Chapter 11 – On a Whim

"Drusilla?"

Her eyes widened and a broad smile spread over her face. "Oooh, I was right. It is you," she squealed, bouncing on her tip toes and clapping her hands together with delight. Her expression then quickly turned to a pout. "But what's happened to you? You're all fuzzy and transparent, just wisps of nothing, shimmering in the darkness."

"You can see me?"

"Of course I can." Her eyes narrowed and she started grasping at the air in front of her, her hands opening and closing in quick, bird-like motions. "I see you plain as night. But I can't touch you. My hands pass right through you as if you weren't really here."

"But Buffy, Angel—neither of them could see me…"

Drusilla laughed. "Hah!  They don't see like I do, now do they, my Spike?"

"Right," he breathed, "your special gift…your second sight."

"Yes," she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples, "Hmm, I see you and your little... Had a bit of a tiff, did we? Oooh, and I see you going poof on her."  Drusilla smiled with satisfaction.  "And I see her now. Poor little girl. So sad…"

"What do you see?"

"She's searching for you. But it's no good. It's too bad she doesn't see like I do." Drusilla opened her eyes and sneered. "Ah well, at least she has Angel…"

* * *

Her look said it all.

Withering under the Slayer's stare, Lorne turned to Angel who was seated next to her. "I—I don't know what else to say," the green demon said, "her friend's just not out there. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I think we're pretty safe to assume the worst here."

"No!" Buffy spat, glaring at Lorne. "Try another spell." She looked to Angel. "Or get someone else to do one."

"Buffy," Angel said gently, "I don't think another location spell will give you the answer you want. No spell will. At this point, we really don't know what happened to Spike, but I think…" He glanced at Lorne, who nodded. "I think he's gone."

"I'll call Wil—"

"No." Angel took Buffy's hands in his and looked her in the eyes. "At least not tonight. It's late. You need to get some rest."

"I can't rest. Not now. We have to find Spike. We—"

"Just lie down for an hour," Angel urged.  He stood up and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, I'll show you to your room."

Buffy gazed up at Angel, searching. "Do you really think he's gone?"

Angel stared back at her, silent, then slowly nodded.  "I do," he said finally.  Gently, he put his arm around the stunned Slayer's shoulders.  She relaxed against him and he gave her a squeeze. 

"C'mon, let's go upstairs," he murmured, leading her out of the office and up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

* * *

"So what happened to me?"

Drusilla shrugged. "I haven't the foggiest."

"But you said you saw…"

"Yes, but I can't explain it any more than your Slayer can—and she was there. I'm not omnipotent, you know."

"But try…see…what happened to me!"

"Oh, all right," she shut her eyes tight and pressed two fingers to each temple, "hmm…"

"What is it?"

"I see someone—a woman—who can help you…"

"Yes?"

"But the image is faint. I see long dark hair…dark eyes…"

"Who is she?"

"I don't know. But I sense power in her…great power."

Spike thought of his sister. Emily? Could it be?

"What else can you tell me?" he asked.

Eyes still clenched shut, Drusilla pursed her lips and focused on the image floating in the dark cavities of her mind. But it eluded her and vanished into the blackness.

Her eyes opened. "There's no more."

"But—"

"There's no more, Spike."

"But what do I do now?"

Drusilla's expression was now bored. "You leave," she said coldly. "I grow tired of this chitter-chatter with non-beings."

"But—"

"Leave, I said!" She fanned the space he occupied with her hand as if she were trying to dispel a foul odor. "Go! Click your little heels together and leave…"

"You mean like Dorothy?"

She nodded. "Yes, and her little dog, Toto, too."

"But…how?"

Drusilla exhaled irritably. "I knew this spook once. He was quite enamored with me, actually. He told me that the way his kind got around was by…"

"Yeah?"

"By whims and wishes."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now, isn't there somewhere else you'd rather be. Someone else you'd rather be with?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Then go. Whim yourself away. Just do it."

Spike thought of Buffy. "Just whim myself you say…"

"Yes. Now go."

Whim. Whim. Whim. He shut his eyes. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Wherever you are—that's where I want to be…

And just like that, the winds began to swirl about him, lifting him up higher and higher. He glanced down at Drusilla, now twenty feet below. Her arms were outstretched and her angular face pointed to the sky. She was smiling.

"Good-bye, my Spike."

He waved. "Good-bye."

* * *

Rest. He expected her to rest. Buffy shifted around fitfully on the twin-sized bed. Oh, Angel meant well. He really did. But sometimes she had to agree with Spike and his opinions regarding the souled vampire.

Sometimes Angel was a bit…bent.

Like how could she possibly rest at a time like this? Her boyfriend had just disappeared, no vanished, no disintegrated for no apparent reason right before her eyes. She'd never seen anything like it. In all her years as the Slayer—she'd seen demons dust, and explode, occasionally implode, or melt into a pool of slime, but not…this.

And all she could do about it was—rest. She stared up at the ceiling and studied a large spider hanging out in the corner.

What happened to you, Spike?

She turned on her side. Spike's leather coat, hanging from the back of a chair near the door caught her attention.

Oh Spike.

Sighing, she sat upright, slid off the bed and padded barefoot over to the chair. She picked up Spike's coat and put it on, savoring its buttery feel and his scent, faint but lingering, mixed in with the smell of leather. Absently, she stuck her hands in his pockets.

They weren't empty.

She pulled out a small, black velvet box and stared at it for several seconds. Her hands shook as she opened it.

A diamond engagement ring.

Beautiful. Perfect.

She didn't breathe for several heartbeats. Then she began to cry.

* * *

Sitting alone in his office, Angel pulled out the slip of paper he'd found at Emily's mansion. With all the excitement after Spike's vanishing act, he'd almost forgotten about it. On it was a man's name with a telephone number.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered as he dialed. It rang several times before a woman answered.

"H—hello?" She sounded tentative.

"I'm calling for a…" He glanced at the slip of paper. "Cameron Grey."

There was a pause. "He's not here," the woman said finally. Angel frowned. There was something familiar about her voice.

"Is there another number where I could reach him? It's urgent that I talk to him."

"He's…" she began, then, "who is this?"

"I'm sorry, my name's Angel. I'm a private investigator in L.A."

There were several seconds of silence before the woman spoke.

"Angel?"

"Yes…?"

"It's me…"

Me. His brain worked in overdrive, running the many possibilities of who "me" could be until one name clicked. But it was impossible. She was dead…

He opened his mouth, but she spoke first.

"It's Faith."