Scavenger Hunt players PLEASE read note at bottom when you have
finished the story.
**************
Spike had been reaching for the doorknob. The sight of an
unfamiliar room behind him had caused him to freeze for a
moment, and when he turned back the door was no longer there. In
fact, as his vampiric vision adjusted to the sudden darkness,
he was able to find no door at all. Anywhere. And what he DID
see was enough to make him rub his eyes in disbelief.
The sound of a muffled cry snapped his attention back to his
companion. Unable to adjust to the darkness as well as he, Buffy
had stumbled over one of the many chains that lay in piles on
the cold stone floor. He was at her side in a moment and helping
her to her feet.
"Where...? What...?" He was surprised by the tremble in her
voice.
"S'alright, pet. Just another parlor trick, I expect."
"But where are we? What IS this place?" She stared around her at
the chains--some in the aforementioned piles, others hanging
from the ceiling and walls, many of them ending in open
shackles.
"It seems we've been dropped into the dungeon, luv. Though
precisely what we've done to deserve it, I've no clue."
He saw a flash of temper in her eyes.
"Well, I know what YOU'VE done to deserve it, Bleach Boy, but I
sure don't know why I'M here." She stomped around the room,
avoiding several large shapes that were half-draped in sheets
and muttering under her breath. "As if having to share a room
with you isn't enough of a punishment. Where's the DAMN
DOOR!?!???"
Spike watched her, feeling both amusement and a tender sort of
possessiveness. "Careful, pet. Let's not rile the proprietors.
I'm familiar with some of this equipment, an' I doubt you'd
fancy a demonstration."
She froze as the meaning of his words sunk in. Tentatively, she
reached out and pulled at one dusty sheet, revealing a mammoth
wooden chair with large rusted iron cuffs at the arms and legs,
where one might place wrists and ankles. In addition, there were
equally rusted spikes protruding from the seat and back of the
chair. Buffy stared in horror and flinched backward, stumbling
again. Spike stepped up and caught her, setting her back on her
feet.
At that instant there was a burst of light and suddenly they
were no longer alone, for seated in the chair, her appendages
locked into the cuffs, was none other than Drusilla. Standing
next to her, an evil leer creasing his face, was the former
Scourge of Europe himself.
Spike's quick intake of breath confirmed to Buffy that she
wasn't alone in what she was seeing. Somehow, she found this
comforting.
Drusilla's dress was in tatters. Her face was smudged with filth
and blood, and more blood ran down her legs to pool on the floor
at her feet. Her head lolled backward against chair and her eyes
were swollen slits as she stared up at her sire.
Angelus moved toward her, a riding crop in his hand. He raised
it above his head with the obvious intention of bringing it down
upon her face. Only the sound of an angry cry prevented it.
And there stood Spike. Not Spike of Sunnydale, but mythic
Spike--William the Bloody in all his debauched Victorian glory.
"What have you done to her, you bleedin' pillock?" William
stepped forward and grabbed at Angelus's arm to prevent him from
striking.
"Ah, William, you've finally joined us. Look, Drusilla, the
prodigal son returns. You told me he would, but I didn't believe
you, did I?"
Spike's body stiffened with anger. He recalled this little scene
all too well--it was a re-enactment of something he'd hated
living through once, and he didn't appreciate being forced to
witness his own and Drusilla's degradation at the hands of
Angelus a second time.
He watched as his self-of-old knelt next to Drusilla and
attempted to pry open the iron cuffs that held her wrists.
"I don't recall giving you permission to release her, William."
Angelus's voice was silky smooth, but there was no mistaking the
threat it held.
"She's hurt--you've hurt her, you dim-witted git! She needs to
feed--" William was silenced by a crashing blow to the head that
caught him off-guard.
Buffy began to feel ill and shut her eyes to block out the view.
She understood full well that what she was seeing before her
wasn't real--that it was only a memory, a shadow of the past.
But it shocked her to know that Angel could ever have been so
cruel, so bloodthirsty--and to his own family? What must he have
been like to his prey?
She opened her eyes when she felt Spike begin to tremble. His
hands were still at her shoulders and she could sense the
tension in him as his fingers pressed into her flesh.
Angelus had dragged William up by his hair and thrown him
against one of the stone walls of the dungeon. He was shouting
at him.
"You insolent cur! How many times have I told you to stay close
to home, eh? How many times have a told you to never hunt
outside the city limits without my explicit permission? Four
days, you've been gone! FOUR DAYS!"
William didn't answer. He just stood, facing the wall,
resignation written in every line of his body.
"Since lecturing YOU doesn't drive the point home, I thought I'd
try punishing HER. And lo and behold--" Angelus reached out and
ripped William's shirt from his back. "--it's worked. For here
you are and here you'll stay until I'm sure you've learned the
lesson at hand."
With that, Angelus reached behind him on the floor and picked up
something coiled and dark. Something that looked to Buffy like a
large snake. But the bite of this particular snake was more
painful than that of any cobra, if less deadly. Spike recalled
it perfectly.
The first stroke left a bleeding diagonal stripe on William's
back from his left shoulder to the waistband of his trousers.
"Fifty lashes, I think, William." The second stroke opened a
matching stripe in the opposite direction. "Then another fifty
tomorrow, when these have healed. And not a single sound from
you the entire time, boy. Perhaps then Drusilla may be allowed
to feed."
After that, the silence was punctuated only by the sound of the
whip striking flesh and Drusilla's occasional whimpers of
sorrow.
Buffy stood transfixed, as if her limbs had turned to stone.
Then all at once, she turned away, gagging. Falling to her
knees, she dry-heaved onto the stone floor, dimly grateful for
having skipped breakfast. Spike knelt next to her and steadied
her, bringing her to her feet when she had finished.
The scene before them had disappeared.
Buffy buried her face in Spike's chest and began to sob.
"Shhhhh... pet, it's all right. Happened a long time ago, yeah?
The ponce was a different bloke altogether back then. Not the
one you know. Shhhh..."
Her weeping lessened slowly, and she pulled away to look up at
him.
"No wonder you hate him."
"Nah, that's not the reason, luv. It's a good deal more
complicated than that. An' nothin' for you t'be working yourself
up over." Spike pushed the damp hair from her eyes and planted a
gentle kiss on her forehead. "Time we started lookin' for a way
outta here, pet. Lord knows what's been happenin' in our
absence, an' I'd like to get back to Drusilla--make sure she's
all right, an' all."
Buffy flinched. Of course, it made sense that after what they'd
witnessed--what he'd relived--that his thoughts would be for
Drusilla. But still-- **Get a grip, Buffy. This place is playing
games with your mind. This is Spike, remember? Whatever happened
to him, and whoever did it, it doesn't matter, 'cause he's just
another vampire that should have been dusted months ago.**
She almost bought it. Almost.
It took them twenty minutes to find the trapdoor in the ceiling
and another ten to argue over who was going to stand on whose
shoulders in order to get out. By the time they were back on the
first floor--grimy and grumpy and disoriented--Buffy no longer
needed reminding of just why she hated Spike.