Challenge: From The Angel Torture group.Kita wants to know what happened to Angel to make his the pathetic stink guy that Whistler found?
Summary: A serial killer, a conflicted/tragic hero and a good deed gone horribly awry.
Disclaimer: This is a piece of fan written fiction and no infringement is intended. I repeat: I am not Joss Whedon, Fox television, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar television or Mutant Enemy.
Notes: To all those who give me feedback and worry for my sanity, don't put down those rosaries yet!
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He heard the grunts and gasps of pain.
It
was unmistakable, the sound of solid bone meeting muscle and more
tender
flesh and the smell of blood beginning to run.
He didn’t care. The coppery tang of remembered taste did
not linger in the
back of his throat, causing his stomach to
growl and his canines to
lengthen. Whoever was getting the shit
beat out of them was not Angel’s
concern. There was so much
misery here, so much depravity and perversity
that he was
beginning to feel numb, beginning to grow weary of it.
Humanities cries for help were becoming harder to hear and
harder to care
about.
He had to keep forcing himself
to care.
Starting now.
“Enough…you’ve had
your fun…now get lost.”
Three looked up from their
victim, fists and feet raised in mid air, poised
for the next
blow. They could have been familiar, or maybe not. Faces were
beginning to run one into the other. So many people living their
own
personal hells, each thinking their existence was elevated,
somehow special.
They didn’t even realize that they were all
cogs in the same wheel of
Angel’s growing apathy, each adding
another maddening stop on a circular
path that led no where,
that provided no end in sight.
One of the three bothered
to notice the vampire standing at the alley’s
entrance issuing
orders. “I can’t see that it’s any business of yours
*friend*”
he spat the last out with sarcastic emphasis on the last word- the
mockery of civility so common to the stronger members of a pack.
Angel knew something about that.
“This one
is mine,” the vampire warned.
“The fuck you say,”
another member of the trio exploded, looking at the
first
speaker-and obvious leader for reassurance. “Who the hell do you
think
you are?”
The sight of the three of them lying
sprawled on the ground in front of him,
blood smearing the brick
walls on either side flashed through his mind for
an instant,
causing a tightening in his stomach that spread lower…he allowed
just a moment to feel it, to enjoy the rush that proved he
wasn’t a eunuch
after all. It was a blessing to be able to feel
anything at all, even the
forbidden remembrance of the kill. But
that wasn’t something he allowed
himself to dwell on, because
that led to….
(leave, just leave, don’t make me hurt you
because I might not be able to
stop.)
He stepped
closer and allowed the demon to emerge-just to surface, not
enough to consume him, not enough to lose himself completely,
not enough to
let him give up this savior charade. The beast
stepped forward with an ease
that was becoming frightening.
(Go. Don’t make a stand. Don’t taunt the demon; he’s
getting harder to
control.)
Three faces broke out in
shocked disbelief and then, they mercifully took
off running.
Angel tried not to sink to his knees in relief as the blood of
their victim and the echo of violence trapped in the small space
triggered a
light-headedness that started rising to a high whine
which settled at the
base of his skull.
The whimper
from the body gave him something to focus on. Angel pushed the
demon back inside and fixated on the injured human with a tunnel
vision so
intense, it forced all other sensations to dissipate
into silent waiting.
The man moaned softly, his head
lolling back as he fought for consciousness.
Angel closed his
eyes against the sight of the man’s neck stretched in
unintentional surrender. He heard the soft plea…
“Help me?”
Angel dug his nails into the
palms of his hands and the mantra repeated:
help him, help him,
help him, help him, help him, help him, help him, help
him, help
him, help him.
“Let me get you to a hospital.”
“No! No hospital. Take me home. I live very
close…please?”
“All right.”
Only a few
blocks away, Angel was able to get the man to a house whose
discreet plantings of trees gave a sense of privacy and
seclusion even
though there were houses only a few feet away on
either side. Serene.
Peaceful. It seemed blasphemous for him to
even enter.
Once inside, the man was able to move under
his own power, if somewhat
stiffly as he puttered around his
kitchen, trying to make a pot of coffee.
The cups rattled in his
hands as he took them down from the cupboard and set
them on the
speckled green formica countertop.
“You don’t have to do
that,” Angel protested. “If you’re okay, I’ll just be
leaving…”
“No, no. I need something to settle me.” The stranger
held up a bottle of
liquor, indicating his intention of
fortifying the hot liquid.
“Then let me do it for you.”
Angel reached for the bottle and nearly drew
back when his hand
brushed the man’s warm one. It had been a while since
anyone had
touched him, and even longer since that touch had been from
someone living. The contact poured through him like warm honey,
covering
everything inside of him, coating his every movement
with maddening
slowness.
The man smiled gratefully
and the action made a crack in his lip start
bleeding again.
Unconsciously Angel traced the same spot on his own lip with
his
tongue. The rescuee’s hand lingered as well, his eyes filling with
something deeper…gratitude…admiration.
(Forgiveness…hope…) The sight of bruised flesh reminded
Angel of humanity’s
frailty: born to race frantically towards
their death, a death he was too
weak to find for himself. A
peaceful end wasn’t possible for him; he was
born to suffer,
even as a mortal. He was turned to suffer for eternity, that
much was clear now after so many years. Hanging in the bitter
wind of guilt,
he could only bob and twist helplessly alone,
because no one could ever
understand the things he’d done and no
one could ever offer him
forgiveness…or love.
This
human’s hand was still on the vampire’s arm, moving slowly upwards-
gently, hesitantly in fear of rejection.
(No! Don’t
you know that I’m the one who is unclean? I’m the one who should
be pushed away. You don’t know what I am…what I’ve done…)
Encouraged, the man leaned closer and pressed his lips
against cold dead
ones, seeming oblivious to their difference.
Angel tried to keep the tears from swimming in his eyes,
cursing himself for
not pulling away, for allowing his selfish
needs to overpower the knowledge
that this was wrong, that he
was deceiving this person, allowing him to
think that he was a
person, someone worthy of affection and caring instead
of a
freak and a monster. Instead, he returned the kiss, praying that
just
once he could have this little memory of something
beautiful, someone
wanting *him* instead of the internal
dialogue of his own self hatred.
So many sensations: the
soft invitation of a kiss, the pulsing of blood as
his cock
began to swell in response, the sharp bite (of a needle) at the
back of his neck, the deadened slowness of every muscle in his
body and the
feeling of sleepiness-like a tranquilizer…..
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Awareness came slowly, a groggy shroud shrugged aside
with a shake of his
head. His eyes felt dry and itchy. He
tried to raise a hand to rub his
eyes, surprised at his
inability to do so. He realized he was laying spread
eagle on a
table with his arms and legs restrained. A quick glance around
told him he wasn’t alone, his new *friend* stood a few
feet away-bent over
some small project that Angel couldn’t see
from his position. He must have
sensed the vampire was awake,
because he turned and faced his former
rescuer.
“You
filthy fornicator. Did you think you could bring your vile
perversity
here and I would succumb? I know the Devil works
within you, he uses your
beauty to seduce us, to make us forsake
the Lord and turn to him in vile
sodomy.” His fury radiated from
him in waves of energy. He held a bowl of
what looked like
sharpened bits of metal and a small sharp knife, the blade
glimmered a moment in the dim light of the kitchen.
“Who are you..what are you doing?” This couldn’t be
real, only bad movies
had plot twists this bizarre.
“I’m your savior. I’m going to exorcise the demon within
you…then you can be
truly free.”
The human set the
bowl on the table near Angel’s hip and took the knife in
his
left hand. The blade was sharp, it took only the slightest movement
to
make a small cut and part the vampire’s skin- it *was* a
small cut, only
about an inch long. The human set the knife on
the table and picked up a
piece of metal from the bowl. It was
at that moment Angel realized he was
wearing gloves.
“You know what I am? You know what I’m capable of?”
Angel asked.
The man was not distracted from his task,
he carefully inserted the piece of
metal in the cut and shoved
it gently in under the skin. It burned terribly
and Angel
realized that there was something on the surface that was causing
the excruciating searing sensation.
“I know that you
are an unholy beast. The scripture warns of your kind.”
The knife was up again, making another insertion, and
another burning bite
of fire followed as another piece of metal
was lodged in his dermis. Over
and over-another cut, another
piece of fiery torture, until there were
hundreds of little
wounds covering his torso , stomach and thighs. His body
felt
bathed in a halo of pain.
Angel was a stubborn Irishman, and
no stranger to torture either; he could
endure this. He
concentrated on every aspect of the pain, studying its
center;
it’s every characteristic and then removing himself from it. He was
nearly successful; the anguish retreated until only a general
hum of
sensation remained that he could keep under control if he
forced himself.
It would have worked.
Until
the tapping.
The human picked up a small, thin metal
wand and began tapping on the
exposed ends of the metal shards
sticking out of the vampire. Each strike
caused the pain of that
wound to flare up. He randomly chose sites to tap,
there was no
pattern to focus on, no rhythm to anticipate…only the constant
promise of never ending agony.
“Your tricks won’t
work Devil. You must answer for your deeds.”
(Yes he
must)
It turned out that Angel couldn’t endure this
after all, he passed out after
four or five hours…..
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The human stood by the sink sipping another cup of
coffee. He noticed the
instant Angel turned his head as he
regained consciousness, rinsed his cup
and put it in the drainer
on the countertop before walking over to the
table. “Your sin is
strong and proving difficult to exorcise.”
Angel noticed
that the man held the same small knife from before. “More
pincushion fun?”
No smile, no facial expression
beyond a slight crinkling at the corners of
his eyes. “The demon
must be released at the center of its power.”
Angel’s
pants were gone, had they been on before when he first woke up? He
couldn’t remember…everything was starting to blur together, but
he had a
sudden terror of understanding as the man waved the
blade over him, moving
it down his frame. Angel’s heart sank
when the stranger grasped the
vampire’s dick in his hand.
It was only fitting. Images of another time came to him;
he’d castrated a
villager because Darla had wanted to see what
it looked like. The villager’s
screams and the cries of his
family rang in Angel’s ears.
(No one will cry for me
now.)
He tried to twist away, but there was nowhere to
go. His bonds were tight
enough that it was impossible to get
enough leverage to break them or even
loosen them. The hand on
his dick tightened, pulled and he stopped
struggling in
desperate resignation.
No hope.
No prayer.
No deliverance.
A fitting punishment for his
crimes?
His tormentor cradled Angel’s cock in his hand,
holding it vertically so the
vampire could see his actions, and
made a shallow, precise cut down its
length. The skin separated
easily, the edges springing apart under the
blade.
“Ssshhit!” Angel screamed.
“The sinful beast
must be driven from you. It clings to its palace of wicked
flesh, but won’t be able to keep its seat there now.”
Angel began to suspect that the human didn’t know what
he truly was. The
only way to drive the demon from him was with
a stake. The small hope began
to form in the back of his mind.
(You could release the demon)
(You could be
free)
It was weakness on his part.
(You
could end all of this)
He could give up. He could find
peace..death…rebirth…nothing?
(You wanted something
else..some great reward…you wanted pearly gates and a
halo? Your
lucky you get this….you deserve so much more…so much worse.)
(Yes. A coward it is.)
“The demon wants my
heart, you must destroy it. Put a stake through it.”
The
human looked up in bemused confusion, breaking his rapt fascination
of
Angel’s bleeding genitalia. A look of bright understanding
lit up his face.
“Yes, yes it must be done.” He left the room
for a second and returned with
what looked like a piece of
kindling. Hurriedly, he whittled a point on it
and returned to
Angel’s side.
(You were never a very worthy savior
anyway.)
“Freeze scumbag!” the kitchen filled instantly
with ten or fifteen uniformed
policemen with guns trained on the
pair in the center of the kitchen. “Drop
the weapon freak,”
someone ordered.
The man raised his arm in panic,
desperate to fulfill his divine
instruction. A bullet stopped
him and he slumped over Angel’s chest.
(Did you think it
would be that easy? There will be no end to your
suffering)
“Easy buddy, it’s over now. You’re safe, we’re going to
get you out of
here.”
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Angel
huddled in the doorway, hidden by the shadows of the deserted
tenement. He dug the tip of the bic pen into his flesh and
spelled out the
word…
UNCLEAN
He didn’t
want there to be any doubt.
[END]
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