DRY KIND OF LOVE

by - Tanith

TITLE	DRY KIND OF LOVE
AUTHOR	Tanith
DISCLAIMER	It's all about Joss, Mutant Enemy, the WB, and now UPN.
ARCHIVE	It's all yours, just let me know.
RATING	PG-13, just to be safe.
SPOILERS	Probably some minor ones here and there.
FEEDBACK	Bring it on.
SUMMARY	You can run, but you can't hide. Future fic.

Part 5

Zoe sits on the floor of the Keiran's living room, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. When they first came in, Roger had made a move to hold her, but she had pushed him away. Now he is comforting Sarah, who has nearly cried herself to sleep. She shudders occasionally, but then fades back into semi-consciousness. Zoe doesn't even want to look at her.

She is numb. My mother is dead, she thinks. My mother is dead, and my father... She doesn't want to follow that chain of thought to its end. And so she has allowed the numbness to take over her body, and her mind. She can feel the harness forming, but she doesn't even care.

The Keiran's black lab comes trotting over and nuzzles Zoe's shoulder, but she pushes the dog away. Sarah begins to cry again, softly, and Roger strokes her hair, murmuring unintelligible reassurances. Zoe stares at the wall and perfects the art of not thinking.

They wait.

After some indiscernible amount of time, William comes in the back door. His hair is wet and matted and his whole body is shaking. He has changed his shirt; the other one was soaked with blood and he didn't want his daughter to see. But the look in her eyes tells him that at this point, it is far too late for that.

"She's not dead," he tells her. He doesn't want to stir up any false hope, but he won't lie to his daughter any more. "I'm going to fix things."

Zoe's gaze does not leave the wall. "Liar," she says.

He opens his mouth, but he realizes that there is nothing he can possibly say.

"She's dead." Her voice is like ice. "There's nothing you can do to fix things. She's dead! Someone wrote messages on the walls with her blood." She looks up at him, finally, but her eyes are harsh, accusatory. "What did it mean, Dad? I saw your face when we came in. What did it mean?"

He kneels down beside her and takes her hand in his. From the corner, Roger and Sarah stare up at him with big eyes.

"I don't have time to tell you right now. But she's still alive, I swear it. And when I - when we - get back, I promise I'll tell you all about it." He looks down at the floor. "I - we - should have told you a long time ago."

He gets up, on rubber legs, and walks back to the door. "Stay here until I get back. Don't let anyone in, understand?"

Roger is the only one who nods.

William looks at the three forms in front of him, at the three children huddling wet and scared on the floor of a strange house. "This isn't right," he says sadly. "I'm sorry." And then he rushes over and hugs his daughter tightly, pressing her rigid form to his. "I love you," he tells her. "Know that. You and her are the best things that ever happened to me. After tonight, we're not going to run anymore." And then he walks out the door and into the coming night, determined to set things right.

William is not yet fifty yards out the door before Zoe is on her feet. "Get up," she says, a new edge to her voice. "We're going after him."

Sarah looks at her, and she wipes the tears from her eyes and stands. Roger rises behind her, his jaw set into a determined line.

"Lead on," he says.

They get out of the house just in time to see William round the corner and head Southwest on Main, away from town.

"Why isn't he taking the car?" Sarah asks.

"I don't know. Just follow him."

William walks purposely, his head down and his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Zoe and her friends follow about a hundred yards behind, trying to be stealthy. The rain has slowed to a steady drip, but all four are already soaked to the bone, so it doesn't really matter. Zoe barely feels the rain. She doubts that William does, either.

Main Street turns into South Main, and William keeps walking, heading up the hill toward the college. Zoe notices that his shoulders are so still; he walks like he has stones in his pockets. It is so unlike him that Zoe comes to think that if she screamed, "We're following you!" he wouldn't notice. Still, she is cautious, and when William cuts across the college rec center's parking lot, she makes Roger and Sarah hold back until he is back on the sidewalk and partially hidden by trees. They run across the slick asphalt and top the rise just as William crosses the street and heads into the cemetery.

"Of course," Roger mumbles under his breath. "It would be the cemetery, wouldn't it?"

Zoe gives him an odd look. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

She lets it drop.

The path through the cemetery is made of white stone, ground down at places to a thin chalky powder. It shines eerily in the light of the rising moon, like ice or snow, or large chunks of crystalized salt. It also crunches when they walk on it, so Zoe gestures for her friends to move off the path and onto the grass. They follow along, the wetness soaking through their sneakers and wrapping around their toes.

They crest a small hill, and the huge marble mausoleum at the back of the cemetery comes into view. Less than a year ago, on Halloween, the three of them walked here along a similar route and held a seance at the bottom of the mausoleum's steps. Nothing much happened: Sarah pretended to be possessed for a while, and Zoe knocked over one of the candles and started a very small fire in the grass that Roger stamped out with his foot. Then some drunken college students showed up, and with the cemetery becoming a less hospitable environment than they would have liked, they left, disappointed that not even a night at the cemetery could scare them anymore.

Tonight, they look on the mausoleum in an entirely different light.

"A mausoleum," Roger mutters. "Perfect."

But William does not approach the mausoleum; instead, he veers left, toward the bushes that form the western border of the cemetery. Zoe motions for her companions to hang back, and they watch from a distance as William ducks through the bushes and disappears from sight.

"And this whole cemetery/mausoleum thing held *what* purpose?" Sarah asks.

"A shortcut," Zoe says, realization slowly dawning. "Oh my god, I know where he's going." She races off after her father.

Sarah glances at Roger, confused. "Don't look at me, I'm just following her," Roger says, and he starts off after her with Sarah tight on his heels.

By the time they reach the hedges, Zoe has already passed through. Roger and Sarah push themselves through the tight weave of branches, emerging on the other side to smack right into Zoe.

"Ow," chorus Sarah and Roger.

Zoe ignores them, her eyes fixed on the old house at the top of the hill. "Look," she says, pointing, "there's a light on."

Their eyes follow her outstretched finger. Sure enough, a light flickers through the house's uppermost window.

"But no one's lived there in years," Sarah says.

As if on cue, a shadow passes across the lighted window.

"Oh." Sarah swallows, considering. "But I thought there was that whole problem with the asbestos, and that's why the college couldn't use it as a dorm."

"I doubt these people are from the college," Zoe says, still staring straight ahead. "I also doubt that they care about the asbestos."

"Don't worry," Roger says brightly, "it's probably just Norman Bates."

Sarah glares at him. She opens her mouth to say something, but Zoe holds up her hand.

"Shh. There's somebody on the porch."

A figure has emerged, moving quietly on the rotting wood. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, his form barely visible in the light of the rising moon.

Sarah is the first to recognize him. "It's just your dad."

"I know."

William turns suddenly, his eyes darting behind him, scanning the shadows. Zoe sucks in her breath, but William's gaze shifts back to the door with him none the wiser. He pushes lightly on the door and it opens without a sound. He steps inside, shutting the door softly behind him.

Zoe stares up at the space where her father was a moment before. "Come on," she tells her friends, and they run up the drive to the house as true night falls about them.

Part 6

Anne can feel the ropes cutting into her wrists. She can feel the gag growing moist between her spread jaws. She can also feel every one of the fine spiderweb of cuts that trace her body, the tiny bites and nicks that they bled and then stopped before they took to much. They didn't even bother to drink from her. A sign, she knows, of disrespect.

She opens her eyes and sees nothing but white. So they've blindfolded her as well. She can't even get a look at her surroundings, see if there's anything she can use to facilitate an escape. She shifts her head around, hoping that the blindfold was placed sloppily and will be easy to dislodge. It remains firmly plastered to her skull. She barely restrains herself from letting out a growl of frustration, but she knows it is best to avoid attracting her captors attention as long as possible. Best to remain quiet.

But quiet is bad. Quiet means thinking, and she has nothing to think about but her fear for William and Zoe, and nothing to feel but guilt. This is all her fault. She was careless and stupid. And now, after all this time, the past has finally caught up with them. And it was she who let it in the door.

She doesn't hear anyone approach, but suddenly there are cool hands on her cheeks and the blindfold is gently pulled away. William stares down at her, tears of relief in his deep blue eyes. He undoes the gag, whispering for her to remain quiet. "I'm here, luv," he says. "Everything is going to be all right."

He bends down and kisses her softly on the lips. She leans into him, and then with a sharp jerk, knees him swiftly in the stomach.

Drusilla falls backward onto the floor, clutching her wounded belly.

"Fool me once, shame on me," Anne spits. "Fool me twice, shame on you."

"It's the other way around, actually," Darla says, stepping out of the shadows. She grabs Anne's shoulder and slams her body back against the chair. "Shame on you for hurting Dru. She was just having a little fun, weren't you Dru?"

Drusilla has pulled herself to her feet. She stands far away from Anne, wary. "You stole my Spike away," she says, her voice bitter and sad. "Kept him locked in a box."

"That's right," Darla says. Her fingernails are digging into Anne's shoulder, leaving little red marks in the shape of half moons. "But everything must come out of its box eventually. Or it suffocates." She shoves the gag back into Anne's mouth and reties it, much tighter than before. "Dru, get some rope. We're going to have to tie her feet as well."

"Yes, Dru, get some rope. It seems we have a pair of stupid bints who need to be tied to the roof and left for the sun."

William is standing in the doorway, pure, unadulterated hate filling his eyes. Darla takes one look at him, and she throws her head back and laughs.

"Why, if it isn't William! My, I seem to have deja vu all over again." She emits another peel of spiteful laughter. "Look, Dru. Your white knight has returned."

Dru looks at William, horror in her eyes. "That's not my Spike!" she cries. She backs away. "You're not my Spike!"

He glares at her. "You're right," he says. "I bloody well am not your Spike any longer." He rushes over to Anne, but Darla reaches out and snags his arm, jerking him away before he can reach his wife.

"Not so fast."

William doesn't even look at her, he just swings his free arm and punches her in the face. She barely staggers. Instead, she grabs the offending fist and crunches it within her own. William lets out a yelp of pain and struggles against her, but she holds both his hands now.

"You're not holding up your end of the bargain," Darla says, her face an inch away from William's. "We let her go when you let yourself go." She gives him a push and he sprawls on the floor. "We want Dru's Spike, not this pathetic specimen you've let yourself become."

William coughs, and a spurt of blood dribbles out of his mouth. "If you touch one hair on her head..."

Darla laughs again and walks over to Anne and slaps her across the face. Her head snaps back against the chair and she slips into unconsciousness. "We'll do all the touching we want," Darla says. "So you'd better hurry back." She turns away from William, no longer interested. "Dru, get the rope." She turns back and sees that William is still sitting on the floor. She smiles at him condescendingly and waves. "Don't you get it? Bye bye."

Her laughter follows him as he picks himself up and stumbles out the door, humiliation and sadness already drifting away to be replaced by anger. Anger, and he hopes, a plan.

Part 7

Zoe presses her face up against the dirty window and tries to make sense of the dark shapes she sees inside. Old furniture? Nothing living, that's for sure.

"Do you see anything?" Sarah whispers.

Zoe takes a step back. "No. I think all the action's happening upstairs. We're going to have to go inside."

"Do you know where your dad went?"

"I'm right here."

All three teenagers jump. William is standing in the doorway, looking bruised and bloodied and tired. And angry.

"Dad, we -" Zoe starts to say.

"You followed me." Zoe nods, waiting for him to yell. Instead, he lets out a long sigh. "I'm not particularly surprised. Come on. We need to get out of here."

He steps off the porch and they follow behind him, Roger and Sarah hanging back, and Zoe running to catch up with her father.

"Dad," she says quietly, "is mom -"

"I'm working on it." His tone implies that that's all the information she's going to get.

She tries a different approach. "You're bleeding," she says.

He raises his right hand and rubs it across his face. It comes away red. "Oh?" he says. "I hadn't noticed."

The long drive, hidden in hedges, has ended, and they are back on the road in front of the cemetery. William turns and heads off in the direction of home, his walk very similar to the way it was on the way there, only now his head hangs even lower, and only his right hand gets shoved deep into his pocket. The left hangs uselessly at his side, more blood dripping from between the knuckles. He doesn't see to notice, or care.

Zoe walks silently at his side. She has experienced so many conflicting emotions in the past couple of hours that she no longer knows what to think. Right now she is furious, and nearly all her rage is directed at her father. What right does he have to keep her in the dark? It's her life as much as his. And she is starting to think that more and more of her peaceful existence has been a lie.

"How come you and I never go to the doctor's?" she asks suddenly.

William stops in his tracks. Then he realizes that they have come to a halt right outside of the funeral parlor, and starts walking again, more quickly this time. "What do you mean?"

"Mom goes. Sarah and Roger go. Everyone else I know goes. How come you and I never go?"

"Good genes," William says decisively.

"Bulls--t."

Zoe knows she's hit on something when he doesn't criticize her for swearing.

"I don't have time to talk about this now, okay luv?" is all he says, and he starts walking faster. She lets him get ahead, falling back to walk with Sarah and Roger.

"Have you guys noticed anything unusual about me?" she asks.

Her friends look taken aback. "Um, you mean apart from this night, right?" Roger says.

She just looks at him. "No," he says, a little too quickly. "I mean, you're not, like, normal, or anything, but that's why we like you. That's why I like you."

"Yeah," Sarah says. "You're not full of it like Kelly and Emily. You're not afraid to speak your mind. It's good-not-normal." She ventures a look over to her friend. Zoe's lips are pressed together into a thin line. "Why do you ask?"

Zoe takes a deep breath. "Nothing," she says. "It's nothing."

No one speaks again until they are back at the Barnet's house. William walks in the front door, looking distracted, but the three teenagers hold back.

"Do you think..." Sarah swallows. "Do you think *it's* still there?"

No one has to ask what *it* is.

"No," Zoe says after a moment. "I'm sure he cleaned it up."

Warily, they walk inside. The entry hall's walls sparkle; they are whiter, perhaps, than they have ever been before. For a moment, it's hard to believe that what they saw the last time they came in this door was real, and they all almost expect Anne to come running out of the kitchen, apologizing profusely because she's burned dinner, and offer them all some lemonade. But she doesn't. And it is all too real.

William starts up the stairs to the second floor, but stops at the landing. "Sarah? Roger? Call your folks and get them to pick you up. Then wait for them outside," he says, in a half-hearted attempt at being parental. "And don't tell them anything," he adds. "Go home and try to forget this whole thing ever happened." He turns and trudges up a few more steps, disappearing around the corner.

"Yeah, right," Sarah says as soon as he is gone, "like we could forget this."

"I'll call my mom and tell her I'm at your house," Roger says, indicating Sarah.

"And I'll call my mom and tell her I'm at your house," Sarah says, nodding at Roger.

"Are you sure, guys?" Zoe asks. She sounds like she has something stuck in her throat. "Because whatever this is, it's really, really bad. You should probably get out while you still can."

"Zoe, you sound like a bad movie," Roger says, grinning now. "I mean, come on, this is the most interesting thing that's happened to us in years."

There is a moment of dead silence, the calm before the storm. And then Zoe explodes.

"My mother is missing! She's probably *dead.* She and my father have almost certainly been lying to me for years. We came home this afternoon and the walls were covered in blood. He may have washed it away, but that does *not* mean it's disappeared. So...so f--k you and your 'This is interesting.' Just go home! I don't want you here!"

She storms out of the room. Sarah takes one look at Roger and runs after Zoe. "Wait..." she starts to say, but Zoe spins around, effectively cutting her off.

"You too!" she screams. "Just stop whining and get out of here! You can flirt with my father later, okay?" Zoe storms away, and this time Sarah doesn't follow her.

************ William stands in the upstairs bathroom, in front of the mirror, his hands firmly grasping the sides of the grey marble sink. He found the sink in the barn when they first moved in, and he'd installed it himself, but in the interim, he'd left it on the dining room floor and cracked it when fell off a ladder and landed on it. He'd patched the crack, but it was still very visible. He stares at it now, to avoid looking into the glass.

Beside the tub rests a large brown trunk. It looks rather like a treasure chest.

William turns on the faucet and takes a sip of water. He checks his watch. Time's up. He pulls the plastic shower cap off his head, crumpling it up and tossing it away. He turns on the hot water and sticks his head under the spray, washing the excess bleach away. When he looks up at the mirror, his hair is bright, shocking white. He slicks it back with a handful of gel and steps back, not so much admiring as assessing his work, making sure he has done things properly. A feeling of dread has settled in the pit of his stomach. To say he isn't looking forward to what he is about to do would be an understatement. He'd rather impale himself on a bed of nails, drink hot oil, roll around on burning coals...but those are not options. This is; his one and only option.

He walks over to the trunk and opens it. He digs through the clothes, finds what he is looking for, and changes into them. Then he removes the trunk's false bottom and pulls out a heavy, black metal box. He enters the combination and flips the box open. The inside is lined with thick, grey foam rubber, dividing the interior into two sections. The two sections contain identical black cubes, about two and a half inches long across each side. Each cube has a single black button in the center, and each is carefully labelled. William picks up the cube on the left, feeling its weight in his hand. Then he shuts the box and returns it to its secret place in the bottom of the trunk.

He walks back to where he was and stares at himself in the mirror. He runs his fingers along the sides of the cube. The plastic is cold to his touch. His whole body feels dipped in ice.

Slowly, he takes off his glasses and sets them on the side of the sink. He won't need them anymore.

His fist closes around the black cube. And then William takes a deep breath and pushes the button.

************* Sarah and Roger are sitting in the living room, staring at their hands, when they hear the scream.

It starts out low and deep, but it soon grows, becoming a high pitched wail. Their heads snap up when they hear it. Zoe rushes into the room.

"What is it?" Sarah asks her.

"It's my dad," Zoe says instinctively.

She darts out of the room and up the stairs with Sarah and Roger close on her heels. The scream has turned frighteningly animalistic. They reach the second floor, and Zoe turns right, toward the bathroom. As they round the corner, Roger slips on his socks and falls to the floor. Sarah stops to help him up, and so Zoe is the first to reach the bathroom. She flings the door open, thankful that no one ever got around to buying locks. And then she sees what's on the floor.

From the neck down, it looks human. It wears black jeans, a tight black shirt, black Doc Martens, and a long black coat that looks strangely familiar. But the face...the face is not a human face. The thing on the floor looks up at her with golden eyes, it's fanged mouth open and screaming, it's ridged forehead creased in pain. And somehow, that face is strangely familiar as well.

Zoe is standing frozen in the doorway when her friends catch up with her. Sarah takes one look at the thing on the floor and screams. Roger stumbles backward, slipping on his socks, trying to pull Zoe with him. Zoe pushes him away. She takes two steps forward, crossing the threshold into the bathroom, kneels down next to the now silent, but trembling thing, and says softly, "Dad?"

His body convulses once more as another wave of pain hits, but her voice acts like an anchor that holds him to this world. With considerable effort, Spike shakes off his game face and pushes himself into a sitting position.

"Hi," he says weakly. He looks up at where Sarah and Roger stand, shaking and clutching at one another. His voice turns stern and parental. "I thought I told you two to go home."

Both Sarah and Roger look like they wish they had done as they were told. Roger swallows. "We thought," he starts to say, but has to stop and swallow again before continuing, "that we could stay and help."

Spike laughs then, in a very un-William-like manner. "Right, great. Scoobies, version 2.0." He stands and starts patting at his pockets, searching for something. Not surprisingly, he comes up empty handed. "Bugger. I could really use a fag." Off of Roger and Sarah's startled expressions, he adds, "Those are ciggies, kids."

He stretches his arms out, like a big cat waking up after a long nap. Then he stoops and offers Zoe a hand up. She takes it, but refuses to look at him. "You all right?" he asks.

There is a long pause, which Roger recognizes as the Zoe-calm-before-the-storm pause, and he instinctively takes a step back. But Zoe does not yell. She merely grits her teeth and looks Spike directly in the eye. "You," she says levely. "Are going. To tell us. Exactly. What is going on. Right. Now."

Spike opens his mouth to make some excuse, but something about Zoe's expression stops him. "Now," she says again, and he can't help but smile. He is so proud of her. And she deserves to know the truth.

"Right," he says, taking a deep breath and sitting himself down on the edge of the trunk. "Well, for starters, your mum and I didn't meet at a teacher's conference at the Sheraton..."