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Chapter Four - Who Escapes Duty

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these things.
------------------Emily Dickinson

Every person has free choice. Free to obey or disobey the Natural Laws. Your choice determines the consequences. Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices.
------------------Alfred A. Montapert

When one door closes another door opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.
------------------Alexander Graham Bell

~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~

Spike never thought he’d miss the ability to pass out from an overabundance of pain. Especially after the long periods of unconsciousness he’d experienced in the past fourteen days. Unfortunately he was dead. His brain no longer functioned in the usual sense and therefore could no longer short circuit from discomfort, no matter how great the level.

The holy water had done a significant amount of damage but it was all superficial. Skin had burned away. His tongue had cleaved to the roof of his mouth and he felt sure he was missing a significant portion of it. The last thing he remembered hearing had been his severed earlobes hitting the floor. His chest and arms were laced with bleeding welts and no matter how much Spike didn’t want to think about it, he no longer had the use of his eyes.

All this damage would heal, of course, given an appropriate amount of time. His bones were finally sound, though he hadn’t had a chance to test them being tied to the chair. The problem, however, was that Spike didn’t feel like time was on his side. Sooner or later that bastard Sebek was gonna tire of the severely damaged vamp and go after his next victim. Not that Spike was concerned for the next victim. After almost 2 weeks of torture, which included more holy water showers than he’d like to remember, Spike no longer cared about anyone but himself. Without sight, hearing or the ability to speak, his entire world had been reduced to feeling pain.

The total pisser had been when he discovered that in Ancient Egypt this guy had been a God of water. If that didn’t take the bloody cake. All the bastard had to do was speak a few words over the nozzle and ”Bammo” an unlimited supply of holy water in an instant. If that wasn’t bad enough his nose hadn’tstopped working. For an immortal god of water and fertility and crocodiles and all that shite, the man smelled like a damned Dock Street fish market. Not one of the modern ones, either, but the dank, rotten smelly ones of his youth before the discovery of refrigeration.

It was completely beyond him why he hadn’t noticed before.

Spike focused his thoughts again. There was something he’d been trying to remember. Something on the tip of his tongue...Spike paused to chuckle hysterically at that thought...something important about his future.

It came to Spike in a flash of coherency. The straps. The straps were looser because of the slipperiness of his skin. All that blood outside the body could actually be put to good use. Spike started to giggle again and briefly wondered if he was still sane. Not that it mattered. Right now the only thing that mattered was that he wanted to live and if he wanted to live he needed to take advantage of every situation he could manage. Spike inhaled deeply trying to take stock of his surroundings. He could smell Doc’s lingering fish odor, the water slowly dripping out of the nozzle by his side, the wood of the door and nothing else. If there was a time for escape it seemed to be now. His internal clock told him it was well past sunset so he needn’t worry about sunlight.

Spike wriggled his wrists slowly freeing them from the straps that held them. Oddly, Doc, or Sebek as he liked to call himself, had aimed well away from his hands and legs. His bare feet were damaged, since the bastard had taken his Docs, but although walking would be painful it would definitely be possible.

Once Spike’s wrists were free he removed the remaining straps and pivoted himself onto his feet. Unfortunately this was the first time he’d tried to stand since the fall from the tower and he found himself in close smelling proximity to the floor, which was extremely regrettable for his already overtaxed nose.

Spike struggled back to his feet and made his way towards the smell of wood. Once through that door he was momentarily at a loss how to maneuver through a room he’d never seen. He took another deep sniff. Tarmac. He could smell tarmac to his left. That had to be the street.

Spike bumped into several unidentifiable objects on his way to the door. Unfortunately there was no way for him to tell if he’d made a significant amount of noise so he soldiered on. It took him nearly twenty minutes to make it from the door of his makeshift cell to the door that led outside.

Regrettably, there was no way for him to tell that reptilian eyes had calmly followed him through his entire journey.

~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~

Between raising a fifteen year old girl, making ends meet, hunting a runaway dragon, searching for a missing vampire, and her usual Slayer duties Buffy’s stress levels were on permanent overload.

She entered the Magic Box for a pre-patrol meeting with Giles and the rest of the gang with every hope that they’d managed to come up with a solution to just one of her problems. It didn’t matter which one, really. Just one thing off her plate right now would mean a little sleep at night. Something she’d had a hard time getting since she’d realized that Spike was among the missing not just among the off sulking.

Dawn wasn’t helping, either.

She was either bitching about Spike, ditching school or pitching fits over the unusual amount of supernatural activity that had been going on in the Summers home. They’d had a pooka, a gremlin, an elf (and who knew they even existed, anyway and they were so NOT cute, like elves were supposed to be!), and several small, verminous demons in the past week. Things were constantly turning up missing, broken or sticky with no one wanted to know what. The more these visits occurred the more angry Dawn seemed to be getting. It was going to drive Buffy out of her tree.

The only thing that saved her sanity were the several hours a night she spent “slaying.” Well, 20 percent slaying, 80 percent looking for signs of Spike. She was hampered by the fact that she had no idea what she was looking for but patrolling in a set pattern while trying to “feel” Spike was keeping her sane so she kept at it nightly.

She planned to do the same thing as soon as this meeting ended.

“Hey guys! You will not believe what I found in the oven today!”

“Buffy, I’m glad you’re here. I was just telling Xander an Anya that I think I’ve found a way to track this dragon of yours.” Giles was excitedly gathering books from his private shelves.

“So not my dragon, Giles.”

“Of course it’s not your dragon,” Anya interjected, “Everyone knows that you’d have to be a virgin for the dragon to agree to follow your commands.”

The room went still as everyone processed the fact that they had actually heard Anya correctly.

It was during this stillness that assorted screams filtered in the front door.

“What in the nation of tar is that?” Xander jumped up to look out the window.

Buffy was through the front door, stake in hand, before Xander had a chance to reach for the curtain. She scanned the street for the source of the disturbance. The movie theater down the street was letting out and the crowd was agitatedly separating leaving a staggering figure alone in the space being vacated.

A staggering figure with bleached blond hair.

Buffy sprinted towards, what she assumed (hoped?) was Spike.

~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~’~,~

It was odd, but Spike could smell the panicked movement of the crowd he’d found himself in. It was extremely disorienting and he could no longer tell if he was moving in a straight line. Just as his energy gave out and he fell to his knees he realized that he recognized one of the scents.

Buffy!

It was at that moment that Spike learned that the undead could pass out from an over abundance of pain.





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