Remember Me - Chapter 7.

I don't even bother to try and stay conscious for the most of this long, hot, agonizing trip in the back of this awful truck. I let myself drift in and out of consciousness, hearing snatches of voices, watching patters of light drift across the canvas roof. Once, I watch a tiny beam of sunlight coming through a pinprick in the side drift imperceptibly towards my lifeless hand. It's a good game. Every time I open my eyes, it's nearer. I count the seconds till it starts to burn its way across my upturned palm. The pain is blissful. So much sharper and more focused than that from my broken body, which by now is a sea of undiluted agony. But the smell of burning, Vampire flesh alerts the farm boy. With a snarl of disgust, he kicks my smoking hand away, like you might kick a can in the street.

I've started to worry slightly about my injuries. It's not true Vampires can just…heal. Broken bones need to carefully aligned back together, just like human bones. Then they heal. If they're left like mine, shattered, sticking out, they heal like that. I guess. No crippled Vampires live long enough to put that theory to the test. It's why we live together. It's why we always have another, even one we can't abide. We need the reassurance of having someone who will care for us when eternity is threatened. I couldn't count the times I patched Darla or Dru, Angelus or Penn, carefully binding wounds, setting bones. And they did the same for me. But there hasn't been anyone now for so long.

I'm trying not to let the pain wear down my defences this time. I don't want to start disappearing again. I can't afford to. I'm trying to focus on good stuff. Like my TV. I've got it all planned in my head, what make, where I'm going to put it. What I'm gonna watch. I've even got to the part where I invite people in to watch with me. But it all gets a bit vague there. Is it…the Slayer? Is it…Harris? Why do I invite, them? I hate, them. Thought I did anyway. I'd quite like Harris here now though. He'd be funny…he'd so hate these soldier boys. Wish even more that Buffy was here. She'd kick soldier ass. That would be even funnier.

But they ain't here and ain't likely to be. Don't even know where I am now. And I don’t know where I'm going, but I'd take a pretty large bet on the fact that I'm not coming back.

That's such a terrifying thought. When I go, I'll just be dust. There won't even be a body. How long would anyone look for me when I'm missing…if they know they won't find a body anyway. Makes me think of little Daisy. What would you do if your child went…missing? How long would you continue to look for them till you had to give up? Would anyone look for me? I think Angel might. If anyone tells him what's happened that is.

Jesus. I wouldn't. Tell him. I'd lie and say I had no idea where I was. Fuck. Think I'm losing it again. I'm having imaginary conversations with Angel about not knowing my own whereabouts.

Wonder what he's doing now. It must be late afternoon. Feels like we've been in this truck a day. Smells like sunset soon. Guess he'll be in bed. Or maybe he's keeping human time today. Maybe he's in the office, at his desk. Maybe he's wondering where I am.

No, if I were Giles, I would keep the exact details of Spike's end from Angel. Details of my…end, from…Angel…my end…Angel…DON'T start giggling. It's not that funny. Think of something else, anything, think of fat farm boys, think of Marmite, think of any gross thing, but DO NOT start laughing…do not draw attention to yourself.

'What's so fucking funny, demon?' They've boosted the military muscle in the truck with me after my Colditz re-enactment. Lucky me, eyes-too-close-together, is here too.

Honestly, nothing. You had to be there.

'Answer me, or I'll fucking give you something to laugh about.' Oh, original…NOT.

'I was thinking about enlisting…ow!'

But got farm boy and his favorite minion looking far too closely at me now. Don't like this at all.

'We can't deliver him, looking like that.'

'Why not? He's gonna look like that soon enough anyway.'

'Nah. This one'll go for the auctions. He's pretty enough even like that. They won't waste him in Experimentations. Come on. Help me with him. He'll fetch a higher price, tidied up.'

Farm boy unshackles my wrists. They can't get the broken one out at first, it's too swollen…comes free eventually though.

'He's a quiet one, this one, isn't he, Soldier?'

'Depends what you're doing to him, Boss. He sang real pretty for me earlier!'

'Help me set his arm first. Take the coat off.'

They do a real neat job on the most obvious of breaks. All I can say is…thank God for the Military!

But this is not…right. As their hands explore my body for injuries, they seem to linger too long on sensitive areas…stroke for injury where injury is unlikely. I can smell their arousals; see their eyes…dilate. I'm curled up on my Duster. I lay my hand over the broken pieces of my phone. I feel a bit like that: beyond repair.

'He don't look so good still, Boss. Don't they have to have blood to recover or something? I'm sure the Prof said this type needs blood all the time. Did we bring any?'

'Yeah, he needs to feed all right. Have you ever…done it?'

'Err…what, Boss?'

'Let one of them feed on you?'

'Fuck! No!'

'It's…incredible. It's a rush man. Like coming under fire…there's nothing like it. It makes you come alive…totally. Your blood…surges…it's the ultimate stiffener.'

'You are kidding right, Boss? You ain't really going to let…THAT…THING…feed off you. Are you?'

'Ever swim with Sharks, Graham? Live a little.'

Farm boy kneels beside me and taking out a small knife from his pocket, he holds the blade over his wrist. I can't help but watch: fascinated. This cannot be happening.

Oh. It's not.

He sits back, just looking at me.

Then he puts the blade to his collarbone.

'Fuck, Boss. No!'

Too late. A bright, scarlet line appears just above the neckline of his tee shirt. It starts to flow steadily. His eyes glaze as if he's already focused on some sick music only he can hear. The smell of human blood makes me…moan. I can't help it. He pulls me up till I'm cradled against his neck, then presses my mouth to the wound.

In full game face, I slip my tongue under the edge of the flap of skin. I have to be so careful not to hurt him, but I can do this. The coppery taste of blood trickles down my throat. It sets up a resonance throughout my entire dead body. Every fiber of my being responds to its call. Bones start knitting together; blood recedes from bruises, pain lessens. I get bolder and start making the hole slightly deeper with my razor sharp fangs. He doesn't flinch. He pulls me closer. His hand finds my zip and pushes down inside my jeans. He finds my cock and releases it. He pulls the foreskin sharply and painfully back, exposing the purple mushroom head. He plays idly with it with one finger, while I lap desperately at the wound. Soon he'll start on me in earnest.

This is what it was like for weeks between us. This is old, familiar ground. He'll let me feed only till he makes me cum. It's his game. He always wins. I always cum too quick: before I have enough. Ounce by precious ounce I try to suck, while he pumps my fluid to his intense rhythm. When the blood is in me, I can't stop from cumming. My whole body is aroused by blood. It's what I am. He seems to know it and uses it against me. Every time.

He so wants me to come for him, but he hates it when I do. It disgusts him to be brought back. To come back to the reality that he has a loathsome demon feeding from him and cum on his hand. But this is a good day cus the other one's so aroused by watching; he wants to try it too. He's not so careful with the knife. Much bigger cut to his neck. I get a long feed from this one cus stupid fuck can't get me to cum again. Not till I get a good few pints anyway.

'Graham! Stop him anyway. He's had enough. Did you feel it? Did you feel the rush as he…sucked? Did I tell you…like combat…like fucking flying!'

'Yeah, let's keep him, Boss.'

'Can't. They want him. They've got plans for him. Hey, Hostile 17! You're a Vampire with a mission aren't you? How you feeling now then?'

Peachy. Just, Peachy.

'He isn't very polite is he?'

'He will be. He'll learn real quick to say please and thank you, where he's going.'

Oh. Goody. Finishing school for Spike then?

They have no idea. Stupid fucks. No idea just how much better I do feel. My body is just a dull ache now and I'm feeling real sharp again. Nothing like O-Neg to perk you right up. They haven't even tied me back up either.



I wonder how many times in two hundred and fifty years, I have lain immobile, useless, waiting for the sun to go down. I lie completely still. I'm in the exact middle of the bed. It's important, details like that, when you are waiting. Wesley and Cordelia promised to come back for me, if they could, tonight. Things may be decided by then.

I concentrate on a tiny spot on the ceiling. It looks like a dog wearing a hat. I've been looking at it for three hours now. I'm beginning to see a personality developing.

I wonder where he is now and what he is doing. I wonder if he is thinking about me.

I'm making plans for Spike and that's a good way to pass the long day. I'm trying to get us from reuniting to…bed. I can see us doing one, then the other. It's the bit that joins the two I'm a bit hazy about. How will I initiate it? Will it be a tearing at him borne of need and fear and relief…that's what I feel it will be now. That’s what I desperately need now. But maybe it will be slow and easy, us both shy and reticent. Maybe we'll sit watching one of his shows. He'll be wearing his black jeans and a black tee shirt. Cotton. I like him in black. It sets off his bizarre hair and flawless skin. We won't be touching at first. But I lean across him to reach the remote control…no, that isn't likely; he'd never let me get hold of that. I lean across him to reach a book and he…oh, yes, that's much better. That might work. He…he, what, though? I still can't picture what happens. I can see the next scene, I can see him in bed. I just can't work out how to get him there.

Oh yes, I can see the bed scene. He's spread-eagled on his back, I'm lying with my head between his legs. I'm finally in a place I've wanted to be in for a hundred years. I lick across the swollen, cherry-red mushroom tip of his cock. Foreskin slips to my command, veins throb, his hands in my hair, his voice urging me on. Sucking, licking, moving slowly from root to tiny slit, cupping his balls in the palm of my hand, rotating their silken weight. Exploring where I've never been before, opening up, pressing, sliding in; pulling out. Suck and push, lick, pull out, creating friction: heat. Listening to him moan, feel him trying to hold it in. Finding that spot for him, fingers strong and supple, tongue flicking with fingers, then, when he's cresting and ready, I enter him and we renew the ancient joining…only with cock: not fang, pleasure: not pain. Waves of pleasure starting in my spine and spreading to cock, balls, belly. He sits up slightly and pulls me down to his embrace. Fleeting kisses from ardent lips. Tongues tasting each other: my hands working him. Then flinging himself down and raising his legs to my shoulders…undreamt of depth…thrusting so hard I force moans from the pressure alone. His veins swelling under my hand. His strangled cry of pleasure…catching that cold seed: mine caught deep in him…then sweet, sweet collapse together…tangled limbs…mixed essence…shared eternity.

So that bit I'm okay with. It's getting started on that damn couch I just can't work out.

Maybe a shower would be better. He's taking a shower. I'm reading, but I hear the water streaming over his perfect, hard, enticing body. I go into the shower, he turns to me, he…what does he do? Why does he do anything? He's the one who left. He's the one who didn't want this. I would have taken him on that table. Just before he told me he was going, I would have lain him down and taken him: made him mine. But he left. He didn’t seem to want me. If I try again…if I lay my hand on him again…will he leave again? What is it? What is it that gets us from where we are to where I want us to be?

And will he have a whole new reason to hate me? Will he find the tracer I put on him? What will he think? That he is nothing more than a possession, that I didn’t trust him, that he is like a child, needing great, big, strong Angel's protection. I think if he finds that tracer, I am lost.

And what a bad idea this has been thinking about, Spike: picturing myself entering, Spike. Now I'm not so calm and controlled and the bloody dog is doing unmentionable things to the hat.

It's not fair. I don't want to have to move my hand down and release my cock…like this. I want another hand to do this for me. I don’t want to squeeze my foreskin up, pinching hard for that ecstatic pain. I want his fingers to explore and work me like this.

It's not fair.



It's been dark for about two hours now. They've been playing cards since…feeding me. They have no idea how fed I feel. Fresh, flowing O-Neg – well, one was A-Poss, but that's even spicier – makes you feel really alive.

The truck stops and I can hear shouting and the sound of activity from all sides. The tailgate is lowered to yet another loading bay and I'm hauled out and prodded along more, white, sterile corridors. For a bizarre minute, I think we've been driving for twenty-four hours in a huge circle and come right back to Sunnydale. The guys with the stun guns force me into a large, windowless room with half a dozen bunks along one wall. I make out a number of other figures in the gloom before hearing the door being bolted behind me.

'Well, look here boys. Look what we've got here. We've got ourselves a Vampire.'

'WE, ain't got anything, Mate. I'm having a really bad day, so if you want to start something, fine by me, if not…then piss off and let me have a fag!'

'Got a spare one then?'

The voice emerges from the gloom. Hah! A Kopros demon. All mouth and no trousers. Known for it. I offer the ugly mother a fag and we sit at one of the central tables smoking quietly for a while.

'So, what's it to be for you then ,Vampire? Auctions or Experimentation? I'm guessing auctions. Right? They'll make a fortune with that face.'

Hey! What IS this obsession with my face? 'I dunno, Mate. I haven't a scoobie what's happening. You been chipped then?'

'Of course. We all have. That's why they need us, for…experiments. They're going to develop a way for us to control the chips…so we can live back amongst humans again.'

Uh huh. Ugly and stupid.

'And why would they do that then, Pet?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, why go to all the bother of putting them in, in the first place? And why not just take them out again?'

'Don't listen to that idiot demon. That's not why we're here.' A Vymer Demon. Bloody licorice all sorts down here.

'And what's your theory on this little chip factory then?'

'They're going to experiment on us to find out how much pain it would take to make us attack a human. Pain tolerance experiments. Then they're going to apply what they learn to making a chip for humans.'

'Hah. Glad it's the auctions for me then, Mate!'

Err, why are sodding demons looking at me with pity? 'Again…glad it's the auctions for me then? Happy expressions of 'yeah…lucky you', would be appreciated right now!'

'They're the worst. Worse than the Experiments. They sell you to…' the Vymer Demon looks down, strangely abashed: for a demon.

'Who? Who'd they bloody sell me to?'

'To the sort of human that would want a chipped demon…well, a pretty, human-looking one. Work it out for yourself.'

'Wait a bleeding minute here, Pet. Are you trying to tell me I'm gonna be some sort of…fuck toy for humans?'

'I hear they've put some of the pretty, chipped Vampires into sort of, clubs, where humans that like torture…play with 'em. But don’t worry, I hear they don't last long.'

'You hear way too bleeding much, Mate. Why don't you shut the fuck up for a bit and let me think.' Not much to think about really. No way. No way am I going to spend my last few hours being tortured by some sick human rubbing his dick off on me. No way. I've spent one hundred and twenty seven years doing exactly what I liked. Top of the sodding food chain. And I'm not going out that way. I'd rather end it: here and now.

I've been to places like that before. They are excellent feeding grounds. Angelus used to take me sometimes. He really got off on all that torture stuff. Doing it that is. He would watch those fucking, fucked up humans for hours, grinning to himself. Learning from them. And that's worrying. Humans that can outdo demons for inventive pain. Imagine being helpless. Imagine being endlessly used and abused for their sexual thrills. Unable to defend myself for an eternity of pain and humiliation. Cus it wouldn't really be the pain that would do it for me. Proved that tonight. Not much more painful than being hit by a four-tonner doing fifty miles an hour. But I shrug off pain (well, all right, I winge and cry and make a huge deal of fuss if anyone is listening, but I get over it), no: it would be the humiliation. Looking into those inferior eyes. Knowing I should be on the other side of the whip or the electric clamps, or whatever else they decided to use. Never been able to stand zoos. Don't want to be the star attraction now.

So. This is it. This is the end. This is what I've struggled for all my unlife. This is where I end it all and I become nothing but dust and, if I'm really lucky, a memory in a few peoples minds. Spike…met him once. Evil sodding git: till he got chipped. Sad that. Better get it over with. Before solider boys come back.

'Hey, I want you to do something for me.'

'Why should I?'

'Out of the goodness of your fucking demon heart and if not that, cus I gave you a fag and cus you'll probably enjoy it anyway.'

'What?' Suspicious git.

'Here.' I snap a leg off one of the bunks. 'I want you to stake me.'

'Oh. OK. But I want something for doing it.'

OK. If he says he wants me to suck ANYTHING, even a Murray's Mint, I'm doing it meself. I am not sucking anything else tonight. Done enough sucking. Suck. All. Out.

'What? Name your price.'

'That coat. I want that leather thing you're wearing. That's my price.'

Oh, sod it. I always thought me coat would sorta go with me. Like the Roman Emperor's horse or was it his wife? Same difference. But, oh…not me coat. Please. But beggars can't be choosers.

'Okay, but I want to empty the pockets. You ain't getting all me stuff. That's going with me.'

I take myself off to a quiet corner and start unloading a lifetime of precious, collected items. If I stuff it all in my jeans pocket it'll all go to dust with me. Weird, but effective. Fags first. They've been my best friends for over a century, so gotta take them. What's all this then? Ahh. The pieces of Angel's phone. I can't bear to take them out and look at them. Last time I had this phone in my hand I was talking to the poof. I close my eyes and picture his voice, one last time. No point getting sentimental. I may not have much time left before they come for me. I take the pieces out one by one. Don’t know what that bit is…but it's coming with me. Nope, not that bit either…but it's coming too. Next bit…oh! Seen one of those recently. Hum. It's flashing. It's attached to the inside of the broken cover. Hum. It's a tracer. Angel put a tracer in my phone. Angel wanted to be able to find me. Wherever. Whatever.

Uh huh. Angel may know where I am now.

Oh. Angel may be coming for me. Soon.

Angel.

'You ready then or what. Give me the fucking coat and come over here.'

'Sod off. I'm busy.'

Okay. Staking myself suddenly doesn’t seem so attractive an option. Hope springs eternal? Fucking hope…I hate it. But just look at this little beauty. Flashing in my hand. On and off. On and off. Reminds me of something. Something good…reminds me of Angel's hand on me, in the dark. I put the little piece of hope carefully back into my coat. This time into the inner lining. Better keep this little baby safe.

'Come on. You going to do this then.'

'Nah. Sorry to disappoint you, Mate. I've just remembered something important.' Someone important.

As I finish speaking the doors flies open and two soldier boys come back in.

'You. Vampire. Come with us.'

The Vymer demon sniggers. 'Bye, pretty one. Bet you'll be wishing you'd taken the stake!'

'Yeah, and good luck with those pain threshold experiments, Mate.'

I'm marched along more endless corridors to what looks like an ordinary locker room.

'Strip off, take a shower and put those on.' He points to a pile of neatly folded, clean clothes on the bench.

'Fuck off…uh.' Sod zaps me unceremoniously with the stun gun – knocks me against the wall.

'I said, strip.'

'Fuck off…ahh.' On my knees now.

'Okay, do it for him.' Two determined gits strip my coat off me and start pulling at my pants.

'Okay. Okay. Fucking get your hands off me.' I've had more from soldiers than I can take recently.

I finish stripping and step under the shower. God. I'm a mess. Every inch of me seems covered in dried blood or cum. The water is incredibly hot and feels like a tiny slice of heaven in an otherwise hellish day.

I drag it out as long as I can, scrubbing and turning. I don't even care I have an audience. I don't care I can smell their arousal watching me. I have a feeling they have been given strict orders to leave the valuable property alone now. Eventually I'm told to get out and I dry and put on the clothes they've laid out for me: a stiff, incredibly clean white shirt and soft, black pants. Nice. Fortunately, there are no shoes, so I put my Docs back on, grab my coat and I'm ready to party. They lead me to an adjacent room. It looks like any anonymous motel room anywhere in the world. Bed. Bedside table. That's it.

'Sit down. Don't get messy. Wait till they come.'

Err…don't get messy? What do you think I'm going to do: with this room?

I sit in this bloody room for what seems like hours. I try lying on the bed, pacing, sitting…standing still. It's all equally boring. I seem to remember though another boring room recently and wishing for anything to come along to relieve the boredom! And look what I got. Randy soldier boy and his fuck minions. Nah. Put up with being bored for once.

But just as I've resigned myself to nothing happening ever again in my sorry unlife: the door swings open.

Okay. Looks like 'Buy yourself a Vampire Sale', has just begun in earnest.

 

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