Chapter Ten
Spike staggered through the rain, his booted feet slipping and sliding on the soft muddy ground of the cemetery. The calf of one leg throbbed as the rain beat down on a gash that reached nearly to the bone. Every breath he took was agony due to the stabbing hurt of what must have been a fractured rib. The lump on his temple fogged his vision and the searing pain of his left eye was enough to make him feel sick…but he kept moving. Even when he fell to his knees in the mud, he kept moving, clawing at the watery earth as he crawled like an infant.
She would come after him. He knew that instinctively. She had seen him leave, had called his name... had chased him out onto the street. She would come after him because she didn't know yet. She didn't understand just what it was she would be coming after. When she knew…then she wouldn't come anymore. Ever.
Spike knew he had a little time. She might not realize where he was headed, and even if she did, the rain would slow her down significantly. Even crawling on his hands and knees did not lose a sizeable portion of the lead he had gained on her when he left. But he had to move fast. He had to get in and out of there before she could reach him. Because he knew she didn't understand yet. He knew she would try to convince him to return with her. And he knew he wasn't strong enough to resist her if she did.
He grabbed the slippery marble wall of his crypt, pulling himself into an upright position so he could open the door. Once inside, he did not even notice the hideous mess Nikolai and his cronies had left; he did not notice the absence of the television and stereo and everything else of value. He merely picked up a rumpled pillowcase from the floor and began stuffing clothes into it. He did not know where he was going. He just knew he had to get away before she came. Several times his throat began to ache but he quickly swallowed it down. He could not afford to waste time crying. He had to go. He had to save her.
Footfalls from the chamber below him made Spike suddenly draw to a halt, a fistful of socks in one hand and a wrinkled shirt in the other. He listened harder. Yes...there was definitely something down there. Or someone. He edged toward the trapdoor cautiously.
The lid flew open so quickly Spike stumbled backwards away from it, throwing his hands out in front of him defensively. "Hey—"
A…thing squirmed upward, grunting as it pulled itself out of the chamber and onto the floor. It sat for a moment, breathing heavily, then unfolded its legs and stood up. Something small, dark, and of an indistinguishable shape was clutched in its hand. Spike continued backing away from the advancing creature. "Look whatever you are…you can have the sodding crypt. I don't want it. I just want to get my clothes and get the fuck away, all right. So just haul your monster ass back down below and I will be out of you way shortly."
"Spike…" The familiar voice was placating, a little embarrassed. "It's me…"
"Clem?" Spike stopped in his tracks, allowing the demon to come close to him. "What are you doing here? You got another pack of nasties to set loose on me?"
"Spike…" Clem's voice was clogged with tears so that, for a moment, he had to stop talking and clear his throat. Then he said, "I—I'm really sorry about that, Spike. I didn't want them to hurt you—I didn't want to tell them anything. They made me—I swear to you!"
Spike stared at his one-time best pal. The demon glowed white in the dim light, his torn ear black and misshapen with dried blood. In fact, Clem seemed even more battered than before. For the first time, he felt something akin to pity for his Benedict Arnold. "Don't mention it, bloke," he muttered gruffly. "You're a demon, after all. If I'd wanted loyalty I would've gotten a golden retriever."
Clem smiled nervously. "I—I brought you something. It's to—to say…I'm sorry." He moved closer, holding out his hand so that the dark shape suddenly came into focus. It was a small tuxedo kitten. "It's a real good one," Clem said eagerly, thrusting the kitten forward. "I had some others out of this litter and they're very tender."
Spike forced a weak smile as he took the kitten. He certainly did not want to test Clem's claims of "tenderness" but he didn't want to snub Clem's apology by saying so. Nor did he want to leave the kitten for Clem to eat. He sighed. Damn soul.
Clem, meanwhile, was staring at the bulging pillowcase and scattered clothing with interest. "So you're going somewhere?"
Spike snapped back to attention. Going. He had to go. She would be here soon.
"Yeah, you could say that."
"Well do you want me to watch the place while you're gone?" Clem seemed eager to find a way to redeem himself.
"You can have the bloody place," Spike replied, shoving the remaining clothes into his now bulging sack. "I don't care."
Clem's eyes lit up. "You're kidding! Really? I can have this place?"
"Yeah. Whatever." Spike heaved the pillowcase over on shoulder. "Thanks for the…uh…gift," he said, holding up the mewing kitten.
"No problem." Clem was already gazing around the crypt with pleasure, no doubt planning the changes he would make now that it was his. "I hope you have a good trip, Spike."
Spike scoffed. "Sure," he muttered. "Right."
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
Buffy was a quarter of a mile down the street when Xander caught up with her. She tried to keep going, to ignore him, but he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. "Buffy…stop!" he said. "He's gone—you can't find him in this mess. Just…stop…"
"I can't!" she insisted, pushing at his hands impatiently, oblivious to his concern…oblivious to the dark, to the pouring rain. "I have to find him—I have to—let go of me!"
Xander hung onto her shoulders with a grip that almost hurt. He pulled her close to him, staring at her with sympathetic eyes. "Buffy…how are you going to find him when you can't even see three feet in front of you because of the rain? Just come back with me and I'll help you find him just as soon as this storm is over."
"No!" She struck at him with her fist, making him wince with pain. "I'm not going anywhere until I find him! He's hurt and it's raining—he might lying in a ditch somewhere, unconscious. I have to help him!"
"Buffy, he left!" Xander's voice was harder than he intended it to be. He went on in a softer tone. "Spike left. He wanted to go. Shouldn't you respect his decision?"
She stared at him, stricken.
He left.
He wanted to go.
She started to cry, sinking to the slick pavement, not even caring that her knees came to rest in a deep puddle. She buried her head in the curve of her arms and sobbed. Xander, unaccustomed to such displays from the Slayer, hung back, reluctant to intrude upon her grief.
It was Willow who fell down at Buffy's side, wrapping her arms around her friend in a tight, comforting embrace. Willow, who had burst out of the house just moments after Xander and Buffy. Who had followed them through the rain, and had arrived just in time to offer her support. She stroked Buffy's sopping hair, murmured to her over the pounding of the rain against the pavement.
"It's okay. He'll be back. It's okay…"
"I chased him away," Buffy sobbed. "I told him he was crap now he won't believe anything else I say…"
Willow wiped her wet sleeve across her face and sighed. "You didn't chase him away, Buffy. I did."
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
The church was dimly lit and very quiet. It smelled of candle wax and wood varnish, of hope and of death. Blank-eyed saints stared down from the walls, from the stained glass of the windows, watching Spike as he walked down the narrow aisle. He had his pillowcase slung over one shoulder and a bottle of rum in his hand. The kitten was clinging to the front of his shirt like a sloth. Its cries sounded very loud in the emptiness of the large room.
There was a Bible on a stand near the altar. A huge book with a green leather cover and shiny gold tooling. It lay open, its place marked by a length of wide ribbon. Spike made a beeline for the book, limping quicker, his sense of purpose more defined now. He drained and discarded his bottle, dropped the pillowcase at his feet, and began flipping pages. When he found the passage he wanted, he steadied the book with one hand and, using his free hand, he ripped out the page.
He glanced at the paper, lips moving silently as he read the text. Words he had once memorized, loved, recited . . . back in the days before touching a Bible was a form of suicide. But he hadn't really done that now had he? William loved the passage. Not Spike. William had loved the Bible. God. His mother. Poetry. The world. But that was before Drusilla had ripped his throat out. Made him all dead. The suit Spike wore. The suit that covered the evil. William was a disguise. Spike was an effigy. Both of them were dead inside.
Spike pocketed the paper, started to go. Thought everything was done.
Over…
Gone…
Left…
Dead…
Then he stopped. Wheeled around on his heel and headed for the confessional. Maybe he wasn't done.
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
Buffy sat shivering on the sofa. She refused to take the time to dry her hair or change her clothes, but Willow had gotten her a blanket.
"Here…" Buffy looked up. Xander was standing over her, holding out a cup of tea. Her hands clasped the warm mug gratefully.
He sat down beside her. Willow was sitting across from them, perching nervously on the edge of the coffee table. "I'm so sorry," she said.
"What happened?" Buffy's voice wasn't accusing, just bewildered, pained.
"I told you he was worried that the demon had made a mistake in Africa…that something was wrong with him."
"You said the spell worked," Buffy intoned dully.
"It did. It worked. Well…it made him mortal, human. It gave him a soul. It just…it didn't make him what he wanted to be."
Xander furrowed his brow. "Which was…?"
"Normal."
Xander snorted. "Well, when you've spent over a century as a blood-drinking demon I think it'll take you awhile to fit in with the rest of humanity."
"Just ask Anya," Buffy mumbled.
Xander shot Buffy a dirty look but said nothing.
"I don't mean he doesn't fit in socially," Willow explained. "It's a physical difference. He's still strong. He's mortal, can walk in the sun, ages, can die all the normal ways…but he is very strong. He told me. It's like…there is no difference in him now than when he was a vampire. It's almost like being…" She hesitated.
"…a slayer," Buffy finished.
"Well…in a way…yes, I guess it is. Anyway…he was very worried about this. He wanted to be normal, completely normal. He thought if you" –nodding to Buffy—"found out about his still having vamp strength he would never get a chance to be near you again. He thought his only shot with you was to be completely average. So he wanted me to find out what was wrong so he could go about fixing it."
"And did you?" Xander asked. "Did you find out what was wrong?"
"Yes and no. I mean…I found out something, but not because there was something wrong. See, I never could figure out how that demon could possible have failed, so I started researching vampires themselves. You know, standard stuff, how they change, how they live…that kind of stuff. I found out that vampires are like hermit crabs—"
"Hermit crabs?" Xander scoffed at the mental images her words evoked.
"Shut up, Xander, and let me finish!" Willow glared at him for a moment then went on with her story. "Vampires are like hermit crabs. They inhabit the discarded bodies of others. They are demons without a form of their own. When one vampire bites a person and allows that same person to feed on him at the moment before the victim's death…well, it's almost like a spell. When the person dies a demon is brought forth to inhabit the body. That is why vampires never rise until several hours…even days, after they are changed. It takes them a while to move in, I guess. So, uh…the vampire moves into this dead body, right? He uses the dead person's brain, talks like him, shares his memories…sometimes he even thinks the same thoughts. But he isn't that person. He's an imitation of the original."
"So…wait a minute…" Xander said skeptically. "If a vampire is a demon that is sent to live in a dead body…then why don't they know that? Why do the vampires always assume they are the same essential 'person' they were before they died?"
"They have no memory of that. I guess in a way they are born the moment they enter that body…they have no other past to remember. And they are using a brain that is sending them all this information about their 'past'. It's like Dawn being the key. She was always the key, but it was not until she became Dawn that her memory began. She was fed a past and that past was all she knew. Vampires are kind of the same way."
"Willow, I know all of this already," Buffy said impatiently. "I'm the Slayer; you think I don't know how vampires are made? Just get on with it and tell me what any of this has to do with Spike."
"Spike didn't know he was a demon. He, uh…he thought he was a person who was turned into a vampire. He kept worrying about not being right, about the spell being messed up. He thought he should be the way he was when he was William and I had to explain to him that he never was William. I explained to him that when a demon moves into a dead body it brings with it all of the powers of a demon. Vampires are strong because the demons inside the bodies are strong. The body itself is not really changed on a molecular level…it is just infused with a mystical power. Spike retained that power because he is, essentially, a demon with a soul. The body he holed up in is mortal now…he breathes and beats and bleeds like the rest of us…but he is still the same creature on the inside. The African demon gave him a conscience and it gave him mortality…but it didn't make him into something else because he didn't ask it to. He—he didn't realize that until I told him, and then he…" Her voice trailed away uncertainly as Buffy's face became a mask of fury.
"You TOLD him that?" she demanded, leaping from the sofa, splashing tea on the carpet as she gestured wildly with her mug. "You actually told him he is still a demon?"
"He asked me why he wasn't normal! What was I supposed to do—lie? He would have found out on his own, eventually. And, anyway, I didn't know he would react like that. I thought it would make him happy to know that the spell didn't go wrong, to know that he is a human. He is made of the same material as the rest of us outside…just something a little different on the inside. But he freaked out when I told him. He started ranting about how you would never love him now—how he didn't deserve to be loved. Then he left."
"Of course he left!" Buffy moaned, sliding back down to the sofa. "My God…"
"I really didn't mean to hurt him, Buffy. I was trying to help. I did not know he would react that way or I would have found a better way to tell him. But I couldn't lie. He deserves to know the truth about himself."
"It isn't your fault," Buffy whispered brokenly. She buried her head in her hands. "It's my fault. I did it. I was the one who kept convincing him he was no good, that he wasn't deserving of love. He went to Africa so that he could be normal for me…and now he finds out he can never be normal because he didn't start out normal. Of course, he freaked out. He thinks I'll hate him."
"He's afraid he will mess your life up," Willow told her quietly. "He left because he doesn't think it is fair to ask you to love him when he is…less than human. Or more than human. Whichever it is. He wants you to have a life that's quiet and safe…with a guy who's…quiet and safe."
"He's safe," Buffy muttered. "I just never gave him the chance to find out. I would never let myself believe it. I was the monster last year, not him. I made him lash out…I wanted him to just so I could prove to myself how unworthy of me he really was."
"Buffy...do you love Spike?"
She met Willow's gaze with wet, red eyes. "What do you think?"
"I think you should tell him."
"I'd have to find him first," Buffy muttered.
"You will," Willow told her confidently.
"How can you be so sure?"
"'Cause he's Spike. If I know him, he won't stray far from wherever you are. Not for long, anyway."
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
The confessional was cramped and dark. A little room with a screened window and one helluva uncomfortable chair. Spike sat down awkwardly, arranging the kitten on his lap and settling the pillowcase at his feet before bothering to speak to the priest.
"Yes, my child?" The priest sounded like he had swallowed gravel. Even through the screen, Spike could smell garlic breath. He began to doubt the sanity of being here. For a moment, he was quiet.
"Yes, my child?" the priest asked again, a bit louder this time, as though he thought Spike had not caught it the first time around.
"Hey. How're you doing?"
The priest was silent. Apparently asking him how he was doing was breaking some code of confessional ethics. Spike tried to make things better by explaining.
"See…uh…the thing is…I'm not Catholic. I'm not anything really…Know a thing or two about the Church of England, but if you want to know the truth I—"
The priest cleared his throat. Loudly. "Ahem. Yes, well, nevertheless…you are welcome here. If you have sins to confess I will hear them now."
"Oh…right…okay…" Spike chewed his lip. "Well I have quite a few of them racked up, you know. You want to hear them all in detail or just a general overview?"
"Uh…a general overview would be fine." The priest was sounding more and more bewildered.
"All right then. Let's see…I committed…three thousand, six-hundred and twenty-five murders. I stole from…well…everybody, every chance I got….I tried to rape a girl in her bathroom…"
He became aware of a slight choking sound coming from behind the screen. "Umm…Father?"
"Y—yes, my child?" The voice was less certain now. Frightened.
Spike noticed but went on talking as though he had not. "To tell you the truth…I'm not really here about all that."
"All of what, my child?"
"You know…atonements and Hail-Bloody-Marys and all that. I'm here because I have a question for you, if that's all right."
After Spike's "confession" (which had convinced the father he was talking to an insane man) the priest was not about to deny "his child" anything. His silhouette nodded from behind the screen. "Go ahead, my child."
"Can you change what you are on the inside? If you're evil, I mean…can you make yourself…not?"
"Of course you can, my child. If you ask for forgiveness from God, he will grant you an absolution for your sins. To be saved is to be cleansed of past transgressions…to become new, pure."
"Yeah…but…what if you were…you know…born evil?"
"Nothing God creates is born evil. Human beings are imperfect creatures and their natural tendencies lead them into wrongful things, but they are not born evil."
"Yeah…but…what if you weren't created by God? What if you were created by…something else?" Spike waited and, when the priest did not answer right away, he became defensive. "It's for a friend!"
"Anything which is not created by God is unwholesome," the priest finally said.
"But…if you were trying to change…to become wholesome…could you do it? If you weren't born that way, I mean?"
"The Lord will not suffer the soul of the righteous to famish," the priest replied, "but he casteth away the substance of the wicked. A creature not created in the image of our Lord is wicked and will be cast away."
Spike sighed heavily. "Yeah…that's what I thought you'd say." He plunked the kitten onto his shoulder, hefted his pillowcase, and head out of the confessional. When he reached the door, however, he turned back.
"By the way…I tore a page out of your Bible out there. I guess that's a sin, too. Right?"
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
The storm blew over a few hours after sunrise, leaving Sunnydale wet and sticky. Miserable. Steam rose from the pavement like smoke and the plants and hairdos of the town drooped unhappily in the humidity.
The rain had hardly stopped when Buffy barreled down the stairs and out the door. Her friends (to say nothing of her sister) had wanted to help her in her search for Spike, but she wanted to do it alone. She wanted to be able to prove to him that she did love him, that he was worthy of it. Knowing Spike, the convincing probably would not all be G-rated. She did not want her friends hanging around to watch what Dawn would have referred to as "the sexcapades".
Buffy had no doubts that if she found him she could convince him to return with her. She could convince Spike to do just about anything—she had prodded him into getting a soul, for heaven's sake. There was no chance he would deny her this. Especially when she knew it was what he wanted too. He just didn't know he could have it yet.
Comforted by this thought, Buffy stepped onto the porch. The moment she did her foot struck something hard. She looked down. Someone had placed a large rock on the doormat. At first, it appeared to be a big rock and nothing else. But when Buffy leaned to pick it up, she noticed that someone had bound a slip of paper to it with a rubber band. She pulled off the band and unfolded the paper.
It was a page from a rather large book. Tissue-thin paper with gilt edging and an intricate print scrollwork near the top. A page from the Bible.
At first Buffy's eyes skipped around the page, skimming words at random, confused as to why someone would send her this. Then she turned the sheet over, saw the passages that had been so carefully underlined in blue ink. She read them slowly.
Set me as a seal upon thine
heart, as a seal upon thine
arm: for love is strong as death;
jealousy is cruel as the grave: the
coals thereof are coals of fire,
which hath a most vehement
flame.
Many waters cannot quench
love, neither can the floods
drown it: if a man would give all
the substance of his house for
love, it would be utterly con-
temned.
There was a small paragraph on the right of the text, written neatly in blue ink. Buffy recognized the handwriting. Spike. Her heart beat strangely fast as she read his note.
Buffy:
I know I have put you through hell since my return to Sunnydale and I want you to know how sorry I am for that. My behavior last night was by no means excusable, and yet I must tell you that I felt compelled to leave you for your own safety and sanity as well as my own. I am not what either of us thought I was, and I can never be the thing you so desperately need to be happy. I do not want to go into any detail because I would like to think I might leave you with some small amount of affection for me in your heart. Had I understood everything earlier I would never have returned to Sunnydale to cause you this pain, I promise you. I LOVE YOU. Nothing will change that—the passage above says everything as well as if it had been written about you. But I love you too much to allow you to be with someone unworthy of your love—even if that person is me.
The note was not signed. Buffy noted with panic that the whole voice of the letter was very unlike Spike. She noted also that the handwriting was shaky, the ink smeared as though he had been crying when he composed it. She wondered wildly if he had killed himself but forced the thought out of her head as quickly as it came. He would not have done that. She didn't know him as well as she had once thought, but she knew him well enough to see that he wasn't a quitter. Besides, the note didn't sound like a suicide note—it sounded like a Dear Jane letter. A goodbye.
A goodbye…
Buffy leaned against the porch pillar, clutching the slip of paper in her hand so tightly her fingers ached. She read his note over and over, each time hoping that it would end differently, hoping that, magically, it would bring him back to her.
It never did.
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*
End of Chapter Ten
Authors note: The passages Spike left for Buffy are from the Song of Solomon in the Old Testament section of the Bible. Even if you aren't a spiritual person I suggest you read that chapter—it is one of the most beautiful love poems every written.