white walls by denny

It was a seamless white wall, no corners, no architect’s triangle connecting wall to ceiling, and no floor, just a blank slate of endless white, spread out in front of him as far as his eyes could see. He flinched as the realization suddenly struck him. He was hallucinating about the seeing part. His eyes were sealed shut, lids stuck together so tightly it felt like his eyelashes had been laced and glued. Pain seared through him as he tried to pry them apart, so he kept them closed and allowed the white seamless walls to close in around him.

His next bit of consciousness was all about black. He could open his eyes a fraction of a slit. The darkness was shadows, climbing and crawling and burying him. His skin was sticky and tight. His stomach lurched up into his chest. He didn’t feel well at all.

Lying on his back, legs oddly bent, wasn’t all that bad of a position. At least he could feel his limbs again even if his body was horribly askew. He’d been thrown, and then crumbled into a heap and abandoned.

The gurgling noise in his stomach awakened him. He was hungry—blindingly, desperately hungry.

His eyes shot open and he stared at the white ceiling. It had curves and corners, and there were spots of bright light more brilliant than other spots. It didn’t hurt as much to look at it.

Maybe there was more he could do. He risked turning his head, and grimaced as his neck muscles stretched painfully into the new position. With his cheek resting on the cold tile, he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the glaring light. He could make out a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall sheet of crisp clear glass divided by a steel bar.

Prison?

He’d been in prison in St. Petersburg with Angelus, but that was a century ago.

He rolled all the way over onto his stomach carefully, trying not to cause the cramped muscles of his body to revolt into spasms. Then he lay perfectly still, face down on the floor, and listened. In the distance he heard keys clanking, sharp-ridged steel keys, and the thudding steps of a group, at least five, and mostly male. A man’s stride was longer and even. Women waltzed, lighter and less deliberately paced, no matter their size, except for the woman leading this group of men. Her terse footsteps hit the concrete slab hard as she jammed her heels into the surface. If he’d been hunting, he’d take her from behind, and sink his fangs into her throat while twisting her neck from her body. He wouldn’t even think of fucking her first. Straight feed is what her footsteps told him.

The men scurried behind her, stopping every ten feet or so to unlock something that sounded like steel rods rubbing against each other as it opened. Then the group of men stepped aside to let the woman into the cell ahead of them. That’s when he'd hear them. The screams of the demons and the vampires in what sounded like a long row of cages howled within seconds of her entrance.

He shuddered. Her footsteps were getting closer.

Drusilla had told him about a game she played during her first year with Angelus. He’d rip and tear at her until she bled and wailed. Her frail limbs tangled and twisted at his pleasure until she ached and throbbed and sobbed, pleading with him to end her. Then she learned. He hurt her because he cared. Inflicting pain was his way of making her feel strong and glorious and wanted.

Learn to love the hurt and you’ll be better for it, my darling.

Spike morphed into his game face and bit into his lower lip with his fangs. He watched the blood spurt from his mouth onto the floor.

The key clanked against his cell and he pushed his torso from the floor, blood dripped down his face, soaking the front of his shirt.

He glared at the box-shaped woman in the white coat as she marched into the cell, and a low growl rose in his throat as he lapped the blood from his lips and chin with his tongue.

“This one is deranged and feeding on itself,” said one of the men behind the woman. “It will calm down by tomorrow. Shall we come back then, Dr. Walsh?”

“Tomorrow, then.” She turned sharply and walked out of his cell.

Spike collapsed to the floor as she locked the glass door behind her.

The End