Part Two

The medium - Sheila - sat at the head of Doyle's dining room table. Cordelia looked at her quizzically, 'is there something we should be doing?' she asked.

'Shutting up and letting me get on with dialling up a dead soul?'

'I just meant…' Cordelia glanced at Doyle to convey her annoyance at this woman being brought in, 'it feels like we should be a part of this. It's our lead you're chasing.'

'Ugh - fine,' the medium sighed, 'if you want to be involved - both of you - come and sit next to me, either side.' The pair of them went and took their seats. 'Now,' she continued, I'm going to mutter a few calming words to get us in the zone, I need you both to blank your minds and just … be.'

'Would it help if we closed our eyes?' Doyle asked.

'You do you, babe,' Sheila told him, 'whatever helps you go blank. Now - deep breaths, clear minds … and lets see if I can't rustle you up a ghostie.'

Doyle and Cordelia glanced at each other across the table. He smiled at her, and she gave a small smile back. Then they reached out and held hands and closed their eyes. Sheila the medium glanced down at their clasped hands, rolled her eyes and started the ritual.

Spike stood alone in the middle of the room - it was dark and the shadows crept across the walls. He looked around, trying to find the source of the mysterious voice. 'Is this the part where I say 'who's there?' And something creepy happens?' he called out. The same black shadow from the lab flitted past him, once more. 'Thought so,' he muttered.

The bell on the private elevator suddenly dinged and the door slid open - casting the light from within out into the dim room. 'Oh no, haunted lift. Take a slice more to wet my knickers.' With a sigh of impatience he stepped into the lift, the door slid shut behind him and it began to travel downward.

They had finished their search and found nothing. Wes, Fred and Gunn regrouped inside Wesley's office. 'Angel does have a point,' the watcher said to his friends. 'Spike has been unintentionally disappearing more and more frequently.'

Gunn only shrugged, 'give him 20 minutes and he'll be popping up next to you in the bathroom making cracks about your…' he trailed off when he saw Fred's startled look and then the blank expression on Wesley's face. 'Am I the only one he does that to?' he asked, suddenly suspicious.

'I know he's done this before,' Fred said to both of them, she didn't think they really got it - didn't understand why this was so urgent. They needed to be told - screw what Spike said, she couldn't do this all by herself. 'But you saw the way he was acting - something's different this time! He's agitated, hallucinating.'

Gunn wrinkled his face in confusion, 'ghosts can do that?'

'We are dealing with a unique case as far as manifestations go,' Wesley spoke slowly and leaned against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. 'Dementia is not out of the question.'

But Fred shook her head in frustration, 'he's not crazy,' she insisted.

'Screaming about people who aren't there? That's grounds for involuntary committal under the Landerman-Petris-Short act which states…' Gunn trailed off when he saw the way the others were staring at him. 'Oh, sorry,' he said sheepishly, 'sometimes the law they stuffed in my noggin just clicks on.'

There was a delicate, uncomfortable pause - as everyone privately considered the ramifications of Gunn allowing Wolfram and Hart to mess with his brain and how little they knew about it - and then Fred got back to the pressing subject at hand. 'You don't know what Spike's dealing with. Where he goes when he disappears. It's hell.' She took a deep breath and then stared at them both, making eye contact she refused to break, 'he's slipping into hell.'

There was another pause - and then: 'kinda figured.'

'Of course.'

'Where else would he be headed?'

Wesley was alone in his office - Fred had gone back to her lab and Gunn had … gone off somewhere else, working the problem some other way, Wes supposed. He sat down in the chair behind his desk and picked up one of the books he kept there. It was one of the special 'template' books, which could call up any text in Wolfram and Hart's not inconsiderable archive. He held the spine to his lips and muttered 'any reference to spiritual manifestations experiencing hallucinations,' wondering if there was anything out there that could help them - help Spike. He wasn't hopeful.

'It's the building, isn't it?' a voice said from over by the door. He didn't look up, 'what do you want, Lilah?' he asked her, trying to convey boredom and irritation in his tone. But it didn't work, she only came further into the office and sat down opposite him. 'You ever ask yourself just how many people have died here?' she asked.

'Well, last year it was - by my count - the entire staff that were at work on one particular day,' he finally looked up and made eye contact, 'apart from you.'

'And I've been meaning to thank you for that, lover,' she smiled. 'So where do you think they all go?'

'Who?'

'The souls, the spirits of the people who sign their life away to Wolfram and Hart? They're not still here - the mystics found no non-corporeal entities apart from Spike. So where are they?'

He put the book down and leaned back in his chair, pondering the question. 'I suppose they go … on.'

'On?' she laughed.

'A final destination - a heaven dimension or …'

'A hell dimension,' Lilah finished up, nodding. 'That's the one. You don't get a whole lot of people working in this building who move on up once they shuffle off this mortal coil. They all go in a … more southerly direction.'

'Your point being?'

'Spike saved the world,' she too leaned back in her chair, mirroring Wesley's position. 'Fell in love with a slayer, got himself a soul, fought for his redemption and went out in a blaze of glory. That's the kind of thing you would think would earn you a sweet spot on a fluffy cloud, maybe a harp. I suspect Spike would eschew the Birkenstocks. But… he died wearing the amulet. The amulet belongs to Wolfram and Hart. Ergo, he died in service of Wolfram and Hart … and now our peroxide flavoured champion is on a one way ticket to hell.'

'Is this going somewhere, Lilah?' Wesley frowned at her.

She smiled again and got to her feet, 'only that … you've helped save the world before, my Wesley, and now you're signed up in service of Wolfram and Hart. You ever stop to think what direction your soul will go in - when the inevitable happens?'

'What about yours?'

That made her laugh. 'Oh, I'm under no illusions about my fate. Why do you think I accepted this liaison job? Because I want to spend my life running between The Senior Partners - who are terrifying - and that great chump, Angel - who is infuriating? Please. I took this role for the immortality clause. To keep my feet from the literal fire. But it won't last forever. Nothing does. Face it, Wesley - every single person in this building: me, you, Spike … Fred, we're all going to burn. I'll see you later,' and she walked out of the office, leaving Wesley to his reading … and his thoughts.

Sheila breathed in deeply through her nose and then exhaled through her mouth, she worked on calming her mind and just letting the energy flow through her. She breathed in and out again and once she felt a sense of serenity throughout her being - which took her away from herself and connected her to the beyond - she began to say the words designed to bring about an atmosphere in which the dead would feel comfortable speaking freely. 'I call upon the guardian of souls, the keeper of the passage. Let our breath flow from what is to what has passed. Bless us with the presence of the lost. Grant us communion with the world beyond our reach. Give voice to those who can no longer be heard. I beseech you, open your gates … reveal your secrets.'

There was a long moment of quiet, Cordelia stifled the urge to laugh as nothing seemed to happen. But then Sheila nodded, 'OK … I am sensing a presence.' Both Doyle and Cordelia's eyes flew open and they turned to look at her. 'Is it our Roishnik?' Doyle asked, 'does he know what killed him?'

'Shh shh - you'll spook him, don't go so fast.'

'We'll spook him?' Cordy muttered under her breath, 'he's the one that's dead.'

'My friend,' Sheila said - her eyes were blank and she stared straight forward, not looking at either Doyle or Cordy but instead seeming to see through them - through the walls of the apartment, and instead was looking at what lay beyond. 'We reach out to you, we come in supplication for the answers that only you can give. If you are willing to help us, please give us a sign.'

There was silence - and absolutely nothing. Doyle and Cordy glanced at each other, then around the room and then back at the medium. 'Is he talkin' to y'?' Doyle asked her again, 'what's he sayin'? Is he there?' But she only shushed him once more.

The elevator bell rang, again, and the door slid open. Spike stepped out and looked at his surroundings. The basement. It had to be the basement. He heard the same sound from before - the chopping noise in the distance. He began to walk towards it. 'I already played this one out,' he called, 'not like another round's gonna rattle my knobs.'

But when he got to the table - the ghost of the man was no longer there. His amputated fingers were, though, twitching on the surface. Spike stared down at them, torn between disgust, utter bafflement as to what was going on and being extremely pissed off.

A woman appeared in the corner of the room, stepping out of the shadows. She was dressed like a secretary from the 60s, in a pencil skirt and blouse - and there was a large shard of glass embedded in her left eye. No prizes for guessing how this one died, then. She walked towards him, on her stilettos - and then giggled and sang out 'it's gonna get you.' She laughed again.

Spike stared at her warily. 'What exactly would it be, love?'

'Reaper's gonna take you,' she sang and continued to laugh. But now Spike joined in, letting out a bark of disbelief. 'The reaper?' he said to her, 'Tall, grim fellow with a scythe? Is that what all this boogie-boogie's been about?'

She had stopped singing now. 'It hurts,' she said - and her voice was filled with pain. But Spike wasn't even listening. 'I been knocking around the land of the lost for months now, pretty as you please. Slip through the cracks, did I?'

'Don't worry, William,' she yanked the shard of glass from out of her eye, 'Haven't forgotten you.' She slashed out with the shard right at Spike's face. Even though he was a ghost, could touch nothing in the real world, he felt the sudden pain of the cut. And then the woman was gone; vanished like all the others. He put his hand to his cheek and felt the wetness there - and then he brought his fingers down and stared at the red that stained them. And, he couldn't deny it now, couldn't ignore it - he felt the very real pang of fear.

There was no where else to go - so he went back to the lab. To watch Fred. If he was going out - if this was his final bow - then she was the only person here he cared about, only person who seemed to care about him. He should spend this time with her. Even if she couldn't see him, couldn't hear him, couldn't help him.

She was working away in her lab. Still trying to save him. Of course she was - ever the hero. He hadn't known her long, but he'd grown fond of her in that time - felt for her more than he'd ever felt for any human, except the niblet … and Buffy.

She was working on equations - they might as well be written in Greek for all the sense they made to Spike. Actually - that wasn't true - he'd been made to study Classical Greek at school as a boy, he might actually be able to make head or tails of that. But this was just gibberish. As much hocus pocus as what Red got up to. 'Carry the quotient load across the remainder…' she muttered to herself, 'support the imbalance with Lumirea's fourth constant...'

But her words meant nothing to him, and he wanted to say goodbye - even if she wouldn't know about it. 'Think I know what they are…' he said to her as she stared down at her papers, occasionally frowning and then scribbling something down or erasing it furiously. 'The things I've been seeing, they're the welcoming party. Guess hell got tired of waitin'. Reaching out for me now. Sent their boy around to collect me.'

'I knew it,' Fred muttered under her breath, paying no attention to the invisible, inaudible Spike.

'Knows my name. Knows how to hurt me. I wanted to thank you, pet. How you tried to help. Wanted to tell you what that meant to me before I …'

'Damn I'm good!' Fred announced triumphantly. Spike immediately cut himself off and stared at her excitedly. 'You are?'

'Frickin' genius! Just cancel out the radical.'

His whole demeanour changed - he grinned victoriously and stuck two fingers up at the thin air. 'Thought you had me, didn't ya?' he taunted this unknown reaper. But Fred's face had fallen, and she was frowning again. 'Which causes a feedback wave which liquefies half of Los Angeles.'

The gloating smile melted off Spike's face, 'what?' he demanded, though she couldn't hear him.

'Oh I'll never figure this out!' Fred cried in despair.

'Yes you will,' he insisted. 'Genius, remember?'

She got to her feet and began to walk away, he followed after her. 'Don't throw the towel in now, Fred, please!' Instinctively - and despite the fact that he knew nothing would come of it - he reached out to grab hold of her arm in his desperation. Just for a moment he forgot he was incorporeal and just needed to stop her from leaving him. His fingers brushed against her skin and where they touched - there was a sudden electric shock. He yanked his hand away - and she jumped as she felt the sudden spark, turning to see what had caused it.

'Spike?' she called out suspiciously.

He stared down at his hand and then back up at her. 'That's right, love. You felt it too, didn't you? I'm here. I'm still here.' The shadow passed across the room again and he stared up at it in fear and frustration. 'No!' he yelled at it, 'she can feel me! You're not taking me yet. You're not taking me!'

Fred backed up a few paces, still looking alarmed. 'Spike, if it's you give me some sort of…' as she backed up she hit against something big - and squealed and turned to look. 'Oh! Would everybody please stop doing that?'

Angel was there - having crept up behind her unnoticed - and was staring at her like she was mad. 'Sorry - I just wanted to let you know…'

'Angel, something was in the lab,' she interrupted him. 'It - it touched me. I think maybe it was…'

'Fred, we did another sweep with the mystics. They didn't find anything.'

But she shook her head, not accepting that as an answer. 'Screw the mystics. I know what I felt. We have to find a way to contact him before he's really gone.'

Sheila had closed her eyes, now, and was breathing deeply as she attempted to channel the spirit of the dead Roishnik. Cordelia and Doyle were still holding hands across the table and were watching her - Cordy's expression was a little sceptical. 'I feel him', Sheila said - her tone was all shallow and breathy. She moved her head from side to side, her eyes now tightly shut, as she tried to capture his essence. 'He speaks through me … he doesn't know where he is. Doesn't understand…'

'Well tell him he's dead and he needs to get over it … but you know - in a nice way. Then ask who killed him.'

Doyle tried to give her a disapproving look, but he had to bite the inside of his lip to stop his small smile bursting into outright laughter.

'You have passed beyond the veil, my friend,' Sheila intoned, 'can you tell us your name…' there was a long pause. Cordy and Doyle leaned forward expectantly. 'He says his name is M'hatmik of the Roishnik clan … he doesn't understand.'

Cordelia stared up at the ceiling, her eyes wide with frustration. 'M'hatma - you're dead. Deal already and tell us who did it.'

'M'hatmik,' Doyle corrected her.

'Whatever.'

'He remembers … pain,' Sheila breathed, 'and slashing knives, shining silver in the moonlight and fear and blood and then nothing.'

'That would be him being killed and then dying - who was holding the slashing knives?'

'He knows them … recognises them. He has heard … oh such horror stories, he never thought were true. In his worst nightmares would never have believed…'

'And they are?' They both leaned even further.

'He knows them only as The…' she was cut off by her cell phone ringing, her eyes opened. 'I'm sorry, I better take this,' she said, fishing in her bag and looking at the caller ID. 'Hello?'

Cordy and Doyle both sat back, and gave out matching sighs of deflated anticipation. 'You gotta be kidding me,' Cordy said, 'we were this close. Now who knows where Mahmood has got to?'

'M'hatmik,' Doyle corrected her again.

'Whatever.'

'OK guys,' Sheila rung off from her call and looked at them, 'that was some pretty big cheese on the phone and they pay way better than you do - so I'm gonna buck. But this was fun. We should try it again.' Cordelia just glared at her. 'OK - I'll see myself out,' the medium said, ignoring Cordy's stony expression, shouldering her bag and walking up the stairs and back out through the office.

The team sat around the conference table - waiting. Spike stood lurking in the corner, watching them. They still had no idea he was right there. 'Perhaps we should reconsider this,' Wesley said, after a long and very heavy silence. Gunn raised an eyebrow - glad someone else had said it. 'You think? Seen enough horror flicks to know these things always turn out ugly.'

The door opened and Sheila walked in in her tight, red dress. Gunn smiled, 'I stand corrected.'

Lilah followed Sheila inside and shut the door. The medium went to sit at the head of the table and Lilah took a seat beside Wesley. Wesley glanced uncomfortably at her - and then at Fred. But Fred had her eyes fixed firmly and hopefully on Sheila.

Sheila smiled around at them, 'Alright, let's get to it. Lilah tells me that you've lost a ghostie.'

'Well,' Fred started to correct her, 'he's not technically a ghost actually, more of a …'

'Yeah whatever,' Sheila interrupted - sounding supremely uninterested in the metaphysics of Spike's condition. 'Now - I have Pilates at the crack of why- am- I - awake? So we're gonna move this right along. I will mutter a few calming words to get us into the zone, and then we'll see if we can scare up your missing spook. OK clear your minds … which judging by the looks of you, won't be that hard.'

Fred fidgeted in her seat and smiled a little uncomfortably. 'Should we hold hands?'

Sheila tilted her head and made a patronising little sound, 'only if you're lonely. Now zip it - and let me do my sweet funky.' She closed her eyes. 'I call upon the guardian of souls, the keeper of the passage. Let our breath flow from what is to what has passed. Bless us with the presence of the lost. Grant us communion with the world beyond our reach. Give voice to those who can no longer be heard. I beseech you, open your gates … reveal your secrets.' Her eyes suddenly snapped open. 'I feel a presence.'

'Damn right you do,' Spike said, from his corner.

'Very close.'

'Skip the claptrap and tell them to get me out of here,' he told her, impatiently.

'So much pain,' Sheila moaned.

Fred looked worried and leaned forward. 'He's in pain?' she asked. But Sheila didn't answer her - her eyes were locked on the ether and she was channelling the presence she felt, speaking all the sensations that flooded into her without even realising what she was saying. 'The dark soul … so much suffering.'

Spike sighed, 'dark, pain, suffering,' he listed, walking towards her and standing at her shoulder to yell at her. 'They've got it. Now tell them to help me.'

Sheila's eyes suddenly widened in fright and she began to whimper. 'It's coming ... it's coming.'

Spike's brow furrowed in confusion. The rest of the team were just staring blankly at Sheila as her breath became ragged and shaky. 'I'm already here,' Spike told her - and everyone, but no one listened. 'What are you going on about?'

'Oh God,' her voice was actually shaking now, her body trembling and her eyes were wide and staring. She looked and sounded terrified - like she was staring into the abyss and did not like what she saw. 'I can feel it. The dark soul. It's here… it's - it's the R…'

'The Reaper!' Spike screamed in frustration. 'The bloody freakin' Reaper. Go on! Tell 'em!'

'It's the…' she suddenly grabbed her own throat and began to gag. Her hand clutched at her necklace as if trying to pull it free - but it was tightening around her neck, even as the gang watched. She screamed.

'What's happening?' Fred asked, frightened, as the woman began to choke right in front of their eyes. Spike was also watching - confused and dismayed. He couldn't see what was attacking her - but he had a good idea. And she wasn't going to be able to help him now. Spike would still be trapped - and this would be another round to the Reaper.

'Spike,' Angel said out loud to the room at large, his voice was firm and commanding. 'Stop it.'

Spike stared at him. The bloody idiot. The great big tit. 'It's not me, you git,' he told him - though of course Angel-breath couldn't hear. The enormous plank of wood just didn't get it that Spike wasn't evil now. And even if he was - he had never been thick enough to try and kill someone who was helping him. But wouldn't you believe it - Angel had his one incredibly dumb theory and was sticking to it. Spike watched as the other vampire pushed his chair back and sprung to his feet like the big man in charge, swinging his big…

'Let her go,' he commanded - and went to the woman's side to help her. She sat back up then - gasping for breath - and it looked, for a moment, like she was regaining her composure. Like Angel's demands for her freedom had worked. Though … her nose was bleeding a little.

'Are you OK?' Fred asked her, sounding concerned. The woman stared at her - Fred stared back, worried and then Sheila spat blood right into Fred's face and immediately collapsed face first onto the table, dead.

Angel was pacing, Fred was fretting and Lilah was organising the removal of Sheila's body. Wesley caught Gunn's eye and then indicated the door with his head. Both men rose from their seats and walked out. They headed into Angel's adjoining office and shut the door behind them to talk privately.

'OK, what that hell was that?' Gunn asked. He was looking freaked - he knew these things always turned out ugly. 'I know they used to call Spike "William the Bloody" but why would he go all Scanners on her?'

'He wouldn't,' Wesley said, tersely. He gave a shrug. 'No advantage in killing someone who was trying to help him.'

Gunn thought about that for a second, looking confused. 'So you're saying … it was an accident?'

'Or whatever she contacted wasn't the "dark soul" we were expecting.'

Gunn thought through all the repercussions of what that meant. 'So, if she wasn't talking about Spike…' he began to say, slowly.

'Then there's something else here at Wolfram and Hart,' Wesley finished up for him. 'Something a hell of a lot worse.'

Doyle was back in the kitchen. It seemed a long time since he'd first put the kettle on the stove - before they were interrupted by Angel stopping by for a brood and hang. He was fixing Cordy an herbal tea and had poured himself a whisky. Once the tea was made, he carried them both through to where she was sat on the sofa. 'So … what's the plan now?' she asked, taking her cup from him, 'thanks.'

He sat down next to her, leaned back and rested his arm along the back of the couch, so it was loosely wrapped around Cordelia. 'I still think tryin' to talk to M'hatmik is the best lead we got,' he told her. 'Otherwise we're back to hopin' for another murder and prayin' that this time the knife wielding maniacs leave us a clue - a carpet fibre or some fingerprints or something.'

'I swear - some serial killers are just so inconsiderate.'

Doyle smiled. 'Only trouble is - I don't think Sheila's comin' back tonight. And if we leave it too long after our Roishnik has crossed over…'

'Then we might not be able to reach him?'

'Exactly.'

'So…' She took a sip of her tea and looked at him expectantly. 'Do you know how to talk to dead people?'

'Not really - at all - no.'

'So … what?' she asked. 'What do we do?'

'There must be ways for none psychic people to talk to the dead. It must be possible to conjure up spirits and get 'em to have a chat. Don't you think?' He looked at her, questioningly - wondering if he was way off on this one. He didn't see why he would be. The world was full of dead people. Vampires - and ghosts - and apparently now vampire ghosts. Life continued after death - he knew that for a fact. M'hatmik was still out there - which meant he could still be spoken to, just as long as they could find the right frequency.

'You think there might be some kind of magic spell we can do - to contact the afterlife?' Cordelia said, cottoning on to his way of thinking. He nodded. 'It's just a theory.'

'Late night trip to the magic store?' she asked. He nodded again. 'Sorry, darlin' - I know y' wanted to be off. But I think we really need to get this done.'

'It's fine,' she gave him a swift kiss on the lips and then put her tea down. 'It's a good job we moved back to Downtown,' she said, 'nice and handy for your guy in Korea Town.'

'He does this stuff all the time,' Doyle agreed, 'he'll be able to hook us up.'

It had been a long night - on top of a very long day. And Fred had been practically living in the lab for … weeks now. She was bone weary. She ached and she was tired - and now she was covered in a dead woman's blood. And she still couldn't go home - because she still had to work the Spike problem. She couldn't just leave him to slide into hell and burn for all eternity. So she settled for taking a shower in the ones near the lab.

The hot water felt good on her skin - washing away the aches. She washed her hair and scrubbed Sheila's blood from herself. She didn't want to get out, she just wanted to stay under the warm spray and blow away the cobwebs and let the stream of the water massage and soothe her right the way through to her bones. The longer she stayed the more steamed up the place became.

Spike stood on the other side of the glass screen and watched her. He wasn't watching her, he was just being with her - because there was no place else for him to go. And no one here he would rather be with. Especially if these were his last few minutes before an eternity of hellfire. He was talking to himself as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair. 'Why did it kill her?' he muttered, 'Reaper's supposed to take souls - not make 'em. If it's come for me… couldn't be worried she was gonna help. She didn't even know I was there. Unless it wasn't about me…'

He came to a sudden realisation and looked up at Fred, starting to talk directly to her now, instead - though she remained utterly oblivious, under the spray. 'Fred, I think I know why it killed her. It was trying to hide something, something it didn't want you to know because...' As he had been talking he had reached out - instinctively, like before - to touch the glass, to press home his point, forgetting he would just fall through. The tips of his fingers made contact with the screen and - again - there was that sudden crackle of electricity. He snatched his hand away and stared down at it, wondering.

He reached out again - but this time his hand passed straight through the shower screen as if it was nothing but air. He brought his arm back down to his side. 'Come on,' he muttered to himself, 'just … reach out…' He reached out his index finger - concentrating with all his mind, focusing every fibre of his being on the tip of his finger and the glass screen. He made contact - and this time he didn't pull away.

Slowly - and concentrating harder than he had ever concentrated on anything in his life, he drew out six letters. It was torturous - wondering if he would make it to the end - but he did. He wrote only one word - to let Fred know what to look for: REAPER. Then he stood back and watched as she switched the shower off. She reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself - then she twisted her long hair and wrung out the water droplets … and then she spotted the word.

It was backwards to her - and she tilted her head to try and make sense of it. She took a step closer - reading the word, working out what it meant - how it got there. She got as close as she could and peered right at the writing. Spike watched her - waiting. And then - the glass suddenly cracked and then shattered into a thousand pieces, falling to the floor. Fred jumped backwards to avoid the flying shards and Spike suddenly felt something grab hold of him and tug him backwards. He was yanked from the lab and thrown through the darkness.

He landed flat on his back in the lobby. It was completely dark - and devoid of all life, wherever Angel and the others were - it wasn't here. It gave Spike the impression that he had been pulled out of the real world and was now in some kind of parallel reality. A shadow land where only the ghosts could dwell. He rolled over, groaning - and saw a man in a sharp suit walking down the stairs - his footsteps echoing out in the otherwise eerie silence .

Spike got to his feet. 'Come on, then,' he said to the man, 'no more games. No more hiding in the shadows. Let's do this … right and proper.' He got his first full glimpse of the man - as he walked closer towards him. 'A lawyer?' he laughed scornfully.

The lawyer walked towards him - and Spike watched him. He seemed perfectly normal. But then he turned his head and revealed that one side of his face was all bashed in and bloody. 'William,' the bloody faced man said.

The armless ghost appeared then and reached out for Spike with her stumps. He whipped around to look at her. 'Hold me,' she moaned.

'No!' Spike shook his head and tried to push his way out through the spirits. The secretary with the shard of glass in her eye walked past him. 'It hurts!' she cried.

'No - I'm not talking to any more flunkies,' he insisted. 'You hear that?' He looked around - staring into thin air and shouting into the darkness, hoping to speak with the as yet unseen spirit that was behind all this. 'Got your number, don't I? You're sending in third rates to rattle my chains. You're just some silly little twit of a spirit trying to have a go at me, aren't you? Big bad Reaper come to take me to hell. Not bloody likely.'

He snorted in derision - but then was knocked flat on his back. And he saw … flashes - sudden visions of horrendous torture. Of himself under sharp and evil looking implements - and he felt the pain of them, even as he lay there. He screamed out. And that was when he heard the disembodied voice again. 'Oh yes, take you screaming. An eternity of suffering for your sins.'

And then a figure melted out of the darkness - tall and broad, in old fashioned clothes, with matted, dirty hair and dark rings under his eyes. The Reaper held one of the sharp implements from Spike's torture vision, and stroked it lovingly. 'But first I get to play. Let's get started then … shall we?'