Title: Slayerface II-Empty
Author: Crimson
Email: shatter_mirrors@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: This story won't make much sense unless you read it's prequel (now what kind of a word is that) and if you haven't read the prequel, well, shame on you. Either ask me or go here. This is written on the idea that Angel is Spike's sire, and Spike was never a pathetic weeny. 'Fool For Love' and 'Darla' do not exist in my world. This is for Julia, Pandora, -SuN-, Saffy, ~S~ anyone else who bugged me for a sequel, and especially for Angeleen who asked for a cameo by one Riley Finn, the two people who were attacked by their cats while reading the prequel, and all the others who did not come forth and admit it.
This is incomplete. It's finished, I just have a few more paragraphs to type. There will be a sequel to this to complete the trilogy, but I can't write it until I get depressed enough to write realistically again. :) If you've read any of my shit, you'll know it all pretty depressing... I'll see if I can make it any better. Want to encourage me to write new stories? Look here and suggest a story for me to work on. Some of them are started.

I don't think I've ever been this cold. I feel as if there's ice water rather then stolen blood in my veins, and not enough blood at that. I think my veins have collapsed from the vacuum, as some far-off teacher once explained to me. My lungs scream when I take a breathe to speak and my joints creak when I move, so I don't do much of anything. Dead.

In movies and books, people locked in dungeons like this one always wish they could see the sunlight again. I don't. Maybe it's a side effect of being a vampire But, despite everything, I don't want to die, even if it meant I'd be with Angel again.

Where am I? I'm not sure, I've been down here so long - forever in a month or four. The seconds just bleed into minutes bleed into days... and the only explanation for why I'm down here is Spike got bored with me/Bored with me for cursing him as he ripped me to pieces, until I fell silent, bored with me being a constant reminder of Angel, bored with my refusals to scream. And so I was literally thrown down here.

There's two inches of murky water along the concrete floor, soaking my bare thighs, and it's like ice. Drusilla decided she liked my dresses. The hungers nothing but routine, now. It eats at my insides, but I'm empty now so it doesn't matter. But it hurts almost as much as loosing Angel. It a way that it can not barely compare.

It's also dark down here. The only light is from under the door, reflecting what I used to hope on my grave wasn't sewage. I don't do that much, anymore, hoping. How dramatic. I've lost hope.

Actually, really, the only thing I have left is the heart pendant Drusilla was so nice as to embed in my skull. in the end, Drusilla was more brutal to me then Spike and Angel put together. The insane, i think i heard once, are proven stronger because they don't hold back. Angel seemed to try to hold back, but Spike sure as hell didn't seem to do much holding back, but Drusilla... is crazy. The tiny heart, slightly disfigured from the pressure, it feels, is clenched in my fist pushing through the bone... I think my skin has grown over it. The annoying little thing is a part of me, the only thing I have left - even in my own thoughts I sound pathetic.

You always were the strong one... Someone told me that once... maybe Willow, or Angel. Yea, I'm real strong now. Spike wouldn't even put up with me, and he put up with Drusilla for God known how many years.

There are, of course, the scars. My one marvel is that I lived through that, through Spike, and through Angel. Seeing the scars - even just thinking about them - brings back the blurred but painful memory of how it got there. I try to block it out. But blocking it out just blurs everything together, until a boy I once knew, Xander separated my joints and Harmony is pressing my body into the cement floor and a dark-skinned girl who was a Slayer cuts through the thin bone in my neck with a segregated kitchen knife and Drusilla strokes my hair as I just watch the candle burn... I'd cry if I still had the tears. But I learned a long time ago the tears don't wash away anything but dirt and make those bruises shine just a little bit brighter.

Did you know that slit wrists don't kill vampires? Alright, so maybe it's a little obvious, but I wasn't exactly of sound mind when I tried it, I wash fucking desperate. Spike thought it was as funny as hell, and re-opened the wounds several times since so they still haven't grown over.

A scream sounds from right above me. There's struggling and a gasp that's slightly familiar. A feminize, loud scream of 'Don't!' and Spike's chuckling. True enough, Spike doesn't usually take his food home, I sue me if I'm a little curious as to why there's a human in the mansion. I don't feel like moving, though, so I'll just listen from where I sit.

Spike and his meal are talking, now. The girl voice is shaking , terrified. I still can't put a face or a name to a voice, just some words..."I don't know, I'm not in on the plan... it's his plan... Thanks for having me over, on a school night and all... Not carp! Carpe. It means 'seize the day'..."

I hear my name mentioned; Spike laughs hysterically, the inhuman sound echoing and vibrating off the walls. It feels more like my brain is vibrating and knocking around in my head. What a Drusilla thing to think. Maybe I am going crazy, but I can't really grasp a thought... my brains just as numb as the rest of my body.

There are foot steps walking sort of over, and the girl shrieks, then hits the floor. Or so I'm guessing. There's more shuffling. I'm fairly sure Spike's dragging her somewhere. The shuffling and shrieks fade out of my hearing range.

I can still hear voices upstairs, speaking the same words they always do, morons with their routine social lives that were never any interest to me anyway. Voices so far away there drowned out by a dripping from somewhere and the echoing of some sound that got in somehow.

I can hear Spike again. His voice and his footsteps carry down the stair, plus all the whining from his short-termed companion - so familiar but I just can't place it. And I could just place it a second ago. It's neither sharp or smooth. She's screaming loudly but her voice still seems soft and self conscious, like maybe she's not panicking correctly. The voices are just outside the door now. I still don't feel like moving.

The door flys open with a kick from Spike and the dim light from the hall is enough to blind me. It's too fucking bright; little dot are swimming in front of my eyes and banging on my brain. Blinking stops it a bit, but even hat hurts since they haven't been closed for so long. I'm all to fucking human - I remember thinking how if I close my eye's they'll never open again.

Spike holds a writhing redhead with one hand around her neck. -a neck thinner then I remember it. I'm trying desperately to connect a name with a face, but she recognizes me instantly, and her eyes go wide with wonder and fear.

"Buffy..." my name escapes her lips, the name now even more alien to me then hers.

"See there, Willow," Spike mocks as she begins to struggle against his grasp again. He doesn't seem to notice. "You heard wrong. She's been around for years."

"But Angel..."

"Killed her?" he finishes sourly, and laughs. "Right. Like the wanker could kill her that easily."

The girl - Willow - brushes long red hair away from her face, where it's been sticking with sweat. "What did you do to her?" she asks.

He smiles. He hasn't changed since I last saw him, whenever that was. "I didn't do anything to your Slayer, pet. She did it to herself." The asshole's right. He yanks her towards himself, and her voice rasps something in auditable. Her eyes dart to me for help. "She's not going to help you, Red. She's dead. Same as your going to be." A 'No' forms on her lips but dies before she can push breathe behind it.

The bleached vampire snaps her head to the side. He rips back the ugly gray shirt she's wearing, revealing pale, bruised skin from his manhandling. Instinctively she grabs for her shirt to cover the bare flesh, and I'm still not moving as he eyes well with tears. She looks so betrayed. What does she expect me to do? If I move my bones with break and shatter, and as much as I search through every blotched memory of her I can't find anything to love. Nothing worth stirring for. But her death is giving me a stinging feeling in the back of my head and my chest is clenching uncomfortably, so I close my eyes so I don't have to watch.