LONDON'S BURNING
 
 

The blood lay in little regimented rivulets on the floor of the train carriage, trickling along the indentations in the wood and metal floor. When Spike had first ripped the woman's throat open the warm blood had spurted right across the carriage, dousing the doors with a coat of thick red paint. Dru had laughed uproarously and trailed her hands through the fountain of dark artery blood as it sprayed past her, licking it luxouriously off her fingers. The woman's dismembered body had been left half on the train and half on the platform of Embankment tube station, where the nicely bloodied pair had exited the train, making sure to scatter some of the smaller parts of the woman (fingers, ears, small chunks of ripped flesh) onto the tracks for the underground mice to feast upon. A station manager had caught Drusilla, thoroughly blood-stained, tossing body parts into the tunnel and making little squeaking noises hoping to entice the vampire mice out of their hiding holes for a meal. The horrified attendant had been quickly dispatched by Spike who, after a short-lived chase through the tiled corridors, had snapped the man's neck and (much to Dru's amusement) succeeded in pulling the man's head clean off his body with the aid of the downward escalator and a fire axe. The man's decapitated body was later discovered, propped in a sitting position, at the bottom of the escalator. The head was found (next to the broken body of one of the other attendants) in the Customer Service booth, turned to one side, eyes wide open, it appeared to be watching the security monitors.

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As Spike and Dru emerged from the station onto the grand Victoria Embankment, cool night air rolled off the water in whispered waves, starlight and the bright moon bathing the expansive river in silver. People still flooded the streets. Many couples stood by the river gazing romantically across the churning water.

"What do you feel like now, my love? River boat ride? Those sea-faring types are always a bit gristly, mind..."

Insted of replying Drusilla slipped from Spike's arms and moved slowly, predatorialy forward. She closed her eyes and shook her hair out, flexing her long fingers and rotating her hands gracefully, she seemed to be allowing the smells and sensations of the night and all it's surrogate children to wash over her. For a moment she looked positively enraptured, a beatific smile spreading slowly across her face. Then she spun around and draped herself against Spike's chest, cradling her head beneath his chin, almost purring with sensual delight.

"The river holds many secrets, much older than you and I.. older than the city itself. Water and secrets, never to be revealed. There are bodies down there, Spike. Lots and lots. They call to me, whsipering all their deaths.. So many years buried.."

Spike was perfectly used to Drusilla's pretty, incoherant ramblings, he actually found most of them quite endearing. It was only when he was eager to be off doing something or killing someone that her prescient cryptic poetics would start to grate on his nerves slightly. He'd always steer her back to him whenever she got a bit too far away in her mind. He found a hard, passionate kiss was always a good way to snap her out of one of her reveries. He found her mouth with his in an instant. She kissed him back deeply then broke off and giggled.

"It's no time for swimming, Spike. Let's us find some fire tonight. London's burning."

"That's mon petite rouge belle." Spike smiled. "What do ya fancy? Haven't been down around the Tower in a while.. plenty of gormless tourists and wankers in costume down that way. I've always wondered what those Beefeaters taste like. Doubt it's anything like beef.."

"Real fire, Spike.. ravishing, scorching, murderous, golden fire."

"Alright, pet. Whatever you want. I know just the place."

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Just off London Bridge, down toward Bishopsgate and the City there were, as with everywhere else that night, quite a few people milling merrily about. Bars were still packed, pubs looked like they had no plans of ringing in the last orders anytime soon, taxi's sped frequently along the road.

The narrow street that led up toward the Monument was dark. More than a few folks were slumped against the base of the 200ft high column, blind drunk and rambling. Some creative person had draped a football scarf around Charles II's neck and spray-painted a red mohawk on the Duke of York's head. The smell was an almost overpowering one of piss and beer.

A thick-set middle-aged man draped in a large St Georges flag stumbled out of an alleyway, trousers unbuttoned, as they approached. He leered at Dru, swaying in the invisible breeze of the intoxicated, then decided to lean heavily against the nearest wall. He seemed undaunted by (or perhaps drunkenly oblivious to) Spike's decidedly threatening presense.

"'Ello 'ello, you're a bit of awright aren'tcha? How much you goin' for? Come on back 'ere wiv me luv, I'll show ya me little friend.. "

At this Spike grabbed the drunken man's head with both hands and twisted it sharply to the left with a loud snap. The man fell to the ground.

"Wanker.." he spat.

Spike went to grab the man, anger still coursing through him. He had a sudden desire to make a royal mess. Maybe he'd drag the arsehole's body into the piss-soaked alleyway and have a bit of fun with his insides, or see if he couldn't hit the gilded flame atop the Monument from the ground with the man's eyeballs.. Dru stopped him. She was eyeing the open entrance to the column avidly. A youngish couple appeared to be frivolously debating whether or not to enter and climb the 311 steps to the viewing gallery at the top. The young woman smacked her companion on the arm lightly, turned and disappeared through the old oak door with a playful shriek. The young man quickly followed with an impish grin on his face. Drusilla smiled dreamily.

"Where the fire started we shall start our own, shan't we Spike?"

"My vicious, wicked plum has never been more inspired."

"My darling boy.." Dru planted a kiss on Spike's forehead as he inclined his head to her. They started toward the looming column, Spike making sure to give the dead man a good kick in the head as he stepped over the body.

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They stepped inside the darkened stairwell that spiralled dizzyingly upward, stopping just inside the large wooden door to listen for a moment, gauging the location of the couple. Spike heaved the heavy door closed behind them with a loud bang and dropped the antiquated iron latch into place, enveloping them in almost total darkness and near-silence. The woman's playful shreiks could be heard echoing down the stone stairwell from somewhere not far above. Dru's smile widened.

"No way out, Spike. Only one way down." She paused and whispered in a curious, child-like voice. "Do you think they can fly?"

"Don't know, luv." He pretended to ponder the thought a moment. "They didn't look particularly aerodynamic.." He grinned at his lover and quirked an eyebrow. "Want to find out?"

Dru giggled cheekily and skipped up the first few age-worn granite steps.

They quickly caught up with the young couple, who had made it about halfway up the column reasonbly quickly but stopped, panting, for a break before making the last push for the summit. Making sure to stay just a few dozen steps behind them to avoid detection, they glided silently up the smooth stone steps. As they neared the top the carefree atmosphere they'd been trailing seemed to quieten, the giggles and shreiks ceased and an air of ominous cold seemed to swirl through the Monument, there was a new smell in the air. Fear. As if the couple sensed they were not alone. At one point they heard the man call somewhat nervously back down the stairwell, obviously at the prompting of his young companion.

"Hello?"

His voice echoed past Spike and Drusilla tremulously, causing Dru to surpress an expectant, excited cackle. She pressed her index finger to her lips and made a Shh motion to Spike in the darkness. Spike, almost laughing, forced down the urge to yell something sinister up the stairs to freak the couple out a bit. Dru noticed and moved her finger to his lips and shook her head with a smile. They stood still, silent. Soon the couple's footsteps were heard again, for a moment it seemed like they were coming back down and Spike tensed, ready to pounce.. but then the footsteps became fainter and a creaking noise soon followed. The door to the viewing platform was being opened. A cold wind blew down the stairwell, whipping Drusilla's hair around her smiling face. She dropped her head back and kissed Spike, took his hand and turned, grinning maliciously, and began to ascend the last few dozen steps to the looming doorway. Outside the stars were visible. They blinked quietly in the inky night sky, reflecting prettily in the darkened windows of the nearby buildings. A few thin whisps of stratus cloud passed raggedly across the moon. Together, Spike and Dru stepped out onto platform that overlooked the sparkling London night.

The couple were standing, leaning against each other near the stone ramparts, looking out over the city. The woman was the first to notice them. She looked momentarily alarmed but resolved to remain calm. She nudged her boyfriend in the ribs with her elbow and indicated toward the doorway with her eyes.

"I told you I heard something.." She whispered in a low voice intended only for her lover. He half rolled his eyes at her and looked casually over to where Spike and Dru where standing and gave a careless sniff.

"So? God, Helen, you're so paranoid. It's not like they followed us up here.."

The couple started, and both glanced over to Spike and Dru quickly, as the mysterious couple had suddenly broken into peels of sharp cackling laughter.. almost as if they had heard his words and found them somehow funny. The man's eyes darkened as he watched Spike and Drusilla's apparent amusement with a growling sense of aprehension. He clasped Helen's hand and began to move toward the door.

"Come on, let's go. We'll find somewhere else.."

"Rob..?" Helen squeaked as Spike moved quickly to block the exit and Drusilla stepped toward them.

"Are you going down?" Drusilla enquired innocently. "After such a long journey into the night, young folks and their young feet need resting.."

"Yeah," joined Spike, "can't be leaving just yet now can we? The party's not even begun."

Helen and Rob looked nervously back and forth between Spike and Dru. The feeling had changed from one of suspicion to one of imminent danger.

"Come on, mate," Rob frowned at Spike and tried to move toward the door. "I don't want any trouble."

"Grand shame that," Spike tutted with mock regret, then, stepping up right to Rob's face, glared directly into his eyes. "'Cuz you're gonna get it."

Rob puffed out his chest and drew himself up to his full height in an attempt to look threatening.. or, at the least, look half as threatening as Spike did at that precise moment. Rob sighed.

"What did I ever do to you, exactly?"

"Nothing, mate. Not a bloody thing. Lucky for you.. cuz that really would have been a nasty scene."

"Alright, alright.. look, can we just leave then? Can you move? I don't know what's the matter with you but find someone else to take it out on, ok? C'mon Helen.."

Rob made a move for the door, trying to shove past Spike, at which point Drusilla reached out stealthily and quick as lightening and grabbed Helen by the back of the neck. Dru dragged the screaming Helen backwards and round the platform til she was out of sight. Spike smashed Rob's head into the stone wall and grinned.

"Unfortunately.." he shrugged, "for you anyway.. it really doesn't make much difference to me who I take it out on. As soon-to-be-corpses go..." Spike put his boot squarely into Rob's face. "You'll do."

Dru had tied Helen to one of the flagpoles round the other side of the column and stuffed a large frilly handkerchief into her mouth and was busy feeding off her left wrist, keeping her wide green eyes tilted upward, watching the young woman as she turned gradually from healthy pink to deathly white.

"Fire burning for you, Princess?" Spike inquired as he sauntered up behind her. He flicked his zippo lighter shut with a small clink noise and inhaled deeply on his freshly-lit cigarette.

Dru looked up at Spike, her bloody mouth turning down slightly at the corners. She looked almost bored, an expression rarely seen on Drusilla's face as she was usually more than capable of finding amusement in any kind of action the involved bloodshed. She ran her long-nailed fingers up and down the dying woman's arm aimlessly and cast her eyes downward.

"They don't fight it, Spike. Throw up their hands in fear and die. There's no fire here. I fear not one among a million.." Dru frowned deeply, eyes surveying the mess that was Helen with sadness and contempt. Spike circled Dru, slipping his arms around her waist and holding her tight.

"We'll just have to make 'em burn then won't we, baby. A little reminder, a kick in the teeth, a baptism of fire."

Drusilla prodded the woman's limp body with a long finger and nodded.

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Smoke billowed from the top of the Monument until the early hours of the morning. Due to the earlier extravagant firework display, much of the city was blanketed in a soft mist of smoke anyway, causing the fire high atop the Monument to go largely unnoticed for some hours. When the fire brigade, huffing and puffing with the exertion of climbing 311 steps in full fire gear, finally made their way to the top on the column, high pressure water- hoses in hand, to extinguish what the Met had initially called "a mean- spirited act of wanton vandalism, most likely perpetrated by anarchists intending to cast a pall on the Queen's Jubilee celebrations", they discovered, much to their horror and surprise, amid the fire-blackened stone (and what looked like a few empty lighter fluid cans), the charred remains of two people. Two people locked in what looked to be a highly compromising position. A Pompeii-like pair, eternally locked together, hunched obscenely over the edge of the dizzying observation deck.

From the horrified firefighters point of view, and with the coroner's skeptical agreement, it looked almost as if the scene had been set up to give the impression that the unnamed, now-smoldering young couple had been so busy making love and watching the jovial London night pass them by that they failed to notice as life slowly slipped away from them and they burnt carelessly, absently to a crisp...

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