Chapter 2
It was somewhere between hostile and dead. The barred window vaunted its battle cry, muted by the cold, stone walls that had long ceased to care. Spike stretched out on the hard, wooden bench and sought the tantalising glimpse of night sky that drifted somewhere above him. The words of the figure in the shadows seeped across his head:
"This was your choice. You thought you could take on the stars themselves."
The day had passed in a frenzy in which time had ceased to mean anything, so quickly could it pass, so suddenly could it stop. "Laura…Laura?" He had smoothed the pale hair back from her ashen face with a gentleness that was as strange to him as it would have been to her, this brittle girl who had never known or asked for a kind word in her life but had burned with a zest for being that touched him even now. Sickened by the cold, stabbing fingers of realisation that clutched at his heart and squeezed until he thought he would choke, he knew only that he cared implicitly that she was gone, and that it was too late.
The rough hands that had grabbed him from behind, pinning back his arms and clamping his hands together, had almost been a relief.
"Sir, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something you later rely on in court." The chestnut-haired young officer was feisty and fearless, and she uttered the words like a challenge.
"You think I did this?" He spat the question out because it gave him the motivation to lunge forwards out of her grasp, but he had asked himself the same thing a thousand times already.
She reached for him but he swung round and head-butted her hard in the chest. She retaliated immediately, a delicious right hook that caught him full in the face and distorted his view long enough for her to reassert her grip on him.
"Assaulting a police officer. You just keep it coming, sunshine." she hissed as she bundled him into the van.
He said nothing, but something akin to a smile had lurked at the back of his eyes, behind the defiance and the pain. Because he knew, for that split second, she had wanted it as much as he did.
And now, lying in the police cell, he throbbed still with adrenalin, as he sensed his time bomb heart ticking away the precious seconds he could ill afford to throw away.
"You have one month to find her. One month to find her and convince her that it's worth her while to save your sorry life … her name, her face, every moment you ever knew her and every place you ever met her has been blanked from your memory."
"Damn it, at least I have a raison d'etre," he concluded, and he laughed. He laughed because the world was against him, and the one friend he had had been taken from him, and his only hope was a nameless, faceless girl who could be anywhere in the world, and in some strange way he revelled in it, because as much as he fought to live he lived to fight.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Saving the world, albeit necessary, is not as conducive as it might be to the art of conversation. Small talk can lose its relevance in the light of a near-miss apocalypse. Dawn watched in increasing frustration as Buffy turned over the pages of a magazine with blank regularity, and waited for the half-formed question she had seen Buffy almost ask, and check herself from asking, more times than she could count. She knew it because the same question hovered at the back of her mind, if only she could venture it. But the silence was not hers to break.
"Dawn, do you miss him?"
There, it was out. Dawn smiled, and observed, as if she could not resist it,
"You could have said, do you miss Spike, and you would have taken the only-question-in-the-world edge off it."
"Oh come on, you were thinking it too. Besides, there are issues at stake here I need to consider. Spike comes back chipless and I have to start watching my neck."
"Now you figure that one out." Dawn was not going to pass up that opportunity.
"What's that supposed to mean? Second thoughts, don't answer that."
Dawn answered all the same. "Well, it's not like your neck wasn't on offer before, is it?" She hurriedly deflected the glare Buffy shot in her direction, "I mean, the chip didn't work on you. So what does it matter?"
"It matters, Dawn. You know that. Big Bad Spike is Big Problem Sunnydale."
Buffy sighed, and, in something of a whimsical vein, asked, "He would show up here if he was back, wouldn't here? I mean, whether he wants to bite me or...or…"
"Bite you?" supplied Dawn helpfully.
"Thank you Dawn. Remind me not to have you write my biography, should I ever become bookworthy. I see you will represent me in a sordid light."
Buffy paused, and then brightened as if suddenly struck by a new idea.
"Maybe we should go and check up on Clem. After all, he is our new man inside on the demon world. Though I'm not convinced that Clem hangs out with the kind of demons I'm interested in."
"He hung out with Spike."
"Ye..s. Again, thank you Dawn. Look, Clem would know if...if...- I think we should go. It's my duty as the Slayer – right?"
* * * * * * * * * *
Spike recognised one of the voices that woke him the following morning, as that of the superior police officer who had overseen the exhaustive mill of questioning he had been put through the previous day, but the other voice, clear, bright and female, was unfamiliar to him.
"Post-traumatic stress. The man has witnessed a murder, for crying out loud. Wouldn't you want to blank that from your memory?"
"Oh, it's convenient, I'll give you that." The man's voice was languid with cynicism.
"Anyway, you can't keep him any longer, not without charging him. And you have nothing to go on. You know that, and I know that. The boy is mine."
The reply was inaudible, but her statement was confirmed as the door of Spike's cell swung open, to reveal a tall, handsome woman of about forty, marked by a calculated elegance that suggested something more beneath the smooth exterior. She held out her hand towards him.
"Spike, isn't it? Karen Newport QC."
He clasped her hand in a brief, suspicious acknowledgment of her greeting. She smiled.
"You'll think me very presumptuous. I understand you are suffering from amnesia and have little recollection of your present circumstances. I have more than a passing interest in this case, and I believe we might be able to help each other. I may be able to shed some light on what happened yesterday. In return for your co-operation, I can provide board and lodging until you are able to locate family or friends. Superintendent McKay here will vouch for my integrity."
The superintendent nodded stiffly, curling his lip slightly as Spike consented somewhat detachedly to her scheme. As they headed towards the exit the superintendent clipped in his parting shot:
"You're a fool, Newport. Why don't you leave the detective work to those of us who know what we're doing?"
"And why don't you leave judgement to those in a position to mete it out?" she retorted, with that same studied composure Spike had noticed earlier. She turned back to Spike.
"We'll take the cab. Here – "
She motioned him towards a nearby taxi, and gave her instructions to the driver. Spike shifted guardedly across the leather seat, and turned to her with a face that threatened to give nothing away.
"So go on, what's your game?"
She smiled. "It's a bit late to ask that. You're here now."
Spike reached into his pocket for a cigarette. "What do you want from me?"
"Like I said, I have my reasons for pursuing this case. Whatever you might believe, you witnessed what happened. Who knows what might prompt your memory? Besides, you have a…a thing about you."
He leered a little. "I get that a lot."
They pulled up in front of a smart London apartment and Spike followed her up a newly-painted staircase to a panelled front door. As she reached into her bag for the key he suddenly slammed his hand against the door and asked the question that was simmering on his mind.
"What makes you so sure I didn't do it?"
She paused for a moment, and let out a long breath as she turned to face him.
"Alright, here's the deal. Spike, do you believe in vampires?"
"Why?" He was caught on the defensive.
"That girl was killed by a vampire. You're not a vampire." She placed her hands on his shoulders and spun him round to face the mirror in the hallway. "Look – reflection."
Spike smirked as he leaned in to command a closer view. "Good looking bloke – have I put on weight?" but the colour had drained from his face.
"Been a while since you last looked in the mirror, has it?"
"Feels like it."
She showed him into her tastefully furnished home.
"This is my husband, Martin." The thin, grey man with a kind face welcomed Spike with a heartfelt warmth that he had not expected.
"And here is my daughter, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth was a bewitching, elfin creature who graced her seven years with a rare unworldliness that veiled an impish charm. She had her mother's beautiful dark skin and hair, a striking background to her father's extraordinary eyes, a sparkling green-brown, like sunlight in a puddle after a shower of rain. She stretched out her hand towards him.
"Elizabeth lost her sight when she was six months old," Karen explained, "She sees with her hands. If you don't mind, it would help her if she could touch you."
Spike knelt down and felt the butterfly fingers trace the outline of his face.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
"Spike," he answered, and as he did so he took hold of her hand in his own. But in doing so he lifted it from his face with an urgency that suggested she had awakened some terrible memory, Karen decided.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Buffy paused at the door of the crypt. "We should knock. We don't want to initiate another popcorn shower."
She handed Dawn the long, leather coat she had been holding and knocked twice on the door.
Dawn smiled. "Poor Spike. No-one ever took the trouble to knock when he was here. Can you imagine knocking for Spike?"
"Yeah, or slamming Clem up against a wall…don't think it!" Buffy realised her mistake instantly. She smiled, as she took the coat back from Dawn. "Those were the days."
"Ladies," Clem's genial smile appeared in the doorway, "Good to see you. Come on in." He turned to Dawn. "I fixed the video. You'll have to come round some time and catch the new, real-time Wedding Planner. Though I'm not sure that I didn't prefer the jumpy version." He motioned them both inside. "You ladies make yourselves at home."
"Clem. Thank you." Buffy looked around the room with interest.
"I moved things round a bit – look, I have a sitting area for guests, just in case. Take a seat, do. How do you like the rug?"
"I love the rug." Dawn answered with a wide smile, because she saw with no small degree of curiosity that Buffy had been rendered speechless.
"I found it over there, in the corner. Seemed a shame to leave it there. I thought it could be put to better use."
"I think you're probably right," Buffy affirmed, her voice betraying something that was either amusement or embarrassment, Dawn could not tell which.
Buffy sat down and turned towards Clem. "Em…I brought Spike's coat…he left it when…em…he…he left in a hurry… but then of course you knew that…"
Clem nodded reassuringly, and Buffy continued. "Anyway, I thought he might want it when…em…when he – Clem have you heard anything from him?"
The question came out in a rush.
Clem shook his head. "Whatever it is he's up to he's keeping it pretty quiet."
Buffy smiled wryly. "Sounds like the Spike we all know and love." She shook her head and laughed, "Well, heaven help us all when we do find out … or heaven help him, at least." She said it as a threat, but heard it as a benediction.
She paused for a moment, and then, as if resolved to do it, asked, "Clem, did he…did he say anything about the chip?"
"Quite a lot, yes." Clem replied rather awkwardly.
"He was gonna get it out, right?"
Clem nodded and Buffy, chewing her lip, stared thoughtfully at the floor. Clem hastily changed the subject.
"Can I get you ladies anything to drink?" he asked with a gallantry that belied his appearance.
Buffy smiled. "Maybe another time. We should get going. Thank you, Clem."
"Yes, thank you" Dawn echoed warmly as she got to her feet.
"Not at all. I appreciate the company. Yours especially. Come again."
Clem was about to settle himself back down in his chair, when he remembered something, and called out behind them, "Oh…em…the coat. You were gonna leave the coat…"
But they were out of earshot, and his words fell on deaf ears.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"You're an outlaw, just another low-life like me." The girl's words were still ringing in his ears as Spike surveyed his new surroundings: the rich, cream paint; the bed swathed in fresh blue cotton; the sun-washed seascape that hung on the wall. He didn't belong here. This pristine world where people lived cocooned in warmth and family; those unseeing green eyes, blinded by innocence, that had looked at him and seen only good; the fairy hands that had touched his face and known only a friend.
And as he sat there he knew two things clearer than the day itself. The first was this: he had not killed the girl.
And the second was this: he had not killed the girl, this time.
"Can I get you anything before I turn in?" It was Karen, peering round the doorway.
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine, thank you."
"Look, Spike, I don't want to give you nightmares, but you might want to take a look at this. You never know, it might jog your memory."
She handed him a leather-bound book entitled 'The Vampire in London – a comprehensive history.'
"Oh, one more thing," she paused as she turned to leave the room, "I looked up an old friend on the Internet. I think he may be able to help us."
"Who is he?" Spike asked the question with no real interest in the answer.
"Someone who knows a thing or two about vampires. His name is Rupert Giles".
To be continued…