The Notebook
Xander's fingers ran over the bumps on the notebook page, a frown of
concentration furrowing his brow. The red notebook sitting on his lap was worn
around the edges from constant use, and the cover was marred with left-handed
doodles and quotes in black marker, courtesy of Spike. Each page was made of
slightly thicker than normal paper and was larger in size than standard notebook
paper. Looseleaf papers and printouts were crammed in the front of the notebook.
The notebook was labeled "Xander's Research."
The page of braille type was difficult for Xander to read. It had only been
nine months since he took the beginner's braille class at the Oxnard Red Cross.
He knew his number and letters, and he could use the hand-held type setter that
was sitting on the ground beside him. But reading braille was like reading
Spanish -- a subject he failed in high school.
It had been while Xander was being discharged from the hospital that he had
found that he could no longer see the words on paper. They had wanted him to
sign his name at the bottom of a hospital discharge form, but the page they had
given him looked blank. He'd kept mum about the empty page and had played moron
to ask where to sign. The orderly had pointed to the correct place and Xander
had quickly scribbled his name with what he thought was an invisible ink pen.
Later, Xander had realized that he couldn't read anything written on paper.
Books, newspapers, calendars, posters, everything that was flat and could be
drawn or written upon looked blank.
However, he'd found he could read black letters on a lighted white
background, which was why he'd been able to see during the eye doctor's tests.
All the machines she'd used had utilized black on white technology. He'd been
lucky that she hadn't asked him to read the chart on the wall.
The computer had rapidly become Xander's best friend. He only had to adjust
the type size and background color on any site to black and white and he could
read it. He'd done all of his research via the Internet. It wasn't until he
decided he needed a way to take notes that he'd started to learn braille.
The notebook page Xander was reading consisted of a series of columns and
numbers. The first column listed dates, the second listed the amount of time the
storms lasted, and the third was the number of lightning strikes Xander felt
before unconsciousness overtook him. The most recent addition read: 82100, 243,
23 -- August 21, 2000; 2 hours, 43 minutes; 23 bolts.
Xander was attempting to find a pattern, and was utterly failing. The dates,
storm lengths, and number of hits varied greatly. He felt anywhere from two to
fifty lightning bolts hit him in the center of his chest before he lost
consciousness with every storm. The storms themselves lasted between five
minutes to twenty-four hours, and the days they came had no rhyme or reason,
either.
With a sigh, Xander shut the notebook, rolled it, and triple-wrapped a thick
rubber band around it. He stuck it back in his weather-beaten leather satchel,
then pulled a clean t-shirt from the bag and put it on. He looked over at Spike,
who was crouched by the stream that ran through their camp.
It was weird seeing things without really seeing them. To Xander, Spike
looked as though he'd been dipped in white paint. The trees and plants around
the camp were black with concentrated areas of bluish-white lights. The ground
was a blanket of light grey with a bright white slash cutting through it where
the stream was.
It had taken Xander awhile, but he'd finally puzzled out why everything
looked the way it did. Somehow, getting hit by lightning twice in the same exact
spot had altered his vision. He no longer saw things as solid objects. Rather,
he saw the sparks and strands of electricity that all living things were
comprised of.
Xander knew so much about molecular biology now he'd undoubtably ace any
class in the subject. Plants, animals, microscopic bacterium and the like were
made up of molecules. Within those molecules were ions that created small sparks
of electrical activity as they multiplied and divided. When he'd first woken up
in the hospital, the little bluish-white moving lights he'd seen instead of
Nurse Pritchard's skin were the nurse's molecules moving within his body. The
black area was dead space.
Xander could see the shape of non-living things because of the microscopic
airborne bacterium and such. They covered the non-living objects like a dusting
of powder, and the shade of grey Xander saw was dependent upon how densely
packed the tiny living things were in an area. The more there were in a
concentrated spot, the lighter the area looked to Xander.
Therefore, the stream looked white because of the millions of super-small
bacterium moving within the water. The ground was light grey because the
bacterium, plant and microscopic animal life were unmoving. Spots of black or
dark grey were where little to no microscopic life existed.
When Xander had first laid eyes on a vampire after his vision had changed, it
had spooked him. A vampire was, for all intents and purposes, a demon inhabiting
a corpse. Their bodies were not living and looked completely black to Xander,
except for the brain because it was there that the demon resided.
A vampire's brain was like any other living creature's brain. Strands of
electrical activity wove through the head area, and Xander had learned each
strand controlled certain functions in the brain. As with humans and other
animals, when a vampire was about to perform a specific activity, the area of
the brain utilized flared bright white as the electricity within the ions were
put to use.
When Xander had met up with Spike, he had already learned how to manipulate the strands that comprised all living things. With little effort, Xander had deadened the areas in Spike's brain which controlled the vampire's bloodlust and violent tendencies. The notebook held detailed notes on the progresses and failures of prior experiments on controlling vampires. Spike had been the first success Xander'd had in totally altering a vampire's behavior.
Xander's goal with his experiments had been to learn to help, rather than be
a hindrance, when it came to slaying. It was entirely on accident that he found
out that he could control any sort of electricity, which included
microbiological electricity. With a small amount of concentration, he could
manipulate or destroy the molecules that made up everything.
It was a scary power to have. And it seemed to grow stronger every time he
was hit by lightning.
Xander closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. In his mind's eye, he
pictured his body as he remembered it -- he could no longer see reflections --
and he pulled on the electricity in the air to him. He felt tingles as the ions
packed tightly together and formed an impenetrable layer on his skin.
When Xander opened his eyes and looked down, his body appeared to be solid
white. He knew that practically nothing could pass through the dense barrier of
electrical energy that he'd created on himself, making him semi-invulnerable. It
was like wearing a suit of invisible body armor, and he was protected from
almost everything.
The brunette turned his gaze to Spike once again, and concentrated. Xander
could see the air shift around the vampire as he manipulated the ions. With
little effort, the young man pushed the electricity into Spike's body. Spike's
body flared brightly for a brief moment before forming a solid white figure once
again.
"Bloody hell, Xander!" Spike exclaimed as he shot to his feet. He fiercely
rubbed his arms. "I hate it when you don't warn me first!"
Xander smirked. "Sorry," he said in a completely unapologetic voice.
Spike scowled at Xander as he walked over to where the brunette was sitting.
The semi-invulnerable vampire plopped down on the ground beside Xander and dug
into his own battered, army-issue satchel. He extracted a pack of cigarettes,
popped one into his mouth and lit up.
"So, what's the plan?" Spike asked, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"I'm going to head into town, find some eats, then either take a ride or hang
at the Bronze for awhile," Xander replied. "Want I should drop you somewhere?"
"Willy's, I guess," Spike said with a shrug.
Xander stood and headed for the Honda Superhawk. The bike was his baby, a
gift to himself that was both long-wished for and practical. Because of his
strange sight, he couldn't read the speedometer or other panel warnings on an
automobile. With the motorcycle, he could tell how fast he was going by sound
and feel.
He'd been taught to ride by one of his co-strippers at the Fabulous Ladies
Night Club and, in payment, he'd given his first of several blowjobs to his
teacher. Xander had enjoyed every lesson... and learning to ride the Hawk, too.
Xander straddled the bike and fired her up. The purr of the engine cut
through Estel Woods, drowning out the sounds of nature. Spike climbed onto the
Hawk behind Xander, and the brunette relaxed at the familiar feel of the
vampire's body pressed snuggly against him.
To Xander, there was nothing more comforting than the feeling of control over
both the powerful bike and the powerful vampire seated behind him.
End
