Hellraiser: The Angels Beneath

Chapter 11


He couldn’t stop staring. Was that blood patch still spreading?

The police had taken statements. Yes, they were friends. No, they didn’t see anything. Yes, they would go down to the station a week next Thursday to make a statement.

The police didn’t care. They were too busy with shoplifters and domestics. Slaughtered, mangled people came under the category of ‘Don’t ask questions; stay alive longer.’ It would have angered Xander if he’d thought they were wrong.

This wasn’t a town for asking questions. And Xander was sure that after years of slaying, fighting and just generally acting suspiciously, they were all marked by the police. Don’t go near. Don’t ask questions. Don’t get involved. And for fuck's sake, don’t upset the blond guy.

He felt the arm around his waist tighten; Spike’s way of comforting when a thousand words could never reach him.

Voices murmured. Were they raised? Who knew? Xander couldn’t hear one single clear word. His brain had fogged over and his eyes only saw blood. The only recognisable sound was that of his barely controlled breathing and the deep hammering of his heart in his chest.

How could it be true? How could Giles no longer be here? How could it be that they would never again see him smile, or frown, or roll his eyes? They would never again hear his anger or his joy.

They would never again be able to just touch.

Xander slowly looked over to a pile of fallen papers. Blood was congealing and it glimmered ever so slightly under the stray sunbeam that Spike had carefully avoided.

Giles’ blood.

Giles was gone.

Gone forever.

Giles didn't exist anymore.

But how could that be? How can someone not exist? What is it like to be nothing? How can you not feel something? Anything?

Xander closed his eyes and tried to feel what nothing would be like. It couldn’t be done. There must be a heaven. There must be a place to go when you die, a place to exist and a place to be.

Was Giles watching them now? Or was he still on the escalator upwards?

But what if he wasn’t? What if Buffy had sent him into a black void? Maybe that void was hell, the human variation, anyway. What could be worse for a person to endure than an eternity of nothing?

But…

Xander caught sight of a newspaper. The crossword was done. It was always done.

It could only be hell if you could feel the nothing. But death is nothing. You can’t feel it, touch it or taste it. But nothing is something. So how come you can’t feel it? It’s right there! Death is real and when it comes it’s right fucking there! How can you not feel that?

There has to be something.

Xander’s head swam. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his head around it. All he could think was that Buffy had taken Giles away. Whatever kind of nothing Giles was now coping with, Xander had no idea.

But he knew one thing. Giles was gone and it made him feel sick.

Gone forever.

His head swam again and so did the room. The arm around his waist tightened again and he felt himself moving; down a little at first and then the room swung sideways; down again and he was staring at the carpet, his head somewhere between his knees. A hand moved through his hair and over his back and Xander realised that he was crying; tears for himself, for Willow, Tara, Dawn and Spike.

And he cried tears for Giles, because he wasn’t here to cry them for himself.

**

A nod and a grateful but forced twitch of lips and Xander was left to his thoughts again.

Spike was arguing. He was maybe five feet away, but Xander felt like he wanted to tug him back and hold on for dear life. He scrunched his hands into fists and squeezed. He could feel panic setting in.

Fear.

The odd word broke through the numb haze and penetrated into his brain.

Buffy.

Schizo.

Killer.

How?

Riley.

Psycho.

Sure?

Murdered.

How?

Knife.

Everybody.

Xander looked up and watched his friends. They stood in a huddle, as if to shield him from words that even a deaf person could hear if he was actually listening.

Everybody.

What if she killed Willow? Or Tara? Or Dawn? Oh, god, what if she went after Spike?

No. No fucking way.

Xander stood on shaky legs. He tried to keep his heart from racing and his breath from spiralling. He willed all the gods in the Universe to let him leave unnoticed.

He had to stop this. He had to stop her.

Spike was looking at the ground, pain etched over every inch of his face. How would he look if Buffy forced him to be alone again?

Not going to happen. Together forever, somehow. She was not going to hurt them. She was not going to hurt anyone, not anymore.

However he had to do it, he’d do it. He’d stop her.

He was running now, his heart tripping crazily and his breath panting frantically. All his strength and anger had welled up into a tight ball and he could feel it bulging and swelling, the fury pushing to explode and devour him and anyone near.

The Gods had been kind. He was pounding down the street and he was alone.

He needed to ask why. From one friend to another, he needed to know why.

And then he’d wipe her from the face of the planet.

**

Somewhere along the way, Buffy lost her purpose. Her mind spun with thoughts, accusations, missions, idle gossip and rage.

She’d forgotten one very important thing. Stupid, dumb blond.

She’d forgotten Dawn. Her beloved sister was staying with god-knows who. That couldn’t go on. Think of the consequences!

Dawn could not be allowed to have contact with Spike. A vampire without a soul? Disgusting.

Dawn could not be allowed to have contact with Xander. A man that couldn’t even attend the funeral of his own mother? Disgusting.

Dawn could not be allowed to have contact with Willow. A good Jewish girl turning to the black arts? Disgusting.

Dawn could not be allowed to have contact with Tara. A stuttering lesbian freak? Disgusting.

Dawn should be with her, at home. And when Buffy decided that heaven was calling again, she’d leave Dawn to lie in Riley’s arms; good, pure, beautiful Riley.

The last victim would have to wait. She had a sister to collect.

**

Spike ran. His hands shook as they held the blanket around him. He threw open the door and got in.

How had Xander gotten out without him seeing, noticing? How long had he been gone? What the fuck were the chances that he hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard him, hadn’t fucking felt his beating heart as it sped with just the exertion of standing?

Spike turned on the engine and put his foot to the floor. The car sped away, leaving Faith and Wesley still running to their vehicle.

It was obvious where he’d gone. It was obvious why. Spike screamed at the windshield and swerved as the steering wheel buckled under his grip.

I’ll fucking kill him, Spike thought with a loud hysterical laugh.

He’s still alive, was Spike’s next thought. He had to be. He was sure of it. He hadn’t found Buffy. He would know if Xander was…

The steering wheel buckled again and Spike let up before he snapped it off completely.

The world, his life, Xander’s life; it was all spinning out of control. Purpose had been lost and suddenly all that was left was a desperate struggle to take control, fight for survival and scrape up and hoard all that was left before someone else took it and desecrated it.

The car sped down the quiet streets. It knew where it was going and it would stop for no-one. Winning was the ultimate prize, and this car, old and battered as it was, took on a new life and raced for the trophy – for Xander.

The car approached a corner and smoothly veered around it.

He wouldn’t be too late. He wouldn’t be too late.

Lightning cracked across the sky and suddenly Spike struggled to control the car as the engine cut out and the steering locked. The car kept going and another corner sped towards him.

The light from the sun began to dissipate and, as the inevitable crash came, Spike glanced up and watched a total eclipse take hold and plunge the world into total darkness.

**

Xander crept into the house and looked around. No-one downstairs. He heard movement from upstairs and his expression darkened further.

She was here. The bitch was here.

He quickly grabbed an axe from the wooden chest by the door; the wooden chest that he’d crafted, with help from Spike, for Buffy’s birthday. He was surprised it was still there, surprised that Buffy hadn’t wrecked it along with the rest of his life.

As he quietly climbed the stairs he heard more movement. It was coming from the bedroom. He hoisted the axe into an attack position and climbed further.

The need for explanations had fled and all that remained was a primal urge to rip and tear. Buffy had the Slayer strength and advantage but he didn’t care. He was not going to allow her to kill again. She’d brought this on herself and she was going to pay the price.

He flung open the door with enough rage to rip it from its hinges and entered the room.

Silence.

Horror.

Revulsion.

He dropped the axe and stared, transfixed and hypnotised by the sight before him.

“Hello, Xander.”

“Oh, god.”

“Not quite. It’s me. You remember me?”

Xander stared at the thing before him. It was Riley. The body was bloody and twisted, its skull protruding through virgin skin and its heart thumping and making its chest twitch and heave. “Where’s Buffy?”

Riley shrugged. “Why? Come to kill her? I wouldn’t blame you, not after what she’s put you through.”

Xander nodded, his body beginning to shake as Riley edged towards him.

“Why don’t you come closer, Xander? Let me help you.”

Xander tried to step back, but it was like he was standing in a block of rock hard cement.

“Let me help you, Xander. You look tired. Come sit with me.”

The voice was kind and there was something in the tone and in Riley’s innocent, bloodshot eyes that spoke of trust and safety. Despite himself, Xander took a step forward.

“That’s it, Xander. Come to Daddy.”

Xander swallowed and started to shake his head. He looked quickly around the room for a reason that he wasn’t quite sure of. Escape route? Weapon? His gaze caught on a dried up lump of something on the floor. Bile started to ease up his throat as he realised that the lump had legs. He couldn’t help but keep looking, forgetting the immediate threat in front of him.

A person.

A face.

Eyes that bulged in death stared at him and begged for recognition. See Me. Know me. Miss me.

The body was small, almost like a child, wasted and twisted and naked except for a pair of bright red sneakers. He recognised them.

Andrew

A present brought in celebration of a birthday passed a month ago.

The body opened its mouth and expelled air like a deflating tire. Xander blinked and wrapped his arms around himself in self-comfort.

“They do that,” Riley explained. “Or so I’ve noticed.”

Xander nodded again. “Why?” he whispered after a long silence.

“I needed to heal. He served his purpose. Much like Anya.”

Xander looked up. The world crashed in on him and he started to back away. “You? You killed…? Oh, my god, no.”

“Come on, Xander. You didn’t love her. What do you care?”

“You killed her! You’re a fucking murderer!”

Riley shrugged. “Just like you.”

“What?!”

“You’re here to murder Buffy.” It was not a question.

“She…she…”

“Shhh. I know, Xander. I know. Come on. Come to me. I’ll take your pain away. I know you can’t live now, with all your friends dead. Because they are, you know. Or will be by the time she gets back. No family. No friends. And you know that Spike will leave, don’t you? You aren’t enough for him. He settled.”

Xander looked back down at the floor.

“Buffy told me all about your parents. They couldn’t love you either, could they? If they couldn’t love you, how do you expect Spike to? He’s been around for over a century. He’s seen it all and done it all. What have you done, Xander? He’ll tire of you. Oh, I know he won’t kill you. I do believe that he cares for you. But he will leave. One day. And then what will you have? Hmm? Come on, now. Come to me. I’ll make it all go away. I’ll chase away your demons.”

Xander looked up. “No,” he said, firmly. “Is this how you convinced Buffy to kill her friends?”

Riley’s smile faltered.

“Is this how you twisted and used her? Fuck, what did you do to her?”

“Forget her…”

“No, I won’t.”

“Xanderrrr. Come.” Riley stretched out his hand and Xander flinched backwards.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Or?” Riley began slowly advancing, trying to back Xander into the corner. “What will you do? What can you do? Come on, let me help you.”

“No. No, no, this isn’t happening.”

“I used to tell myself that. Used to try and pretend I was dreaming all the pain. But why kid yourself? Some things have to be endured. Take it from me. And that makes the pleasures so much sweeter...” Riley finally backed Xander into the corner. He stroked a bloody and pus soaked hand down his cheek and leaned in to kiss him.

“NO!” Xander lunged forward and wrapped his hands around Riley’s neck. His fingers sunk into the new flesh and, in a flash of inspiration, Xander curled his fingers and tore into Riley’s throat.

Riley screamed and stumbled back towards the door, blocking Xander’s escape.

Xander cursed and backed up towards the window. He had to get past Riley. He scanned the room for a weapon and his gaze fell upon The Box. Fucking Box!

The last of Xander’s available brain space was filled up with new fury. That Box was the cause of it all. That Box had killed Giles and Anya and Andrew.

FUCK!

Xander picked up the Box and held it up to throw it. FUCKING BOX!

Riley stopped screaming. His eyes went wide and he suddenly pointed to The Box. “Give that to me.”

Xander took a few deep breaths before he answered. Riley looked rattled and Xander realised that he may have found his escape. “No.”

“One last time. Give me The Box.”

Xander held The Box in front of him. “You want it?”

Riley licked his lips and looked rapidly from The Box, to Xander, and back to The Box.

“FUCKING HAVE IT!” Xander shouted. He turned, drew back his salvation and threw it at the window. He allowed himself a split second to enjoy Riley’s torment as his precious Box sailed through the air and smashed through the glass.

The moment that Riley made a lunge for the window, whining and near crying, Xander made his escape. He was unnoticed as he fled the room, ran down the stairs and bolted out the front door. He stopped at the end of drive and picked up the fallen Box. Looking back up at the window at Riley’s distressed face, Xander proudly and smugly spun The Box in his hand, turned, and ran as fast as he could towards home.

**

By the time he'd stopped running, his lungs burning and the muscles in his legs aching like he'd sprinted a marathon, Xander was lost. His smugness at his escape and his amusement at Riley's distress were swept away and in their wake was a feeling of total and utter panic.

His ability to formulate rational thoughts was no longer in existence and Xander's breath spiralled out of control. The air grew thin and Xander felt like four invisible walls were closing in and crushing him.

Where to go?

What to do?

Where was Buffy?

Where was Spike?

Riley? Had he run from the house, after all? Was he just around the corner, waiting to pounce, tear and drink?

Voices of children rang out in the distance, playful laughter and overjoyed screeching filling the avenue. But Xander only heard the roar and cackling of devils. He spun around, trying desperately to work out where they would attack him from.

A sob escaped and Xander wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. He noticed The Box in his hand. He'd forgotten it was there.

The Box thrummed. It murmured and whispered and Xander felt comfort seeping from it.

Like a mystical treasure, The Box shone and radiated its power. It called to him and Xander wondered idly how it opened. Giles had said it was difficult and Xander could see why. The Box was a mass of ornate carvings, no opening visible and no solution to be found. Xander turned it around and around in his hands, the thrum lulling him into a further sense of safety.

It was beautiful, so divine. A master had carved it and Xander wondered how long it would have taken to perfect, how many versions were deemed imperfect only to be discarded.

He needed to touch its beauty.

Xander stilled The Box in his hands and traced his fingers around the carvings on one side. The noises around him were gone now, the panic inside him at bay and the invisible walls pushed back.

As his thumb traced a small carved circle, a tiny bolt of blue lightning streaked around The Box and sizzled at his fingers. Xander jumped and smiled at the beauty. His thumb traced the circle again and as he pressed down; The Box clicked and began a sickly sweet lullaby.

Xander started to shake as The Box started to come apart and shift in his hands.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

He grabbed at the rotating shards, desperately trying to force them back, to stop his terrible mistake.

But The Box continued to shift. It was unstoppable. Xander was sure that even Spike's strength could not have stopped it.

The light from the sun dimmed and Xander heard deep laughter.

No, no, no. What have I done?

The panic returned. He hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't wanted to open the box.

They were coming. He could see their outlines in the utter darkness. They were approaching and there was no way out. They surrounded him from all sides and Xander wondered what he'd ever done to deserve his life.

Why was he being punished?

The Cenobites stopped and smiled.

**

Spike pulled himself out the car and leant against it. His head was spinning around and around and for a moment he forgot where he was and why he was there.

Darkness wrapped around him and Spike closed his eyes and welcomed the peace it offered him. He concentrated on the pain in his gut, willing it to sink into the pit of blackness and leave him alone forever. He felt blood trickling down his cheek and he reached for it, gathering up the liquid and tasting. The flavour burst open on his tongue, the rich taste suddenly awaking him with the essence of himself and his lover.

Xander.

Spike took off down the street. He ignored the agony of broken ribs and a shattered elbow and focused on finding his love.

And sure enough, the screams came, Xander's sweet voice distorted with fear and pain.

He looked up at the sky as he ran and with dawning horror he recognized the purple lightning that streaked around the blackened sun.

The Box. It was open and it was angry.

Xan, no.

Spike remembered what he'd warned his lover those weeks ago.

Once they come, they can't be stopped.

Interfere and you die.

Spike didn't care. Life without Xander would be more painful than any agony in hell.

He would interfere. He would stop them and hold Xander in his arms again.

Or he would die trying.

TBC…