Chapter Twenty-Two

Later that night, Xander walked into his room, switched on the light... and everything went dark.

Consciousness came back slowly, a progression of darkness to mere dimness, but the first thing he was truly aware of was pain. His shoulders and arms, which were stretched up above him, were tingling and burning like a million fire ants were marching along them and nibbling as they went, and his wrists felt as though someone had just given him the mother of all Indian rope burns. He decided, somewhat distractedly, that this was probably because of the actual *rope* that was tying them up above his head. The rope, that is, that he was hanging from, although, not all the way up in the air. He was close enough to the ground that his knees were bent slightly and his toes were resting on smooth concrete.

It suddenly occurred to him that this was absolutely not a normal thing. Then he snapped awake complete, opening his eyes to the half-light of what seemed to be a back room of the factory.

“Oh, no,” he gasped, and scrambled to his feet and backwards, but the rope caught him, and his arms screamed in pain and white stars danced before his eyes. “No,” he said again, as Giles smiled at him in the dim light of one cage-covered bulb.

“Ah, good, you’re awake.”

He should have been terrified, but he wasn’t. The initial shock faded fast, and then all that was left was a small, tight ball of apprehension somewhere low in his gut. Other than that, there was nothing. At this moment, he supposed all he really was was resigned.

“Ok, fine. Here we are. Me tied up, you all evil. I just have to ask the obvious question. Why me?”

Giles stood up, his hands in the pockets of his coat, and ducked his head a bit and smiled, a familiar old gesture. Xander felt another spike of hatred for this creature dig into his heart.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“You’re evil?” Xander shot back, wondering at his stupid boldness.

“Well, yes. There is that. But it’s actually because you are so... entertaining.”

He was trembling now, but he was so numb he wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger or just pain.

“Gee, thanks. I try.”

Giles gave him a dour look.

“I am, of course, not referring to your weak quips.”

“Hey, now. My quips could beat up your quips.”

“Shut up, Xander.”

“Oh, sure, so you can have your exciting little ‘I’m the bad guy, listen to me ramble’ monologue? The one that always has to precede the pain part of the event? I think, actually, quite emphatically, that I shall not shut up, because the longer I put it off--”

Xander croaked as Giles’s hand clamped around his throat.

Giles smiled again.

“Much better.”

Air. Air, he needed air, oh god, why’d he waste so much precious, sweet oxygen yapping? Never again, never again! The world was getting dark. Then Giles let go, and Xander dropped. The rope caught him by his wrists again and he yelped, just a little, and took a moment to catch his breath before he stood back up, and glared, silently now, at Giles.

“Now, would you prefer a little more pain before we start, or shall I get on with my... monologue?”

“I hate you,” Xander said, feeling the words catch and pull a bit in his aching throat.

“Very good, you’ve provided me with a perfect segue. You do hate me. And, more importantly, you fear me. Both are exceedingly attractive qualities in a victim, I’ve found. But do you know why you hate me?”

“Again, I’ve got to go with... because you’re evil?”

“No, no, that’s not it at all, actually. Care to guess again?”

“Well, no, seeing as I’m the one tied up and at your mercy, hows about you tell me what you think?”

Giles did so.

“I am, quite simply, your worst nightmare.”

Xander felt a small part of him inside curl up in despair at the truth of those words, but he spat back, “Kinda giving yourself a lot of credit, there, aren’t you? I mean, what vamp *doesn’t* want to think he’s some guy’s worst nightmare?”

“Oh, but I am. You loved me, Xander. You trusted me. Looked up to me. And why not? I was intelligent, I could wield weapons. I was kind, in a distracted sort of way. And of course, I ignored and insulted you just enough to seem truly paternal in your eyes. But I wouldn’t hurt you, would I? Not like he did. You felt safe. You let me in. But you see, now... I’m not safe anymore. But I’m still... in.

“You’re a well-guarded man, Xander Harris... but even the strongest walls can’t keep out someone who’s already inside.”

All he could think of as a retort was “nuh-uh”, and that, even he wouldn’t diginify by speaking aloud. A young voice from long ago, buried deep in his mind, whispered, “Please don’t hurt me,” but he’d learned, almost as long ago, that there was no point in speaking that aloud, either. He just stood there, his arms over his head, and felt something that felt a little like defeat.

But, Giles seemed to be waiting for something, so, eventually, he managed, “Weren’t you supposed to, you know, reveal the details of your evil plot, or something?” but his voice was soft and tired as he spoke.

“I don’t really have one, I’m afraid. But there is one more thing I wanted to say, and then, we can get on with the pain part of the evening which you so accurately predicted.”

“And what’s that?”

As he spoke, Giles walked over to the piles of old boxes and factory detritus that lined the walls of the room.

“I did you a small... favor. Something you’ve no doubt rather wished someone would do for quite some time now.”

He reached down into the mess and gripped something solid there, and then, with one good tug, yanked it free of the mess and out onto the floor, where he let it sprawl, limbs all flopping in different directions, bits of paper and tape and styrofoam stuck to it and scattered around it. A body.

Xander felt bile rising and burning in the back of his throat, a sharp counterpoint to the pulsing pain-heat in his arms.

A familiar body.

Giles nudged its head with one black-booted foot, and it rolled around on a limp neck to stare up at Xander with wide, dead eyes.

“No,” Xander said, “No, no, no. Oh god.”

His father.

“Don’t worry yourself. I certainly didn’t turn him. Awful man, really.”

Giles circled around behind him, and then came up close to his back. He shuddered as the vampire’s cold hand touched his shoulder.

“He’s not going to hurt you anymore.”

The cool presence moved away, towards the back of the room. Xander listened with quivering, horrified attendance to every rattle and rustle, trying desperately to predict if a blow was about to fall. Then, Giles’s footsteps moved back towards the front, accompanied by the soft hiss of something dragging across the floor. Xander’s muscles drew tight, even as his bladder seemed to loosen, and for one brief moment all he could think was “Oh, god, no matter what else, please, please don’t let me wet my pants,” and then, as Giles came back into his view, his head bent to examine whatever he was holding in his hands, he realized that was really the least of his worries.

Then, Giles was looking at him. Like a magician about to perform a trick, he held up for Xander’s inspection the two black electrical cords he was holding in either hand, each ending in bare, stripped wire. He touched the two ends together, and a blue spark jumped between them.

“He’s not,” Giles said, “But I am.”

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