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.
Rating: NC-17
Chapter 31: Even in Death
Spike was barely aware of the strong hands wrapped around his arms, practically dragging him from the room. He tried to stand on his own, but his legs were like jelly. Buffy grew smaller and smaller as the doctors pulled him farther away from her bedside. Voices surrounded him, but their words were jumbled and incoherent. He didn't care enough to try and make sense of them.
All he cared about was her.
I let her die alone, he realized, this new revelation shattering his already broken heart into a million pieces. I wasn't there for her last breath. She was alone.
A strangled sob escaped him, as his legs gave out completely and doctors had to half-carry him into the waiting room.
"Sir, are you alright?"
"Sir?"
"Are you okay, sir?"
But Spike didn't hear them. Everything was a blur--nothing mattered. Not anymore.
I let her die alone.
Suddenly, the two double doors burst open. Armed officers stormed in, their eyes searching and determined. But the body lying sprawled out on the waiting room floor was not hard to miss and he felt himself being lifted off the ground in no time.
After speaking with one of the doctors, Sheriff Brinkman approached the man who held Spike and whispered something into is ear. The officer's face fell.
"You're under arrest for the abduction and murder of Buffy Summers," he stated.
This seemed to break Spike out of his haze and he blinked. "Wh-what? Murder? No... no, I didn't--"
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. If you--"
"I didn't kill her!"
Handcuffs were clasped around his wrists.
Spike shook his head. "I didn't... it wasn't me. Willy Thompson. He--he shot her. He... killed her..."
Sheriff Brinkman paused. "Willy Thompson?" He turned to one of his men and continued, "He was the one who alerted us of Tyler's location."
An officer narrowed his eyes at Spike. "Willy Thompson, you say?"
All he could do was nod.
If he was lying or not, it was always best to make sure. "Do you know his license plate number? What his car looks like?"
"A blue Sedan. That's... all I know," he choked out.
With a sigh, the officer turned on his walky talky and spoke into it. "Yeah, get a search party out for Willy Thompson. He's driving a blue Sedan--he couldn't have gotten far. Maybe you can trace his cell call. Uh-huh. Thanks." He clicked it off and clipped it back onto his belt. "As for you, Mr. Tyler," he said. "You're coming with us."
Spike didn't care. Maybe I did kill her? If I had stayed out of her life in the first place, she would still be alive... His thoughts were eating away at him, tearing him apart.
So, this is what it felt like to break. To fall. To hurt. He deserved it, though--he knew that much. He deserved to suffer. He deserved to ache. He deserved to cry, bleed, sting, and burn. He deserved it all.
As they walked him out of the hospital, he noticed a helicopter to his left. That must've been how they discovered him so quickly.
When they approached the unconventional mode of transportation, he was immediately pushed inside, the door slamming shut behind him. His eyes drifted to the hospital, as they began to ascend.
Buffy was still in there. He was leaving her behind. He didn't want to, but he had to. If it were up to him, he would stay by her side, holding her cold hand in his until the end of time.
But the law had other plans for him. Spike knew what he was about to face--the charges that were being held against him. And somehow he didn't care. He had no fight left in him. He deserved whatever sentence came his way.
And as the hospital disappeared from sight, the guilt and regret piercing his heart, only one thought stood out in his mind.
I let her die alone.
~~~
Three Weeks Later
Sounds of the attorney's closing arguments echoed through the courtroom.
Angel sat nervously in his seat, conflicting emotions running through him. Mr. and Mrs. Summers were beside him with cold eyes and tear-stained faces.
He knew he should keep quiet. But honesty had always been the quality that defined him and he knew that keeping this information to himself would do him in one day.
But what did he owe this man? Absolutely nothing. He hated Spike Tyler more than anything. He had taken his Buffy out of his life and now she was gone for good. He would never see her eyes light up, he would never see her smile--never again. And it was all Spike's fault.
So, why should he care if he got twenty years in prison?
Angel swallowed, the courtroom making him feel small and suffocated. Sweat dripped from his hairline and he tapped his foot anxiously against the hard floor.
Today was the day. Today the jury would decide Spike's sentence. Angel had approached the witness stand and lied through his teeth. He didn't dare admit that Spike had indeed let Buffy go. He wanted to see this man suffer the unspeakable. But as time progressed, he began to feel more and more guilty for lying in a court of law and he almost felt bad that Spike was going to get a harsher punishment than he deserved. It was insane to feel that way, but he couldn't help it.
With a deep breath, he stood on shaky legs, watching as everyone in the room turned to face him. "Can I say something, your Honor?" he squeaked out.
Joyce's eyes widened, wondering what Angel possibly had to offer the court. He had already been to the stand. Besides, Spike was going to be prosecuted today--what information could he possibly contribute?
Judge Harris glanced at Angel, curiosity in his eyes. "Is this really necessary, Mr. O'Neil?"
The dark-haired man nodded, his eyes darting to the bleached head a few rows in front of him. He then looked back at the judge, swallowing down his fear. "I-I wasn't exactly honest in my testimony, your Honor."
Gasps sounded in the room.
The judge raised an eyebrow. "Please, Mr. O'Neil. Enlighten us."
Angel gulped and closed his eyes. "Mr. Tyler did let Buffy go."
More gasps. Joyce clasped her hand over her mouth and Hank's jaw tensed. The jury listened to his claims.
"I tracked them down over a month ago," Angel continued. "I offered Spike money to let her go and he did. He didn't take the money, but he let her go. It was Buffy's decision to go back."
"These are some serious allegations. You do realize that withholding evidence is a felony? Not to mention, perjury?"
"Yes, your Honor."
Judge Harris nodded. "We will let the jury decide. As for you, Mr. O'Neil--I see a court date of your own in the near future. Please have a seat."
Angel sat down, both relieved and terrified. But somehow... he knew he did the right thing.
Spike stared blankly ahead of him. Angel's new testimony should have made him happy, but he couldn't bring himself to feel any sort of elation. He was just tired.
His attorney, Charles Gunn, sat beside him with a smile. There wasn't much physical evidence in this case so they needed all they could get.
The clack of a gravel silenced the commotion in the room and Judge Harris glanced at Spike. He then turned to the jury and nodded his head. "The jury is going to take a recess now to deliberate the sentence of the defendant."
Spike let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Was he... scared? He had no right to be. He knew what he was getting himself into when he agreed to accept Willy's offer.
But did he? Did he know that he was going to fall in love with little Buffy Summers?
No. He didn't know he was capable of it. Especially not a love so consuming.
He still loved her though. Even in death. And he knew that he always would. Buffy was a part of him now--the only part of him that he could honestly say he was proud of.
Spike leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. The minutes passed by slowly as he waited to hear his fate. He had determined from the trial that under California law, twenty years was the minimum for kidnapping without the intent of letting the victim go. Twenty years was the maximum for kidnapping--if the victim was let go. Angel had stated that he had let Buffy go, but it was up to the jury to decide if they believed him or not.
After two hours dragged by, the jury finally re-entered the courtroom. The verdict was handed to the judge.
"Has the jury made a decision?" Judge Harris asked, handing it back to the jury foreman.
Spike swallowed, as his sentence was read off.
"We, the jury, find the defendant, William Tyler, guilty of kidnapping Buffy Summers. Yet, we do believe he had the intention of letting her go."
The judge nodded and faced Spike. "Mr. Tyler, you have been found guilty of the kidnapping of Buffy Summers. I sentence you to twelve years in the Sunnydale penitentiary. Case closed. Court dismissed."
You can do this. One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. You're almost there... You can do this.
He walked down the narrow path, keeping his eyes on his swiftly moving feet. The sooner he got this over with, the better.
It wasn't long before he stopped in front of his destination and peered between the metal bars. The cell was small and dark--much like his own had been.
Willy looked up when he saw the shadow appear. He blinked a few times, making sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. Then he smiled that goofy smile of his and stood up on weakened legs. "Tyler, man? That really you?"
Spike eyed the man who had previously been tracing pictures in the dirt with his finger. "It's me," he said.
"It's been a while."
Spike said nothing.
"So, uh, what brings you to this neck of the woods?" he wondered, approaching the cell bars and leaning against them.
"Made a promise to a lady."
"Oh, yeah?"
He nodded. "She's sorry."
Willy's jaw tightened. "Little late for that," he replied coolly.
"It's a little late for a lot of things." His eyes lowered and his voice softened. "But she wanted me to tell you that."
The dark-haired man took a step back and sat down on his dirty cot. "Yeah, well. Can't say I really care."
"No... no, I didn't expect you would." Spike took a deep breath and looked back up at him. "You in here for much longer?"
Willy shrugged. "Twenty more years. Maybe thirty. I lost track after the first ten."
"I see."
"Yeah."
Silence passed between them and Spike finally stepped away from his cell. He never wanted to see this man again. "Goodbye, Willy."
Willy watched as his childhood playmate began to walk away. "Take care, friend."
"I'm not your friend," he said softly and disappeared from sight.
When he reached the double doors, he pushed them open and stepped out into the warm, afternoon glow. The sun was bright and he looked up at it, squinting his eyes beneath its harsh rays. Then, with a content sigh, he continued walking, leaving the Sunnydale penitentiary behind him for good.
He was free.
~~~
Many years have passed
Since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
The drive was shorter than he remembered.
Things hadn't changed much. When he was a boy, he always thought the year 2015 would consist of robots and flying cars. He never dreamed the same buildings would still be standing and the same trees would still be growing.
Then again, he never dreamed he would spend twelve years of his life locked in a jail cell.
See the children run
As the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
He was forty years old now. So much time had passed. So much had happened in those twelve years--and he had experienced none of it. His days had consisted of small meals and dreams of a past he couldn't change.
And when the rundown hotel appeared on his right, that past came tumbling back with alarming forth and he almost choked.
Blinking back his tears, he parked the rented car in the familiar parking lot, eyes never leaving the dilapidated building before him. He stepped out and shut the door behind him, his heart rate picking up as he approached the door.
But then he realized there was no door. Just a black hole, beckoning him to enter.
He stepped over the yellow tape and into the old building. Memories swept over him like a mighty wind and it took all of his willpower to keep on walking. He trudged up the small staircase, the wooden steps squeaking beneath his feet. How many times had he carried Buffy up this staircase? How many times had he carried her up this staircase against her will?
"I want you to let me go!"
"Sorry, but you're not very convincing when you're upside down."
He sighed, pausing when their room came into view.
Their room.
"I can't do this. I can't stay in this room, knowing that I won't be leaving it."
Spike took a deep breath and entered, stepping over the door that was still lying on the ground. Nothing had changed in those twelve years. The room looked exactly the same--aside from drawers that had been opened and boxes that had been overturned. The police must have done a sweep of the place, he decided.
Continuing his journey, he walked around the dim-lit room, his eyes searching. An opened bottle of rum sat atop the desk. The garbage can was filled with various food containers. The bed was rumpled and unmade. Everything was all so real.
He sat down on the bed, taking a moment to gather his strength.
And that was where he found them.
Noticing a flash of white peeking out from under the pillow, he grasped it in his hand and pulled it out.
Bloody hell.
A journal entry dated September 25, 2003 graced his eyes. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he lifted the pillow and pulled out the rest of the papers. There were seven, to be exact. Her handwriting was crooked and words bled into one another, but he could still make sense of it. Taking a quivering breath, he picked up the one with the earliest date.
September 17, 2003:
Dear Journal,
I have been kidnapped. His name is Spike. He says he's going to kill me in three weeks and I am very scared. I miss my mom and dad and Pepper. I wonder if I will ever see them again. Spike is at the store right now gathering food for us to eat. Isn't that strange? Why bother feeding me if he's going to kill me? Part of me thinks he won't go through with it, but I'm preparing myself for the worst.
I always used to welcome death. So it's funny... how very scared I am.
Buffy
September 18, 2003:
Dear Journal,
It's raining outside and Spike is laying next to me watching TV. Like we're bed buddies or something! This is a very weird experience. One would think that being kidnapped would mean being tied to a chair or locked in a closet. But I'm not. I'm laying in bed with him.
Not in the sexy way though. Because ew!
Spike just asked me what I was writing, but I told him it was none of his business. I wonder if he'll try to look at my entries sometime. I hope not, but it's not like I can stop him being blind and all.
Well, I'm going to sleep. I need to think of an escape plan.
Buffy
September 23, 2003:
Dear Journal,
Things are very strange around here. Spike and I are almost getting along. It's odd to feel comfortable with the person who wants you dead. But I wonder even more now if he will go through with it. I think I am getting to him... touching him in some way. Maybe he even likes me. Which is kind of wiggy, but will be good for me in the long run. If he has feelings for me, there's no way he can kill me. Right?
He's not so bad though. Under different circumstances, I think we could have been friends.
Buffy
September 25, 2003:
Dear Journal,
You'll never believe what happened! I had a dream last night about Spike. An erotic dream. I'm so ashamed. How can I think of him like that? It's just wrong. I can't let him know about this.
I hope I am rescued before this situation gets even more out of hand.
Buffy
October 1, 2003:
I apologize for not writing sooner. So much has happened.
Angel found me. I don't know how, but he did. And I don't know if I made the biggest mistake of my life or not, but I came back to him. I came back to Spike. What is wrong with me? I can't fall for him. He's my kidnapper.
I don't know what to do. I can't help but feel attracted to him. I can't help but care about him. I wish Mr. Gordo was here... he would know what to do.
Buffy
October 3, 2003:
Dear Journal,
Things are not going so well. I had a terrible dream last night about the accident. Spike found me in the shower. I was so cold...
But I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him the truth. What would he think of me? I don't even know what to think of me. He took care of me though. I felt safe in his arms.
And I think that scares me more than anything.
Buffy
October 5, 2003:
Dear Journal,
This will be my last entry, because I've decided to leave with Spike. I know what you're thinking: are you crazy?! I might very well be. But something has happened between us. And whatever it is, I don't want it to end. Spike is packing our things right now and we're leaving for Canada. I've always wanted to go to Canada. I think we will be happy there.
So I guess this is goodbye. If anybody finds these entries, you know where I'll be. Oh, and please tell my mom and dad that I'm okay. I know that Spike will take good care of me. I will call them soon.
Buffy
Spike stared at the final entry longer than necessary. Tears welled up in his bright blue eyes and his heart ached painfully in his chest. He hadn't cried since that night at her bedside--he wouldn't let himself. But now, in this room, so vulnerable and so lost, a salty droplet slid down his cheek and landed on the crinkled paper.
But that was all. Swallowing down the rest of his tears, he gathered the white sheets in his hand and tucked them back under the pillow.
They didn't belong to him. They weren't meant for him.
They were meant to stay here in this room. With her memory.
You'll remember me
When the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
He didn't know why he decided to come back. A sense of closure? A sense of peace?
Whatever it was, he found it.
"I love you, too."
Her final words echoed all around him, as they had for the past twelve years. Knowing that Buffy loved him was enough to keep him going. Enough to keep him living. Besides, she was in a better place. He had to believe that she was happy.
You can tell the sun
In his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold
He stood up with a sigh. "Oh, Buffy... my beautiful Buffy..." he whispered to the room, drinking in the sight of it for the last time. He knew that this would be the last time he would ever come here. It was too painful. The memories assaulted him like a summer kiss, knocking all the air out of his lungs. But he needed to come back.
He needed to let her go.
When we walked in fields of gold
Spike turned around and left the room, smiling for the first time in twelve years.
And without looking back, he officially left the past behind him--along with the memories of a girl with the most beautiful green eyes he'd ever seen.
* * *
Forgive me
If you are not living
If you beloved, my love
If you have died
All the leaves will
Fall on my breast
It will rain on my soul
All night all day
My feet will want to march
To where you are sleeping
But I shall go on living
* * *
Song lyrics by Sting. Poem by Pablo Neruda.
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