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Empathy Sucks - Chapter 3
The rain pours down in this
place, masking our tears.
I never expected to have proof so soon of Spike’s growing humanity, of the effects
of his strange, imposed soul. But it’s here in his tears. It took me eighty
years to stop feeling sorry for myself long enough to feel sorry for them. It’s
taken him six months.
There was a lot of pain here tonight.
We bear witness to the evil that men do. Men with souls like mine.
They must have caught her whilst she was jogging. Her torn running gear led
us to the spot where they left her, face down in the mud. It’s a lonely spot
to die. The smell of her fresh blood is almost overwhelming. It’s drained into
the mud in which she lies, washed out from her wounds by the incessant rain.
Cordelia had seen the body. Thank God she only saw darkly and briefly. This
is almost beyond words.
Spike seems as shocked as I am. His head is bent as if in supplication to her
pain. Then he looks up and his face is streaked and dark.
‘She wasn’t killed here.’
‘She must have been. Look at the blood, it’s only here. No trail.’
‘But we’re only a few yards from the road, Angel. A busy road. Someone would
have heard her screams. This…’ he falters and the pain is obvious in his voice…’this
must have taken hours. She can’t have been killed here.’
A ripple of cold dread snakes it’s way down my back and I know Spike can read
the fear in my eyes. I kneel in the dirt and blood alongside her peeled body
and gently turn her face to the side. What I see wants to make me scream. Two
hundred and fifty years of killing and torturing my victims has not prepared
me for the horror of this moment. I turn my face to Spike’s, for I fear his
reaction. This is too soon for him. I shouldn’t have brought him here. I see
he is lost in a world of anguish and confusion and I have to question why the
Powers That Be would send us on such a fools’ errand. There is nothing more
we can do for her in this life.
This isn’t right. This isn’t right. Demons are supposed to kill ‘em.
I kill demons. It’s so simple in Sunnydale. This is not right. I can’t work
out what I am supposed to do here. Fuck, I am so lost, I don’t even know how
to start lookin’ for home.
There are no demons here. Only men. Men with souls. But they do this. So what
is a soul and what have I got, that I feel like this? I want to tear this soddin’
chip out of my head and bathe in their blood again. I want to lose this focus.
I want them to blur to the edges of my vision so they are like a herd, ripe
for the picking. I don’t want them like this. I don’t want them in stark, individual
deaths that I can witness. I don’t want this pain. This isn’t right. This isn’t
right. But what can I do? There’s no help. For me, for her. No help. Oh God,
this hurts too much. Help me!
We need to leave this place. I’ve called Kate and she’ll
be here soon. I don’t want awkward questions about Spike. I don’t want him to
see the fear in her eyes, the hopelessness. I want him to think that there will
be resolution, justice. I needed that at the beginning. Before the darkness
became habitual. I gently take his arm,
‘It’s time to go, Spike. There’s nothing we can do here. For her. Nothing we
can do for her. Come on.’ Surprisingly he allows me to lead him back to the
car. We are both soaked through and I can smell the mud and her blood on me.
On the drive home, the air in the car becomes stifling, steaming from the dampness.
I can hardly see through the screen, and find myself wiping it incessantly trying
to get it clear. All is blurry and unfocused.
When we get back, Wesley and Cordelia are waiting in the office. They glance
at Spike briefly, before turning to check my face. They don’t need words. They
see it in my look. Some of it. God grant that they never know it all.
‘Go home,’ I say gently to them. ‘We need to wash and sleep, we’ll talk in the
morning,’ and I lead Spike downstairs to my apartment.
Last time I was here I smashed the place. No trace of the damage. No
mention either. He’s a forgiving fuck. I can’t believe he left her like that.
She should have been covered or some thing. Just not right. I’m soaked through
and cold. I’m a room temperature creature and shit, it’s cold in this room.
‘Can you heat it up a bit in here?’
‘I’ll light a fire. Go shower. The water’s always hot.’
I always seem to be trying to wash blood and pain off my cold skin. Never succeeding.
He will have to learn these habits if he is to survive.
‘Err, can I borrow some stuff? Clothes and shit. I didn’t have much to bring.’
‘Of course, I’ll put some out for you on the bed.’ Time was I’d have helped
him put them on, too. Afterwards. But that was several lifetimes ago. When we
were both unfettered demons.
Some time later and the horror of the night has abated somewhat. I fed him,
he’s warm and clean and all he needs now is rest. We can start with the truth
tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll tell him why he’s here. When he’s ready to hear it.
‘There are blankets in that box over there, Spike. I’m going to bed now. Sleep.
We’ll talk in the morning. About the chip. Everything.’
I strip and climb into my own bed. I know, though, that sleep will elude me
tonight. I never sleep after work like tonight. My soul is restless, my demon
more so. Angelus doesn’t give a shit about that woman, but he’d love to meet
the men that did that to her. Inventive. He likes learning new tricks. He enjoyed
tonight. The warring and conflict between my soul and my demon makes for a restless
night. I fear to sleep in case Angelus has his way. I don’t want to enjoy the
memory of her body, too. I’m good at lying still in the dark, brooding. I’ve
perfected the art. But after a couple of hours I hear an odd noise coming from
next door. If I owned a dog, I’d say it sounded like keening. It’s high pitched
and painful to listen to. I get up and move stealthily into the living room.
Spike is tangled in his blankets on the couch. He is asleep, but he’s thrashing
his head from side to side as if, even in sleep, he is in pain. The sound is
coming from his sleeping form. It’s unearthly and sends shivers up my spine.
Like someone walking over my grave.
I move over to sit by him. I can’t imagine what level of pain he has reached
for his unconscious brain to make this noise. Was I like this when I slept?
I had no one to tell me. I don’t know what to do. Should I wake him? I fear
bringing this much pain into his conscious mind. Maybe it should be left for
sleep. But the decision is taken from me, for as I study his pain-filled face,
his eyes fly open. He isn’t even seeing me yet. But his lungs suddenly fill
with a long-remembered but now, unnecessary breath and he screams my name.
‘Angellllllll.’ The scream creates a wave of panic in me and I fear I left it
too late to come for him. I fear I am too late to save him.
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1 | 2 | 3 |
4 | 5 | 6 |
7 | 8 | 9 | |