The shock for
a kill command must have been a bit too severe for the vampire’s brain to
be able to handle. He had programmed the parameters with a healthy vamp in mind.
He should have known that a vamp in Spike’s condition would overload. Oh
well. That’s why they call it a prototype. Now he knows. Next time he chips
a vampire, he’ll have to start feeding it again a bit sooner. This vamp
hadn’t been a particularly healthy subject when they found him. Plus, he
hadn’t been able to program him right away like he had originally intended.
But now he knows. And now he’s determined to move on to Phase 3.
“We lay low for a day or two. I’ve got some preparations to make. Then
we go after the Slayer.”
“Whoah! Hey!” Jonathan protests. “The Slayer? Now? We just had
to abandon ship here. We’re,
like, fleeing! I just had to leave behind some very important comic books!
And your big secret weapon is a – a smelly dead guy that won’t wake
up! How are we gonna take on the Slayer? Run away from her to death?”
Warren nearly growls as he leaps over Spike to Jonathan. He grabs the front of
his shirt in his fist and yanks until Jonathan is forced to stand on the tips
of his toes to stay upright. Warren towers over him and glowers.
“I don’t care about your stupid comic books, Ewok!” Warren declares,
shaking him. There is an astonished gasp from Andrew at this blasphemy. “This
isn’t some game, you guys. This is war! We’re gonna take over this
stinking town. Starting with the Slayer and her self-righteous little Scooby
clique.” He relaxes a little, letting go of the terrified Jonathan and taking
a step back to look at them both. He breaks into a grin. “Come on you guys!
This is reality here! I mean… we
can be gods. Aren’t you sick of being bullied and told what to do
by these people? Guys like us, we don’t get noticed. We go through life
giving up our lunch money and getting wedgies. Chicks laugh at us when they see
us naked–”
He stops uncomfortably for a second, realizing that he might have just given
too much information. Andrew and Jonathan exchange puzzled looks, neither of
them having ever actually been naked in front of a real girl before.
Warren opts to forget that he said that last part and continues. “Uh… I
mean, you know, people don‘t respect us. And they should. We’re better
than them. Nobody recognizes our genius. And when we try to make something of
ourselves, get a little power of our own… someone like the Slayer comes
along and tries to put us back in our place. Well… that just… sucks.
And I’m sick of it. That bitch needs to be taken down a peg or two. And
I’m gonna be the one to take her.”
There is a hesitant knock at her bedroom door. Buffy sits up a little, wincing
in pain.
“Come in,” she calls.
The door opens a little and Tara pokes her head in. Buffy gives her a little
smile and she steps into the room, closing the door behind her.
“How are you?” she asks gently.
“I’m fine,” Buffy replies automatically. Then elaborates. “One
of the Fyarl demons did a pile driver on me. I think I’ve got a couple of
cracked vertebrae.”
“Do you… need anything? Some tea?”
“No. Xander took care of me. It’s no biggie, really. I’ll be fine
in a day or two.”
“Wow. I wish I could heal as quickly as you can –” Tara begins. “I
mean, I guess… on the other hand I’m glad I don’t have to fight
big nasty demons that think they’re
pro-wrestlers for a living.”
Buffy smiles. For real this time. “I guess that makes us even, then.”
“I guess so.”
Buffy raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Hey! What are you doing here, anyway? …Uh… I
mean… I didn’t mean that to come out sounding like it did.”
“Oh, no. It’s okay. I… I just stopped by to talk to Willow. Xander
filled me in on what happened and I thought I’d pop in… see how you’re
doing. He wanted me to let you know he was going home. He said he needed to be
alone.”
Buffy nods. She understands.
“So… weird night, huh?” Tara asks, sitting at the foot of the
bed and quirking her mouth in a sympathetic smile.
“I don’t think weird covers it, really.” Buffy sighs
“Xander says Anya’s –”
“– Back to her demony self,” Buffy finishes for her.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“Poor Xander.”
“Yeah.”
“Fyarl demons, huh?”
“Yep. A dozen. Maybe more. The Magic Box is kinda trashed. And – oh! Nerd
cameras! Did he tell you about the nerd cameras?”
“Yeah that’s just–”
“–Weird.”
“Yeah.” Tara nods in agreement.
“I’m gonna get those guys,” Buffy mutters.
They both sit silently for a moment. Buffy stares at the pattern on her blanket
and Tara looks around at the walls of the bedroom.
FInally, Tara speaks again. “So… uh… Spike was there too, huh?”
“There too.” Buffy had never really looked at her blanket so closely
before. It really is quite nice. She had always found it… cozy. And warm.
Blankety warm.
“Xander said he attacked Anya…” Tara trails off. Buffy is still
gazing at her blanket. “Did Spike know that she’s
a demon again?”
“Anya says she doesn’t think he knew. She says he seemed to think she
was human.” She
picks at a ball of fuzz on the blanket.
“So he attacked her thinking she was human…”
“Sounds that way, yeah.” When Buffy was a little girl, she used to
hide under her blanket at night when she was afraid. She knew that as long as
she was hidden under the covers, no monster would ever be able to hurt her. Dumb
kid logic.
“Does that mean… the chip…”
“Maybe. Something’s definitely wrong with him. I know that. He looked… horrible.
And he was in pain.” Buffy continues picking fuzz balls from the blanket.
Pulling them off and putting them
in a careful little pile.
“In pain?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the chip is malfunctioning. Maybe it’s that.
Or maybe it’s… I don’t know… something else. Anya says he
was acting really weird.”
“And then he just–”
“– Disappeared. Yeah. I don’t think he could have taken off on
his own. He was in bad shape. It was all just so crazy in there with all the
Fyarl. He just – poof – disappeared.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah…” Buffy blows on the pile of fuzz balls, sending them scattering
across the blanket. “I have to find him. Whatever’s wrong with him,
he’s
dangerous.”
“Yeah. I guess he is. Are you… if you have to… are you going to… I
mean, can you…”
“I can. I will.” Buffy looks up at Tara. “It’s what I’m
here to do, right?”
Tara reaches out to give Buffy’s hand a quick squeeze. “That’s
not the only reason you’re here, Buffy. You know that right?” She gives
her a smile that is meant to be reassuring as she rises from the bed.
Buffy smiles back, hoping it’s convincing enough. “I guess so.”
Tara walks to the door and turns back to look at Buffy once again. “You
okay?”
“Just Ducky. Really.” Tara’s brows knit together and Buffy fumbles
the fake nicey-nice. “Okay, okay. Not ducky. But close. …Ducklike?” She
surprises herself with another mostly real smile. Tara hesitates a moment longer.
Buffy makes a shooing motion. “I’ll be okay. Now go – be with
Willow. …She
needs you.”
Tara dips her head, blushing slightly. When she looks up, her smile really is
reassuring. “Be well, Buffy.”
“Workin’ on it.”
Tara nods and leaves the room. Once the door is closed and the lamp switched
off, Buffy slides down into the bed and pulls the blanket up over her head. She
giggles at the absurdity of it, but she doesn’t come back out until morning.
Spike wakes up in the afternoon. Warren hears him stir and turns from the console
he’s working at to look down at him. The vampire’s eyes are open and
darting around the van in a bewildered panic. Eventually they come to rest on
Warren and he seems to recognize where he is. He averts his eyes immediately.
“Finally. I was starting to think you wouldn’t wake up.” Warren
stands up and walks over to squat down beside him. He grasps Spike’s chin
and tilts his head up to face him. He pulls a pen light from his shirt pocket
and shines it into each of Spike’s eyes. Spike is careful not to move as
Warren performs his inspection.
“Do you know who I am?” Warren asks.
With some effort, Spike answers. “Warren.”
“Who’s that over there?” Warren points over at Andrew, who is
sitting in front of one of the monitors, engrossed in the Farscape marathon and
a bowl of Rice Krispies.
A pause. “Andrew.”
“Good job. Do you know who you are?”
The vampire hesitates, confused. Either he’s not sure how he’s supposed
to answer or he doesn’t even know the answer. Warren puts the light away
and stands up again. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Sit up.”
Spike tries to push himself up with his hands and gasps in pain as the broken
wrist fails to support his weight. He opts for rolling onto his side and pushing
up with his elbow. As soon as he is upright he topples back over again, unable
to keep his balance. He keeps trying, desperately. Warren sighs. He looks like
a bug that’s been flipped off of its feet and is struggling to flip itself
back.
Warren leans down, holding out his hand. “Here.”
Spike looks at the proffered hand warily, but he reaches up and grasps it regardless.
Warren pulls him upright and props him up against the side of the van.
“Your face has blood on it. Clean yourself up.”
The vampire licks his lips, finding the dried blood around his mouth. He wipes
the blood from his nose away with his good hand. Licks his fingers listlessly.
There’s a little mini-fridge next to where Spike is sitting. Warren pulls
a bag of blood from it. Spike’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t look
up. Doesn’t move. This is the last of the blood they had stolen from the
hospital. If the new plan is going to work, he’s going to need more than
this. He stands for a moment, holding the bag of blood.
“You’re dead weight, you know,” he informs the vampire. “You
screwed up last night.”
Spike lowers his head in contrition.
Warren tosses the bag into Spike’s lap. “Eat. We’re going out
tonight.” |
|
