Thanks to my beta who catches things when I'm in the zone and I get too caught up to see the details! Thanks Mabel!
Chapter Five
William looked down at her, "I'm sorry? Who I am? I'm William Bennett," he replied.
The woman, Buffy, closed her eyes as an expression of deep pain creased her features. "Oh God," she whispered harshly. "What's happening? How is this possible?" She hoisted herself up to a seated position on the love seat and stared at him. "How can it be that you don't remember?"
"I'm sorry, Miss Summers, but it seems that you've mistaken me for someone else."
She shook her head, putting the glass on the table. "Oh no I haven't. I would recognize you anywhere." She placed her hand over her heart and gazed into his eyes. "I know it here." She reached out and gently ran a finger over his eyebrow. "I know every inch of you."
He sat up straight at the implication of her words. Surely, if there'd been something of a personal nature between them, he'd remember it.
'Like you remember the eyebrow scar?' A snide voice echoed in his head. 'And the scar on your side?'
"There has to be an explanation," she murmured. "We've got to call Giles."
"Giles?" William asked. The name…it sounded familiar.
She nodded, leaning forward eagerly. "Yes! Yes – Giles and Xander and Dawn and Willow and, oh God – Angel!"
"Angel?" he asked, realizing how stupid he was sounding. "Xander?"
"Yes, they'll know how you survived and why you don't seem to remember," she said. A glimmer of a smile touched her lips and lit her eyes. "Oh, God, Spike. I knew it. I knew you weren't dead!" Then, unable to stop herself, she threw her arms around his neck.
William's arms automatically tightened around her and his entire body tensed in longing. He bit back a groan and closed his eyes. Just there, at the edge of consciousness, a mere slip of memory, teasing him, was the ghost of her smell.
"Miss Summers," he murmured.
"I know you know me," she whispered, leaning back and peering into his eyes. She tapped his temple. "It's locked away in there, we just have to find the key." Tears filled her eyes. She ran her fingers over his brows, down his cheek and rested them on his neck. "Spike…"
William shook his head, about to correct her when he saw her frown. He felt her fingers fumble on his neck and he shivered.
"Miss?"
"What the hell?" she murmured, her index finger finally settling on his pulse. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.
The blood pounded in his veins as he watched her lovely face flush.
"What's wrong?"
She shook her head. "You have a pulse."
He gaped at her. "A pulse?"
"I wondered," she murmured.
"Wondered what?"
"How you hid what you were."
"What I was?" He was definitely sounding like an idiot now.
"Spike, you were-"
"William?" A woman's voice interrupted them.
He looked up at Dahlia. Her lined face was pale with concern and wisps of silver hair had escaped her elegant chignon. She'd lost her customary poise and her hand, as it reached out to lie on his shoulder, trembled.
"Dahlia?" He looked up at her, frowning in bewilderment.
"I-I know this young woman," she whispered. She glanced around and spotted Jackie heading towards them with a scowl on her face, Dahlia gripped his shoulder and exchanged a knowing glance with Buffy. "I have had Isaiah bring your car around back. You need to take Miss Summers and leave. Go to Beauvais Hall."
William's eyes widened. It wasn't what he'd expected. "What?" He glanced over as his assistant made her way towards them. "But Jackie," he murmured. "The reading, all these people…"
"William, do you trust me?" she asked, forcing him to look up at her.
He stared at her in shock. "I do, of course I do."
"Then do as I have asked. Take Miss Summers to Beauvais Hall. I will be along shortly, after I have taken care of Jackie and the guests. There is enough champagne here to soothe their disappointment," Dahlia said. She looked at Buffy and then at William. "But you need to go with her. William, you need to listen to what she has to say."
He shot to his feet. "Dahlia," he protested. "What in bleeding hell is going on here?"
Dahlia looked over at Buffy and nodded. "She will explain what she can," the older woman said cryptically.
Buffy stood and took his hand in hers. She shot the older woman a look of gratitude. "You heard her, let's go. Where's the back door?"
Dahlia pointed towards a dark hallway at the back of the store. "Go, quickly," she said.
Buffy pulled William after her as she hurried past the book shelves towards the back of
the store. He winced as she squeezed his hand and then he dug in his heels, trying to hold her back. He was no where near finished questioning Dahlia. He head Jackie call his name and Buffy looked back. "Ignore her, come on," she urged. "Hurry!"
He cursed under his breath and then setting aside his misgivings, he picked up the pace. They hurried through the dark hallways towards the back parking lot. Buffy burst through the doors and they skidded to a stop next to the Camaro where Isaiah held the door opened.
"Mr. Bennett," Isaiah said.
William slipped into the driver seat. "Thanks, Isaiah, help Miss Summers."
Isaiah nodded, but before he could even get around the car, Buffy was in, the door slammed behind her.
William gaped at her, wondering how she'd moved so quickly around the car. He gripped the steering wheel, wincing at the pain in the hand she'd held so fiercely. Who the bloody hell was this woman?
"Let's go!" she said.
He faced forward and popping the clutch, he shifted into drive and turned onto Broad Street. He eased the car into the late evening traffic, heading towards the Ashley River and Beauvais Hall. Shortly after, he merged onto the highway, left the traffic behind, and drove through the darkening night. The high beams of the car cut through the fog that slipped in from the river and trailed like Spanish moss across the road.
"The woman back at the store, the older one with the movie star hair, who was she?" Buffy asked. She kept glancing back nervously, as if waiting for someone to follow them.
"Dahlia Beauvais," William answered. "She owns the book store."
"How well do you know her? When did you meet her?"
He looked into the rear view mirror, her paranoia feeding his. "I met her five years ago," he explained. "When I moved here from London to work on my book."
"You live here in Charleston?"
He nodded. "On the outskirts, I have a house on the beach."
"Why Charleston?"
He glanced over at her, taking his eyes off the road for a second. She looked behind them again, and then stared at him. The pained, betrayed look had faded from her gaze and it had been replaced with something William had never, ever seen in a woman's eyes before. Steel. Pure, cold, hard steel. It was exactly like…
Morgan. William looked away and clenched the steering wheel as the thought slammed home. In that instant, this young woman, this Buffy Summers, had an air about her, a look in her eyes, a tension to her body that he'd described dozens of times in his novel. He may never have seen this before, but he'd imagined it.
"Why Charleston?" she repeated.
"I'd visited it a year before with my family and fell in love with it. It's beautiful and sort of gothic – seemed like the right place to write a beautiful, gothic novel."
She snorted and he frowned. "A writer," she murmured, shaking her head. "Those Powers that Be sure do know what they're doing."
"Powers that Be?" he asked in confusion.
She glanced heavenward. "Gods and Goddesses," she explained. "Where do you think all your inspiration came from, all that mythology in your book?"
He looked over at her quickly, feeling his temper stir at her dismissive tone. "My imagination! Listen here, pet, I've worked bloody hard on that novel. Blood, sweat and tears and all that, and then some. Don't give credit for my work to some bleeding karmic power." His rant came to a jarring halt as the tears pooled in her eyes and spilled over her cheeks. He turned his attention back to the road, leaned forward and peered through the gloom for the turn off to Beauvais Hall.
"What?" he asked.
She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Sorry," she said softly, all her edge, all her anger, dissipated. "It's – it's just that it's been a while since I heard that."
"Heard someone yell at you?" he asked. "Stick around, pet and you'll get some more, I've a nasty temper." He spotted the sign post and turned into the driveway. He pulled to a stop next to the gatepost and opened the window. Leaning out, he punched in the security code and the gates slowly and gracefully eased open.
Buffy watched in amazement as he drove through the gates and they closed behind them with a soft clang.
"Jesus, Spike, how much money does this woman have?"
"Lots," he replied. "And the name's William."
She glanced over at him, unwilling to apologize. She remained silent as they drove up the oak lined mile long drive. Beauvais Hall came into view, its white-washed brick gleaming in the moonlight.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "It's like freaking Tara."
He pulled the car around the back to and parked in the garage. Turning the car off, he sat there for a moment, trying to still his pounding heart. Trying to figure out what in Hades had just happened to his life.
In the dark, he felt her presence. Her scent had filled the car and he could hear her breathing. Even that seemed familiar. He had just met her, yet if he closed his eyes, William knew that he would be able to picture every last detail of her features.
None of it made sense.
It was unsettling.
And it all felt oddly normal.
As if he'd done this hundreds of times before.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" he asked harshly.
Her hand reached out in the darkened car and clasped his. "Let's go inside and I'll explain."
He pulled away from her and got out of the car. In the humid night air, he felt the sweat bead on his forehead. Angrily he unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged out of it. The silk scarf fell to the crushed oyster shell path and Buffy bent over, picked it up, and followed him. William pounded up the back porch stairs and fumbled with the keys. Before he could find the right one, the door opened.
"Mr. William!" A woman pushed the door open and stepped aside. "Missus Dahllie called and told us you were coming. Charlotte is preparing rooms for you upstairs. I put some snacks out for you in the parlor."
William smiled and Buffy caught her breath. He slung his arm around the housekeeper and gave her a quick hug. "Thanks Annabelle. Does Miss Dahllie have any of that bourbon on hand?"
Annabelle smiled, her dark eyes gleaming. "Of course! The bottle is on the sideboard with some glasses."
"You spoil me, love," he said, planting a kiss on her cheek. He straightened and looked back at Buffy, losing the smile. "Follow me."
He walked through the kitchen and down the hall to the front of the house. He didn't pause in the parlor, but went straight to the sideboard and poured himself a large glass of bourbon and tossed it back. He leaned over the sideboard, head down for a moment, and then he straightened, poured himself another glass, and turned to faced her.
"Now, you're going to answer some questions," he said angrily, his blue eyes sparking like gas flames. "Starting with this one: who the bloody hell are you? And then, then you are going to follow it up with who Spike is, how you know Dahlia, and what in bleeding hell was all that back there about me having a pulse. Last time I checked, I've had one for the last thirty-five years!"
Buffy sat down onto the settee, landing hard on the straight backed, uncomfortable piece of furniture. She stared up at him, her eyes wide, her lips trembling. When he talked like that, he sounded so much like his old self that she was filled with amazement and happiness. He was there! Right in front of her, alive and well! And then, her elation was quickly followed up with anger and bitterness at all the years they had lost.
"Spike-"
"Bleeding hell, woman!" he shouted and lunged across the room and leaned over her, hands pressed to the settees' armrests. "My – name – is – William!"
Instead of shrinking like he'd expected, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed and she sat up, going nose to nose with him.
"Back off," she bit out.
To his credit, William didn't back off right away. He stared at her, his gaze lingering over her features, striving to remember where he'd seen her, how he knew her. "Answer my questions," he said.
"Step away from me and I will," she replied, more softly this time.
William straightened and backed away.
"My name is Buffy Summers," she said, staring at him closely, looking for any sign of recognition, any reaction.
"Where are you from?"
"California," she replied. "I lived in Sunnydale and then L.A and I've recently moved to Wilmington, North Carolina. My fri-my family owns a beach house there."
He frowned, crossing his arms over his lean chest. "Sunnydale? Why does that sound familiar?"
"It should," she murmured, her face lightening in hope. "It was all over the news a few years back."
He nodded, recognition dawning. "The earthquake," he said and Buffy nodded and waited for more. "The entire city disappeared."
"Did you live there when the earthquake happened?"
She bowed her head and clasped her hands. Her grief was so palpable that it filled the room. William's anger faded away and he wanted nothing more than to go to her and take her into his arms and reassure her that whatever it was, whoever it was that had hurt her, he would take care of all of it.
He fought the urge and continued instead with his questioning.
"How do you know Dahlia? Back at the bookstore, she said she knew you," he asked.
Buffy shook her head in genuine confusion. "I have no clue. I swear, I've never seen her before."
He shook his head. "This doesn't make any bleeding sense!"
"Who is Spike?"
She looked up, her green eyes swimming in tears as she inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. "He – he was my enemy, my nemesis and my lover and friend and finally my champion," she whispered.
His eyes widened at the implication of her words and what she was inferring.
"Was?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her fist to her mouth. "He died in the apo-the earthquake in Sunnydale."
William shook his head in disbelief. "If that's the case, how in sodding hell could I be him? Not to mention," he held his arms wide open, "if we've been lovers, I'd remember it, pet."
"I don't know how this happened," she said, standing and moving towards him. "I don't understand any of this. You died, I saw you die right before my eyes, but then there were rumors you'd shown up in L.A and were working with Angel and then – then I was told you died, um, again."
"In another earthquake?" he asked sarcastically.
"Sort of…but not really."
"Bent," he muttered. "You are completely bent! A complete nutter! Jackie warned me about people like you! I can't believe I fell for this ridiculous tale."
"Sp-William – I can prove it," she said desperately.
He stared down at her, frowning.
"How?"
Her gaze focused on his left eyebrow. "Can you tell me how you got that scar?"
He froze.
When he didn't answer, she continued.
"You can't tell me can you? What - have you forgotten? Let me guess, there are a few holes in your past? Things you can't remember?"
He shook his head and tried to turn away, away from her and her insistent truth, but she reached out and grabbed him and her strong grip held him in place.
"I – I don't remember."
"I know how you got that scar," she said. "I know because you told me."
He stared at her.
"You got it fighting with someone like me," she said. She took his hands in hers.
"Someone like you?"
"A slayer," she replied. "A vampire slayer. I'm a vampire slayer, just like Morgan, in your book, is a demon hunter. And you got that scar killing a vampire slayer during the Boxer Rebellion in China."
His mouth opened and closed and his hands, clasped gently in hers, trembled.
"The Boxer Rebellion? In China? That was over a hundred years ago!" he whispered.
She nodded. "William," she said. "You - you were a vampire."
TBC