Part Two: Crossing a Line
Spike resisted the urge to tap his fingers on the tabletop. He couldn’t look too bored, and he was already lounged back in the boardroom chair – cheap, squeaky piece of shite that it was. And drumming his fingers on the richly polished conference room table would be pushing it too far. At least, no one could see his leg shaking nonstop under the pretentious table’s surface.
Spike had patience for a lot of things but boring meetings were not on that list. They reminded him too much of sitting through lectures in school and his life before becoming a vampire – something he tried hard not to think about.
He glanced at the clock with its loud, clicking second hand. God, he just wanted to rip the damned thing off the wall and smash it on the ground. And how had it only been twenty-one minutes? He rolled his eyes. This was all indicative of just how useless he felt. The Mayor didn’t want him to do anything with the Slayers until the time was right. Well, Spike was not a waiting around kind of bloke.
“Mr. Spike, do you have something pertinent to add to this discussion?” The Mayor looked down his nose at Spike, his red laser beam deviating from its path on the projection screen.
Spike had no idea what the Mayor was going on about, so he fumbled, “Erm, no. Nothing at all.”
“Then, stop being so disdainful, sit up, and be polite. Other people are taking this seriously.”
Ignoring Allan and the Mayor’s office manager, who were frozen and trying to hide their trembling, Spike stared at the Mayor, now wanting to launch across the table and punch his face in. Maybe rip out his tongue. That would be infinitely more satisfying than breaking the clock.
Several seconds ticked by in their faceoff.
Finally, Spike remembered what he was doing this for, and he pushed himself up, his boots reluctantly scraping across the floor. He didn’t move his eyes from the Mayor’s.
The Mayor blinked first. “Good, good. Now, where were we?”
Allan, brave sod that he was, spoke up. “You were talking about the after-Christmas and New Year’s push for Slayer distractions since the First Evil and vengeance demon agendas didn’t pan out.”
Spike had had the unenviable job of letting the First Evil know that Angelus had moved on, and in doing so, Spike had fought so many of those creepy monks with the sewn up eyes and mouths that he was having nightmares of being overrun by them. Luckily, the First Evil had skedaddled in frustration, but Spike had needed a few weeks to recover. The Mayor had sent a team to care for Spike’s every need, which was both creepy as fuck and a relief because he couldn’t even get out of bed for a mug of blood. The Mayor wouldn’t allow Spike to eat people in his apartment because he didn’t want to lose the deposit if Spike got blood on the carpet.
“Ah, yes, yes. Thank you, Allan.” The Mayor removed one overhead transparency sheet and replaced it with a list of two names next to bullet points: the Hansel and Gretel demon and Zachary Kralik.
Spike’s interest piqued, and he leaned forward. “Kralik? Why the hell’s he on the list?”
“Very good question, Mr. Spike. And as I’ve said before, I’d kindly appreciate your watching your language. There is no cursing in the workplace here as you probably remember from the workplace harassment training.” The Mayor was smiling, which made Spike uncomfortable. He very much appreciated someone being direct, but the faux friendliness grated his nerves, and as Spike was coming to learn, the Mayor was a bit passive-aggressive.
“So, why’s he on the list?” Spike modified, more interested in this tidbit than butting heads. All he knew was that the Mayor had his hands in all kinds of deals – some straightforward and upfront, some shady and behind-the-scenes. Spike was pretty sure there was more behind-the-scenes that he didn’t know, but he’d been biding his time for the last few months, fulfilling obligations and waiting.
“I have been working closely with some contacts overseas, and they’re paying our dear little town a visit. Kralik is coming with them.” The Mayor looked pleased with himself.
“Kralik is insane,” Spike blurted, his words dripping with sarcasm.
The Mayor crossed his arms, bringing his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Not unlike your paramour, am I right?”
Spike scoffed. “Dru’s nothing like that sociopath. Her insanity is much different. Not all individuals with mental health issues are a danger to society like Kralik.” Not that Dru wasn’t dangerous in her own way.
The Mayor lifted his eyebrows. “You know him?”
“Know him? Angelus turned him while he was in the insane asylum.”
The Mayor was obviously trying to put the pieces together. “Oh. So, he’s like your brother?”
“Uncle.”
“Huh. So, um, how come he wasn’t a member of your little quartet?”
Spike shrugged. “Angelus learned early on that Kralik was uncontrollable, and he was a sadist. He was a serial killer before he was ever turned. Liked to torture women. His own mum abused him. She castrated him. Literally.”
Allan and the woman were staring at Spike with bulging eyes and hanging jaws, and Spike smirked.
The Mayor shuddered. “Poor fella.”
“You don’t want him here. He’ll create a bigger mess for your town than you ever bargained for.”
“You don’t know what I’ve bargained for,” the Mayor snapped. Then, he switched gears on a dime. “I don’t believe we’ll have to worry about him that much. The Council assures me that they have him well under control. He has to take this medicine, you see, and without it, he’s a bumbling mess.”
Spike perked up at this, but this time, he carefully hid his reaction. “Council?”
“Yes, the Council of Watchers. You must have heard of them. They come from your country of origin, and they help train the Slayer. Though I have no idea why there are so many of them and only one of the Slayer and why their headquarters is so far away from here. Makes me think they’re a wee bit afraid of their charge. Don’t you agree, Allan?”
“S-sure, sir.” Allan clearly had no idea what the Mayor was talking about.
Spike thought the Mayor was probably right. They had reason to be afraid of Buffy Summers. She was a helluva Slayer. A Slayer he was going to kill. “Why is the Council coming here then? And with Kralik?”
“To rid themselves of the Slayer, of course.” There was a pregnant pause, and then, the Mayor dissolved into laughter. Allan and the woman tittered nervously with him. “Just kidding. I have no idea. I think it’s some sort of test for a Slayer of a certain age. I didn’t pay attention to the particulars. I just know that Kralik will provide a nice distraction for her.” The Mayor swung his laser pointer back at the projector. “Let’s talk fairytale demons.”
Spike wondered why all the distraction was needed, and he didn’t know if the Mayor was actually too far off from the Council’s ultimate motive. Spike wasn’t sure, but maybe there was something to the Council wanting to control the Slayer. . . the same way Angelus liked to control his progeny. All Spike knew was that he wanted to find out more about this test because if anyone was going to kill the Slayer, it was going to be him and not his unwanted uncle.
* * *
From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:
I learned some interesting information about William the Bloody today. He and Kralik are related. Angelus sure is a piece of work, turning a serial killer. But then, vampires are serial killers, and Angelus is known for his artistry in death, which is kind of like a serial killer. I’m not sure how I feel the Council of Watchers coming here, but if they’re bringing a creature that could possibly kill the Slayer or both of them, I’m all for it no matter what kind of deal I’ve made with Spike. If Buffy Summers dies, Spike will still have Faith Lehane. Anything that will bring me that much closer to a peaceable ascension is an A+ in my book. Speaking of my ultimate goal, I need to get that Box of Gavrok ordered before it’s too late for shipping. Literally.
* * *
Unbeknownst to the Mayor, Spike had done a little research on his own about why the Council and Kralik were coming to town. Turned out, they were planning to weaken the Slayer, and then on her eighteenth birthday, they’d set a trap with a vampire that she’d have to figure a way to outsmart or die trying.
Spike had no idea what exactly that was supposed to be a test of. In his mind, the only way to kill a Slayer and have it mean anything was if she was at her full strength.
Turned out that Spike had the night of Buffy’s birthday off, maybe because the Mayor was satisfied that the Slayer would be occupied. So, just after dark, Spike set out to find Buffy and warn her of this potential trap.
The Mayor was really too trustworthy. He left everything out in the open, including his calendar of events and his cabinet full of heads and skulls. It was to Spike’s benefit, so he knew that this test. . . this Cruciamentum was going to take place at the Sunnydale Arms, the roach-infested, abandoned boarding house on Prescott.
He went there first.
A rental car was parked outside, looking oddly shiny and new compared to the dilapidated structure. Spike mused that the Mayor would positively despise this place with its filth, peeling paint, and pungent odor that emanated from every orifice of the building.
The closest door opened with ease, and Spike immediately heard a man moaning. The sound was low and echoed its way toward him.
Spike rushed down a dim hallway toward the source of the sound and found himself face to face with a hungry fledge with a gaping wound in his belly. There was so much blood all over the man’s tweed suit that Spike couldn’t tell where the actual injury was located.
The vamp’s eyes were filled with misery, and he coughed, dark blood spilling over his lips. “P-please. Help.”
Spike thought fast. “Sorry, mate. I don’t have time to deal with you right now. So, you get the short end of the stick.” He grabbed a scrap of splintered wood from the floor and jammed it in the vampire’s chest.
The fledgling exploded into dust, and Spike could have sworn the Watcher mouthed a soundless thank you.
Tossing aside the bit of wood, Spike scanned the room, taking in the broken chains and the large pill bottle. He palmed the medicine and read the label: Haloperidol. These were Kralik’s anti-psychotic meds. He’d be needing these. Spike slid them into his duster pocket and sniffed at Kralik’s prison. Beyond the metallic scent of blood, Spike detected Kralik’s signature stench. There was something off about the way he smelled. . . something that Spike’s instincts told him he should run away from.
Still, Spike persisted in tailing the serial killer vamp. Spike knew that the Mayor wouldn’t be happy with Kralik on the loose in his town, but that wasn’t what drove Spike to rush.
What drove him to move and quickly was the fact that Kralik was headed in the direction of Buffy’s house.
Not that Spike cared about the Slayer’s wellbeing. He didn’t. Not at all.
But he did care about Joyce. What if Kralik showed up on the Slayer’s doorstep? Joyce might open the door and invite the killer inside. Spike couldn’t let anything happen to her, not when she had supplied Spike with hot cocoa and gentle but direct relationship advice when he’d needed it most.
The front door to the house on Revello Drive was wide open when Spike reached it. He didn’t hesitate and rushed into the house. There were signs of a struggle at the entrance. The coatrack was on its side, jackets and scarves strewn everywhere, and the door was tilted inward, halfway off the hinges. Polaroid pictures were fanned out in a rainbow of black-and-white squares. The set up was one that Kralik had adopted from Angelus. The photos depicted a terrified Joyce, and in one that Spike picked up, Kralik’s fingernails were digging into her neck, a drop of blood sliding down.
Renewed rage flared up white and hot in Spike’s chest and head, and he spun to come face-to-face with the Slayer.
She hovered on the front porch, just on the other side of the threshold. Dark circles carved their way deep under her dulled green eyes, her blonde hair was in a sloppy ponytail, and she hugged her arms like she might fall over at any second.
Still, her voice was hard as steel. “Spike. What are you doing in my house? And in this town? I thought you left. Again.”
“I’ve been here. In grand ole Sunnyhell.” Spike was well and truly caught. “Your mum’s in trouble.”
“What’d you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything, pet. I swear.”
“Bullshit.” Buffy snatched the Polaroid from his hand. Spike immediately noted the lack of force behind the movement. He’d been holding the picture loosely. “Oh my god. Who’s this?”
“Kralik. It’s a long story, but I’ll give you the short version.”
“I’m listening.” Something in Buffy’s eyes looked more frightened than angry.
“No interrupting?”
“No interrupting. Go!”
“The Mayor is working with the Council. The Council is putting you under some test on your 18th birthday – ”
Buffy took a step back from Spike with a shocked look on her face. “Wait. What? That’s why I lost my powers?”
Spike didn’t bother pointing out that she’d literally just said she wouldn’t interrupt. “Yeah. And the test consists of fighting a vampire without your powers. Only problem is, they picked Kralik to be your test vamp.”
Buffy glanced at the photo of her mother – the one with the blood. “And that’s bad for some other reason than he obviously kidnapped my mom as part of the test?”
“Because I know. . . of him, and it’s bad.”
“Worse than you?”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes for some reason he couldn’t elucidate. “Ha bloody ha, Slayer. And yes. In his own way. He’s a serial killer with mummy issues.”
“Like every other vampire on the planet.”
“No, not like,” Spike insisted. “He was a serial killer before he was turned. There’s a difference.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What part are you leaving out?” Strong Buffy would have had him already pinned against the wall. It was another change Spike noticed.
Spike growled. “Look. The longer you ask questions, the longer your mum is in Kralik’s clutches.”
“Okay.” Buffy squatted and rummaged through the big pile of jackets and scarves on the floor, pulling out a stake, a flashlight, and a bottle of holy water. When she gazed up at Spike, she seemed so vulnerable and small. Buffy was always big even though she was petite. She filled the room when she was around Spike. This was new, and Spike felt. . . drawn to her in a different way than before. “You helping?”
Spike made a split-second decision, shoving aside any vague concerns about whether this decision would put him in a worse situation later. He liked Joyce, sod it. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“Great. Thanks.” She felt around and produced another stake.
Spike caught the wood with ease. “I can track him, and odds are, he’s going back to the Sunnydale Arms. He’s a creature of habit.”
“That’s where Giles wanted me to go tonight,” she said softly as if just realizing something. She shook her head and stood, her mouth a grim line. “Let’s go.”
They ran then. Spike kept pace with Buffy, who was running far slower than a Slayer ever ran unless she was injured. He didn’t comment on it though. He assumed that if a Slayer passed this test, she would somehow get her powers back, and then, she’d be ready to kick his ass again.
The way back to the Arms was quick now that Spike knew exactly where to go, and when they slowed, he said, “You should know something about Kralik before we go in.”
Buffy leaned forward with her hands on her thighs. “What?”
“He’s psychotic, and I have his prescription.” Spike produced the bottle and shook it so that the pills clattered against one another.
Buffy stared at the container and then took it from him. “Oh. What happens if he doesn’t have them?”
A loud roar of pain poured out from the depths of the building.
Spike tilted his head in the direction of the cry of anguish. “That.”
“That’s not good.” Before Spike could say anything else, Buffy darted inside with her stake at the ready.
Spike didn’t even have time to roll his eyes. He followed the Slayer inside.
The cries of pain continued, and they used the sound to trace Kralik’s location. As they drew further into the belly of the very dark Arms, using only Buffy’s flashlight as their guide through the hallways, the wails went silent. The Slayer abruptly stopped, and Spike plowed right into her, catching her slim body in his arms. She stepped out of his embrace quickly, and Spike was left feeling confused by the way his body was reacting to hers.
She edged forward more slowly, and then, the quiet was pierced by a scream. Joyce’s scream.
Spike scrambled after the Slayer, discovering dim lightbulbs lined the next hallway, illuminating the way to a room – the room where Joyce ceased screaming.
Buffy shoved the mostly-closed door open, shouting, “Mom!”
Hot on Buffy’s heels, Spike saw Kralik with his head buried in Joyce’s neck. Her body was dragged upward and limp, and Spike snarled, “Kralik! Drop the lady!”
Kralik’s head lifted at Spike’s voice and not Buffy’s. “Spike,” he spat through blood-covered lips, a few droplets flying through the air. “What are you doing here?”
The Slayer was incredulous. “You know him know him?”
“Not the point, now, Slayer,” Spike said, not taking his eyes off Kralik.
“Let go of my mom!” Buffy demanded.
Kralik ignored Buffy. “She’s weak. Kill the Slayer. Break her neck.”
Spike focused on Joyce. “No. Let go of the lady.”
Kralik studied Spike’s face. “I have a thing for mothers. You do, too, from what I remember. Angelus told me all about it before we parted ways. Is that why you want me to let the Slayer’s mother go?”
“That’s none of your business!” Spike snapped, suddenly afraid to look at Buffy.
Luckily, Kralik threw his head back and roared with pain. He let one hand slip off of Joyce as he held his head.
“You looking for this?” Buffy asked when Kralik’s wave of pain passed. Spike heard the rattle of the pills against plastic.
Kralik sneered. “Give me that.”
“You’ll have to catch me first,” Buffy taunted, making Spike wonder what the hell she was up to.
Kralik threw aside Joyce’s body, lunging at Buffy, who took off out of the room. Kralik gave chase, and Spike let them go, rushing to Joyce’s side.
He lifted her gently up, propping her against the wall. She groaned as Spike checked her neck. The size and depth of the tear in her flesh indicated that Kralik hadn’t gone for the kill or Joyce would have been dead in seconds. He’d been trying to draw it out for some reason. Spike could think of many reasons, none of which mattered because Joyce was rousing.
She blinked up at him. “S-spike?” She must have remembered Kralik because she sat up with more gusto, pushing herself up to her feet where she swayed until Spike steadied her with a hand under her arm. “Where’s that vampire?”
Spike hesitated but admitted, “Going after your daughter.”
“Let’s go!” Joyce declared, trying to run but stumbling as a wave of dizziness from blood loss came over her. She gave Spike a desperate glance. “You go! I’ll be okay.”
“Right.”
Spike dashed after Buffy, following the bellows of Kralik and weaving up and down hallways.
Spike reached a dead end in the maze, glimpsing Buffy in the bright narrow beam from the flashlight. She was backed into a dark corner; only a strip of her pale cheek and glint of a green eye was visible.
“Give them to me!” Kralik thundered with complete rage and helplessness in his voice.
“O-okay,” Buffy said, not noticing Spike as he silently slid his hand in his duster and pulled out the stake she’d given him earlier.
Kralik snatched the bottle of pills from Buffy’s shaking outstretched hand. He swirled off the medication cap and tossed a few in his mouth.
“Water?” Buffy asked as Spike snuck up on the distracted Kralik.
“What?” Kralik eyed the liquid that Buffy was offering, not bothering to examine the label. “Yes. Thank you.”
As Kralik took a large swig of the holy water, Spike drove the stake through Kralik’s back so that he burst into dust.
Buffy let out a small cry of mingled fear and relief and then slid to the ground sobbing, losing herself in the shadows.
Spike squatted before her, shoving his duster back. He paused but then reached out and stroked the warm tears from her cheeks. “It’s over, pet. The test is over.”
Buffy launched herself into his arms, and he held her tight as her whole body shook with the weight of her emotions.
Spike stroked her back and realized that she thought the worst. “Buffy. Slayer. Your mum’s okay.”
“W-what?” Buffy said, her voice sounding young, so young.
“She’s alive. She’s gonna be okay. You should probably get her to a hospital to suss out whether she needs anything.”
Buffy pushed away from him then. She wiped her tears away with both hands. She straightened her shoulders, and when she spoke, the wall between them was back. “Okay. I got it from here.” She hunted around for her flashlight and picked it up, aiming it at him. Spike blinked a little in the brightness, and Buffy continued, “Thank you. For your help.”
Spike noted that she didn’t bring up the Angelus thing. . . the thing from last year, but Spike couldn’t help but be reminded that this time last year, she’d also gone through something big. “You’re welcome, pet. Sorry about this birthday, too.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he pivoted and left her there, unsure what to make of what had just happened.
* * *
From the journal of Richard Wilkins, III:
That Spike. Oh boy. That’s all I have to say about that. He will find out soon that I don’t mess around. He surprised me with his attachment to the Slayer’s mother, but he’s not the only one who can cross a line. I don’t miscalculate twice. He’ll be sure to the toe the line after this.
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Chapter End Notes:
I don't remember what anti-psychotic meds Kralik was on, so I put him on one that I know is super strong. I also don't really get the connection between the meds and pain and dependency. It doesn't make any sense from working in the field, but I kept it the way it was for continuity with the show and attribute mis-information about anti-psychotic medication side effects to something with vampire physiology. lol Just know that anti-psychotic meds are not habit-forming.
To be continued...
To be continued...