Summary: Buffy Summers is the blind daughter of a wealthy business man. Spike Tyler is the misogynistic ex-cop hired to kill her. With five hundred grand on the line and LA's finest police hot on their tail, will Spike be able to go through with it? More importantly, will he be able to look past the abuse he experienced as a child and see that not all women are who he made them out to be? Warning: Character death.
Author's Notes: Okay. So here's my second attempt at an AU fic. I'm going to add a slight warning here: this story is going to be much darker/angstier than ABO. It also deals with some issues of child abuse, so don't read if that kinda stuff makes you squeamish. I've taken the liberty of borrowing some titles from Evanescence to use for the story chapters. Since it's called "Bring Me to Life", I thought it would be fitting. Besides, the titles seem to work well. But anyway, please let me know what you think. And big thanks to Magz for being my sexy, new beta. :)
Rating: NC-17
His lungs burned and his eyes stung, as the water enveloped his tiny head. He counted slowly and patiently to himself, waiting for the moment when he would be privileged with the taste of fresh air. It finally came, and he took big, greedy gulps.
"Maybe this'll teach you to be a good darlin', eh?" came the punishing voice of the woman hovering over him.
"No, mummy, please!" he gasped, gripping at the toilet bowl with all his might. But his desperate pleas were ignored, and he felt his head be shoved under once again, the bitter water filling his mouth...
His eyes opened with a start and reality came crashing down upon him. He groaned, and dug his face deep into the depths of his welcoming pillow. Sunlight poured in through the open window, casting a familiar gloom upon the disheveled apartment. A disarray of dirty clothes and beer bottles lay scattered about the small room, and the sound of a ringing telephone could be heard in the seemingly far off distance.
Spike Tyler lifted his head and glanced at the ringing machine.
"Bloody hell," he grumbled, and picked it up. "This better be good, mate."
"Tyler? Get your lazy ass outta bed and meet me at 614 Crawford Street."
"I got plans today, Willy."
"Yeah? What's that?"
"It's called sleep. So piss off."
"It's almost noon, asshole. Meet me at 1:30. Don't be late."
Spike listened to the sound of the dial tone for a second longer than necessary, before placing it back on the receiver. He sighed, and ran a tired hand through tousled bleached hair.
Ten minutes later, he was out the door.
~~~
"You're early," Willy noted, glancing up at the approaching figure.
"Don't get used to it. What do you want?"
Willy Thompson stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyeing his friend with a cautious apprehension. He shifted uncomfortably on both feet, and Spike noticed the small beads of sweat forming just above the skinny man's brow. He was nervous.
"You and me Tyler--we've been friends for a long time, yeah? We've seen a lot of scary shit together, but we make it through, you know?"
"Out with it," Spike ordered.
"Right. See, the point is, sometimes sacrifices need to be made... risks gotta be taken. Friendships reach that place where you gotta make choices. Know what's important..."
"How much are we talking?" Spike interrupted, finally catching on to his friend's ramblings.
Willy gulped. "Five hundred grand."
"Fuck! What's the deal?"
Willy started fidgeting again, his breathing steadily increasing. "Well, you see, I know this guy," he started, wiping his dark, greasy hair out of his eyes. "And he's sorta got this problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"A big problem... with his chick."
Spike's eyes darkened, not liking this new direction. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." He paused. "He wants her dead."
"What?!"
Willy reached into his bag and pulled out a few items, handing them to Spike. "So, here's the gun. Here's her address. Keep me posted, and uh... don't get caught."
He gave the taller man a pat on the back and shuffled past him. Spike grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down into a nearby chair. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You've got to be shitting me!" he said, incredulously.
"I shit you not, friend. I'd do it myself, but you know, you got that whole misogyny thing goin' for ya..."
"I'm not killin' anyone."
"Now, now. Let's not make any rash decisions here. You did catch the money part, right?"
"Yeah, I get the idea. But I'm not killin' anyone."
"She's probably just some hooker who did him wrong," Willy tried to reason. "You'll be doin' the world a favor!"
Spike paced back and forth, his hands behind his head. "Willy, I can't. I'm sorry."
Willy stood up, taking a deep breath. "Listen, pal. When you find her, just pretend she's that dead mother of yours. It'll make it a whole lot easier."
"Fuck you."
"I'm just sayin'! There's five hundred grand on the line here. Offers like these don't happen everyday..."
"Yeah, I know," Spike said, trying to gather his thoughts.
"You know what? Why don't you sleep on it. Go back home to your smelly apartment and think it over once or twice. Then gimme a call tomorrow mornin', alright?"
"Willy..."
"Think about, Tyler. It's the chance of a lifetime."
He flashed Spike that cooky grin of his and then disappeared out the front door. Spike watched him leave, then stood alone in the musty, old house contemplating his options: waste a good-for-nothing chick and score it big... or don't. He sighed.
He wasn't a killer. But he sure as hell was no saint. If given a good enough motive or reason, he could go through with it. But five hundred thousand dollars should have been a good enough reason. So why was he freaking out? She was a girl. Probably of the worst kind. He knew about Willy's "friends" and what kind of people they were. He probably would be doing the world a favor. One less immoral female roaming the streets, doing their best to corrupt a good man's heart. Because they were all the same. A bunch of decadent, self-indulgent bitches.
Spike shook his head. This wasn't a personal issue. It was professional. He could do this. Swallowing hard, he looked at the items Willy had given him. He set the gun down on the table and studied the piece of paper and small photograph.
Her name was Buffy Summers. She looked young--barely twenty. She had light blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders and striking green eyes. Her gaze was focused somewhere just behind the photographer, but an innocent smile grazed her lips, signifying that she was posing for the camera. If Spike didn't know any better, he'd say she looked like a nice girl with a heart of gold.
But fortunately for him, he did know better. And he knew this girl was no different from the others.
He put the information in his pocket and turned to face the door. The gun still rested upon the wooden table behind him, practically begging him to take it. He thought about it. Then took a step towards the door. He thought about it one last time, before quickly turning around, snatching the weapon, and hurrying outside into the afternoon sun.
~~~
It was nearly midnight.
Spike sat on the edge of his bed, studying the picture before him. He hadn't been able to think of anything that day, other than Buffy Summers and the decision he had only a few more hours left to make. He wondered what this girl could have done to drive her lover to wanting her dead. Steal from him? Lie to him? Cheat on him? He figured that last option. A woman could never be satisfied.
The more stories Spike made up in his mind, the less guilty his conscience felt. But it still didn't make the decision any easier.
With a weary sigh, he leaned back in his bed, taking the photo with him. He stared at it, up until the moment his eyes closed, and sleep finally took him over.
~~~
"Oh, dear. I'm afraid I went too hard on you last time," she cooed, running a hand over his bare chest.
Unshed tears filled his twelve-year old eyes, as his mother struck a match. He pulled mercilessly at his restraints, feeling his flesh tear at his maneuvers. His little wrists struggled as hard as they could against the harsh rope, but his attempts were fruitless. His mother loomed over him, her painted face smiling pleasantly.
"Don't worry, baby. It'll only hurt for a second..."
"No! No!" he begged, staring at the flame being lowered to his sensitive skin. "Please don't do it, mummy!"
Tears were now freely spilling down his soiled cheeks, as the heat descended upon him. He screamed.
"Shut your face!" she suddenly barked, slapping him hard. "You want someone to hear you? Stay still and stop your damn squirming!"
His cries ceased to tiny whimpers, as the stench of burning flesh invaded his nostrils. He bit his lip so hard, the salty taste of blood spilled onto his tongue. The pain was overwhelming.
His mother cackled in delight, as the fire burned out, leaving yet another scar on her young son's body.
~~~
"Willy? Willy, it's me," Spike said into the receiver, not giving himself another moment to think. He was still covered in sweat from his recurring nightmare, as he gripped the phone tightly in his hand.
"Yeah, buddy?" his friend asked, hopefully.
A beat.
"I'll do it."
"Same place. Tonight at ten."
He hung up the phone. It was done.
Buffy Summers stepped carefully down the spiral staircase, the sounds of her parents' bickering voices floating from the kitchen. As soon as she reached the bottom, Pepper was immediately at her side. She reached down, feeling for the leash, and let the large, grey dog lead her into the adjacent room. The yelling got louder with every step she took, signaling her that she was proceeding in the right direction. Buffy could never be too sure these days.
"Oh, Buffy, there you are! I was about to send up one of the maids to make sure you were alright. You really shouldn't let Pepper leave your side," Joyce Summers scolded upon noticing her daughter lingering in the doorway.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I was just listening to music," she explained. "Are we still going out for supper tonight?" Buffy could hear the simultaneous sighs coming from her mother and father.
"No, sweetheart. Your father has to work tonight. We'll have to order out."
Hank immediately became defensive. "This is an important client!"
"Hank, don't raise your voice in front of Buffy."
"I'll raise my voice if I damn well feel like it!" her father blasted.
Buffy flinched and clasped her hand tighter around Pepper's leash. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a half an hour," she said quietly, turning on her heal.
"Honey, I don't like you taking these walks at night. You know that," Joyce quickly interfered.
Her daughter continued walking towards the door. "I'll be fine, Mom."
She then reached out until she found the door handle and slowly turned the knob. Pepper ran out in front of her, always ready to lead the way, as Buffy closed the front door behind her. She sighed when the cool night breeze grazed over her skin. She always loved being outside--especially at night. She loved the sounds, the smells... everything about it. Of course the fact that it was dark out had nothing to do with her love for it, because everything was dark to Buffy. Walking outside on a bright summer day was like walking into a pitch black room. But she was used to it now. Almost three years had gone by since the accident, and Buffy had become very familiar with her surroundings. Sometimes she almost left her trusty guide dog inside and ventured out into the night alone.
But she never did. Pepper was always at her side when she left the house, making sure Buffy was safe and sound. She knew that she was taking a risk every time she stepped out into the welcoming outdoors, but sometimes risks just needed to be taken. It was hell being cooped up in that mansion-sized house all day. Some fresh air was almost a necessity to Buffy. So no matter how dangerous her decision was, she somehow felt like it was a vital part of her life.
But that's nothing knew to you, is it, Buffy? Risks, danger... It's what got you into this whole mess in the first place, her subconscious reminded her, and not for the first time. That fateful night three years ago haunted her day after day. The screams. The shattered glass. The blood. All that blood...
Buffy cringed and quickly shook her head of the disconcerting thoughts and images. It wasn't smart to let her guard down when she was outside on her own. It's not like she lived in a shady neighborhood or anything--no, quite the contrary, really. Her father, Hank Summers, would never even think of moving his family into anything less than a perfect house in a picture perfect neighborhood. And Buffy was used to it by now. Always getting what she wanted, always getting her way... especially now. People pitied her in this rich town, located a few miles outside of LA. Almost everybody knew about the accident. About her condition. And that only made them shower her with expensive, new clothes and big, fat checks. But in all these three years, Buffy never once got the only thing she yearned for since that night.
To open her eyes and see the world.
It never happened. And never would. And Buffy was pretty much okay with that fact now. She no longer felt like she did during the few months after it happened. Those long, hard, brutal months.
Buffy remembered those months as if they only occurred yesterday. The shock, the denial... the pain. She had cried herself to sleep for almost a year. One time, in a fit of desperation, she even took a knife to her wrist. As she stood over the kitchen sink, steak knife in hand, her mother walked in to put the groceries away. Needless to say, an appointment to see the local psychologist was scheduled for the next day. Doctor Thomas had regarded her, his voice full of pity, and asked, "How are you feeling today, Ms. Summers?"
Buffy stared ahead of her into the sea of blackness and replied, "My boyfriend is dead and now I'm blind. How would you feel?"
That was the last time she ever spoke with Doctor Thomas. She had promised her parents that she would never attempt to take her life again, and she always stayed true to that promise.
Overall, Buffy Summers was a good girl. One of upstanding morals and values, loved and raised in a respected home and family. She was personable and outgoing, and always used her manners. Some days she felt like she didn't deserve such a heavy burden. Not being able to open her eyes and actually see was sometimes more than she could bear. But then there were other days when she was thankful for whoever was watching out for her. She could have easily died that night--heck, she almost did die. The doctors said it was a miracle. Yet, still, she wasn't let off the hook without a price. And what a price it was.
Buffy sighed to herself, trying not to think too much about it, as she walked along the familiar sidewalk with Pepper trotting happily in front of her. She could hear the dog's nails click against the pavement with each step they took, informing her that they were still on the correct path. As they soon reached the end of their nightly walk, Pepper instinctively began to turn around and lead Buffy back home.
Only she stopped for a moment when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She was extremely receptive to everything going on around her, so when the faintest noise of a new presence alerted her, Buffy immediately stopped what she was doing and listened carefully.
Sure enough, the sound of someone walking towards her could be heard in the distance. She swallowed back a lump of fear in her throat, wondering how much further it was to her house. Buffy never worried about being abducted or harmed during her walks at night with Pepper--the only danger she ever suspected was getting lost or falling down. And just because someone was walking over to her, didn't necessarily mean they had cruel intentions. It's just that never once had Buffy ever run into anybody else on her nightly excursions.
Taking a deep breath, she decided not to stick around to find out who it was. Loosening her hold on Pepper's leash, the dog immediately resumed her step, carrying Buffy along down the sidewalk.
~~~
Earlier that Night
"Breathe, Tyler. You can't do this if you don't."
"Shut up. I'm tryin' to think," Spike snapped, his heart rate steadily increasing with every nervous breath he took.
"Are you sure you're gonna go through with this? 'Cause if you screw up..."
"Willy, I'm fine. Just... run it by me one more time." He finally stopped pacing, and faced his friend.
"Yeah, so you're this cop, right? You find the chick and show her your shiny, new badge, tellin' her that the father figure's in trouble--"
"Hank?"
"Yeah. Hank Summers."
"Right. So I tell her to come with me..."
"Exactly. Then you take her to the place and blow her brains out."
Spike started pacing again.
"It's easy. You just pull the little trigger and it's done."
"It's not that simple," he reminded.
"Sure, it is! Now, you got everything? Her address, the gun--"
"Wait, where am I takin' her again?"
"It's 'bout an hour north of here. Here's the directions."
He handed him another slip of paper, the ink barely legible. Spike frowned.
"Why here?" he wondered, trying to make out the blue scribbles in his hand.
"Don't know. Didn't ask."
He sighed. "Who is this guy, anyway? Did he even say why he wants her dead?"
"Again, didn't ask."
"Christ, Willy, you do realize I'm going off to kill someone, right?" he told him, flustered.
"Yeah, I got the memo. It's just none of my business. This guy is pretty shady, you know. If you say the wrong thing or ask the wrong questions, he'll waste you on the spot."
Spike paled.
"Look, Tyler, I know this is askin' a lot. But just think of the reward. Five hundred grand..."
"Right. Think of the money."
"That's my boy. Now go kill."
Willy picked up Spike's keys from off of the table and tossed them to him with a wink. And then he was gone.
Spike swallowed hard, stuffing the directions into his pocket. He already knew how to get to Buffy's house. Memorization comes easy when it's all you think about. But he had no idea where this no-name place was or why he had to do the job there. So many questions, so little time. He sighed and walked out the door.
It was a short drive to the Summers' residence. No more than about ten minutes, anyway. It didn't give Spike much time to think, but considering what he was about to do, that was probably a good thing. He pulled into the large cul-de-sac, eyeing the big, white house. He rolled his eyes at the gigantic homes that stood before him, cursing out the filthy buggers who were rich enough to buy them. Spike didn't expect Buffy Summers to live in such a neighborhood--he had figured she would reside in the bad part of town. The area in which his friend Willy was all too familiar with.
His gaze suddenly settled upon the front door of the Summers' house. Out walked a small, blonde girl, holding onto the leash of a grey dog. She was wearing a simple pair of blue jeans and a white halter top that tied around her slim neck. She didn't seem like the "hooker" type Willy had mentioned. Hell, she looked even more innocent than she did in the photograph. Her hair was down, grazing past her shoulders, and bouncing behind her as she walked. Spike again wondered what little Buffy Summers could have done to incite such an unforgivable vendetta against her.
"There's always somethin'," Spike mumbled under his breath, watching as she and her dog walked unknowingly down the darkened sidewalk. He decided to follow her until she was furthest from her house, and then approach her.
Putting his black DeSoto in drive, he immediately drove out of the circle, eyes never leaving the unsuspecting blonde. He ended up parking his car along the opposite side of the road, waiting for his moment to make himself known. It soon came when he noticed her begin to turn around and head back home.
"Now or never, mate," Spike said, carefully opening the door to his car. He stepped out onto the empty street, trying to get his nerves under control.
Then, with a deep and shaky breath, he began to walk towards her.
"Oh!" Buffy gasped as she turned around, coming face to face with more darkness. The strong hand clamped over her shoulder, startling her to the point of almost dropping Pepper's leash.
"Buffy. Buffy Summers?"
She swallowed hard, trying to look casual. "Y-Yes."
"I'm Officer Tyler," he said, regarding her carefully. She seemed to be looking somewhere just behind him...
Buffy sighed in relief, though her heart was still racing. "You frightened me."
"My apologies. Anyway, I have to ask you to come with me."
"Is there something wrong?"
"'Fraid so," he explained. "It's about your father."
"Is he okay? Is he hurt?"
"I'll fill you in on the way."
Buffy frowned, confused. She had only been gone for about twenty minutes. What possibly could have gone wrong? And where exactly was he going to take her? "I-I should really take my dog home first."
"No time. Now if you'll just follow me..."
"I'll only be a minute," she insisted.
Spike clenched his jaw. And why did she keep staring off into space? If he didn't know any better, he would say she was--
"Do you know what happened?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm supposed to escort you to the hospital. Your mum's already there."
Oh, God! Buffy thought. Her mind was racing with possible scenarios. Had he had a heart attack? Had he fallen down the stairs? But then, what if this man was lying to her? "Are you really a cop?" she finally asked.
"'Course I am. Here." He sifted through his pocket and pulled out his old, silver badge. "Sorry I'm not in uniform. I'm workin' on an undercover case."
Buffy held out her hand. He placed the badge in her palm. She rubbed her fingers over it lightly, pretending that she actually saw it. She didn't like people to know she was blind--especially complete strangers.
"Ready then?"
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. And then she dropped Pepper's leash. The dog immediately trotted down the sidewalk towards Buffy's house.
"Right then. Let's go."
Buffy just stood there, unsure of which direction to proceed in. She silently cursed to herself, realizing that she would have to tell him she was blind. "Um, Officer?"
Spike turned around and noticed her frozen on the sidewalk. "Yeah?"
"I, um... I-I can't see."
"Beg your pardon?" He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand what she was telling him. Then he realized. She was blind. "Oh."
"I'm sorry. But, could you...?"
Spike gritted his teeth together, wondering why Willy failed to fill him in on this little detail. He briefly wondered if this would make the job easier... or harder. "Uh, sure. Here." He approached her, and awkwardly placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her towards his black car.
Buffy sucked in a breath at the feel of his warm palm on her bare skin. But she quickly brushed the sensation aside. "Thank you, Officer."
"Call me Spike."
"Spike? Is that a nickname or something?"
He shrugged. "More or less."
She nodded, and fumbled for the door handle. God, I must look like such an idiot.
Spike noticed her struggle and sighed. "I got it," he said, and swiftly opened the passenger door. Buffy slid her way inside.
She decided it smelled like cigarettes and leather. Not something she expected from a cop car, but it wasn't unpleasant. Quickly getting herself situated, she reached out in the direction of the seatbelt and clicked it in place. She heard Spike get in and shut his door. A few seconds later, they were driving away.
Spike took a deep breath and clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. He instinctively reached for a cigarette, his hands slightly shaking.
Buffy heard the sound of a lighter, and smoke immediately invaded her nostrils. "That can kill you, you know."
"Yeah," he said, as he breathed in deeply of the nicotine and blew it out through his nose. "Lots of things can."
"That's bleak."
"That's life."
Spike's cell phone rang, startling them both. He reached into his pocket, partially grateful for the distraction. "Hello?"
"Tyler? You waste her yet?"
"Uhh..." He glanced at Buffy. She was smiling pleasantly out the window. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Yeah, this is Officer Tyler. And no."
"Hurry it up already!"
"That's great news. I'll be sure to tell her."
"Whatever, pal. I'll call you later."
"Thanks. Bye."
Click.
Buffy looked in his direction. "My dad?"
"Oh, uh, no. The hospital. Looks like he's goin' to be fine."
"What happened?"
Spike raked his mind for the most believable lie. "Thought he broke his arm. Just a fracture though."
She sighed in relief. Nothing serious.
They lapsed into silence before Spike decided to break it. "So, how old are you?" Why do you bloody care?
"Nineteen. You?"
"Twenty-eight."
Buffy nodded. "I wonder where I'll be when I'm twenty-eight..."
Dead. "Probably off makin' millions. That's what you wealthy-types do, am I right?"
"That's what my father does. I don't see me having much of a future."
Well, he couldn't argue there. So he didn't. And it was silent again.
Buffy leaned back into her seat, her thoughts drifting to the mysterious man beside her. He sure didn't seem like a cop. Then again, the only time she'd ever encountered the police was when she was unconscious, so that didn't really make her a very liable source. But she figured he would be talking into some walky-talky contraption or getting reports over a static-y radio. Internally shrugging her shoulders, she placed her head against the headrest and sighed.
Spike realized that he did luck out to an extent. He wasn't sure this girl was going to buy the fact that he was cop, but wasn't in uniform and didn't have a cop car. His old badge and an "undercover" persona were the only things going for him. If he had more time to plan, one of his buddies from the station may have helped him out, but one day was definitely not enough time to plan. Thankfully, this girl was not only blind, but she seemed rather naive as well.
Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he tossed it out the window and rolled it back up.
"How long have you been a cop?"
Spike glanced at her, not really in the mood to answer any of her questions. It probably wasn't a smart idea to get in good with the woman you were about to murder. "A while," was all he said.
Buffy hated not being able to see him. Of course she always hated not seeing the people she spoke to, but for some reason, she hated it extra. Whenever she had a conversation with somebody, especially a stranger, she needed to have some sort of physical contact with them. Otherwise she felt like she was talking to herself or that they weren't paying attention to her. It was something she had done ever since she became blind, and it usually freaked people out. Sometimes she would reach out and rest her hand on their shoulder, or touch their arm. They didn't understand her need for that connection.
So it was a natural reaction for Buffy to extend her hand and place it gently on his thigh as she asked her next question. "Did you always want to be a cop?"
Spike looked down at the hand now resting upon his jean-clad thigh. What the hell is she doing? his mind wondered. The obvious answer was that she was one of those touchy-feely birds just trying to hit on him. Naive, my ass. "No," he finally answered.
He's not pulling away from me! Buffy inwardly shouted. It seemed like everyone she spoke with pulled away from her. Like she was some sort of freak or something. She smiled. "What did you want to be then?"
So many bloody questions. Maybe he should just shoot her now so she shuts up... "Don't remember."
Buffy seemed to finally get the impression that he wasn't in the mood to talk. His voice held a lot of irritation and she suddenly became embarrassed that she upset him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. I was just curious."
"S'alright. I just... have a lot on my mind is all." He glanced down at the hand still resting on his leg and shifted in his seat.
She was tempted to ask what was on his mind, but held her tongue. She didn't want to get him anymore annoyed with her. Buffy hated it when she annoyed people--especially people who sounded cute. Sexy even. With that lulling voice and velvety British accent... yeah, definitely sexy. But unfortunately for her, she would never know. Besides, he was too old for her, anyway.
But, even so, Buffy was lonely. She hadn't had a boyfriend since...
And Angel doesn't count. Sure he's always been there for her, before and after the accident, but she never had any romantic feelings for him. He comes around all the time, hoping that one day she'll change her mind, but it's not likely. Angel's sweet, but he's not... well, he's her father's choice.
Spike looked over at Buffy to find her deep in thought. Part of him was curious as to who wanted her dead and why, but part of him also didn't want to know anything about her. The less he knew, the easier it would be. Curiosity took over his common sense and he asked anyway, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
And that sounded much more interested than he had intended.
Buffy jerked her head up, slightly taken off guard by the sudden question. Why did he want to know about her love life? Maybe he likes you... she thought. Then she shook her head. Yeah, right. He did catch the blind part, right? "No, not really. Well, if you asked Angel, he'd say otherwise..." she chuckled.
"Angel?"
"Yeah. He's the guy who's not really my boyfriend, but really wants to be. You know the drill."
Bingo. "And you don't fancy him?"
"Not so much. He's the son of one of my dad's co-workers. I've known him for a while now, but we've never been more than friends," she explained.
"I see."
"What about you? Seeing anyone?"
"No," he replied, a little too adamantly.
Buffy arched a brow at his tone. "Bad break up?"
He scoffed and reached for another cigarette.
Guess so, she sighed, and eventually pulled her hand away from his leg. A few more minutes passed and Buffy wondered how much longer this drive was going to be. She didn't recall the hospital being so far away. "Are we almost there?"
Spike eyed the piece of paper sitting on his dashboard and took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said. "Almost."
Joyce Summers poured herself a cup of hot tea, glancing nervously at the clock. Buffy had been gone for almost an hour now, and she was becoming extremely worried. She decided to give her about five more minutes before she called the police.
With a heavy sigh, she took her beverage with her into the spacious living room and took a seat in the recliner. The minutes passed by slowly, until she finally heard the soft whimpers coming from the front door. Joyce sat up instantly, setting down her mug.
"Buffy?" She stood from the chair with a frown, straining her ears. Then she realized that they weren't human whimpers. Her heart stopped. "Pepper..."
Joyce ran to the door at lightening speed and whipped it open. Pepper sat there, whimpering and wagging her tail.
Alone.
"Oh, god. Where's Buffy?" She quickly let the dog inside and dashed over to the telephone. Dialing the numbers with a shaking hand, a sob almost escaped her lips when Hank answered. "Hank! Oh, Hank."
"Joyce? What's wrong?" he asked.
"Buffy! She... she's..."
"What is it?"
Putting a hand to her rapidly beating heart, she choked out: "She's missing."
~~~
Twenty more minutes passed, and Spike spared his passenger a glance. It looked as if she had fallen asleep. He took a deep breath and plucked the piece of paper off of his dashboard. He read the rest of the directions silently to himself:
After you turn on Huntington Blvd., go straight for about three miles. There's a narrow dirt road to your right, heavily surrounded by trees. Turn. Drive up about a mile or two and then pull off to the side of the road. Shoot the girl. Take the body deep into the forest and bury it there. The grave has already been dug and there's a shovel waiting for you. Bring a flashlight and you'll see where I'm talking about. Good luck, friend.
The body. Bloody hell. He had completely forgotten about that part.
He set the directions back down, his entire body tense. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest, and only started beating faster when he noticed the narrow dirt road Willy spoke of. He slowed down and turned, the sound of gravel crunching beneath his tires the only thing audible in the still of the night. He drove up four miles, just to be safe, and then pulled the car over to the side of the road.
Buffy stirred in her sleep when she heard the engine turn off. Her eyes fluttered open and she yawned tiredly. "Are we there?"
Spike swallowed hard. "Yeah." He could barely make her out through the darkness, but the moon provided just the right amount of soft light to aid him in his task. He reached over her lap and opened up the glove compartment.
"What are you doing?" she wondered, curiously. "Aren't we going in?" Not waiting for his response, she attempted to open her door. It was locked. "What's going on?" Her eyes were now wide, slightly glazed with fear.
Spike ignored her and continued to sift through the items in the small compartment. His hand finally came in contact with cool metal and he pulled out the gun.
"Spike, please talk to me. Where are we? What's happening?" she pleaded, desperate for some answers. She didn't remember being this scared in a long time. She was in a car with a stranger, who was acting more and more suspicious by the minute, and she couldn't see a damn thing. Was he going to hurt her? Kill her, even? But why would he do that? They didn't even know each other. What the hell was going on? His voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Quit your frettin', blondie. I'll make it quick."
She gulped. "Make what quick? What are you talking about?"
Spike took a deep breath and turned in his seat to face her. "I'm goin' to kill you," he said bluntly.
Her bottom lip began to tremble. "Why?"
"Because someone out there wants you dead."
"So you're a hitman or something?"
"Or something."
Buffy closed her eyes and opened them, and they were freshly coated with tears. "Please don't do this. I-I can get you money. Anything you want! Just please... please don't hurt me."
"Don't want your money. Don't want anything from you." His voice was calm, despite the fact that he was getting dangerously close to chickening out. Her desperate pleas and frightened eyes were almost enough to make him call the whole thing off. Get a grip, mate!
"Spike, please. I--"
"Knock it off!"
She froze. "Wh-what did I do?"
"Stop sayin' my name like you bloody know me."
"I-I'm sorry."
"Me too." He cocked the pistol.
"No! Please!"
"Shut up."
"I'll scream."
In response, Spike reached over and switched on the radio dial. He turned the volume up as high as it would go, and Guns N' Roses blasted through the speakers. Buffy tried to protest, but she couldn't even hear her own voice. She tried to reach for the dial, but couldn't find it. Oh, god.
In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your
knees, knees...
I wanna watch you bleed
Spike's breathing became more labored as the music pierced his eardrums. Buffy was openly crying now, the tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.
Welcome to the jungle
We take it day by day
If you want it you're gonna bleed
But it's the price you pay
He raised the gun to her head, holding his arm with his left hand to keep it steady. Still it shook, as sweat dripped down his chiseled face.
Welcome to the jungle
Feel my, my, my serpentine
I wanna hear you scream
He couldn't look at her. That's what was making this so hard. So he closed his eyes tightly, trying to pictures something other than her head exploding all over his car. Various images played throughout his mind, and when he opened his eyes, Buffy was no longer there. She was someone else. She was...
"Mother," his voice cracked.
Welcome to the jungle
It gets worse here everyday
You learn to live like an animal
In the jungle where we play
Buffy looked up, wishing she could see his face. Maybe then she could get through to him somehow. He didn't want to do this. How could he? She never did anything to him. And who would want her dead? And why did he just call her mother?
Buffy flinched when the head of the pistol suddenly collided with her temple.
If you got a hunger for what you see
You'll take it eventually
You can have anything you want
But you better not take it from me
"Bitch!" he shouted, his eyes dancing with hate. Buffy screamed but he didn't hear her. Didn't see her.
All he saw was her.
"Please! Stop it! Stop it!" she begged.
"Shut your fuckin' face!"
You know where you are
You're in the jungle, baby
You're gonna die
Spike pressed the pistol harder against her head, but she kept laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
"Stop laughing! I'm goin' to kill you, you stupid bitch!"
"I'm not laughing! Please don't kill me!" Buffy cried.
In the jungle
Welcome to the jungle
Watch it bring you to your knees
It's gonna bring you down
He put his finger on the trigger and closed his eyes, letting his emotions take him over. He thought he heard screaming in the far off distance, begging, pleading for him to stop. But the laughter surrounded him. Her laughter. And she was laughing at him. Always at him.
"Gaaahhh!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse and desperate.
Just as he was about to pull the trigger...
... his phone rang. He didn't hear it, of course, but he felt it. The incessant vibrating in his pocket. This seemed to bring him back to reality and he opened his eyes.
Buffy sat there, huddled in the corner of her seat, tear stains shining on her face beneath the moonlight. Spike quickly flipped off the radio and fumbled through his pocket for the phone. He could taste his salty sweat on his tongue as he opened his mouth to speak. "H-Hello?"
"It's me, Tyler."
He swallowed and glanced over at Buffy. She was shaking, her knees drawn up to her chest. "Willy?"
"You didn't kill her yet, did you?"
Spike shook his head, but then realized Willy couldn't see the gesture. "No," he said. "I was just about to..."
"Good," he replied, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Because there's a new plan."
"What?"
"New plan," he repeated. "You're not gonna kill her."
"But I thought--"
Willy cut him off with a grin. "Yet."
"She's dead! Oh, god!" Joyce wailed, burying her face against her husband's chest.
He patted her head. "She's not dead. We'll find her."
The police officer stood in their doorway, taking notes. "So she left around eleven o'clock. Is that correct?"
Joyce nodded, tears coating her face.
"I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Why on earth would you let your blind daughter outside on her own at that time of night?"
"She takes nightly walks with Pepper every day. She's done it ever since--"
"Wait a minute," the cop interrupted, realization clear on his face. "Buffy Summers. She's--"
"Yes," Hank replied, looking away.
The officer cleared his throat and continued the interrogation. "And you found the dog at your door around midnight?"
Joyce nodded again with a sniffle.
"Does your daughter have any enemies? Do you know of anyone who'd wish to harm her?"
"No!" she insisted. "Everyone loves Buffy."
"I see. Has she had any problems at home? Any reason to... run away, maybe?"
"Of course not," Hank answered. "And even if there were, she would always take Pepper. She must have been kidnapped."
"Let's not jump to any conclusions just yet. A person is only considered missing after twenty-four hours."
"I can't wait that long!" Joyce said. "My baby is gone. I'm not going to sleep until I find her."
He jotted down some more notes. "Do what you must, Ms. Summers. But by law, a person is only considered miss--"
"I don't give a damn about the law!" Hank shouted. "There has to be something we can do before then."
The cop sighed. "I'll tell you what. We'll hook up a tracking device to your telephone. There's always a possibility that a ransom may be involved. If somebody calls, saying that they have your daughter, we'll be able to record their location."
They nodded in agreement.
"Which leads me to my next question," he continued. "Do you have any enemies, sir?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're a very wealthy man. Is it possible that someone has taken your daughter to either get back at you or collect a hefty sum of money?"
"Well, I... no!" he replied. "I mean, I don't think so..."
"But it's possible."
"Anything is possible."
The officer nodded. "I promise you we'll look into this. If Buffy is still missing by tomorrow at midnight, give us a call. We'll place a missing person's add immediately and get LA's finest police on the case."
"She could be dead by then," Joyce murmured.
He nodded, solemnly. "Anything is possible."
And with that, he left the house, leaving Joyce and Hank alone in their tearful embrace.
~~~
"A month?!" Spike asked incredulously, gunning it down the deserted road. "No bloody way."
"We gotta let it cool down!" Willy insisted on the other end.
"There's no way I'm shackin' it up in some hotel room with this bint for a month."
"C'mon, Tyler!"
"Two weeks," he tried.
"Three."
Spike sighed. "Fine."
"I'm tellin ya, it's for the best. I'll work out the money issues, promise. You just keep an eye on the girl, yeah?"
"Run it by me again."
"Again?" Willy groaned. "Alright, alright. You take the girl to the hotel and get a room. Ask for Vince, 'cause the guy owes me a favor. He'll get you the room for free and shit. Anyway, take her there and keep her there. I'll do the whole ransom thing. Then when we get the cash, you can kill her."
"What's the point? Isn't the five hundred grand enough?"
"Dude, her father's loaded. We can get a whole shitload of money from him."
He shrugged. "Alright then."
"Vince will cover for you if the cops come a knockin'. But this place is pretty off the map, so you don't need to worry. Just don't let her out of your sight, ya hear?"
"Shouldn't be a problem."
"Good. So we'll let things cool down a bit and I'll contact you again when I'm workin' on the ransom," Willy explained.
Spike nodded. "Keep in touch."
"You got it, Tyler."
Click.
It was silent then, before a tiny voice could be heard. "You'll never get away with this."
He looked at Buffy. She was still huddled in the corner of the seat, holding her legs tightly to her chest. "We'll see."
She closed her eyes and opened them. "Why are you doing this?"
"I told you. Someone wants you dead."
"Who?"
"Didn't ask."
"Why did you call me mother?"
Spike almost slammed on his brakes. "What?" he demanded.
"Before," she swallowed. "You called me mother."
"No, I didn't." But he knew he did. He remembered the vision with perfect clarity. Somehow his fucked up brain had produced an image of his dead mother.
"You're crazy, you know."
"I know."
Buffy didn't know what to say to that, so she kept her mouth shut. She was scared. Terrified, even. She had no doubt in her mind that this man would have killed her if his phone didn't ring. If his eyes held as much fury as his voice did, Buffy was glad she couldn't see them. "What do you want from me, Spike?"
"I told you not to say my name like that!" he blared.
"I'll say whatever the hell I want to say."
Spike quirked an eyebrow and glanced at her. She was facing away from him. "Take a moment to think about who has the gun here and then say that again."
She turned her head to look at him, and Spike could have sworn she was staring directly into his eyes. "I'll say whatever the hell I want to say."
He clenched his jaw. "Don't want a damn thing from you."
"There has to be something. Sex? Is that what you want? Then, please. Just get it over with and let me go."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you," he sneered.
"Don't flatter yourself."
"I'm goin' to say this one last time, love. I don't want anything you have to offer, alright? Especially not that."
"Are you gay or something?"
"No."
She sighed. "Whatever."
Spike eyed the gun now resting on his dashboard. He wasn't going to use it, he knew that. He could make all the threats he wanted to her, but he didn't have it in him anymore. Would he have gone through with it if Willy hadn't called? Possibly. Probably. But that's because he was running on pure vengeance. Not because he wanted to. As much as he hated the female species, Spike was not a killer.
And gay? Bloody hell. No, he was definitely not gay. He was attracted to women, but that's all it was. A quick fuck. He never had an emotional connection with any of them. Not since Drusilla, anyway...
"Where are we going?" she wondered, her voice breaking into his not-so-fun thoughts.
"Away."
"How far?"
"Farther."
Spike took the new set of directions out of his pocket. They had been on the road for over an hour already, and there was still about another hour left to go.
"You're holding me for ransom, aren't you?"
"Well, well. Looks like there is a brain amongst all that blonde."
Buffy closed her eyes. "I'm smarter than I look, you know. I've seen a lot."
"Metaphorically speaking?"
"I haven't always been blind," she spat.
He shrugged. "If you were so smart, why would you get in the car with a bloody stranger?"
"I thought you were a cop. And I thought my family was in trouble. It was enough to bring my guard down."
"Good on me then."
"Yeah," she laughed derisively. "You're a real prince."
"It's nothin' personal, I'll have you know. I've got a job to do."
"And money is more important than a human life?" she asked in disbelief.
"Your human life, yeah."
"What did I ever do to you?"
"You're a bloody woman. What haven't you done."
Great, she thought. Not only is he psycho, but he's also misogynistic. "I thought you said it wasn't personal."
He paused. Maybe she was right--maybe it was personal on some level. "Doesn't matter," he said.
"So you're going to murder me because some girl did you wrong?"
"You have no idea what I've been through."
"And I don't want to know," she told him, sinking father into her seat.
Spike glanced over at her. He could tell she was trying to be tough, but her hands were shaking. "How did you become blind?"
"Why do you care?"
"I don't."
"Then I'm not sharing."
He sighed, taking out another cigarette and lighting up.
"Are you sure you don't know who wants me dead?" Buffy questioned.
"You would know better than I do."
"I don't have any enemies."
Spike snorted. "Right. A bloody peach, you are."
"It's hard to have any enemies when you don't have any friends."
He frowned, noting the sadness in her tone. He ignored it. "And that Angel fellow?"
"What about him?"
"You said he was your friend."
"I guess," she shrugged. "But we're not close. He just wants to get in my pants."
He rolled his eyes. "And you never stopped to think that Angel might be the one?"
"The one?"
"Who wants you dead."
"Oh." She paused. "No. Angel would never hurt me."
"If you say so."
Buffy swallowed, her thoughts scattered. There was no way Angel could be behind this. Sure, he was sort of possessive. And he didn't have the most pleasant of tempers. But he cared about her. Maybe even loved her. It couldn't be him...
Spike ground out his cigarette and reached for another, cursing under his breath when he realized he was out. He then glanced up at the clock. 1:53. Hopefully they would get there by 2:30 and this bloody car ride from hell would be over with.
At 2:30 on the dot, the black DeSoto pulled into the vacant parking lot. He parked the car behind the run-down hotel, in an area shadowed by trees, and killed the engine. Buffy remained in her seat, her eyes closed.
Spike knew she wasn't sleeping.
"Let's go," he said, his voice gruff. He saw her flinch, but otherwise she was still. "Bloody fuckin' hell..." Spike got out and stormed over to the passenger's side. He whipped open the door and pulled her out by the arm.
"Ow! Let me go!" she demanded, trying to pry herself free from his powerful grasp. His fingers bit into her flesh as he yanked her out of the vehicle.
Spike's grip didn't loosen, as her feet clumsily hit the cement. He shut the door behind her and dragged her through the parking lot.
"I said, Get. Off. Me." Buffy tugged her arm as hard as she could and Spike finally let go. She stumbled and fell backwards, her butt hitting the pavement. Darkness continued to surround her and she suddenly found herself more frightened than she did when Spike was manhandling her. Her bottom lip began to tremble as she sat there, fingers sifting through the small rocks beneath her palms. It wasn't long before the strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm and pulled her back to her feet. "I hate you," she seethed.
"Mutual."
Buffy reluctantly trudged along next to him after his hold on her loosened. Somewhat.
They entered the grungy looking hotel and approached the front desk. A heavy, balding man sat there, his potbelly hanging out and layers of dirt beneath his fingernails.
"Uh, I'm looking for a guy named Vince," Spike said to him.
He took a big bite of a greasy cheeseburger before answering. "You're looking at him."
"Right. Willy said you'd get us a room."
He put the sandwich down. "Are you Tyler?"
"Spike Tyler. Yes."
"And this is... ?" He gestured to Buffy.
"Yes."
Vince eyed Buffy with an approving leer. His gaze ran up and down her well-toned body. "It's a pity you gotta--"
"Can we just get the room?" Spike sighed, anxiously.
He tore his eyes from the blonde's partially exposed belly. "Yeah, alright." After rummaging through a small drawer, he finally pulled out a key. "Room 242. It's our biggest."
"Thanks. And you'll cover for me?"
"Cross my heart."
Spike nodded and pulled Buffy in the direction of a small, wooden staircase. "Watch your step," he mumbled.
Unfortunately, he spoke too late and Buffy tripped on the first step. For some reason, she almost started to cry. Never in her life had she felt more helpless.
Spike regarded her, immediately noticing a change in her demeanor. Her shoulders sagged in defeat and her face looked as if it would crumble at any given moment. She ineptly reached for a railing to hold onto, but there was none. Cursing under his breath, Spike reached down and scooped her up.
To his surprise, she didn't struggle. It was almost as if she had given up. He walked up the stairs and she held onto him weakly and halfheartedly. He quickly put her down when they reached the door to their room. Spike fumbled with the key for a moment before pushing open the piece of rotting oak and stepping inside. He snatched Buffy's wrist and she followed suit, the door squeaking and slamming shut on its own.
Surprisingly, the room was rather nice. Well-furnished, good lighting, no unusual smells. On the contrary, there was only one bed.
"Soddin' figures," Spike grumbled, shedding his leather coat and placing it over the back of a chair. Buffy just stood there. "Make yourself at home, love. We'll be here for quite a while."
"Kill me."
He stopped and glanced at her. "What?"
"Just do it," she said. "Get it over with."
"I kill you after I get my money."
"Why?"
"Because that's the plan."
"I don't see the point," she reasoned. "As long as my father thinks I'm alive, he'll give you the money."
"He might want proof."
Buffy reached her hand out, and luckily, there was a table there. She leaned against it. "I can't do this. I can't stay in this room, knowing that I won't be leaving it."
"I don't make the rules," was all he said, a brief feeling of regret washing over him. He pushed it aside almost before he even felt it.
She nodded and listened as he began to take off his boots. Then she turned around, flung the door open, and bolted.
Spike started up, completely taken off guard by her swift exit. One boot on, one boot off, he gave chase.
Stairs. Oh, god, the stairs... Buffy held her hand to the wall, as she ran down the unsturdy steps to the best of her ability. She made it without falling and proceeded to the door, her hands held out so she didn't run into anything. She miraculously found the door handle and darted out into the cool night air.
She didn't get far because two strong arms encircled her waist.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, struggling in his grasp. He put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to contain her cries, and she bit him. Hard.
"Bloody bitch!" he howled, unconsciously letting her go.
Buffy took advantage of his short relapse and just started running. She didn't know where, couldn't see where, but she ran. And ran. She ran on pure adrenaline, a woman desperate for her life.
Spike was faster. He caught up with her in no time and flung her over his shoulder. She screamed and he let her. She pounded his back with her tiny fists, using all the energy in her system, and he let her. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. He carried her back, screaming and crying the entire way.
"Too bad I don't have my handcuffs anymore," he muttered, walking towards his car. "But rope will do just fine."
He's going to tie me up! she panicked. It was bad enough not being able to see. But not being able to move? She'd go crazy. She was going to protest, but held her tongue.
She heard the car door unlock and open, and he set her down in order to find the rope in his trunk. Buffy tried to flee once more, but Spike wrapped his hand around her neck and held her against the frame of the car. She gagged briefly and eventually stopped struggling. It wasn't long before he hefted her over his shoulder again and forced her into the hotel.
Vince greeted them with a panicked look and shotgun in hand. "Went to the bathroom and thought I heard screamin' or something," he said.
Spike rolled his eyes. Thought? The girl was hollering like a bloody banshee. "Yeah, but I got it under control," he replied, holding up Buffy in one arm and the ropes in the other. She squirmed in his grasp, but he held her tight.
"Keep an eye on her, alright? Don't want her scarin' off any customers, now."
"Uh, right." He decided not to mention the fact that the place was deserted. "Promise she'll be good."
Vince nodded and let them pass.
Spike carried Buffy up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He kicked open the door and kicked it shut, promptly depositing the tear-faced girl on the bed. "Here's what we're going to do," he began, unraveling the rope. "I'm going to tie you to the bed, and you're not going to escape. Got it?"
"Fuck you."
"Not interested."
She braced herself for the feel of the harsh rope biting at her tender flesh, but it never came.
"You know what?" Spike spoke, pulling her to her feet. "I don't think I want you in my bed." He took out the hard, wooden chair from the desk and pushed her down into it.
Buffy winced. "Please don't tie me up."
Her words struck him, and he suddenly found himself sitting in a chair twenty years ago.
"No, mummy! Please don't tie me up!"
Spike jumped back as if something burned him. He closed his eyes, once, twice, trying to shake the memories. When he opened them, Buffy's own eyes held that same fear that bound him so long ago. "Um..." His voice cracked. "I'll let you off the hook just this once," he told her, and tossed the ropes aside. "But if you even look in the direction of the door, you're ass is goin' to be stuck to that chair for three weeks. Understand?"
She nodded mutely, wondering why he changed his mind.
"Right then." He stood up and kicked off his left boot. "Goodnight."
~~~
Buffy sat in the chair, not moving a muscle. She planned to escape as soon as the sun came up, which should be any minute now. It felt as if hours had gone by, and they probably had, but Buffy wasn't bored. Her mind was racing, trying to concoct some sort of plan. She decided she would sneak out silently, and since it was daytime, there was a greater chance that someone would spot her. She would run as far as she could and then wait by the side of the road. It was her only hope.
She heard Spike snoring lightly in his sleep, signaling her that he was indeed out cold. It was now only a matter of time before she escaped.
A few more minutes passed. Then a few more. When it felt as if another hour had gone by, Buffy finally felt a warm ray of light on her arm. She could tell that the room brightened considerably and in response, her heart started to pound faster.
It was dawn.
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