Chapter Twenty-Nine
Captive Audience
Spike had just pushed the door to the bathroom open when he heard someone coming up behind him. He turned his head to see who it was but before he saw anything a strong hand clamped a sweet smelling cloth over his nose and mouth. Spike desperately tried to claw the hand away but the drug soon overpowered him and the last thing that he was aware of was falling as his wheelchair tipped on its side.
His attacker tensed as the chair clattered to the ground but no one had heard it. He took his hand away from Spike’s face and put the cloth and the latex gloves he’d been wearing into a plastic bag. He tied the top securely to make sure that none of the vapour could escape. He didn’t want to be knocked out by his own drug.
He peered out into the corridor and when he saw that it was empty he ducked back inside. He hauled the limp body of Spike over his shoulder with very little effort and walked quickly to where he’d left the rear door propped open. He allowed it to swing shut behind them and relaxed a little now that he was safe in the darkness of the alley. He carried Spike to a van waiting at the end of it. He unlocked the back door and threw Spike in, not caring how he landed. He locked the door behind him, got into the driver’s seat and drove slowly away, being careful not to draw attention to it by speeding.
He pulled up outside his destination and retrieved the still inert Spike from the van. Once more he carried him over his shoulder until he got him to where he wanted him.
He secured Spike and then stood back to admire his captive. He laughed softly.
“Oh yes, Spike, you’re going to change my life.”
Then he left the room leaving the very bright lights on, knowing that they wouldn’t disturb Spike.
“I’ll be back in a few hours when hopefully you’ll be nicely awake.”
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Spike groaned and started to stir. He tried to move and his consciousness snapped back with almost a painful jolt as panic set in when he found he was unable to move. He couldn’t even see.
“Christ! No!”
He then nearly wept with relief as he realised that he was securely bound rather than totally paralysed. He was held in a sitting position; his back against a cold wall and his legs straight out in front of him. Around his neck was a metal collar that was attached directly to the wall behind him, ensuring that he couldn’t move it at all. He wriggled his hands and felt that they were bound tightly together and were fastened to a chain around his waist holding them close to his stomach. This chain was also attached to the wall behind him holding him in position. His ankles were chained together and were stretched out as far as they could go, giving an unpleasant feeling of strain through his muscles.
The lack of sight was explained by the fact he was wearing some kind of mask that covered his eyes. Oh, and he was completely naked.
“Bollocks,” he groaned.
Even if he were at full strength there was no was that he could get out of these shackles. He resigned himself to what was probably going to be a very long wait. It always was.
Now that the drug was wearing off he was aware of the collar digging into his neck every time his head lolled forwards. Soon the strain on his legs from being held so outstretched coalesced into proper pain as his weak muscles began to protest.
Spike had no idea of how long he’d been asleep or awake for that matter. He heard footsteps approaching and turned his head towards their direction, wincing as the collar bit into his neck.
“Ah, Spike, you’re awake at last. I was starting to think that perhaps I was going to have to hose you down to bring you around.”
“Fuck off,” snarled Spike, straining against his chains.
His captor moved swiftly to his prisoner and grabbed his exposed manhood, squeezing excruciatingly tight. Spike cried out in pain.
“Watch your mouth. You couldn’t even imagine what I could do to you,” he growled.
Spike moaned with relief as the vice-like grip was released, his breath coming in pants. It didn’t help that Spike’s imagination was having no problem at all in coming up with different scenarios that could be carried out. They were playing through his mind like videos. All had the same theme – pain - lots and lots of pain. Spike got his breathing under control and raised his chin a little.
“Piss off.” He was pleased that his voice sounded strong, “Sodding coward. Scared of letting me see who you are.”
He held himself tense, waiting for retaliation but his captor’s hands went not to inflict more pain but to tear the mask from Spike’s face.
“It won’t hurt for you to see me,” he said, his voice sounding amused by Spike’s defiance.
Spike squeezed his eyes shut as the bright lights shining at him blinded him. He opened them again, still squinting. His captor was silhouetted against the light. Spike couldn’t see his face. He glanced quickly around him and saw to his surprise that he wasn’t on the floor but on a raised platform of some kind. He was level with the waist of the man beside him.
His captor moved slightly so that the light illuminated his features. Spike tensed when he saw him.
“I’m fucked.”
His captor laughed, “I see that you recognise me though I’m certain that we haven’t actually met until now.” He stepped closer to Spike.
“Heard of you,” admitted Spike, “I was obviously wrong when I thought the descriptions of how ugly you are were exaggerated.”
Lightening swift, his captor lashed out with his fist and punched Spike in the mouth. His head banged painfully against the rough stonewall behind him. Blood dripped from his split lip. Spike licked at it and then spat at his captor.
“Oh, Spike, you never learn, do you? Always got to be so cocky.” His hand gripped Spike’s balls again, squeezing hard. “Maybe losing these will quieten you down?” He laughed as Spike’s face paled. He let go with a final squeeze. “I’ll be back later with some food for you. I need to keep you in good condition if you’re going to achieve the best price.”
Spike sagged in his restraints as he left. His mind was racing but the only thing that it came up with was that he was well and truly screwed. He focussed on what he knew of the creature that had kidnapped him, for creature is what he is. Nomel was a legend in the demon world. Part Nitram demon and part human, he could pass as wholly human, albeit an ugly one with a broad pig-like nose, as long as he wore dark glasses to disguise the fact that the pupils of his pale grey eyes were like vertical slits.
Nomel was a bounty hunter. He would take money to track someone down but instead of killing his target, his terms are that he would decide what to do next. This mostly consisted of selling his victim to the highest bidder from any dimension. Most of his targets were ‘bought’ by the ones who had instigated the hit in the first place so they could torture or kill as they saw fit. Others were sold into slave rings in demonic dimensions.
Spike thought it ironic that he was now most likely, or was that hopefully, going to die just as he’d begun to relish living again. He’d heard tales of what happened to slaves and he hoped that if Buffy and Angel couldn’t find him in time that he’d simply be put to death. Only that was never usually that simple either.
He tried to blank his mind out altogether. He daren’t think of Buffy; it just hurt too much to think that he might never see her again.
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Nomel returned carrying a mug full of steaming liquid.
“Drink this,” he ordered, holding the cup to Spike’s lips.
“You’re a bit behind the times mate, I’m not a vampire anymore.”
“Nomel pressed the cup closer to Spike’s mouth. “I know. Drink it.”
Spike pursed his lips tight. Nomel took hold of Spike’s face, digging his fingers into his cheeks so hard that he forced Spike’s mouth open. He lifted Spike’s chin as high as the collar would allow and poured some of the blood into his mouth. Using the heel of his hand he pushed Spike’s chin up to close his mouth and pinched his nose with his fingers. Spike had no option but to swallow. Nomel repeated the action with Spike coughing and choking until the mug was empty. Blood had dribbled down Spike’s chin and Nomel wiped it away.
“Can’t have you looking dirty when the bidders arrive.”
“So who put the hit on me?” asked Spike. His tongue felt sluggish and his vision was starting to get fuzzy. The blood had obviously been drugged.
“The ruler of the Polgara,” said Nomel, “Apparently you took out two of his heirs to the throne when you had your last fight. Their bodyguards were the ones who stuck you. For a while it was thought that you’d died from your injuries. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you on the street that day. So I let them know that you had lived and offered to take you out.”
“That’s good of you,” slurred Spike.
“I thought so,” said Nemol with a chuckle, “But you’re a popular guy, Spike. I’ve got interest in you from so many places that I’ve arranged for potential purchasers to gather for the auction so that they can view you for themselves before they bid. Some may even want to test you out beforehand. Shame about the legs, though, it was putting some demons off.” He slapped one lightly. “But I’ve done my research, that’s why I waited until now to take you. No point until I had all the ingredients that I needed. The blood and the drugs I’ve given you will speed up your already enhanced healing powers. It’s such a shame that your little friends hadn’t found this out. Otherwise you would have been walking by now. Mind you, the blood of the Yenomi isn’t available in this dimension. A good thing from my point of view as you would have been much harder to catch. As it was you were a real pushover.” He laughed.
“Ha bleeding ha,” Spike tried to say but it just came out as an unintelligible mumble.
“I’ll be back every hour with your medicine,” said Nemol as he left.
Spike felt very peculiar, like he was floating but at the same time his legs felt like they were being crushed under immense weights. His mind was alert but he felt totally calm, like he actually wanted to be here. The pain when it hit him was excruciating, like the pain he’d suffered since being operated on only magnified by about fifty. Spike knew that he was screaming although no sound came out of his mouth. His already blurred vision began to darken at the edges and with relief he passed out.
The next thing that he knew was Nemol slapping his face to bring him round.
“Hurts, don’t it? They said it would. They offered me ingredients to add to the mixture to prevent it but I said that the legendary ‘William the Bloody’ would be able to take it.”
Spike squinted at him, trying and failing to get Nemol in focus. He opened his mouth but still couldn’t speak.
“Time for some more. Are you going to drink it without me having to force you this time?”
“No!” roared Spike in his mind but to his amazement he nodded and gulped the foul tasting concoction down hungrily.
Nemol laughed, “God, those Escruocs really know their stuff. If you fetch more than your reserve price I might just give them a bonus.” He looked deep into Spike’s unfocussed eyes. “They said that one of the drugs would make you both mute and obedient. How cool is that?”
Spike thought it wasn’t very cool at all. He didn’t like that fact one little bit.
“Oh, yes, nearly forgot. It’s also highly addictive too. By the time you’re sold you’ll be willing to sell your soul to be given more.”
Spike closed his eyes as the drugs got into his system. Again he had the weird combination of the feeling of floating whilst his legs felt like lead.
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By the time that Nemol had returned with the fifth mug of blood in as many hours, Spike’s vision had cleared and the pain had gone completely. He stared at the mug in Nemol’s hand eagerly. Nemol teased him by swaying it to and fro in front of Spike’s face, laughing as his eyes never left it. He strained against the collar to reach it.
“Want it, do you?”
Spike nodded rapidly, calmly accepting that he could no longer speak.
“Do your legs still hurt?”
Spike shook his head from side to side.
“Let’s see if this stuff had worked then, shall we?”
Spike whimpered as Nemol put the mug down and began to unfasten the chains around his ankles. He glanced up to see Spike staring at the mug.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Reluctantly Spike brought his gaze from the mug to Nemol.
“You’re going to do as you’re told, okay? Otherwise the blood goes away. Understand?”
Spike glanced briefly at the blood and then met Nemol’s eyes once more and nodded.
Nemol unlocked the chains on his ankles. Spike sighed as the strain was released. Then he unfastened the chain around his waist but left his hands bound together. Finally he unlocked the metal collar.
“Right, Spike. I want you to stand up for me.”
Spike swung his legs over the side of the platform and slid off it until he was standing beside it.
“Do they feel strong?”
Spike nodded.
“Go and stand in that corner,” said Nemol, pointing to the one furthest from the door.
Without hesitating Spike strode over and stood facing the wall.
“Yeah, I thing the Esruoc will get their bonus,” chuckled Nemol. “Come back and sit on here.”
Spike turned around, walked over to the platform, hitched himself up onto it and then stared pointedly at the mug.
“Here.” Nemol picked up the mug. Spike leant forwards to try to sip it. “You can hold it yourself.” Nemol pushed the mug into Spike’s hands.
Spike shivered in anticipation of the feelings that it gave him. He drained it in a few big swallows and offered the mug back to Nemol.
“Come along, let’s get you to your new quarters before this dose makes you too groggy to move. I’ll adjust the strength next time now I know that you’re healed.”
Spike obediently walked beside Nemol. Somewhere in his mind a part of him was rejoicing at being able to walk with such ease. But another tiny part that the drugs couldn’t suppress was all too aware of the high cost of his healing but it was too small a part to be able to resist Nemol’s orders.
tbc
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BANNER BY DAWNOFMEAuthor's Chapter Notes:
Thanks as ever to Carol for her beta work :) Her fast turnarounds mean i can update quickly! - please vote for her over at the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards and maybe whilst your there...... tee hee! Lots of my fics on there - would love some votes :)