| Summer Series 2002: The Journey of the Fool Story the 11th ~ Justice By Kuzibah |
| Disclaimer: Spike is not mine, more's the pity. Spoilers: For "Grave." Archive- Please email request. Feedback- Absolutely. ******************* ~ Calais, France Spike waited in a long line of cars to board the ferry that would take him across the English Channel to Dover. Although it was not yet sunset, he�d had the luck of a pouring thunderstorm most of the afternoon, obscuring any hint of daylight, so he was able to move about more freely. Unfortunately, it had also revealed a bit of a lack in the hearse�s door seals, and rain had been dripping steadily onto his lap. Peering through the steamed-up windows at the customs officials in their black raincoats working down the line of cars, he had spent the last hour or so fantasizing about where he would be if he�d taken the sorcerer�s offer on his soul back in Paris. He imagined wealth, power, comely and obedient minions to wait on him hand and foot. But eventually each daydream turned red with the blood of the innocent, and horror and remorse washed it all away. Still, he mused, he�d have gone back to not knowing better. It was like Eve being offered the chance to vomit up the apple. Oh, and wasn�t that a lovely image. The officials came closer, and Spike brought out his passports and papers. He spread them on the seat beside him and started going over his story. �My name is William Conrad,� he said to himself. �I own a mortuary in Tottenham. I�m traveling on holiday. I�m thirty-four, divorced, my birthday is June 12th. My name�� A tap on his window startled him out of his internal recitation, and he looked up to see one of the customs officials there, holding an enormous umbrella. Spike lowered his window. �May I see your passport, sir?� the official asked, and Spike handed it over. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to look nonchalant, but tiny alarms had started ringing in his brain the moment he�d lowered the window, and they were starting to get louder. �Travel visa, please, Mr. Conrad.� Spike handed the papers to him, sniffing sharply to steady his nerves, and then he realized. The customs official was not a human being, but was, in fact, the same sort of demon that Spike had killed in Tangier. Spike looked up in alarm, and the official gave him a wolfish grin. �A bit early for you, isn�t it, bloodsucker?� he said casually. �I took a chance with the rain,� Spike replied in the same tone. The demon�s grin got even wider. �There are quite a few people on the lookout for you,� he said. �Not everyone was convinced the Bishop managed to dust you.� Spike remained silent, weighing his options. The demon was at a bad angle for staking him; he might be able to exit on the passenger�s side and escape. He�d lose the passport, but the remaining diamonds were still in his pocket. It would probably be enough to get him to England, anyway. After a moment, the demon continued. �The See and his Cardinals deny you even existed, of course,� he said. �That�s why none of them came after you. If they�d staged a man-hunt, they�d have to admit someone was clever and ballsy enough to murder one of their own and rob the temple. Better to say you�re a myth, a fiction made up by blasphemers.� Spike was trying to wrap his brain around this, but he couldn�t quite grasp it. �Then who is looking for me?� The demon�s grin turned smug. �The Reformationists, of course,� he said. �You�re their new hero.� �I�m not,� Spike countered immediately. �I don�t care one way or the other. I just want to be left alone.� �At least tell me this,� the official persisted. �The Ghee. What happened to it? It would be a potent symbol for the movement.� Spike let his eyes drop shut, just for a moment, and in his mind he asked whatever power might have control over these things to let him be himself just long enough to be believed. �I ate it,� he said, looking the demon in the eye. �I meant what I said. I�m a vampire. I have no interest in your petty religious squabbles. Your Bishop told me the Ghee were delicious, so I fought him for it and took it.� Spike gave a smile of his own, letting a bit of fang show through. �He didn�t lie.� The grin left the demon�s face, and with a renewed formality he handed the papers back to Spike. �He�s not my Bishop,� was all he said, turning on his heel and moving to the next car. With a stifled curse at the rain that poured in, Spike raised his window. Later, in the shelter of the ferry, Spike crawled into the back of his vehicle and tried to sleep. As was becoming a usual thing he could not, could only wrap himself in his sheet and wait to be exhausted by the memories that came to him. Now, he was tormented by the lie he�d told to the demon in Calais. Not the lie itself, of course; that he�d done to save his little friend, and he�d do it again in a second. No, it was the implication inherent in the lie: that he would have eaten Ariel�s brain just for the novelty of it. And this is what kept him awake. There was a time, not too long ago, when he would have. If he�d gotten what he wanted in Africa, he would have. Or, if not that, at least handed her over for the Demonic See to do it. And there was a time, a long time, when he had done things as bad or worse. He had killed for no better reason than he felt like it. Innocents, like Ariel. Children, babies even. He squeezed his eyes shut, and curled up tight, and tried not to think about the bargain he�d refused in Paris. Go on to the next part - The Hanged Man Main Menu ~ Return to Summer Series 2002 Menu |