[Reviews - 286]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 3646 times

- Text Size +




Chapter 18:

They drove in silence. Since agreeing to give Spike a chance to prove his accusations, the Slayer had barely said a word to him. She had refused to spend the rest of the day with him, and had instead retired to her own room. All he had wanted was to hold her, to reassure himself that she was alright. But she wouldn't allow it.

So he had spent the rest of the day sitting in the hallway outside her room. Forced to content himself with listening to the sound of her heartbeat and breathing through the door.

Her silence and her refusal to let him touch her were killing him by inches. His heart was breaking piece by piece, which forced him to admit that somewhere along the way she'd stolen it.

Although she seemed to be doing okay, Spike was still worried. Not just for her health, but for her heart. She'd been betrayed by the person who'd meant the most to her, who'd been her entire world.

And Spike was also worried about what it would mean when Buffy came to understand the full extent of what he had done. He had acted only to protect her, but considering her refusal to admit her Watcher had attacked her, Spike doubted she would understand the steps he had taken to protect her from the Council.

More than once he nearly got up from his post by her door, to go down to the basement and decapitate the body of Gwendolyn Post, which was still chained to the wall, but he was too scared to leave Buffy. He felt as if the worst hadn't happened yet. If he left her, even for a moment, something even more terrible would happen.

Instead he had to settle for smuggling Buffy out of the house as soon as the sun had set. Finally, after driving for what seemed like an eternity, he parked the car.

"Why are we at the library?" Buffy asked, speaking to him at last.

"Easiest way to get online," he responded.

She looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and then shrugged and got out of the van.

They didn't have much time until the library closed, so Spike hurried her inside and sat her down in front of one of the public terminals.

He pulled up a search engine, crossed his fingers, and told Buffy to type in her full name.

She looked at him dubiously again, but did as he asked. To Spike's great dismay it turned out there was a Buffy Anne Summers who was a chemist in Ontario.

"Spike what is this?" she asked.

"Just give me a minute," he snapped at her. He felt like time was running out on him. It wasn't like he was very good at surfing the web. Spike tried to keep up with the times, but computers did make his head hurt a little, even if they were useful.

Then he realized his mistake. With a grin he shoved her hands off the keyboard, and letter by letter typed "missing children" next to Buffy's name and hit "Search".

His face lit up as the link he'd hoped existed popped up in front of them. He quickly clicked on it.

"What is this . . ?" Buffy's voice trailed off as the new page loaded in front of them.

The pictures were still loading, but the text was clear enough. Buffy Anne Summers had disappeared without a trace from her aunt's wedding when she was four years old. Her parents had been looking for her ever since.

The first photograph loaded, and there was Buffy, four years old and smiling. A pretty little girl with blond pigtails smiled into the camera. Next to it was a grainy picture that was labeled "Photo age-progressed to 16 years." It looked more or less like Buffy, only minus the scar and with really bad hair.

It was when the final picture loaded that tears began to run down Buffy's cheeks. This one was was labeled, "Taken on the day she disappeared." It showed Buffy in a yellow lace dress holding a white satin pillow and sucking on her fist. She was held by a beautiful smiling woman also wearing a formal yellow dress.

"Mommy," Buffy whimpered, stroking the face of the woman on the computer screen. "I don't . . . I don't understand," she said, turning to Spike.

Spike took her hands in his and was relieved when she didn't pull back. "Your Watcher lied to you, luv. Your parents didn't give you to her. They probably never even heard of a Slayer. The Council kidnapped you. They stole you so they could control you. So your only loyalty would be to them."

She buried her face against him, and he held her, stroking her hair and ignoring the looks they were drawing from the other library patrons.

He continued quietly, "Smart way to do it, too. At a wedding. Your parents probably thought you were safe as houses. A whole gaggle of relatives there to help keep an eye on you. But a couple strangers too, so that an unfamiliar face could slip in. Your mum probably just looked away for a second . . ."

He stopped his explanation to comfort her. It was obvious he'd made his point. After several minutes of sobbing, and Spike shooing away a concerned librarian, Buffy finally looked up again.

"I wanna see them," she said.

"Kitten, they could be anywhere."

"No," she said firmly and pointed to screen, and the number to call if you had any information. "Eight one eight. That's a local number. I've seen it on a bunch of the signs and billboards and stuff."

He looked and she was right. It was a Los Angeles number. They moved over to the pay phones and searched through the phone book. There they found an entry for H & J Summers. It was the same phone number as on the web page, and there was an address.

Buffy insisted that they go right away, and Spike could do nothing but agree. It had never occurred to him that her parents would be here. But then he'd never really given much thought to where the Slayer was from.

Once again they drove in silence. This time it wasn't because Buffy was angry with him, she was simply too lost in her own world to remember he was there.

As they got to the street where her parents supposedly lived, Buffy suddenly leapt out of the van without waiting for Spike to stop. She ran down the street, beating Spike to the address.

She knocked on the door and after a moment a woman answered. Spike was just pulling over on the side of the road, but he could hear the woman say with disbelief, "Buffy?"

Then there was hugging and crying, and the Slayer was saying "mommy," over and over.

The woman looked up for a moment and called out, "Hank! Hank come here!"

A man hurried from somewhere in the house to the door. "Joyce what . . ." He never finished his sentence, but found himself enveloped in the crying and hugging.

Spike's attention was focused on the woman's face. She was without a doubt the same woman depicted in the photograph, and yet at first Spike hadn't recognized her. It hadn't occurred to him that after fourteen years she would look different from her photo. But time had not been kind to Joyce Summers. Grief and worry had left their marks all over her face. Her hair was mostly grey, and despite her current joy, there was a weariness about her. To Spike it was as if he had seen her age those fourteen years in an instant.

Despite their current happiness, time was pulling these people apart, and would leave them all in tears. It was as if they were aging before his eyes. They were human, and he didn't belong in their world.

He put the van into reverse, and drove away. She deserved this, after all. Buffy deserved to have this time with her family. To be given back to them. All Spike could do was make sure that no one interfered in her new life.





You must login (register) to review.