Chapter 10:  RE: SPIKE

FROM: wrosenberg@hellodali.com
DATE: X-ERROR: TIMESTAMP 13001 ‘WRONG DATE REF'
TO: btvs@willowweb.com
RE: Spike

is on his way. Your Spike, that is. Hopefully he can stop her before she does any more damage.

I see a place near the river where you'll find the truth. Don't turn away from it. I see a white rabbit diving into a hole. Do NOT follow it.  Your death is there.

I'm sorry I can't remember any further. Stuff gets kind of blurry after that. If I never see you again, remember that I'll always love you all, wherever or whenever I am.

Oh and sorry if this email blows up your computer.  I think I'm starting to get the hang of this whole inter-dimensional hacking thing, but considering where I'm sending it from, I'm guessing some of this message might still come in a little, well, funky.

Love,
Willow

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Hi Buffy,

Sorry for leaving the way I did.  I wish I had more time to explain, but I can't hold this line open for very long.   Try to keep an open mind.  The stuff I'm about to tell you is gonna sound pretty crazy, I bet.  It even confuses me sometimes, and I'm the one who started it all.

Running off to New Orleans was kind of a chicken-crap move, I know, but Cleveland was killing me.  I didn't even know why I was there or who I was anymore.  I couldn't feel the magic, and I didn't even want to.

But it was worse than just that. Ever since Sunnydale went kaboom, I had this feeling like something went kaboom in me too.   The world outside that little bubble of "us" just stopped mattering.  I would watch the news and see all these disasters and wars, and I tried to care about it all, I really did.  But there was just this hollowness inside.  I didn't even know who to root for anymore. It was like watching some kind of freaky game show.  The world was full of ants, and we were living on the Moon.

And then when Xander left, even the Moon was gone.  It was like I'd lost my last reason to be "me."  So, yeah, I bailed, and it was wrong, and I'm sorry.

What happened to me in New Orleans is a little hard to explain. Being a stranger again was a wonderful feeling, Buffy. I dyed my hair pink and went for hazelnut coffee every morning on the way to work. I started hanging out with people who had jobs like "bike messenger" and "pastry chef," and sometimes we'd all get a little drunk and go dancing at this hundred year old bar on the river.

I know it sounds lame, but even doing annoying crap like paying electric bills became this big, amazing thrill for me. I told everybody that my name was Tracy Landau, and they called me "Trace" for short.  I even thought of getting it changed, legally. It was like being born again, minus all the Bibly, dunk-your-head-in-a-river-y connotations.

So then, one day, I was sitting in this place called the Lucky Streak Café when a very old man strolled in and sat down across from me.  The way he did it was so smooth, like we were old friends.

He wasn't much to look at, just another elderly Creole guy in a ratty old sports coat and beat-up penny loafers. But the moment he sat down and looked at me, my heart started racing like it was going to explode.  His eyes were indescribably beautiful, Buffy. When I looked into them it was like diving into a bottomless green lake.

He started talking, and while he talked the rest of world just fell away until the only things left in it were him and me and the table between us.

He told me lots of things. Comforting things. Frightening things. They all sounded true. He said his name was Jack Turtle, but that's not who he was.

He said there was no such thing as reality, that the band of existence we inhabit is only one of many, part of an infinite realm he called the Big Everything. He told me that the Big Everything was kind of like a universe, except that instead of being made out of Space and Time, it was made out of Choice and Accident.

He told me that each of the possible combinations of Choices and Accidents formed their own universe, a reality that was uniquely its own. He said that these worlds contained an endless supply of other Willows and Buffys, other Xanders and Angels - other everybodies and everythings. And he told me that, because each Choice created a possibility for new Accidents and vice versa, that the Big Everything had been a limitless place, a thing without a shape.

Then he started talking to me about that night in the woods in Sunnydale. When he spoke it was very gently, but I could feel all this big scary anger in him, frozen deep down at the bottom of every word.

In the next moment we were there, hovering above the scenery.  I looked down at a young red-haired Witch crouching at your grave.  I watched myself chanting ancient horrors, my eyes filling with the sacred blood.  It was terrifying.

When the Witch cried out the last word and was set aflame, I suddenly realized my mistake.  My fucking stupidity!

I could feel the infinite weight of the Big Everything slip sideways and crack, crushing some tiny piece of clockwork that had kept the heavens in motion for all eternity.  I started crying, Buffy. I started screaming.

I could feel Jack Turtle's arms around me, comforting me. What he whispered into my ear in that moment, I will never tell a single soul.

He took me to a different place, though it was not a place exactly. It was impossibly silent and dark, and so were we.  There was a feeling like being frozen, except I no longer had a body to feel with, or a brain to comprehend the feeling.  This was called the Now.

Jack told me that I broke The Big Rule when I brought you back; jammed an extra piece into an already finished puzzle. There was supposed to be a sacrifice, you see. A human sacrifice.   But I was too weak, too selfish to go through with it.

I thought I was so smart, Buff. It was the old cocky computer hacker in me, I think. Giles once called me a "rank amateur," but the truth is so much worse than that. Staring into that awful, eternal blankness, I finally knew what I was. I was a thief, and a stupid, sloppy one at that.

By then, the man calling himself Jack Turtle had disappeared and there was just The Voice, booming straight into my soul. It explained that the Now was getting longer, devouring every world in its path. There was an unimaginably small circle of light above us. It was a shape that was never meant to be – the shape of the Big Everything. It was getting smaller by the second

The Voice told me what I had to do to fix it.  It told me that I had to kill you.

Things got a little confusing then. I found something below me that felt like legs and I started running into the darkness on them. Time fell apart inside me as I went. I could have been running for a moment, or for a million years.

I reached for the light with the black shapes that my hands had become, and I suddenly found myself stretched out over its brilliant white surface like a skin, staring directly into the beating heart of the Multiverse. I was touching all the worlds with my fingers, like an old gypsy tracing a crystal ball. I saw the endless chains of Choices and Accidents threading around inside; the souls swirling across them like curls of smoke. I saw us, too, Buffy.

I wish I could explain what happened to me, then.  It was like, I knew exactly what I had to do, but I couldn't do it. I was looking into the bright face of Everything, and I suddenly knew that I would risk it all for my friend, that I’d hack the system one more time. I would defy God to save you, if that's what it took. I'm not sure what that makes me exactly, but I realize now that I really don't care, and probably never will. I can't bear a world without you in it.

So I jumped. I've been jumping ever since.

I won't tell you my plan. I don't think you'd understand, and I'm afraid you won't forgive me even if you did. That's the only thing I'm afraid of anymore, actually.

I'm writing you this email from a public library in Miami. Where I am now, Anya is married to Giles. They have three beautiful children. And - check this out - you're the Governor of Florida!  A Vampire Slayer in charge of the Sunshine State.  Irony, thy name is Multiverse.

Spike is here too.  It's strange – lately you guys seem to have a "thing" wherever I go.  Not sure what it means, just yet.  Not to bum you out, but there's this hidden camera video of you two floating around the Internet right now. Real racy stuff; a big fat scandal. Your hubby, Wesley, is not pleased.  LOL.

Of course, this isn't the weirdest place. Not by a long shot. I've seen some pretty crazy stuff over the last couple of years. It's been great seeing some old faces. I never thought I'd be so happy to see Cordelia, even if she was all vamped out and stalky-like. And I'm afraid I'll never look at Giles, Xander and tapioca pudding the same way ever again. Yikes!

But what's even weirder is how we all seem to be together out here, no matter where I go. It's like our souls are all wound up and knotted. It's a good feeling to know that. Somehow it made my choice that much easier.

Unfortunately, "Willow" wasn't around to help bail Governor Summers out.  I only seem to be able to enter worlds where I have already died.  In this case, it was from Hodgkins disease, believe it or not. Have to remind myself to get checked out, if I ever make it back.

And it's very possible that I won't, Buffy. I can feel the darkness closing in around us all, swallowing up realities faster than I can leap between them. Time is running out. Literally.  I will try my best.

Now, listen carefully, Buffy!  This is the most important part, and the reason I risked sending you this message. When I was still floating in the Now, I saw some things you need to know. You and everyone we love are in terrible danger.

It was all so easy to see, drifting around up there, like reading the moves of an old chess game. But now that I'm living in "time" again, I'm having trouble remembering most of it, and the parts I do remember don't make much sense to me. Hopefully, they will to you, when the time is right:

There is an army of Slayers gathering. I saw a castle in the hills, where a murderer used to live. Kennedy is there. She is afraid of you. I think she wants you dead. I saw her stamp something on a piece of paper, a bird made of blood.

There was a white-haired woman with her.  She pretends to be a doctor, but she is something else entirely. You need to stay far away from her, Buffy. Your breath is in her eyes.

I saw a statue and a dark awning. I saw you standing in a temple, and a hundred cars scattered like toys on a highway.

I saw Giles sitting in a dark house, laughing. Blood is running down his chin. You must help him, Buffy - he's the only other one who knows where I am.  But if you can't, try to remember to keep him in the light.  He needs to see something important, I think.

I saw Andrew and Xander, climbing a mountain. I saw three men sharing three eyes.

I saw you on a table, surrounded by monsters. There was a needle in your heart.

I saw you being pulled through a door over and over again by pale, hungry lips. I saw the white woman growing larger, filling with ghosts. I saw the First Evil devouring worlds without champions.

You must stop her Buffy. She's clever, but the drug is an illusion. Your strength doesn't come from your body, try to remember that. Xander and Giles have a plan, but they will need your help because Andrew isn't going to make it. And, this is going to sound a little crazy, but I'm pretty sure that

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***

Where did we go?

The ghost was standing a dozen feet away. Or a dozen miles, a million years. It was.

Hard to say.

 Hi.

She took a step forward, not daring to take her eyes off of him. The face was a pale horror of sinew and tortured veins. The familiar ridge of the monster's brow slanted low, as if to hide the yellow glow beneath it. Sharp fangs glistened somewhere at the lip, still hovering over the small, impossible word that had been there, just a moment ago.

He still wore the costume, but the mask was gone. All the masks were gone. He was beautiful.

She tried another step. The leg refused, stubborn, her small bare foot rolling over sideways instead. The phantom vanished, and suddenly there was only a black grid of tiles rushing to meet her. It never did. Strong arms locked her at the waist, drew her close. A hand smoothed her back straight, brought her face to face with the cruel blonde hoax. It was different now, the skin as smooth as polished ivory, eyes retreating into haunted blue pools. He was breathing, or pretending to. It was something the dead man had always done in her presence, without need or explanation. Breathing was the gift he gave to her.

She felt a wave of panic hit as the face began to dissolve, twisting into a pale fog of tears. Raging, she forced them back.

"Why?" she heard herself ask.

He shuddered, loosening his grip. It had sounded like an accusation, she realized, slanting to a point from her lips. She lurched forward, crashing her body to his, fingers scrambling over the leathery surface, aching for the skin underneath. She could smell him. He was everywhere.

"Dunno, pet," he whispered, the smoky voice suddenly choked with emotion. "S'pose I thought you'd be. Well.  Mad."

A charge ripped through her muscles, stiffening her spine. The demon bellowed something hot, and Buffy felt herself wrench free from his grip. She saw the creature's eyes widen worriedly for a moment, caught the glimpse of resignation in them just before she let him have it, Big Time.

(mad)

The arm fired a cannonball across his porcelain chin, rocketing the vampire halfway across the room. Buffy could feel the teeth grinding in her jaw, her eyes going slick with fury and dark rain. She advanced mechanically, the old iron gleaming like a spear through the glaze of the Nurse's poison. At her chest, the makeshift robe seemed to be coming undone, but she ignored it. She would kill the bastard in the nude if she had to.

(yeah he would like that wouldn't he would like that wouldn't he would )

The old monster propped himself up on his elbows, peering at her in astonishment. A line of blood fell from the corner of his mouth. She could only assume it wasn't his own. Spike lived on borrowed blood.

Spike lived.

"Oy!" he barked.  "The bloody hell was that for?"

She was almost upon him, rolling to a stop at his booted heels. They seemed to study one another for a long time. The armor was shattered in places, and a wet gash in the ribcage hinted at a brutal day of work. The costume had been such a lame trick, but those were the only kinds of tricks Spike knew. And she fell for it, of course.

This is how we are.

He gazed up at her, his eyes pleading for a kind of mercy he'd rarely been shown in life. She sensed no anger there; only gratitude, and a strange and simple fear. She knew that he was afraid she wouldn't touch him anymore.

The old pain came swarming back. The sensation was horrifying, the feeling of drowning in warm waters. She'd hurt him again, like always. And the most he could manage was to be grateful.  Amazed that she would condescend to touch a thing as wretched as him. Terrified that it would be the last time. It was all the same.

This is how we are.

She wanted to fall over him, hear him gasp when she crushed his lips with kisses. She’d tell him, over and over. There was still a chance to turn back, for something new and bright. She would be strong this time, merciless with her love. He’d believe her. She would force him to.

But before she could move, he turned away. She felt herself crumbling, felt the steel inside her breast running to milk. It was too late. She’d lost him. Again.

"Spike?" she sobbed.

I love you. I love you.

But the vampire was no longer paying any attention to her. Something had locked his eyes, and Buffy followed them to the corner of the room, the place where the Nurse had been.

It was empty.