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The Spectre of Things Dead -- by Luisa
Rating: PG
Description: Third and last part of the "Devastation" trilogy.
Note: Dedication - To Jennifer once again, because she's my publisher and I like her.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns all.
I.
Life goes on. Even when you're not sure how...Willow's eyes followed people's movements, she could hear them speak, watch dark clouds hovering in the sky. Her body still worked and her mind still harbored thoughts, even if those thoughts kept haunting her like the spectre of things dead. She got out of bed every morning and took a deep breath that got her through the day and was slowly exhaled late in the evening. Another day...she was a day older.
Not that it made any difference...she didn't feel wiser nor happier. Her suffering didn't diminish one bit with the passing of a day. She'd learnt to live with it and she was grateful that it didn't make her cry because tears were useless.
Her work was coming along well, she kept getting As in everything there was to excel at and she managed to fool Xander and Buffy with her flimsy smiles and abrupt changes of subject. Xander had been suspicious for a while but he refused to barge in on her privacy, so he never talked about that day. He didn't know what had happened afterwards.
Sunnydale was the perfect place to be afraid in. Her hometown was a hole of horror. People went around with their eyes closed, refusing to see the writing on the wall. Demonic shadows were ignored, unexplained deaths went unmentioned. The newspaper was a sham. It reported the lies of the police, the lies of the Mayor and the lies of the eyewitnesses. Sunnydale bought it and swallowed it, not commenting on the taste. A town adrift in its own stupidity...
To Willow this had become more apparent in the course of things. She'd learned to notice the disguises and the masks and rip them off inside her mind. She'd been appalled at Sunnydale's excuses at first, but it soon dawned on her that it was all part of a cold-blooded plot to hide facts. What terrifies you doesn't exist if you don't mention it. Talk about it and it'll come back and get you, like a monster under your bed.
The thing was, the monster in Willow's life refused to be smothered. It wouldn't be ignored, it wouldn't go unmentioned. At least not by her. She was forced to mention it to herself every other day, as if someone were viciously dragging it out of her. And as the words materialized somewhere in her head, so did the fear and the shame. They were as real and as solid as any object in her house.
Feed them and they'll grow bigger than you.
So she kept going out with her friends, living by herself while her parents were away, letting appearances remain intact. She trembled in her bed at night and asked the darkness for mercy, only to realize it was all her own doing. <It doesn't have to be like this...> But her pride wouldn't let her back down. She'd lead a normal life if it killed her. It was likely that it would.
II.
Alone again and it was already dark. It was a pleasant night to be out on. Gentle breeze, the scent of flowers and grass, the stars blinking at her from the stately, infinite heavens...Willow could still feel it...the feeling of pain that comes with being keenly aware of the world's beauty. She felt like she was the only ugly thing in the universe and the impression ran through her soul, almost like his fangs had...Willow suddenly stopped and closed her eyes. She wished with all her heart that Buffy were next to her, chatting happily on some innocent topic...making her laugh. She had left her friend at the school, being reprimanded by Mr. Kramer on her inability to concentrate. Buffy had looked helpless and bored and while Mr. Kramer's back was turned on her, she'd placed a stake and a tiny bottle of holy water into Willow's hands. "Walk fast and be careful.", she whispered. To Willow this meant that her friend wanted her to go home. She knew Buffy didn't like being lectured when others were around to hear it, so she nodded and left, unable to confess to Buffy that she was terrified of being alone.
It enraged Willow that she should be afraid on an evening like this. It was barely six o'clock, the sun had just set and all was quiet. Her feelings should've been light-hearted and soothing. Instead they were violent and hurtful. She was burning inside with she knew not what. Anger, revulsion, fear, sorrow...
Her feet didn't walk fast enough while her mind speeded unwaveringly, making her dizzy.
She didn't notice that she was being followed. By someone not particularly careful in making his presence unfelt. Someone who suddenly lunged at her as she was about to cross the road. A heavy frame fell over her, knocking the breath out of her lungs. No cry was uttered because she lacked air. Pain hit her as her body slammed on the ground, bruising and scratching itself. A greedy voice grated on her ears. "So you're the redhead Spike's been having fun with..." The sentence had her swiftly turn her head and look into a pair of glittery black eyes that seemed about to swallow her whole. A hungry minion, probably tired of being bossed around...should she plead with him? Was there any use? She could feel herself becoming self-destructive and the feeling thrilled her. A reckless, contemptuous smile played on her lips as she gazed at the minion's eager features. She laughed a little in a childlike way.
"Go ahead." Her voice was quiet and toneless and so was her heart.
Life was a gift that she was returning. It didn't matter to her one way or the other. Her soul was still with indifference, freezing up her body completely. Her eyes left the vampire's face and travelled to the skies. She longed to be up there with the stars, one among many...and he was taking too long. She'd cry if he didn't hurry up, so she turned her eyes towards him and arched her eyebrows tauntingly.
"Well?" The minion looked dumbfounded for a second. She seemed unearthly, as if from another dimension and the impression left him paralysed, making it hard for his instincts to focus on what he wanted to do. His face reluctantly shifted to that of a monster. Willow didn't even blink. Melancholy flooded her skin, making it glow whitely in the dusky afternoon. She was prepared to leave but it hurt to have time to think about it. Xander's smiling face flashed through her mind, making her eyes glisten with tears. She loved him deeeply, she always had. Happiness was in her reach whenever he was around. Xander was free but he didn't know it. His spirit belonged to him in a way that hers never had and she'd never got the chance to tell him that. She never would now.
Buffy...Her most loyal friend and partner in so many stirring moments...she'd miss her terribly and she knew Buffy'd miss her. Her friend needed her in a way that no one else did. She relied upon Willow to keep her normal, feet firmly on the ground and Willow was leaving her lost in a world of jagged ruins. Tears escaped her eyes and fell on the sidewalk. Numb, silent crying.
The minion finally finished morphing and moved towards the kill. His fangs broke the skin and buried themselves on her throat, but he didn't have time to have his fill. His weight was suddenly gone from off her body and, as Willow opened her eyes, she saw that a dark, leather-clad figure had brutally shoved it against a fence, causing it to break. Another monster...a familiar one, this time. Holding her hand to the holes in her neck, she felt warm blood ooze out of them. She sat up slowly and distractedly looked at her hand covered in it. How could her blood be so warm while she herself felt so cold? She looked at the two fighting vampires. One of them was losing and it wasn't Spike.
Viciously enraged, the powerful vampire was taking his revenge on the unfortunate minion. In the most cruel way possible. Punching and kicking until the victim almost disintegrated under his feet. He was possessed with something mad that wouldn't let him call it a night. Willow couldn't bear to watch. She silently got up and stumbled away. Her head was spinning and she couldn't see where she was going. Her legs were covered in dust and scratches, blood swelling up from them. She had to stop several times and regain her breath. The sounds of destruction were still pouring into her ears. After a while she had to shut her brain against them. As she unseeingly crossed a street, she didn't notice a car turning the corner and speeding towards her. Four boys sat in it, bottles of beer in their hands. The driver was being persuaded to have some, but he impatiently slapped away an arm that kept hovering in front of his face and turned his head to shout something angry at his friend.
Headlights came flooding her way and she freezed. Was it a dream...would she wake up as the car hit her body? She never found out. One sudden, energetic push and she felt herself crash on the other side of the street followed by a figure who wavered a little, but remained standing. She was safe.
III.
Silence was all that could be heard. No birds, no wind, no people. Willow was sitting up again, more dead than alive. Her whole frame trembled with reaction to what had happened. She didn't look up not even when she felt a hand slide on her head and press it to a leather-clad knee. The hand was moving, hesitantly stroking her hair, as if unsure of what it was doing. What it was doing was making her calm down and face reality. She let her head rest on his knee and closed her eyes.
When the hand stopped, she opened them again. Spike was sitting next to her, coolly smoking a cigarette. Blue smoke floated between them as the breath of some unseen spirit. Willow gazed at it, open once more to appealing images. She didn't feel a pair of eyes fixed on her cheek and almost didn't react when ice-cold fingers touched her on the throat.
"That son of a bitch..." The words startled her and drew her eyes to him in a quick, frightened movement. He was frowning at her neck, pressing his fingers onto the wound. She winced and he calmly withdrew his hand. "You're gonna need something...", he whispered. Her mind flew to their last meeting and dwelt there in morbid fascination. "Willow!" Sharply, he called her back to the present. Wide green eyes stared at him until he spoke again. "It's over. You're alive. And...your neck needs something." He was stating the facts as clearly as possible, voice emotionless. She suddenly felt herself smiling, but it wasn't a happy smile. "Are you afraid I'll bleed to death?" He took a drag from the cigarette and looked at her, something dark in his eyes. "Aren't you?" This made her sigh and look up at the stars. "No." Her voice didn't waver. She smoothed the hair back from her face and wrapped her arms around her front.
"I am.", he said and, for a moment, she knew he could barely believe himself.
"Why? It didn't bother you much the first time! I'm just a meal...leftovers, actually, cause you've already had your fill." Bitterness crept into her tone like a surface of ice.
"I haven't." He was curt. And her eyes flew to his face in sheer disbelief.
"*What*?" Anger.
"You heard me." A faint tinge of aggressiveness covered his words.
"Yes, but I don't believe you and I never will."
"You'll have to."
"Why, because you saved my *life*? Because you want my *blood*?!" Her voice rose in helpless desperation.
"No, because I'll keep telling you." He got up and grasped her wrist, forcing her to rise. As they walked towards Willow's house, Spike suddenly reached inside his duster and took out a flask, giving it to her.
"Drink this."
The idea didn't appeal to Willow. She gave him a hostile look.
"What is it? Someone's blood?"
"Whisky.", he snapped back, glaring at her. She was overstepping the mark.
She shrugged and took a sip from the bottle, choking on the metallic liquid. Coughing a few times, she handed it back to him. He was looking at her, blankly.
"Your taste in drinks leaves a lot to be desired...", she finally managed to say. This made him twist his lips in a half-hearted smile.
"So does my taste in women, according to some."
"The minion didn't think so." His face changed, becoming as dark as thunder. He grasped her wrist more tightly. "Forget about him. He's dust." This silenced her. As they approached the house, the truth finally hit her, making her look at Spike's marble profile in the streelights.
He would always be around and she'd be alone with him...no matter what.
The End
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