|The Memoirs of Saya the Bloody
Author: Bird in a Rented Mask PM
Okay, this is a slightly different version of my old story "The Saya Chronicles." I just realized it was terrible, so I took it down. This is a similar thing, but it just covers Saya's story, from when she was sired. I hope this is slightly better than the original. Rated T for British swears etc. Reviews mean updates, so if you read it, leave a comment in the little box. Enjoy!Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Friendship - Spike & Drusilla - Chapters: 2 - Words: 4,124 - Reviews: 1 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 12-09-12 - Published: 09-28-12 - id: 8563054
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Friday 13th August 1885
I sank to the floor, leaning against the wall for support. He loomed over me, skin frighteningly pale in the dim half-light. His hands were already a little bloody, but he wasn't through with me yet. He crouched down beside me, a vicious smirk creeping across his face. I shrank away from him.
"Please!" I begged. "No more. Don't touch me again." His smile became lighter, as though I amused him. He reached out a cold hand to caress my cheek. I swiped at his hand desperately; he responded me by striking me hard across the face, so that my head snapped sideways and hit the wall. I half-closed my eyes, seeing him through a scarlet haze of pain. Even then, his smile was perfectly visible. I saw his face change, mutate: it became something monstrous and evil before my eyes. He brought his mouth close to my neck, so close I could feel his cool breath on my skin. His lips caressed the skin above my artery, and I just felt the sharp sting of a fang scraping my flesh, followed by a thin trickle of warmth that I knew was my own blood.
"You're lucky," he breathed in my ear. How? I thought bitterly. He straightened up and pulled me up with him.
"I'm not that hungry tonight." He gave me a gentle nudge and I turned tail and began staggering away as fast as I could. If I reached the town again, I could get help, and someone would hunt down whatever creature had just attacked me… just a bit further and I would be safe, I would-
"Hold on!" he called. Like a fool, I froze on the spot. He drifted up behind me and coiled his arm around my waist, tight enough to hold me completely still. I pulled furiously at his arm, but his grip was iron-hard and impossible to break. He grabbed my wrist, pushed me away and turned me to face him, almost as though we were dancing. I saw the silver-bright flash of a steel blade in his free hand.
"No!" I screamed as he brought it level with his face, examining it closely.
"I said I wasn't hungry," he drawled, gently caressing the cold blade with a fingertip, never taking his eyes off of me. "That doesn't mean I'm not going to kill you." He gently stroked the flat of the blade against my bare throat. I shivered and pulled away.
"I know what you are," I spat, adrenalin suddenly giving me courage. "I know, and I'll tell them. They'll hunt you down and kill you, then you'll burn in Hell where you belong, demon!" To my dismay he laughed.
"So spirited, child. So very, very spirited. I'm impressed. However, you missed one important detail." He beckoned me closer and brought his face very close to mine. I pulled away in disgust, half-expecting him to restrain me in some way, but he just let it go.
"You know what I am. A vampire. Now, tell me, what became of the last poor girl to run into the city bleating on about vampires, hmm?"
"She ran away to a convent, and died shortly afterwards." Of course I knew. How could I not know?
"Precisely. Nobody believed that poor girl, now, did they?" I shook my head numbly, too tired to fight him.
"There you go. You have no way out. So, you might as well give in now; save yourself the trouble later. You never know, I might be generous: I might make it painless for you." I stood very still, glaring at him as defiantly as I could. Let him do what he will, I thought. Sooner or later someone will come by here. He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation.
"Are we ready?" he asked cheerfully.
"Go to Hell," I returned icily. He chuckled, and slammed his fist into my chest, winding me and knocking me to my knees.
"I'll meet you there," he murmured, kicking me so I fell backwards. He climbed on top of me: knees either side of my waist, the cold weight of his body pressed tight against me, his hands gripping my wrists, pinning them to the concrete. He had me: I was completely at his mercy. He let go of one of my arms, withdrew his dagger again and touched it to my lips, a warning to keep silent.
"About the painless thing," he mused, pressing the tip of the blade against my cheek, "…I lied." He drew it sideways, slowly, slicing my cheek clean open, blood streaming from the wound. He repeated the same procedure for all of my exposed skin, which, after his previous activities, was most of it. When he was finally done, I was all but soaked with my own blood. He stood up and wiped his hands clean on what was left of the hem of my dress. He pulled me upright roughly and made sure I was supporting myself before letting go.
"And I think we're about done here," he said languidly, eyeing my blood-drenched form with an air of satisfaction. I turned and began stumbling blindly away, but not before he called me back once more with an imperious snap of his fingers.
"Just one more thing." He approached swiftly, rammed a blade into my stomach and began to walk away, tossing over his shoulder: "By the way, say hello to your family for me. Oh, wait, I forgot. You can't…"
I heard his cruel parting laugh long after he'd left.
Mindlessly, I started to walk away, unaware of where I was heading, and painfully aware of the fact that I'd never get there.
I don't know how long I walked for, or where I ended up, but the next thing I fully knew was that I was lying flat on my back, staring at the stars as my blood pooled on the floor around me. I was virtually numb from the neck down, thankfully no longer feeling the pain of my injuries.
Am I dying? It wasn't as painful as I had feared. As my eyes stayed fixated on the clear sky, I saw a glimmer of something that looked like a shooting star. I concentrated on it for as long as I could keep my eyes open, a tiny smile spreading across my face. I wish…Oh God, I wish… The sky began to melt as I watched, stars blurring into tiny dim smudges before disappearing completely and fading into darkness.
"I think she's still alive." Cool, gentle pressure at my wrist. "Yes. I think we got here just in time."
"Look at all the blood, Spike. All her life, feeding the flowers."
"Shh, Dru. You don't want to frighten her." I forced my eyes to open. Everything was too bright and out of focus. I vaguely saw a pale blur that could have been a face, but nobody that I recognised. I tried to lift my head but someone held me down firmly.
"Don't move now," he cautioned softly. "You're lucky to be alive, did you know that?" Talking hurt, so I just nodded. His hand gently brushed against my stomach, and I recoiled at the brief flash of pain. He murmured an apology and I felt him grip the knife. I knew very little about such things, but instinct told me that moving that blade could be very bad. Don't pull it out, I pleaded in my head. Please, please leave it where it is. I reached up blindly and batted his hand away. He chuckled softly.
"I think I can help you, but you need to listen to me and do everything I say, all right?" I nodded again. He smiled his approval.
"Good. Now, I need you to close your eyes, but concentrate on staying awake. Don't sleep, okay?" I closed my eyes, and listened hard to his voice.
"Now, turn your head a little. Little bit more…" He very gently turned my head so that my neck was exposed.
"This might hurt a little bit. But it'll be okay. Ready?" I nodded carefully, and let out a husky cry as two sharp points sank into my neck. The strangest sensation of warmth began coursing through my veins, but it vanished before I could make another sound. He lifted my top half off of the ground, and I had to open my eyes. Quickly, before I could register anything, he pressed my face tightly against his neck. My lips found a small, deep cut, and before I could figure out why, my mouth opened and I began to drink his blood. I didn't want to: I wanted so badly to pull away from him, but I couldn't. He finally detached me and set me back down. With my last fading scrap of consciousness I saw him wave and mouth three words at me: See you soon…
I slowly regained consciousness, feeling refreshed, as though I had slept deeply. I made to sit up, but I hit my head on a low ceiling. I opened my eyes and was met with little but inky blackness. I shot my arm out to the side in panic, and struck a hard wooden wall. I spread both arms out and both hands met with glossy wood. The ceiling was barely two inches away from my face. I seemed to be lying down in a small wooden box. For a moment I was confused, before I woke up and realised exactly what had happened.
I had been buried alive.
Panic surged through my body in a flash burn. How was I going to get out? Was this another part of my torture, a slow death in an airless prison where nobody could hear me screaming my life out? I clawed at the lid of the coffin, despairing at the futility of it but feeling as though I had to try something. To my complete dismay I actually felt the wood splintering impossibly beneath my fingers. I continued to gouge, whole chunks coming loose and landing on me. After a while, a loose shower of dirt announced that I had broken through. Now for the easier part. I began digging frantically at the packed earth, forcing my way up as I loosened it. It felt almost like swimming through very dense water. My hand broke the surface first, waving about madly in the fresh air. Eventually I got my head free and began gratefully breathing in the damp night air like I had just come dangerously close to drowning. Which, in a way, I had. I wriggled upwards a little more, so that my shoulders were also free. Then I stopped. My feet weren't touching the bottom of the hole; they were several inches off of it, in fact. My head and chest were above ground, one of my arms was trapped and I had no way of lifting myself further out of my grave. Basically, I was stuck. Wedged in the most awkward position imaginable.
"Hello?" I called out, then, in a much smaller voice, "Help?"
"Well, it's about bloody time!" called a cheerful voice from somewhere to my left. I turned my head in pursuit of the owner of that voice, and saw a man striding towards me out of the bushes. He smiled in greeting.
"I was wondering when you'd turn up. I've been waiting here hours." He looked down at me and hid a smirk behind his hand.
"Who are you? Where am I? How did I get down here?" He backed up, holding up his hands as if to fend me off.
"There'll be plenty of time for questions later. But, for now…" He glanced up at the sky, "…Looks like rain, and, between you and me, I'd rather not get wet, thank you very much." I tried once more to wriggle my way out of the hole, failed and sighed exasperatedly.
"Erm, I think I'm stuck," I whispered sheepishly, feeling a faint blush creeping over my face. He chuckled softly.
"No problem. Just let me…" He grabbed my wrist and yanked me upwards, lifting me clear of the hole, and placed me down on my feet beside him. I brushed dirt off of my dress, realising I was fighting a losing battle. The dress, which had once been a nice shade of light blue, was now caked with dried blood and grave dirt, hanging in ribbons off of my body, and I just knew that the rest of me wasn't looking any better. He looked me up and down, shaking his head sympathetically.
"Come on. There's a lot I have to explain and not a lot of time to explain it in. Come on!" He took my hand to speed me along; I followed numbly, unable to process everything that was happening.
"Who are you?"
"As I said; there will be time for questions. But first things first: you definitely need a bath." I nodded grimly. He was not wrong.