Death in Doc Martens (Spike)
Another story I posted to BAP in, I think, 2003. Pre-Sunnydale Spike. (And now I must go to bed; I have to be up in 8 hours.)
Death in Doc Martens
He approached the young girl sitting by herself on the swing which hung from a large tree in the front yard. The house was set back from the road on a large plot of land with trees hiding it from the houses on either side. There was only one light on inside and the porch light barely extended to the treeswing. He couldn't believe his luck, coming upon such a tender morsel all alone and unwatched in the twilight. As he crept quietly closer, the girl stopped swinging. She looked up and looked right into his eyes. "Hello," she said. "You're him, aren't you?"
"I'm who, pet?" he asked, stopping his approach and answering the girl in spite of herself.
"The Angel of Death," she answered solemnly. "Mom said you'd be coming for her soon. She said it's about time 'cause she's worn out and tired."
"No one welcomes the Angel of Death, pet," he said. Why he was holding a conversation with this child instead of having her for starters was beyond him, but here he was.
"Mom will," the girl answered. "She's tired all the time and sometimes I think I can see through her, she's so thin. She hates being bald and hates wearing a wig and the doctors can't help her anymore, anyway. So if you go inside, she won't be afraid."
"Do you want your mother to die?" he asked, puzzled by her matter of factness.
"No. But she's going to no matter what and I hear her at night, praying for you to come. It hurts her all the time, the cancer." She was silent for a moment, head bowed, and he stood there, watching. Then she lifted her head and looked at him again, hope flaring in her eyes. "Can you make her better, instead?"
He didn't know why, but he didn't want to disappoint this girl. But he couldn't bring himself to lie to her, either. "Sorry, love, not my department. Can't help there." Bloody wanker, he thought to himself. Just eat her and go. But he didn't move.
The light went out of the girl's eyes. "Oh. I thought maybe . . . but I guess that would take a different kind of angel."
"So you and mum - you're here alone?"
"Just for a little bit. Mrs. Kowalski stays with us and cooks and helps mom out. She had to go to the store though. She'll be back soon. Mom's on the sofa. I hope she's sleeping, but probably not."
"And didn't mum or Mrs. Kowalski ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" Especially strangers that could have you for a snack then have the adults as a main course.
"Of course!" Her voice was scornful. Did he think she was stupid? "But it's ok to talk to angels. Even the Angel of Death. Are you going to go to mom tonight? 'Cause the doors unlocked and you can just go right in. Unless you just walk through doors or something," she added thoughtfully.
He didn't say anything, just stood and stared at this precocious girl who didn't take her eyes from his. She seemed far too old to occupy such a tiny body. Finally he said, and his voice faltered a bit as he said it, "No pet, I'm not going in just now. I'm just checkin' the place out, that's all. So I know where it is when it's time, you see."
The girl didn't say a word. They looked at each other for a moment longer, then he turned and headed down the front walk. Just as he reached the street, he heard the girl say, as if to herself, "I'm glad mom's not gonna die just yet. But I know she wants to. And Mrs. Kowalski said that in heaven, mom'll be like she was before she got sick and I can see her again someday." She sighed and he heard the quiet movement of air as the swing started again.
Just leave, he told himself. Forget the little witch and her sickly mum - who probably won't taste good anyway - and head downtown. You know there'll be a bar or a back alley or someplace with plenty of fast food waiting. But he turned and strode up the walk, duster billowing out behind him like black leather wings, yellow hair glowing in the faint light from the porch. The girl on the swing slowed but didn't stop. He could hear her quiet sob but she didn't try to stop him. He opened the door.
Death in Doc Martens
He approached the young girl sitting by herself on the swing which hung from a large tree in the front yard. The house was set back from the road on a large plot of land with trees hiding it from the houses on either side. There was only one light on inside and the porch light barely extended to the treeswing. He couldn't believe his luck, coming upon such a tender morsel all alone and unwatched in the twilight. As he crept quietly closer, the girl stopped swinging. She looked up and looked right into his eyes. "Hello," she said. "You're him, aren't you?"
"I'm who, pet?" he asked, stopping his approach and answering the girl in spite of herself.
"The Angel of Death," she answered solemnly. "Mom said you'd be coming for her soon. She said it's about time 'cause she's worn out and tired."
"No one welcomes the Angel of Death, pet," he said. Why he was holding a conversation with this child instead of having her for starters was beyond him, but here he was.
"Mom will," the girl answered. "She's tired all the time and sometimes I think I can see through her, she's so thin. She hates being bald and hates wearing a wig and the doctors can't help her anymore, anyway. So if you go inside, she won't be afraid."
"Do you want your mother to die?" he asked, puzzled by her matter of factness.
"No. But she's going to no matter what and I hear her at night, praying for you to come. It hurts her all the time, the cancer." She was silent for a moment, head bowed, and he stood there, watching. Then she lifted her head and looked at him again, hope flaring in her eyes. "Can you make her better, instead?"
He didn't know why, but he didn't want to disappoint this girl. But he couldn't bring himself to lie to her, either. "Sorry, love, not my department. Can't help there." Bloody wanker, he thought to himself. Just eat her and go. But he didn't move.
The light went out of the girl's eyes. "Oh. I thought maybe . . . but I guess that would take a different kind of angel."
"So you and mum - you're here alone?"
"Just for a little bit. Mrs. Kowalski stays with us and cooks and helps mom out. She had to go to the store though. She'll be back soon. Mom's on the sofa. I hope she's sleeping, but probably not."
"And didn't mum or Mrs. Kowalski ever tell you not to talk to strangers?" Especially strangers that could have you for a snack then have the adults as a main course.
"Of course!" Her voice was scornful. Did he think she was stupid? "But it's ok to talk to angels. Even the Angel of Death. Are you going to go to mom tonight? 'Cause the doors unlocked and you can just go right in. Unless you just walk through doors or something," she added thoughtfully.
He didn't say anything, just stood and stared at this precocious girl who didn't take her eyes from his. She seemed far too old to occupy such a tiny body. Finally he said, and his voice faltered a bit as he said it, "No pet, I'm not going in just now. I'm just checkin' the place out, that's all. So I know where it is when it's time, you see."
The girl didn't say a word. They looked at each other for a moment longer, then he turned and headed down the front walk. Just as he reached the street, he heard the girl say, as if to herself, "I'm glad mom's not gonna die just yet. But I know she wants to. And Mrs. Kowalski said that in heaven, mom'll be like she was before she got sick and I can see her again someday." She sighed and he heard the quiet movement of air as the swing started again.
Just leave, he told himself. Forget the little witch and her sickly mum - who probably won't taste good anyway - and head downtown. You know there'll be a bar or a back alley or someplace with plenty of fast food waiting. But he turned and strode up the walk, duster billowing out behind him like black leather wings, yellow hair glowing in the faint light from the porch. The girl on the swing slowed but didn't stop. He could hear her quiet sob but she didn't try to stop him. He opened the door.