Chapter 6: Six Little Indians...
After they carried Xander to his room, they gathered in the sitting room, in confusion over what just happened.
"Why didn't we hear Xander scream?" Willow asked.
Buffy shrugged. "With what happened to you and everything, his voice could have been drowned out in the confusion…" she suggested.
"But it doesn't make sense…" said Cordy. "He wasn't chopping wood. Has the killer stopped following the poem?"
"No," said Spike, he and Angel coming in from the dining room. "Xander was chopping sticks," he explained, taking a bite out of some celery. "Celery sticks."
"God…" moaned Buffy.
"How can you be so callous?!" cried Anya, snatching the celery from Spike's hand. "Xander just died, okay?! My fian – … my ex-fiancé just died," she corrected herself, quietly.
Spike looked at her, a little crestfallen. "Sorry, ducks. I… I didn't mean…" he reached for her, but she turned away and sat down.
"We're never going to make it home, are we?" asked Willow, forlornly. "Monday seems so far away, and…"
"We're going to get out of this… I promise!" cried Buffy. "We just have to figure out how…"
"We will…" started Angel.
"No, we won't," interrupted Spike. "Fess up, Peaches, you don't think we're going to get off this island alive any more than we do, do you?"
Buffy stared at Spike, who had grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the refreshment table and slid to the ground in a corner and opened it, fully intending on drinking the whole thing. "You don't think we'll make it?" she whispered, her voice full of disappointment.
"No, Slayer. I don't," he answered harshly. "It's too late, can't you see? We're all paying, the good, the evil… the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. The wicked shall be turned into hell and all that crap…"
"What are you talking about?" asked Anya, bitterly.
"Xander didn't kill his brother… he was a good man. I'm evil and I killed my father… there I've said it!" he screamed out to the ceiling. "I purposely dallied and let my father die! Because I hated him! He made my life hell! And now I'm here and Xander isn't and whoever's doing this is sick! I deserve to die, not Xander! Not Dawn! Not Tara! And not Giles! And not any of you…" he said, pointing to them. "But you all will… and like my father is quite willing to point out, even from his grave, I can't do a bloody thing about it! So forgive me, dear Slayer, if I'm not quite so optimistic…" He expertly opened the bottle and took a large swig as Buffy stared at him, horrified.
"Spike… you can't give up… we need you!" she cried.
"Need me? Since when have you needed a soulless vampire, Summers?" he mocked, taking another drink from the bottle.
Buffy started to say something, then turned her back on him, only to turn to him again and say bitterly, "Poor Spike… poor, poor Spike."
Spike looked at her and took yet another drink as if to say, I don't rather care what you think.
"You think you're such a victim… poor Spike. His dad terrorized him. Well, I never had a dad, okay?! Mine just got up and left me!" Buffy came up and grabbed him by the throat, her fingers tightening around his airway. "Poor Spike, you think you're the only one that's killed?! We all have, in some way or another! Allan Finch, I was there and I said nothing! I might as well have staked him myself! Poor Spike, you think we're going to die? Well, fine! You know what? Die! But I'm not going to." She tightened her grip some more and yelled, "I'm the Slayer! I'm not going to stand around here and feel sorry for myself! Someone is killing us! And I'm not going to wait until that happens!"
She stood up and grabbed the book he was reading before and flung it at him.
"Poor Spike, feel sorry for yourself, why don't you? But like it or not, I need you. I need you to help me figure this out. And you made a promise to be there as long as I needed you. So, start reading!"
With that said, she threw herself in the armchair with another book, looking at them all, daring anyone of them to speak and contradict her. Spike massaged his throat and took another long drink from the bottle, coughing slightly. Then, staring at her with eyes that could kill, he picked up the book and started reading.
And when the others saw this, they too began to read.
As he read, Angel thought a lot about what Spike said. The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. The wicked shall be turned into hell. Psalms 9:16-17…
Angel had been to hell, he knew what it was like. It was so ironic, with all the chances he'd been given to redeem himself from his sins, he was paying for the original one. Ironic how biblical this was all becoming…
And since when did Spike quote the Good Word? Angel's family had been religious enough in the day that the Bible was memorized by age seven, but as far as he knew, the British were less than faithful.
Angel cursed his old prejudices that were once again getting between him and his childe. There had been so many problems in the past because of that…
And now Angel was suspecting Spike of killing them? Maybe the barrier works against his chip, maybe he was killing again. But he wasn't feeding, so what was the point? He could hardly believe after all this time, Spike would kill for fun and not feed.
He looked around. Maybe Anya, he thought. She was a vengeance demon. No powers, but… she wouldn't have killed Xander, dspite all that had happened between them. She loved him. And Tara… she had liked Tara. No, it couldn't be.
He dismissed Buffy, despite what he said before about no exceptions. He knew her, she wouldn't kill her sister. Willow, too. He knew how much in love she was in with Tara.
That left… Cordy. No, not his Cordy… He looked at her as she innocently flipped a page, obviously bored. Sure, Cordy wasn't the most unselfish one of the group, but she was a champion, they had gone through so much together. And there was… krymption, they had kyrumption, as Fred said.
But there was also the demon in her. Angel knew more about demons and how, despite the good in the person, how the demon can take hold and…
No, not Cordy… not his Cordy… he moaned in his head. He didn't want to believe…
Anya's mind was spinning. It was like the last thousand years flashed before her eyes. Seeing Xander dead… she couldn't begin to express how she felt. She was so confused.
And now, more and more, her thoughts turned to Leif. Was Giles right? Was she trying to play God?
She was a vengeance demon! she reminded herself, that was her job! No, wait… Leif was before that… when she was Aud.
Life was hard. She had to make choices, she knew. The girl was needed, Leif was not, she said to herself again, convincing herself.
Besides, it was too late now, what's done was done. She couldn't take it back. Not now. Not anymore…
The clock chimed twelve. Cordy yawned and said, "That's it. I can't take this any more. I'm going to bed…"
"Not alone," warned Angel, an edge to his voice.
She scowled at him in confusion then nudged Anya and Willow. "Come on, guys."
They grabbed the books they had to read upstairs and said their good nights.
Angel looked over to Buffy, who hadn't moved from her place all night and Spike, who was still in his corner, obviously intoxicated.
"You're tired," he told her. "Maybe you should get some rest, too."
"I can't," she said. "I need an answer, Angel."
"We'll find it, Buffy. But you can't do anything if you're exhausted. You have no Slayer strength. Please, you need to rest."
Buffy looked at Angel and knew he was right. For a moment, she felt so happy he was so calm and in control. He was her anchor, she knew that. "Okay, let's go," she said, rising from her seat.
"What about him?" he said, indicating to Spike.
Buffy looked at Spike, curled up in his corner with the book and the bottle. She sighed. "Spike?" she called. "Spike!" she said, nudging him with her boot.
He made a few incoherent sounds and swatted her foot away.
"Forget it. We're not carrying him," she said, having had her fill of the blond vampire.
"But it's not safe… the killer…"
"I'll lock the door and put the key in my room, okay?" she suggested.
"But…"
"But what?"
Angel didn't suspect Buffy, right? It would be safe. "Uh, nothing. Sounds good."
So that's what they did, leaving Spike in his drunken haze.
Spike saw the shifting shapes in the dark. He felt a nudge on his thigh. If he squinted, he thought he could see a mass of shimmering gold…
He could see her, in his bed, sleeping peacefully…
"You were singing that… before, to Dawn…"
"Now, who was spying on who?"
Angels watching ever round thee,
All through the night…
Bleeding tune… wouldn't leave his head…
In thy slumbers close surround thee,
All through the night…
He had to help her… help his love… The Watcher knew it and it was at the tip of his own tongue. The clause he was reading about… what was it again? Spike struggled for coherent thought.
"One of them had done it, and he was damn proud too. Killed himself after all of them to commit what he thought was the perfect crime."
An eternal reward for the perfect evil…
"The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. The wicked shall be turned into hell."
Something that could unleash all hell on earth…
Wonder if there are any bees on this island, the thought struck him… playing with a hive, a hive of suspicion and distrust… bound to get stung, old chap… a bee stung one and then there were…
They should of all fears disarm thee
No forebodings should alarm thee,
They will let no peril harm thee,
All through the night…
Then, for a moment, it was suddenly so clear… He tried to open his eyes, to call out. It was so dark. He felt the bottle in his lap shift and wondered if he was drunk…
"You let your father die, William… naughty, naughty boy…" The voice reminded him oddly of Drusilla.
"Dru?" he slurred.
"No… not Dru… not that whore… you thought you could get away from him, from me… now pay for your deceit… prisoner at bar, have you anything to say in your defense?!" the voice shrieked.
Spike tried to open his eyes, and then realized he couldn't. His father had been right, about so many things, he couldn't figure it out… not in time, at least. It was too late… much too late.
He managed to croak out, "Tell her… tell her… I loved her… I always will…"
"Who?" The question came to him in surprise.
"Buffy…" he slurred. "I… love… her… Tell her… Too late… for us… but… love… her…"
Fondly then I dream of thee, love,
All through the night…
Walking still thy form I see love,
All through the night…
"Now you will be purified," said the voice. "The purity of living water…" He could hear the bees buzzing in his ear, just before he felt the small prick…
When this mortal coil is over,
Will thy gentle spirit hover,
O'er the bed where sleeps thy lover…
Just as he felt the fire in his chest and his body burn away in response, he managed to moan out,
"All… through the… night…"