chapter 15, who is he? – part I
Something wrong was going on inside the restaurant thought Carlo as he adjusted Dawn's unconscious body in his arms. Signs of wrongness (as his girl might say) had been everywhere since he'd missed his mother's phone call. First of all, it was too dark and too hot in N.Y.C. for December. Where was the snow, the slush or at least the icy wind, tearing the skin off his lips? Instead, it was raining. Gallons of the wet stuff had fallen on top of their heads since they'd walked out of the apartment. And, the stench, he wrinkled his nose. New York had its share of bad smells, but this was extra out there. It was so strong it had knocked Dawn on her ass, and was bringing tears to his eyes.
Shit. Nothing but wrong ass shit. Like what Carlo was looking at now. The door to the restaurant was ajar. His moms never left a door open, especially not the one to the restaurant, unless the joint was open for business.
He pushed the door open with a swing of his hip and stepped cautiously into the restaurant. Pausing, he shifted Dawn's body in his arms again. She hadn't really moved since he'd lifted her off the pavement. Every now and then she'd shiver and make a small moaning sound. Other than that – nothing. He wasn't worried, though. She'd be all right. As soon as he got her to his Mom, she'd be fine.
Carlo walked through the foyer into the restaurant's dining section located next to the sit-down meal counter.
It was very dark in the room. Damned dark. But each time the lightning flashed outside, Carlo could make out the familiar chrome-topped tables scattered throughout the dining area. They were set for breakfast. A full bottle of ketchup, a pair of salt and pepper shakers, and a small white bowl filled with packets of sugar and Equal sat clustered in the center of each table. Carlo glanced around the room. It appeared normal everywhere else, too. The way it always looked in the hour or so before dawn and the breakfast rush. Chairs pushed in, white paper napkins underneath polished forks. No more than four settings per table. Spoons came with the coffee. You had to ask for a knife. Carlo had learned all about setting a table and his Mom's rules for serving customers when he was seven.
He lumbered forward a few more feet. His legs and arms felt like they were buried in blocks of cement. Dawn wasn't a featherweight. He looked down at her and smiled before straightening his spine and taking a deep breath.
“Bad smelling shit, man,” he muttered, curling his upper lip in disgust.
Shaking it off, he took another step further into the room.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed something white lying on top of the counter. He inched closer to get a better look. He was fighting back tears that were welling up in his eyes from the increasing intensity of the bad smell. But despite the stench, he could make out a pile of papers, bills most likely, stacked next to a coffee mug and his mother's reading glasses.
A bolt of super-bright lightning shot through the room, blinding him for an instant. He blinked rapidly as he staggered toward the pile of papers; his eyes fixed on a spot behind the counter near the cash register.
“Moms,” he called out, tightening his hold on Dawn.
Another burst of lightning tore through the dark in short jagged strips, illuminating the room. Carlo jumped, barely managing to hang on to Dawn. It wasn't the thunder or the lightning that had him freaked. He'd seen something during the stroboscope show that looked like a body sprawled on the floor behind the counter next to the dessert display case. The muscles in his neck began to ache as the pulsing light gave him glimpse after glimpse of the body.
Carlo stumbled backward and pressed his spine against the wall behind him. Dawn's arms were still draped around his shoulders as inch by inch, he slid down the hard surface to the floor and slowly stretched his legs out in front of him.
He could move. That surprised him.
His mother's favorite printed blouse and blue strapless heels covered the torso and feet of the body on the floor behind the counter. Blood was everywhere, glistening pools of black shimmering between the flashes of light. He couldn't scream; he was shaking too hard. It was as if his entire body was submerged in ice. He just stared straight ahead, unable to get up and run away.
“Dawn,” His voice was a hoarse whisper. “My Moms—.” The words stuck in his throat. If he said them, they would be true.
“Something hurt my Mom, Dawn.”
He felt her stir. “Please, wake up. My Mom, Dawn. She's dead.”
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The rain was pouring down from the sky as hard as it had been all night. Buffy was wiping the water from her face, and looking over the edge of the roof down into the alley behind Mom's Restaurant. A shimmering green cloud was rising from beneath the concrete and snaking its way around the ankles and knees of the bodies standing in the alley. Straining to see, Buffy inched forward to get a better look at who was standing in the alley in the middle of the green mist. But she couldn't make them out.
She glanced at Spike. He was perched on the ledge next to her in a crouched position. Maybe he could see what was going on below better than she could. But he hadn't said a word since they arrived on the roof, keeping the non-verbal Spike thing going. It bugged her. Still, she wasn't going to beg him to talk. He'd say something when he had something to say, she imagined.
She returned her gaze to the alley as she felt Spike brush her sleeve with his hand.
“Is that Willow?” he pointed.
She hadn't been able to determine if the bodies below belonged to humans or vampires, let alone to someone she knew. She certainly hadn't recognized Willow. “Are you sure?” she asked, squinting through the rain and the dark.
“I can smell her, and Anya, too.”
“Huh?” She dropped to her knees, and gripped the edge of the ledge. “What the hell is Anya? No. Take that back. What the hell are Willow and Anya doing here?”
Buffy turned to look at Spike.
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He had to stop himself from grabbing her hand. Spike desperately wanted to pull Buffy away from the ledge and turn her around to face him so he could shake her. Let's go! He wanted to yell at her. Let's run, now. But he'd already smelled it. The stench from the alley; it was the smell of ancient decaying legends and the bones of the world's first vampires. Spike's nostrils flared as he crouched on the ledge of the rooftop. All he wanted was to get Buffy away from it, but he couldn't. Not after he'd sensed Dawn. In the midst of the stench and the smells of Willow and Anya, and Jacob and the portal jumper, there'd also been Dawn's scent. She wasn't in the alley, but she was very close.
Thunder filled Spike's ears as he peered down through the sheets of rain and darkness. He didn't flinch as he looked into the eyes of the thing standing with Jacob, Willow and Anya. Blue eyes were staring back at him, even in the dark, Spike could see his eyes; just as he knew the thing could see his. Son of a bitch, he thought. It wasn't a bloody demon.
“Spike, did you hear that?”
“What?” He turned abruptly, startled by the sound of Buffy's voice.
A shrill scream filled the alley.
Abruptly, Spike stood up, took a step forward and jumped from the rooftop.
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Jacob was standing next to Red. They were facing Anya and the mythical portal jumper as Spike landed on the ground slightly behind Willow. The slim man standing across from the witch, his suit clinging to his bones in bunches, had skin so white it was nearly translucent. Spike's eyes traveled from his mud covered tennis shoes slowly up his body until his eyes met the gaze of the portal jumper.
He didn't look like a bloody legend to Spike. Definitely not a gift giver or whatever the hell it was Jacob had called him. He looked a lot like Spike had before he was turned, only with thick curly black hair and no glasses.
Spike didn't turn around when he heard Buffy land behind him. His eyes remained on the portal jumper as the green fog wrapped itself around his legs. He was watching transfixed as the pale wet man licked his lips slowly. Spike thought he could hear the raindrops as they bounced off the man's cheekbones.
Spike needed to run. Not away. It was an urge, sweeping through his body, an intense need to move, feel the power of his legs and back racing through the streets and leaping from rooftop to rooftop. His flesh was tingling. He could feel the sounds in the alley expanding around him in surges, and a warm sticky sensation rippled inside his chest.
What the bloody hell was happening?
Still looking into the eyes of the portal jumper, Spike realized he was waiting for everything around him to change.
Rats were scurrying behind the dumpsters, the same tiny feet he'd heard the first night he'd seen Buffy fighting the vampires in the alley. They were making noises like horse hoofs beating on cobblestone streets. The blood racing through the live bodies standing near him screamed in his ears as he felt their pulses slowing down, dangerously close to death. The rain was stopping, and the thunder was drifting far away, only making small popping sounds in the distance.
Sunrise was coming, too. He could smell it and feel it in the dampness of the mist climbing up his legs into his groin. Buffy's scent, the musk lingering on her skin from their rooftop jaunt, brushed over him. He swallowed hard, and clenched his teeth, setting his jaw in a hard line.
Spike tried to pull his gaze away from the portal jumper to stop whatever was happening to him.
When he heard the hesitant footsteps coming from the end of the alley, he was finally able to tear his eyes away from the thin man. He looked toward the exit sign over the back door of Mom's restaurant in time to see Dawn, stepping into the alley with Carlo at her side.
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“Spike!” yelled Buffy, leaping down onto the concrete surface and into the green mist, landing next to Spike and slightly behind Willow. Spike had startled her by moving so quickly from the rooftop. Still, she'd barely hesitated, following him instantly as soon as she'd heard Anya's scream.
She started to take a step closer to Spike so that she could use her body as a shield to protect Willow from the odd looking man in the stripped suit. Since he was the only one in the alley Buffy didn't know, she figured he had to be the portal jumper. However, Buffy couldn't move. The green mist had circled her ankles and clasped onto them like shackles, chaining her to the ground.
to be continued…
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Previously in 'the cut': Spike and Buffy, Carlo and Dawn, are making their way to the alley. Jacob, Willow and Anya have met and are waiting in the alley with the portal jumper.