“Before I say anything, Pigeon, no, I didn’t read your precious diary. Don’t much feel like delving into the twisted abyss that is my brother’s mind. I just skipped ahead to a page you won’t see for awhile…bear with me, I’ve been thinking a lot lately and I need to get morbid for a minute…The thing about Slayers is, they don’t tend to last long. It’s the price for the power. I have a feeling that the end of my road’s coming up soon. I guess what I’m trying to say is…I’m all right with that. I’m not scared, not brassed off over it. It is what it is, you know? This is all I ever had in me—killing things. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll go out in glory, but maybe not…I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, Will, that I love you. Yes, I know I’m being saccharine and that you’d roll your eyes at me if I actually said this to you and then you’d tell me to shut my gob, because of course you already know that I love you, it’s just…I don’t tell you and I want you to know for when I can’t tell you anymore… Also, you’re a talented poet and one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Don’t worry—I promise it doesn’t make you a ponce. I’m telling you this, because ever since you got wrapped up in my mission, you’ve forgotten who you really are. And you shouldn’t ever lose that, especially because of me…When I’m gone, let me go. That needs to be said. There’s so much left in your life, Will, so much you have left to do...Don’t give up on love… Considering how good you did taking care of me, I know you’re going to be an amazing father to someone someday …I realise I’ve made a rambling mess here, but you’re the writer, not me...”
~From the diary of William Wells; Entry composed by Susan Aliya Wells, undated.
~*~
Elizabeth listened intently at the edge of her seat as she heard Mr. Giles’ account of a history with which she’d become all too familiar. She could scarcely breathe, her hands balled into tense fists while her eyes swept across the hall anxiously, waiting for anyone to react. The responses were predictable—there was open laughter (though a grave disrespect during official proceedings), scoffs, exasperated sighs from those who’d grown tired of the rumors, the shaking of heads, and frightened, uneasy expressions from a select few who’d found a thread of logic in the account. Mr. Giles went on, not paying anyone any mind; he spoke directly to the judges and occasionally stole a glance back to share concerned, knowing looks with William. The younger man’s visage probably appeared blank and unreadable to anyone else observing him, but Elizabeth could clearly read his uncertainty—his pain, fear, and worry that the Watcher had chosen to share such forbidden secrets.
Giles talked of vampires and demons—the Old Ones that came before. He explained the existence of the Slayers and the Watchers—angelic guardians in flesh. And he detailed the events that led him personally, along with William and Susan, from England to Connecticut. The Master, the field, the vampires in the woods: he laid it all out plainly before them—something he’d sworn he would never do. Elizabeth studied the man who had become both her teacher and mentor, and she could easily see why he’d risked everything to do this. He spoke out of a parent’s love; because all that mattered was saving William.
Elizabeth’s eyes fell on her uncle in her effort to understand his connection to all of this, and to Mr. Giles especially, but he was evidently well-practiced in keeping a cold, stony expression. His glazed eyes stared straight forward above the heads of the townsfolk present, and his glare did not once fall on either Giles or William. Something was within him, though—Elizabeth could see it in the slight flicker of recognition, or perhaps fear, in his dark eyes—but she didn’t know what it could mean.
“You, see children,” Mr. Giles spoke softly after his long confession, “For years, you’ve been spoon-fed lies. Lies meant to keep you safe, to maintain simplicity and pious Christianity without the nuisance of questions. Demons have walked the Earth since long before the dawn of man. This was their world first, and they will never cease trying to take it back. Monsters exist, but they exist in far greater complexity than is defined by the crude black and white of Hell and Heaven. I tell you this against my own better judgment, against everything I’ve been taught, because I think that…in light of this new information, William might be better able to explain himself. He has sacrificed his life, his happiness, in order to fight the good fight beside an old man. What he does, every day, saves lives. Your lives,” Giles said harshly, turning to address the observers, “And none of you know nor care. Your justice system punishes him because he represents the unknown; his work embodies everything that you fear.
There are others who know the truth, others who have maintained a conspiracy of lies. These men have questionable motives and agendas at best. They are the ones who should be punished. More than one of these men sits behind me at this very moment. If you care to save your own skins, you would do well not to condemn those who have the people’s best interest at heart—those like my son.”
“You speak blasphemy, sir,” the magistrate growled, “You realize that a charge of heresy may be placed on your head for what you’ve alleged. You have questioned the omnipotence of the Lord in your fabricated account of Lucifer’s soldiers holding sway on Christ’s Earth. Step down at once.”
“Gladly,” Giles replied icily, “I’ve seen enough of this farce.”
And with that, he strode back down the aisle and slammed the great double doors behind him as he stormed out into the plaza. William watched him as he left, a small smile gracing his lips. His eyes shone with unshed tears.
“I can’t believe this insanity!” Jenny exclaimed softly in her niece’s ear, “I will stand for it no more. Come, Elizabeth.”
Resisting the firm pull on her forearm, Elizabeth murmured simply, “No.”
“Excuse me, young lady? We are going.”
“No. You may go, but I wish to stay.”
Appalled at Elizabeth’s disobedience and clearly not wishing to start a scene, Jenny merely huffed in response and quickly stood to leave the room.
“You mustn’t fear his absurd story,” Nathaniel’s voice boomed in an effort to be heard over multiple frenzied conversations. He stuttered a bit, appearing slightly on edge, “That lunatic old man clearly believes the court to be a place for fairy stories! Every one of his dishonest words can and should be easily forgotten. I will now produce a witness to convey the true account of Wells’ dealings and character, as she is a victim of his evil atrocities. Miss Elizabeth Summers, please step forth and address the court.”
Elizabeth breathed in deeply and stood confidently. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but she felt relieved that her moment had finally arrived. I’m going to save him—More than corroborate Giles’ story…I’ll make them believe. William will be saved. She approached the raised platform, her well-rehearsed words already on the tip of her tongue, when she caught William’s gaze. His jaw tensed as he shook his head slightly.
“Miss Summers, do you solemnly swear on the Word of the Lord that your testimony is truthful?” the magistrate asked.
“Yes, I—“
“Wait! First I have somethin’ to say,” William interjected forcefully.
“And what, pray tell, might you have to say for yourself now, Mr. Wells?” the magistrate sighed in annoyance.
“I’ll tell you. I’m ready to tell you the truth now.”
“All right, fine, but this is the last opportunity I’m giving you, Mr. Wells,” he said before addressing the court, “I will grant the prisoner another chance to speak in his own defense before hearing the counterpoint. You may take your seat, Miss Summers. I will call you again shortly.”
No! William, no! They’re not going to believe you! Let me speak first! After they hear me, your story will have more credibility! Damn it!
Reluctantly, her head bowed and silently seething, Elizabeth returned to her seat in the back of the hall and waited tensely with a prayer on her lips.
“Go on, Mr. Wells. Make it quick. Do you have something to say or not?”
“Yes,” William croaked, before clearing his throat and repeating firmly, “Yes.”
He stood slowly, and his eyes swept the room until they locked briefly with Elizabeth’s. It was all she could do not to weep. Flashing her a quick, tiny smile of reassurance, he turned to face the judges.
“Now that you’ve heard the truth, I’ll answer anythin’ you wanna know.”
“The truth?! You call that blithering idiot’s testimony truthful?!” the magistrate exclaimed with a smirk.
“You wanna know or not? Ask and I’ll tell.”
“Fine, Mr. Wells. Again. Did you kill Eleanor Anderson?”
“No.”
“Then what happened to her?”
William sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he began.
“I see a lot watchin’ this town. Though I’m a stranger to you here, I know each and every one of you a lot better than you’d think.”
Turning to address the townsfolk, his eyes fell on Goody Anderson.
“This story begins with a man named Jack Townsend. You knew him, and you’re familiar with the rumors, I assume. He was a simple man—a poor man, worked hard, did good when he was able. Until one night he was alone stabling the horses when something came out of the woods and attacked him. You all heard a different story, I’m sure; that he fell off a horse or got kicked in the head or somethin’. Figures. Well, the body was discovered by some higher-ups, and they cooked up a lie to keep the real truth from spreading before they buried him. Only problem is, daft blokes forgot to cut off his head beforehand. And they failed to wait for him to rise again. Rise he did—and he became a creature of the night. A demon—just like the one who made him.
Now, since I’m in the demon huntin’ business, after Townsend rose, I started following him—waiting for the right time and place to make the kill. Every night, he went to the same house. Not his house, mind you. Their house,” William declared, pointing to the Andersons. Goody Anderson blanched, and Elizabeth thought the woman looked as though she were about to faint.
“Every night that thing stood at the far window in back. It was the baby’s room…See, the Andersons, they had a relationship with Mr. Townsend, ain’t that right?”
“The man was only briefly in my employ!” Mr. Anderson erupted, “He helped in the fields on his resting days from his work in town. It was nothing more than that, so I fail to see how it is remotely pertinent to—“
“May have started out that way, yeah,” William replied, “But you weren’t home that much, Mr. Anderson. You were in town and to the bay on business quite often, yeah?”
“Mr. Wells! Stop interrogating the poor Andersons, who still suffer from the bitter grief you have caused. Just answer the question! What happened to the child?” the magistrate bellowed.
“Aright. I’m gettin’ to it…The baby, Eleanor—he was her father. Townsend was her father.”
At once, the room exploded in raucous bursts of outrage. Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand as she shook her head in disbelief. What are you doing, William? Exposing her isn’t going to help you!
The magistrate sharply struck the gavel.
“Silence! Mr. Wells, do you openly accuse Goody Anderson of adultery—a crime punishable by death?”
“Hey look, I’m not accusing anyone of anything. That’s all your lot. And really, I don’t give a bloody damn. Maybe she loved the guy—not up to me to judge love. It becomes my business when a vamp’s involved; that’s all I’m sayin’. Townsend got sired, got the bloodlust, came back to kill his daughter.”
“On the basis of remotely entertaining that this nonsense possesses any shred of accuracy, why on earth would the man wish to harm his own daughter?”
“I don’t know why. They all seem to do it. They come back and destroy the things that made them most human—the things they loved in life. And Townsend loved that little girl. That’s why he kept comin’ around to the Andersons for work, so that he could see her. And she knew him too. Maybe she didn’t know he was her da, but she knew him. Her mother let him hold her and play with her when nobody else was around…So when he stood outside her window that night, he woke her up and lured her out with him. Then he killed her. Next night, I found her. Then I buried her. Then I killed him. End of story.”
Suddenly, Goody Anderson jumped up from her husband’s embrace so forcefully that her bonnet fell, exposing her pretty auburn hair. “Lies of the Devil!” she screamed, pointing to William, “That man—that Wells—is a witch! I seen him! He comes floating into my room every night casting spells. He freezes me so I can’t speak or move. He cursed our family and killed my baby! He’s gotta hang! Hang him! Hang the witch!”
All around Elizabeth, the townsfolk sprung up angrily from their seats and began to join the chant of “Hang him! Hang him! Hang the witch!” Fists pumped in the air as people began to flood the aisle, crowding toward the front of the room. Panicked and infuriated, Elizabeth jumped up onto the bench so that she could see above the heads of the crowd. She saw William as he braced himself against the back wall, avoiding the mob that descended upon him. He caught a glimpse of her from where she stood, and she thought he yelled her name.
“She’s lying!” Elizabeth shrieked hopelessly, cupping her hands around her mouth in an effort to be heard, “You can’t charge him with witchcraft! It’s a lie! He’s not a witch! He’s my husband! Please don’t please, you can’t—Let me speak! I’ll testify, I’ll tell you everything! I know the truth—“
Elizabeth noticed vaguely that the edges of her vision began to blur together, but she kept hollering at the top of her lungs without pausing to draw breath, refusing to let any discomfort distract her. Still no one saw or heard her words, so she desperately tried to increase her volume. The world around shifted from blurry to dark as her breath caught in quick pants in her throat. And then her head—her whole body became weightless, and she could no longer hear the hateful chanting of those horrible people. Her consciousness was semi-aware of the swaying of her body, but her limbs felt leaden and no longer capable of being controlled. Afterward, she thought she felt the heart-pattering, stomach-dropping sensation of falling, but everything was entirely black before the floor came up to meet her.
--
“I knew she shouldn’t have gone. What on earth was I thinking?” Jenny sighed, speaking from a dark void far away.
“Mother, shouldn’t we send for the doctor? She didn’t wake at all during the night,” squeaked Dawn’s high-pitched, panic voice.
“Your father insisted that it was just nerves. She became overheated in the crowded room, that’s all. He carried her back himself, and there was no need for the doctor…Don’t worry, Dawn. She will wake soon, I think.”
Someone grasped Elizabeth’s hand with trembling, clammy fingers. For some reason, the sensation prickled as her numb flesh began to warm.
“May I stay with her, Mother, before my chores? I don’t want to leave her.”
“Yes, you may. Call for me if she stirs.”
“I will, Mother.”
After a pattering of footsteps, the door closed gently.
“Lizzie, you’ve been asleep since yesterday,” Dawn murmured.
Elizabeth felt delicate hands smoothing through her hair.
“Please wake up…Lizzie, can you hear me at all?”
“Mmm,” Elizabeth slurred, trying to use her stiff tongue.
“Lizzie? That’s it. It’s just me—it’s Dawn. Open your eyes.”
Though her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, Elizabeth responded to her cousin’s words, and slowly blinked several times.
The room was bright and blurry, but the picture gradually focused until Elizabeth found herself starting up into Dawn’s fearful, blue eyes.
“William,” she croaked, “Dawn—William?”
“He’s—he’s at the jail, Lizzie. They’re locking him up for the duration of his trial. But—but he’s okay. I mean, he’s been charged with witchcraft now, which is worse than murder, so…things look sort of bad, I guess. But, I mean, he’s okay for now…People are going crazy, though. There’s talk of witchcraft spreading around, that it’s the reason weird stuff happens here. And there have been more accusations—they’re even bringing another judge from the bay to help investigate the claims.”
“What…what happened?”
“Well, you fainted and bumped your head. But you’re going to be fine. Mother says you’re going to be fine. You just need to rest and eat something when you feel like it.”
Elizabeth raised her fingers to her temple, where she felt a cloth bandage covering her forehead. Then with great difficulty, she grasped onto her cousin’s hand and carefully pulled herself up in bed.
“Lizzie, no! You must lay back and rest.”
“No,” she replied determinedly, “I’m not wasting any more time.”
When the room stopped spinning and Elizabeth was fairly sure that she wouldn’t vomit, she swung her feet around to the floor and stood gingerly.
“What are you doing?! If you need something, I’ll get it!” Dawn squawked.
Taking up the miniature mirror on the dressing table, Elizabeth untied the bandage and examined her wound. She had a knot on her temple and a cut across her right brow with a bit of dried blood caked over it.
“Not bad,” she mumbled, “I’m fine, Dawn. I have to go. Help me dress.”
“I will not! You’re in no condition to go out!”
Elizabeth glared at the younger girl with such fierce intensity that Dawn soon sighed, dropping her eyes.
“Fine, but when Mother asks, I’m telling her you made me.”
--
While Dawn distracted Jenny in the kitchen, Elizabeth managed to shuffle downstairs and out the front door. Wincing, she pulled her bonnet down to cover her injury. After striding as quickly as she could to the stables, she saddled up one of her uncle’s horses, mounted tentatively, and began the ride into town.
The frigid chill in the morning air woke her from her haze, and once she felt more alert, she grew even more intent on reaching her destination. She pulled the horse onward to a full gallop. At some point in the ride, the bonnet fell back, but she didn’t even take notice. People gaped at her as she rode by, some calling out to her, inquiring if she was well. Others simply bolted out of her way for fear of being trampled. Finally, she rode down the main street lined with cobblestone and dismounted, tying the horse to a hitching post in front of Town Hall. With her chin held high, she marched around to the other side of the hall to a smaller brick building and stormed through the door.
“Miss Summers?” the constable asked, squinting at her in disbelief.
Elizabeth knew she must be quite a sight indeed with her golden hair wild and tangled down her back, her eyes bloodshot and burning with intensity, and the gash on her forehead openly visible.
“Can I…help you with something?” the old man asked in confusion, arching his brow suspiciously as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the large oak desk before him.
“Where is William Wells?” she asked coldly.
“Well ma’am, he’s in a cell in back. Others will be joining him soon I expect. Heard there’s been at least two other accusations of witchcraft since yesterday.”
“Take me back there. Now.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Prisoners can’t take visitors, ma’am.”
“My uncle…sent me to speak with him, sir. There’s, you know, some threats and stuff I’m supposed to deliver. I’m sure you wouldn’t wish for me to inform the Reverend that you have been difficult,” she tried, blatantly searching for words.
The constable gave her curious eye, though the glance wasn’t completely disbelieving.
Bad lie, Elizabeth. Wait...is he dumb enough to believe this?
“Why would your uncle not come himself? And if I may say so ma’am, you don’t look well enough to be out of bed.”
“Just give me a few minutes. Please. It’s important.”
The constable sighed and rolled his eyes before nodding curtly. “I’ll give you five. This way.”
Elizabeth followed him around the desk to a large door leading to the back hall. Rummaging for a skeleton key on his belt, the constable unlocked the door and gestured for her to go on.
“It’s all the way at the end. And remember, five minutes,” he said, before grumbling under his breath, “Always the pretty ones...”
Elizabeth stepped over the threshold and squinted slightly in the dim light, noticing that a small window at the far end of the hall was the only source of illumination. She walked slowly, her heart hammering inside her chest. More than anything, she simply needed to see him—to touch him, but she feared the state she might find him in. After passing six cells, Elizabeth finally came to the final one nearest the window. The painful sight before her caused her heart to sink and a lump to swell in her throat. A dark, hunched figure sat huddled in a far corner of the tiny cell with his back to her, his forehead resting on his knees. For a long moment, she could do nothing but watch him, worn and tired, a miserable shell of his normal self.
After a beat he hissed icily, “You think I don’t know you’re there? This isn’t a bloody freak show. What the fuck do you want?”
“William?” she murmured thickly, her eyes clouding with tears.
At the sound of her voice, he leapt up in a heartbeat and dashed to the bars that separated him from the outside world.
“Elizabeth, I—oh God—I…are you real? Please don’t let it be a dream. Not again,” he whimpered, clutching the bars in shaking hands.
His clothing was dirty, rumpled, and unkempt; and the sharp line of his jaw shadowed with the beginnings of a beard. The chestnut curls that Elizabeth loved so were wild and mussed, and his beautiful eyes that always sparkled with vitality and wit were now dark and hollow.
“Yes, I’m real. I’m real,” she murmured as the tears spilled over her cheeks.
Reaching his arms through the bars, he tugged on her waist and pulled her close before capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss. Desperation, raw need, sadness, longing, and the joy of reunion poured from the caresses of his chapped lips and the light flicks of his tongue. Elizabeth gave into it completely, ignoring the need to breathe as she pressed herself against the bars frantically, praying that she could somehow melt inside. In their frenzied embrace, her forehead lightly brushed over the cold iron of one of the bars, and she grimaced before reluctantly moving away, her hands resting on his chest.
“Elizabeth?” he whispered, his brows creased in worry.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Bringing his fingers to her chin, he delicately turned her face toward the light and gasped at what he saw.
“You’re hurt. It’s from yesterday, isn’t it? Oh sweetheart…I saw you, baby—when you fell. I ran over there the second it happened, but those goddamn bastards grabbed me and chained me up. I was screamin’ your name when they dragged me out. Are you all right, luv? What was it? What happened?”
“I don’t know. I was just upset and yelling at them and they didn’t listen, and then I just…fainted, I guess. But I’m okay, really. It’s only a cut…Maybe we’ll have matching scars soon,” she quipped as she traced her fingers lovingly across the thin, white scar at his eyebrow. He didn’t smile.
Turning his head into her touch, he pressed a kiss against her wrist. Then lifting her chin gently, he strained to reach through the bars before placing a feather-light kiss over the bruise at her temple. Elizabeth closed her eyes and allowed the dam to break within her as the sobs tore from her throat.
“Don’t cry, luv. Please don’t cry. You know I can’t bear it,” he murmured, stroking her hair.
“What are we going to do?” she sobbed.
“I don’t know. All I can do is tell the truth, even though it hasn’t helped me much so far.”
“What if—“ she began, before dropping her voice to a hushed whisper and leaning in closer, “What if there’s a way that we could get you out and escape this place? Mr. Giles and me together…we could get you out of here. Where can I find him?”
“I think they’re keeping him trapped somewhere in town, questioning him still. I haven’t been able to talk to him. And pet, I don’t think that plan would work. If the two of you were caught, all three of our necks would be forfeit. That’s too much to risk. I won’t stand for it.”
“I will get you out of here, William. But before we plan anything…I’m going to testify at the very least. I could tell them everything—that we’re engaged, that I saw Townsend—“
“No, Elizabeth. If they knew you were so closely connected to me, it would put you in a bad place. You’d be where Rupert is now...It’s the reason I couldn’t let you speak yesterday. They woulda chewed you up right along with me. Wouldn’t do us any good, kitten.”
“But they accused you of raping me! Jesus, at the very least my testimony could dispel that ridiculous charge!”
“Still wouldn’t matter, luv, now that I got witchery to boot.”
“I don’t give a damn, I’m going to—“
“Miss Summers!” the constable bellowed from down the hall. “Your uncle’s here to collect you, ma’am! You best hurry—he don’t seem too pleased.”
“No,” she whimpered, clinging to William.
“You hafta go now, sweetheart. They can’t know about us…Somehow it’ll work. Lies don’t live forever.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you,” he breathed against her lips.
“Miss Summers! Time’s up!”
She squeezed his hand before turning swiftly without looking back. As the door shut behind her, she heard him weeping softly.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hmm I added this chap yesterday, but it seems to have vanished due to the difficulties with the site, so I'll try again.