Chapter 4
For one moment, one electric moment, they stood, and if the world continued spinning on its axis it was more than the natural order of things demanded. Every atom of space between them was charged with an energy that the stars themselves could not deny.
And then her hands were at his throat, her eyes locked into his. "How could you?" Her voice was almost mechanical, but she was trembling with excitement. "So come on, Spike, your ending or mine?" He felt her fist bruise his face, lightly. "Come on, I'm offering you one last shred of dignity here. You in?"
Part of him wanted to resist, to be better than her. But his whole being was racked with longing for the thrill of combat. He told himself he did it for Elizabeth, because she needed him to protect her. But when he did it, he did it for one reason and one reason only. Because not doing it was killing him.
He smashed his fist into her face, sending her staggering backward. "Is this the way you want it, love?"
She flung him a look of scorn as she regained her balance. "I don't want anything from you. Except this."
He leered at her as he rocked back from the blow. "This good for you, is it…too?"
"No." She leaned in so close they were fighting for the same breath. "Better." And she slammed him back into the wall.
Spike laughed. She struck him across the mouth, as she hissed, "You were right. This is all I want. This is all I've ever wanted."
He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he raised his arm to block her punch, lunging his free hand towards her stomach. But she anticipated him and caught his hand in her own, twisting his arm round with a grip so tight he thought the both of their fingers must break.
"And you know what?" she breathed, "The time has come. I'm gonna have myself that real…good…day." She pressed her forearm across his throat, and the trickle of blood running down his face traced the curve of her elbow. "I'm just glad you could make it."
She jabbed her knee towards his lower abdomen, but he intercepted, cupping the underside of her knee with his free hand and, in an effort that he felt must wrench the very soul from his body, threw her to the ground. It was an ugly fall and the pain that burned on her face cut him deeper than any blow from her hand could. But as the doubt flickered across his face she snapped into action like a snare, trapping his legs between her own and bringing him crashing down beside her.
And as they lay, side-by-side, aching, on the tarmac she whispered in his ear, "Thought this was your game? Works for me too."
The blood in his head raced, and he half-turned towards her, but she froze him with a glance of pure hostility. "Touch me again and I'll kill you." She propped herself up on her elbows. "Oh wait. I was going to do that anyway."
And she flung herself towards him, her eyes blazing with a fire that was all rage, a consuming fervour that besought him to meet her in this stark, primitive struggle. She spat out her words between breaths. "You think I'm no better than you. You're wrong, Spike. Because when this is over I'm gonna get up and walk away."
It was short, and bitterly sweet, and before he knew it he found himself pinned to the ground, her knees clamping his arms to his sides and something long and sharp and deadly pointing towards his heart.
"Good fight. I should have done this years ago. Wish I had." The anger was gone, the coldness of her conviction overpowering. She leaned in towards him. "What, you're just gonna sit there and take it, now, Spike?"
She was looking at him with something that was almost compassion, a scarred, ugly tenderness that he felt more acutely than the point digging into his chest.
"You've been everything to me, Spike. My arch-nemesis. The thorn in my side. My faithful punch bag. God, even my right-hand man." The shadow of a remembered smile passed over her face, and her words grazed his skin like a caress. "I owe that to you."
Her eyes narrowed, and when she spoke again her voice was thin and hard and intimate, like barbed wire tearing into his flesh. "Tell me you'll miss me."
He met her gaze with bright blue defiance. "I don't know who you are, bitch, but I'm guessing, where I'm going - they make them all like you."
It was the tiniest hesitation, but it was enough. She was stung, and in that moment he pulled away from her and ran for his life. He ran until his legs gave way beneath him. And then he realised. He had to find Elizabeth.
Spike was as haggard and grey as the cloud-shrouded dawn by the time he stumbled, exhausted, back to the flat.
"Oh my god, Spike. Is Elizabeth with you?" Karen greeted him with a sickening urgency that did nothing to temper his frustration. He shook his head dejectedly.
"You're hurt? What happened?" Her voice was wrought with barely-suppressed panic.
"I went after her. She was - "
"Sleepwalking? She's done it before." Karen clutched at the one straw of normality, but there was a desperate edge to her words.
Spike answered with a coolness that he did not feel, "Yeah, well. She heads off, I follow. And there they were, lumpy buggers – "
"Vampires?" Amidst all the rising fear and confusion the one word rang out like a bullet in a snowstorm.
"Maybe. They took off. Didn't stay for the picture shoot."
"Elizabeth?" Karen's voice was hollow, but she could not but frame the question.
"No, kid was OK. They…they didn't get her. And then the little blonde one turns up."
"What, another vampire?"
Spike shrugged, dismissing the encounter with a nonchalance that was curiously at odds with the shallowness of his breathing. "I don't know. I don't know what she was. Packs a punch and a half though."
"And she has Elizabeth?" gasped Karen, her voice giving way to a croak.
"No, no." Spike shook his head warmly, indicating his battered face. "I didn't get these for nothing. But by the time I'd seen off Goldilocks your little bit's gone. Thought she must've got scared, run for it. I just hoped she'd somehow find her way back here." The tiniest note of despair had crept into his voice.
Martin stepped forward to squeeze Karen's hand. "And she will, we'll get her back. We did last time."
Spike raised an eyebrow in question and Karen explained.
"It's not the first time this has happened. She went missing once before. But we put an extra bolt right at the top of the front door after that. There's no way she could have got out."
"And you're sure you bolted it last night?" Spike asked.
It was then that she dropped the bombshell.
"The door was still bolted when we got up this morning, Spike."
It was impossible. It was impossible that he and Elizabeth could have walked through a bolted door. It was impossible that so much of who he was could be erased, just like that, from his memory. It was impossible that the one person in Creation who could save his life could be the very same that had risked her own to take it, and yet still his heart thudded so hard against his chest that he almost believed it might break.
At her request, Spike took Karen to where he had last seen Elizabeth. In daylight it was hardly recognisable as the same place, but just standing there again he felt his skin burn, and every bruise on his body sang with the memory of it. As he and Karen walked back to the flat she turned to him suddenly, clearly agitated, but determined to remain focused.
"Spike, I need you to do something for me."
"Of course."
She took a deep breath. "When my father died, they spent a lot of time investigating his journals. He used to write down notes on the different stories he was covering, all in his very own customised shorthand. Well, that was his excuse for it."
Spike smiled. "So handwriting wasn't his thing. Goes with the territory, doesn't it?"
She nodded, and continued in the same distracted tone. "I suppose so. Anyway, they followed up everything they could – it wasn't easy, all initials and journalist code – and ultimately they didn't get anywhere. So in the end we just packed it all in." She stopped for a moment, her glance shifting restlessly about them, as the faint crash of a cat knocking over a bottle echoed down a nearby alley-way. Then she set her face resolutely and resumed her story. "When Martin and I were first married we used to live with his sister in Whitby – you know, seaside resort, legendary home of Dracula? – well, she's still there, she has this little Bed and Breakfast place…and so are my father's journals. We left a lot of stuff with her when we moved back down here."
Spike began to follow her thread of thought. "Let me guess, a journal revisit is on the cards."
"The thing is, Spike, there were all these allusions that – they seemed to point to something to do with vampires. Lots of oblique references to stakes and things. I don't know, maybe it was just research for the book. But he was killed by a wound to the neck, Spike, and I can't help thinking - maybe that was the price of the book itself. It's got to be worth a try."
Spike nodded, and replied with momentary lightness, "I've got it. Off to pack my bucket and spade right now. Figuratively speaking. I don't think I have a bucket and spade. Lost them with the whole memory deal."
"Thank you. I would have gone myself, Spike, but I…I couldn't dream of going anywhere…not now…" Karen's voice betrayed a sudden helplessness.
Spike put his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of wordless comfort. "You'll find her."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Giles and Dawn had been up for several hours by the time Buffy emerged. As she stood with her back to them at the hotel breakfast table, pouring herself a cup of coffee, Giles detailed the plan for the day.
"I heard from Karen this morning. She's had to cancel our engagement today – it seems something's come up that demands her immediate attention. She wasn't terribly specific, but she did say she'd be in touch this evening to explain. In the mean time I suggest we conduct our own investigation of vampire activity in the area."
As Buffy limped over to where they were sitting Dawn exclaimed in concern. "Buffy, you're hurt? What happened?"
Buffy smiled. "That would be me conducting my own investigation of vampire activity in the area. I had a head start. It's kind of a Slayer's prerogative."
Giles looked up. "So the vampires are – "
"Active? You could say." Buffy continued her explanation with an almost uncomfortable haste. "There was a little girl. Is a little girl. Nearly a was. But, thanks to me, a wasn't. Am I still making sense?"
"Not entirely." Giles returned, his face a picture of fond bemusement.
"And the vamps?" Dawn asked.
Buffy shrugged. "Nothing special."
"So they're like, dusty, now?" Dawn ventured.
"They got away. It happens."
Giles and Dawn exchanged a look, and he interjected rather hurriedly, "Yes, of course." He removed his glasses, and added, "Well, there's always a next time."
Buffy shook her head darkly, and when she replied it seemed she was speaking more to herself than anyone else. "This one has his next times just about used up."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Sylvia Newport was not unlike her brother, a little older, and a little greyer, but with the same unassuming quietness. She had welcomed Spike into her home without ceremony and without question, only enquiring briefly about the train journey and then leaving him undisturbed to investigate the contents of her long-neglected attic. The room was large and airy, and the Yorkshire coast simmered with summer madness as outside seagulls swooped and the strong, warm breeze rustled through the treetops, revealing the occasional flash of the sparkling white sea.
It was deep into the afternoon, and the sun hung low in a hazy sky by the time Spike found anything of any real relevance. The journal entry was dated 19th October 1977 and read simply:
Revise and update V in L for new edition.
It was not much, but it was something, and Spike felt a surge of anticipation as he read on. Eventually he found it. The very last entry John Gardener had ever made in his journal:
15th May 1980
Still waiting on the P&H interview Possible LK involved in MG affair – check statement from 11-79.Have a new lead on W the B.
And it was only then he noticed it. There, lying on the floor, a torn, tattered page that must have lain, lodged inside one of the journals, for a generation. He knew, even before he unfolded it, what it was. A quick glance at the all too familiar first line proved his intuition correct:
'Drusilla's most notorious protégé was the failed poet William the Bloody…'But what he saw next chilled him to the very core of his being. Scrawled across the bottom of the page, in ink that had bled into the dark stains surrounding it, was a twenty-year old message that, though barely legible, spelt out its meaning with unutterable clarity.
The incessant song of a bird poured through the open window as the sun shone relentlessly down, illuminating the words with a fierce glow. And Spike felt his world collapse from underneath him as he read:
From the "failed poet"
To the tabloid hackI'm a bloody animal
And I'm back.
Spike.
To be continued…