Let's say goodbye, adieu.
It's time to say goodbye... I know that in time
It will just fade away, it's time to say goodbye.
The calm knocking of the rain on her umbrella sounded like a rickety rhythm. The women brushed her lengthy blond hair back from her youthful face and adjusted her bulky sunglasses. She hesitated before stepping off the sidewalk and unhurriedly walked across the street. The town was deserted; there wasn't a chance of any automobiles hitting her.
She arrived on the other side of the street. Looking at the building in front of her, she released a long, depressing sigh. The gray world around her fitted her grave mood quite well, and the rain added to the grief-stricken atmosphere.
Carefully, she pulled out a key from her dull, brown trench coat and held it close to her face. A small, white, plastic tag hung from the key with the number 27 printed on it in a bold black font. She slipped it back into her pocket and prepared to ascend to the assigned room of the apartment building. She didn't know if what she was told was true, but she knew nothing would hold her from the truth that had haunted her for the past three months...
The church bells made the women uneasy. Their bulky, obvious noise made her hearing limited and she felt defenseless among the room. It was filled with shadows cast by the furniture around her; there were so many hiding places. Shifting in her seat, she looked up to the window in front of her as the bells silenced.
"You finally came."
The women jumped up and upholstered her gun under her coat in one fluid motion. Looking around cautiously, she discovered the voice was right in front of her. A figure emerged from the shadows and stepped in front of the blinding window. It was tall, lean, and young; a trail of smoke drifted from a cigarette held in the man's mouth. As the gray light landed on his smooth features, the women noticed one thing: his muddled green hair.
"Spike?"
The man's head shot up and he started directly into the women's dark sunglasses, "You're not who I thought you were. What do you want?"
"So you are him," the women replied. She slipped her gun back under her coat and stepped forward slowly.
Carefully, she pulled off the sunglasses and brushed her dark hair back with her delicate feminine fingers. She reached out her hand towards the man and hesitated before setting it on his shoulder.
The man looked over, his face still practically cloaked in darkness. He strong voice broke into concern, "Faye?"
"Oh my god..." the women, Faye Valentine, whispered. She lunged herself forward and fell into his bittersweet embrace. The familiar yet so distant smell and touch filled her being, and she felt a flood of memories rush into her mind. This wasn't right, Spike Spiegal was suppose to be dead. He was suppose to have been free. He had died in a savage face-off with the corrupt leader of the Red Dragon syndicate, Vicious. She saw his body laid in quietude on the steps where he took his last breath.
What was going on?
Stepping back, the man looked at her and whispered, "There isn't much time. We have to leave."
"Why?" Faye asking in a hushed voice.
The strict and demanding voice wasn't the normal Spike. The careless, cool, and cocky bounty hunter had never talked like this before... except the time when he had left to find out if he was "really alive." That was the rigid day when he lost his fragile life. Faye couldn't tell if he died or not; Spike's cold personality made things confusing.
Spike's eyes shifted to the side, "Because we're being watch."
Spike strained to hear for any murmur of voices or movement outside the room. He continued to focus his senses as Faye looked out the window behind him. The clouded sky didn't seem to help with dimming the vivid luminance flowing into the room. She narrowed her eyes to filter out the unwanted light.
"There's three of them," Spike whispered.
Faye swallowed hard as a drop of sweat ran down her face. She look deep into Spike's eyes; those smuttering eyes reflecting the past in one and the present in the other. Faye replied, "They've got a sniper on the building across the street. We can't leave though the way I came in."
Spike hesitated before saying, "The other two must be guarding the back door. We're going to have to shoot our way out."
Faye nodded; it was just like old times. She slipped her handgun out from her coat; she then took the trench coat off and placed it on a chair. She wore her typical yellow top and shorts that left little to the imagination. Spike was a bit surprised at the fact she still wore it. He didn't know why he was surprised, she looked great in it and she knew it. Holding the gun with both hands, Faye turned back to Spike.
"Now what?" she asked.
"It's time to see if I'm still alive, or if this is all a dream."