Author's Note's: First, I am aware that for some odd reason, there is a rather large delay in the amount of time that occurs between when the story is moved to the front page of the stories to when the recently added chapter becomes available under normal methods. For those of you who just can't get enough of my story (although I kinda have a hard time imagining that) and you absolutely have to know what happens in the next chapter, go to the address bar and the end of the link should say something like "&chapter=4". Now if you know that there is another chapter after that, just replace the number with the following chapter and hit "Enter" and you should be taken to the next chapter. Just throwing that out for those of you that don't like to wait on the system.
Secondly, I'm about to head into midterms within a about a week or two so if my posting become erratic, that's why. I know it isn't the greatest excuse on the planet, but I figured that you guys deserve an explanation if I suddenly drop off the radar for a few weeks. This fact brought me to a conclusion that it would probably be kinda hard to know what's going on in this story if you don't know when it is going to be updated, so I figured I'll do this for you guys. If you want to, send me an e-mail and I'll creating a mailing list of for those who want it, and I'll send you an e-mail whenever I update this story. I figured you guys took the time to start reading my story, I should do all that I can to keep you up to date on what is going on.
Any who, like I said, it's an offer for those of you who wish to take me up on it. Either way, enjoy the story and thank you ever so much for the reviews.
~Fallen Seraphim~
~Dreams and Decisions~
How did he know my name? How did he know it isn't my real name? Why he is so familiar? Fumbling in her pocket, she slowly withdrew the card.
15528 East End Rd.
Former New York City, New York.
Earth, USA
She noticed there was a word imprinted on the opposite side and slowly turned the card over.
Michael T. Rollins
Who the hell is this guy?
"Faye, who's Michael T. Rollins?" a slightly hushed voice asked. Faye turned around to see Spike standing behind her, his eyes locked on the card in her hands. She flushed slightly and placed the card back in her pocket. "Oh…I see."
"What? Jealous?" Faye asked, knowing what he was suspecting. She wasn't about to let him know how far off he was; she wanted to see how much damage she could do.
"Why the hell should I be jealous? You think I'd want a name like 'Michael Rollins'? It's so…dull," Spike answered, making his way into the common room. He stretched out on the sofa, his hands placed behind his head and one leg falling off the side. "He probably thought you were a hooker, left his card, and wants a call back when you have time."
"Why you little…" she muttered, anger building up inside her. This is not going how I planned.
"I don't see what could have lead him to that conclusion," He smirked slightly; she knew he was going in for the kill. "I mean, your ass only hangs out of your shorts and its not like you leave anything to the imagination."
She glared at him, her eyes locked on his smug face. What I'd give to wipe that smart-ass grin off of his face. She turned away and walked quickly from the room.
Spike grinned as she left, but footsteps soon returned to the room. "Back for more?"
"You mess with me and you won't be eating solid food for three weeks."
"Hi to you too," Spike answered. Leave it to Jet to ruin my fun…Michael Rollins. What kinda name is that? Wait a minute…why does he sound familiar…
…"Drop the gun Spike, do yourself a favor," a deep voice said menacingly. Spike's eyes narrowed, his vision centered intensely on the man before him. The owner of the voice stood less than ten feet from him, his face shadowed by long dark hair. His hand was extended before him, a Beretta 92 gripped in his hand. "You can't beat me Spike and you know it."
"I've never been one to listen to advice," Spike answered, his own finger tightening around the trigger of his Jericho.
"I tried to help you, remember that," the man replied. He grinned slightly, his head tilted slightly to the side, the light of the dim room catching his green eyes. "Remember that when the angels come to claim you."
"Just shut up and let's do this," Spike's eyes narrowed, the sights of his pistol lined perfectly with his target…
…Spike snapped out of his past, his mind struggled to focus on what was before him rather than behind. "Hey Jet, you ever hear of a guy named Michael Rollins?"
"The name doesn't ring a bell," Jet answered, then paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Why do you ask?"
Spike focused on the rotating fan blades above him. "I dunno…he sounds familiar to me. Can you check him out?"
"I'll see what I can find. Oh, and by the way, we're gonna head back to Mars tomorrow," Jet replied, making his way to the screen on the table.
"Why's that?" Spike asked, not really out of curiosity, but sheer boredom.
"Because nothing good comes from earth."
"Way to go wise man." Why does this Rollins guy seem so familiar? Damn, maybe I'm just losing it…Spike thought, before his world faded. The calling of slumber taking hold.
- - - - -
Who the hell is this guy? Faye mused, her eyes focused intently upon the card before her. How does he know my past…what does he know about my past? Why does he know my past? Nobody knows my past…
Flicking her wrist, the card was sent floating across the room. Watching the card crash into the wall and fall to the floor, Faye dropped her head into her hands. Strands of her hair falling forward, concealing her face. My past…why must it continue to come back?
I don't have a past…it's gone! It doesn't exist! There's nothing left from it! I lived for three years…three Goddamn years without a past…why the hell is all this catching up now? My past…my past is gone. I don't have a past…just leave it at that.
Removing her head from her hands, she twisted slightly, resting her body on the unbearable cot that she called a bed. What was that Spike said…after we brought in Whitney?
"Doesn't really matter does it?"
"Easy for you to say, you have a past."
"And you have a future…that's what counts."
So I have a future…a future of debts, lying, cheating, getting shot at and nearly getting killed…some future. But…if he said…that I have a future…he didn't say he had one…oh why are you worrying about that moron? He just does what he wants…doesn't care about anyone else on this ship. Its not like he'll ever care about me.
Faye's eyes snapped open, her eyes directed at the ceiling, but her focus directed at her thoughts. He'll never care…about…me. It's the truth, and you know it, Faye. The only person in his life is Julia…whoever the hell that is. She grimaced…she knew exactly what Julia was. Only some woman that he would go to the edge of the universe for and gladly give his life…unlike me. I'm the bitch.
Why the hell am I even listening to that idiot? I don't know my future anymore than I know my past. Abruptly sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her heels touching the cold metal floor. Her eyes came to rest upon the card lying on the ground. It just sat there, beckoning her to it. It held answers. Answers to a mystery…wrapped in an enigma…folded within a conundrum. The riddle of what is my past.
"Why can't this just be simple?" she muttered, raking one hand through her hair. It just sat there. Daring her to pick it up. To find the answers that hid her past from her. That hides my past…it's still my past. It's mine…how many things actually are mine?
She stood slowly, her eyes still focused on the small piece of paper. My past…she stepped towards the chair next to her door; her hand lifting the pistol from its resting place. Flicking the release, the clip slid from the base of the handle. Noting that it was full, she pulled back the slide, her hand catching the bullet that ejected from the chamber. Lifting the bullet, her eyes fastened themselves on the minute harbinger of death.
"Mr. Rollins, you have yourself a deal."
- - - - -
Thwack! The impact of Spike's heel sent his target reeling. The man stumbled to his right, but regained his balance. He reached up to his mouth, wiping the corner with his thumb, Spike's face remained impassive. The dark haired man lunged towards him, his right hand balled into a fist and aimed at his face. Stepping to the side, Spike parried the attack and slid his left hand inward and up, his knuckles slamming into the man's nose.
His head snapped backward, his long hair flying in all directions with the sudden motion. Spike pivoted on the ball of his left foot, simultaneously pulling the man's arm forward. Extending his right leg, he once again felt his right heel make contact; this time, with the back of the man's head.
He stumbled forward, the unexpected addition of force causing him to lose his balance. The man landed face down, but quickly righted himself. He propped himself off the ground with his left hand, his right hand open and exposed.
"Alright," the shadowed face panted, "you win."
Spike's cold impression remained etched on his face. His mind was focused on the broken body before him, nothing else.
A brilliant white flash appeared, Spike shielded his eyes. As he opened them, he noticed the setting had changed. The image of a destroyed building greeted his eyes. Large pieces of rock lay scattered across the ground. The hardly recognizable shape of a foundation could be seen; formed with what once appeared to be a rather sizable home. The soft sound of running water caused Spike to turn his attention to a now defunct fountain set in the middle of a courtyard.
Shaking off the sudden change, Spike turned his attention back to the man lying in the dirt before him.
"Only I can kill you, Spike Spiegel," the man said, his voice low. His head lowered slightly, the small movement caused the sunlight to glint off his eyes…his jade eyes. With a flick of his wrist, the distinct silver and black shape of a Berretta 21 appeared in his hand.
Spike's hand disappeared within his jacket, then reappeared a second later, his gun in hand. Too late…
The sound of a gunshot froze in the air…the passage of time slowing to a crawl with it. The Berretta recoiled; the tip of the explosion appeared suddenly, but then vanished, leaving only the spinning form of a hollowed cylinder in its wake. Spike's eyes focused on the small piece of spiraling metal before him. His hand still raising his gun, he tried to focus on aiming. His gun came to bear as the hollow point broke into his chest and fragmented, ripping into his heart and lungs.
His weapon fired, the explosion of escaping gas was visible as the world faded from his sight…
…Spike's eyes snapped open, trying vainly to adjust to the dim interior. His hand fell to his chest; trying to calm his breathing. His heart beat wildly and he could feel the small beads of perspiration on his forehead slowly trickle down around his brow. That man…I know him…he's…he's…
"Damn it!" Spike cursed, his hand slamming into the back of the couch. Pulling his hand back, he wiped the sweat from his brow. Why can't I remember his name?
"You know, I bought a punching bag so you wouldn't destroy the furniture," Jet's voice echoed through the room. Spike glanced in the direction and grinned. He always looks like an idiot in that apron.
"You got anything to eat?" Spike asked, whether or not he wanted to eat it was another question entirely.
"You think I like the way I look in this thing?" Jet asked, gesturing to the stained apron.
"Aww, what's wrong?" Spike grinned sardonically, "I think you look cute. You know, like a little 'Susie Homemaker'."
Jet groaned at the remark. He reached behind his back and undid the knot of the apron. It loosened around his waist and he quickly pulled it over his head. Tossing it over the back of the chair, he took a seat. "Who was it this time?" he asked, pulling out two cigarettes. He flicked one to Spike, who deftly caught it between two fingers.
"I don't know," Spike answered, pulling his lighter from his jacket. "He was familiar…I know I know him, but I don't remember his name."
Jet stared at his friend for a few moments, as if considering something. Spike returned the stare, his face blank, but his eyes held a slightly curious quality. "Grab your jacket," Jet said suddenly.
"Uh…what?" Spike asked stunned. Jet wasn't one to make snap decisions.
"Just grab your jacket, sitting around here and complaining about it won't help," Jet said making his way to the door. "It's like that old saying, 'it is better to light a candle than curse the darkness'."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Spike asked, standing up, his worn jacket in hand.
"It means don't complain about something when you can do something about it," Jet answered.
"Umm…okay…hey, but what if you can't find a candle because it's dark?" Spike asked, half sarcastic, half curious.