Chapter Eight

Jackie stayed away for two days and William had to admit that it was easier with her not around. The couple of times they did interact, it was very obvious that she was still angry with him and the last thing he needed was someone glaring at him and scolding him as if he were a child.

So he enjoyed the two vacation days by drinking copious amounts of beer and eating take out pizza and wings. He went for his usual run on the beach Sunday morning and attempted working on the novel.

Mostly, he tried not to think about Buffy. He didn't know what to think about her and her story. Or Dahlia's story for that matter. He was convinced she was keeping something from him, but he also knew in his heart that she fully believed what she'd told him. That meant that if her story was true, then Buffy Summers was a vampire slayer. And if that was the case, wouldn't it stand to reason that everything else Buffy had told him was true?

By Sunday evening, he finally gave in and called his mother.

"William! What a lovely surprise, how are you?" asked his mother Beth.

"I'm good, Mum, how are things in London?"

"Hot, have you watched the news? It's a heat wave." she replied "How's the weather in America?"

"Hot in Charleston, can't say much about everywhere else." He pressed his fingers to his forehead and stared out the window. "Mum, can I ask you something?"

"Of course dear, what?"

"I've asked you this before…" he began.

An uneasy silence came over the line and he continued. "You know, the scar on my eyebrow, you're sure you don't remember how I got it?"

"William, I've told you, I can't remember. It must have happened when you were a boy! You fell so many times, you were always bumping your head and scraping your knees," she said with a forced laugh.

"But, Mum, when I look through photos of me, right, the scar doesn't show up 'til the pictures after I turned twenty-five," he pointed out.

"I – I don't know what to say," she murmured.

He knocked his head against the window in frustration. "It doesn't make any sense! How can I not remember it? What about the tattoo on my arm? What about the scars on my chest and back? I might be able to accept not remembering one, put it down to one pint too many– but, Mum – a tattoo this size? It must have taken ten bleeding hours at least!"

"William, calm down," she said soothingly.

"I can't calm down!" He turned away from the window and paced back and forth across his living room, rubbing his face. "There are entire episodes of my life that I can't remember. If I can't trust the past, how can I believe anything or anyone?"

"You're working too hard," she said. "Why don't you come home for a visit?"

William ignored the invitation. Going to London and dealing with a hovering mum and an inquisitive dad was the last thing he needed.

"Mum, have you ever heard of the name Buffy Summers?"

Silence.

"Mum?"

"William, I've got to go. Mary is here to pick me up, we're – we're going to meet your dad and Steve down at the pub for lunch," she said hurriedly.

William pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it incredulously. What the hell had just happened?

"Uh, okay," he said.

"Take care of yourself."

"Bye, Mum."

William hung the phone up and turning around, stared at the clock hanging on the wall. He quickly did the calculation. Wherever his mother and Mary were going, it definitely wasn't to the pub for lunch. Not at eight o'clock in the evening.

He bit back a curse and stood there shaking his head.

His own mum had just lied to him.

Just what the bloody hell was going on here?

The doorbell rang, startling him.

He strode from the living room and down the hallway towards the front door. Not bothering to check the peephole, he unlocked the door and threw it open.

"Yes?"

Buffy looked up at him.

"You," he muttered.

"Hi!" she said with a grin and a jaunty wave.

"How did you find me?"

"Dahlia." She turned and waved to Isaiah. "Got a ride too."

William glared at Isaiah. The man he'd once considered his friend just waved and smiled and then, to William's horror, put the car into drive and left.

"Where the hell is he going?"

"I'm assuming he's going back to Dahlia's. They're never apart for long, those two."

William looked down at her. He caught sight of the leather satchel at her feet and his gaze widened. "What – is – that?" he asked, pointing.

Buffy glanced down at the bag and then smiled back up at him. "Oh that? My suitcase."

"Suitcase?" he repeated stupidly.

She picked it up and pushed past him into the house. "Yeah, I'm staying for a couple of days. Did you honestly think you'd gotten rid of me that easily?" She walked down the hall, peered in to the large formal living room, dining room, and ended up at the back of the house in the open concept kitchen and family room. She stood in front of the wall of glass, dropped her suitcase to the floor, and stared out at the ocean.

"Wow," she murmured. "Great view."

"Thank you," he said automatically. Then he shook his head, angry with himself. What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

She turned away from the view and smiled at him. "Chasing you."

"Why would you do that?"
"Because it's my turn to," she explained.

"It's your turn to chase me?" he asked. "You're completely daft, you are."

She lost the smile and went to him, taking his hand in hers. "Give me a chance," she begged. "Give me a chance to prove to you that I know you, that we know each other, and that everything I told you is true."

He shook his head. "No! You can't just barge in here and expect to stay."

"You have doubts, don't you?" Buffy asked softly.

He paused and stared down at her, silent.

"You're beginning to wonder. Let me guess, you called your mom and asked her again about those scars, that tattoo and she couldn't give you the answer you wanted."

He shook his head and backed away from her.

"How could you pass up the chance to know the truth about yourself, William?"

"You can't prove it," he finally said.

"I can try," she replied. "I have to try. I loved you once and you loved me. We're meant to be together and I'm not letting any prophecy keep us apart. I lost you twice and I'm not going for a third."

"You're completely bent," he muttered.

"But you are starting to wonder," she said with a smile. "And that buddy, is better than nothing."

The phone rang and he reached for it.

"Hello?" he barked.

"William, did Miss Summers arrive?"

He sighed, bowing his head. "Yes, she's here."

"William, do you trust me?"

"With my life," he murmured. He wasn't sure why exactly, but he followed his gut.

"In your books you have created an entire world where the impossible is possible if only you peel back the layers of conditioning and believe," she said. "I need you to trust that world that you created and peel back the years and the stories you have told yourself. Listen to her, William. Open up and believe her."

"Aah, Dahlia, do you know what you're asking me?"

She chuckled. "Of course I do. Just as I know that you will do it."

"And how do you know that, pet?"

"Because you are brave and imaginative, when you let yourself be. I read your book, I know your thoughts. They are real. Real!"

He nodded. "Alright." He breathed in deeply. "I do trust you."

"I know. And I will not betray that trust."

"What are you not telling me?" he asked suddenly.

"William?"

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and looking down at the floor. "I can sense that there's more to this that you aren't telling me, yeah? How can I figure it out if I don't have all the pieces?"

"William," she murmured so softly he had to strain to hear her. "There are things that I am not ready to talk about yet. Things that you are not yet ready to hear. When you are, then I will be too and then you will know everything."

He ground his teeth in frustration. His entire existence had become cryptic and all the women in it were suddenly speaking in riddles.

"Right, then," he bit out. "Seems like I haven't much choice."

"Be patient," she said. "And tell Miss Summers not to give up on you. Right now when I can hear you say the words."

William rolled his eyes and turned to Buffy. "Dahlia wants me to tell you not to give up."

Buffy smiled. "Tell her that I won't."

He shook his head. "Did you hear her?"

"Yes, I did," she said, chuckling. "I love you, William, no matter who or what you are."

"I love you too," he whispered and then he hung up the phone. He paused for a moment, head bent, and then he turned to Buffy. "Alright, pet, you win the first battle."

Buffy smiled and held out her hand. "Come here, I have something to show you."

He let her take his hand and lead him over to the leather couch. They sat down and she pulled the satchel to her, unzipping it and pulling out a long, black leather coat.

William's heart froze and his entire body stilled. His hands, reaching out for the coat, trembled.

"Where did you get this?"

"It was yours," Buffy murmured, handing to him. "You wore it everywhere, it was a trophy of sorts."

"Trophy?" he asked as he shook out the coat and ran his hands down it. It was scuffed and torn, as if he'd worn it through a battle.

"Apparently this isn't the original, at least, that's what Angel told me. But I think he was just – I don't know – being Angel. But Spike stole this coat from a slayer he killed in a New York subway in 1977. It was his badge, his uniform."

"I know this coat," he said.

Some of Buffy's tension faded. She hadn't known how he would react. Best case scenario, he would feel the bond with the coat, and like Dorothy's ruby shoes, the leather coat would bring him home. Worst case, he'd toss it aside in disgust.

Typical of Spike, he met her somewhere in between.

"In your book, Rain wears a coat just like it. Where did that idea come from?"

He shrugged. "My dreams, my imagination. Whenever I pictured him, he wore it, a coat just like this one."

"Just like yours," she said.

He stood up and, almost against his will, he pulled the coat on. It fell around him with a whisper and he stiffened. Goose bumps rose on his flesh and he trembled in reaction. The tattoo on his arm burned, as if scalded.

"What the-" he said, pushing the sleeve back and staring at the tattoo. His eyes widened and Buffy jumped to her feet and stood next to him. Together they gazed at his arm. "It's burning," he whispered.

She ran her finger over it. "Spike, it's glowing."

He was too distracted to correct her. Christ, he thought to himself, how could he? His tattoo was glowing and burning and even he couldn't deny that the moment he'd put the coat on, he'd felt different. He'd felt unlike himself and yet more like himself than he ever had.

Quickly he shrugged the coat off and gave it to her. As soon as he lost contact with it, his tattoo stopped glowing and burning.

They stared at each other.

"What the bleeding hell was that?"

"It's the past Spike," Buffy replied.

"Felt like it was coming back to haunt me," he muttered.

She reached out and gently ran a finger over the gorgeous tattoo. "Something is trying to come home, and I think it has something to do with the tattoo." She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. "I also think it's time to call in the reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?"

"I don't know a whole lot about the Shanshu prophecy," she explained. "But I have friends who do."

TBC