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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: This is the second part of chapter fifteen, which contains elements from "Fool For Love". It is edited from my posting on ff.net, and this part of the story explains how Spike got cursed. There are Character Deaths in this chapter as well.

Before I continue on with the story, I just wanted to give shout outs to all those who have stuck with it and all who encouraged me! I really appreciate all of the comments and kind words! They truly encourage me.

On with the story, then!
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: PART TWO

When Buffy pinned him beneath her, holding his arms with all of her Slayer strength, Spike took an unnecessary breath.

"Let me up, Slayer bint!" The vampire snarled, trying to make her angrier than she was. Buffy, however, held her ground. She glared at him, but then rolled her eyes.

"Ohmigod," she said, "Drama King, much?! Now listen, you stupid vampire! I'm not saying I didn't do something dumb. You were right; I shouldn't have accepted his ring in the first place, but at the time it seemed so great that he would want to take care of me."

She paused, letting Spike up. He didn't respond, but the expression on his face spoke volumes to her. Buffy knew he still didn't quite understand the depth of her feelings just then.

"You don't know what it's really like to be Supergirl all the time," she said softly. "It SUCKS, all right?! I mean, I'm only NINETEEN! I should be...I dunno, painting my nails and shopping at the mall, and my friends should be cheerleaders and popular girls, not vampires and old guys. I guess I just wanted to be normal, like everyone else. But, somehow, I keep pushing everyone away."

Buffy's eyes were tearing. Spike held her close, murmuring soft words of comfort as his hand stroked her back.

"'S okay, lion cub," he said, softly, kissing the top of her head. "We're a pair, I reckon. Too strange to fit in, yeh?"

And Buffy realized then that Spike was just like her, and he did understand. Even so, she needed to tell him exactly what she felt.

Nodding her head, she pulled away, saying, "Yeah, I guess we ARE a pair. I've got my Calling, and you've got your curse."

Spike looked down, ashamed and not without a great deal of envy. He wished with all his unbeating heart that he could be like Riley: young, and handsome, or at least human looking, since he didn't really know what the man looked like.

"So," Spike asked her, "is he a handsome bloke?"

"Riley?" Buffy responded with a question. "He IS easy on the eyes."

The revenant couldn't keep the jealousy from his voice. "Knew it," he said. "Bet he knows how to provide for a bird like you, too? I mean, let's be frank. 'Couldn't exactly see me workin' at a Piggly Wiggly, now could you?"

"I know what you're trying to do, Spike," she said, "and it's not gonna work: feeling sorry for yourself!"

"'M not..." Spike said defensively.

"Yeah, you are!" Buffy retorted. "You know what? When Giles told me about my Calling and about all the things the Slayer is called upon to do, I knew in the back of my mind that I couldn't go through with it! On the way over here, I had already decided to tell Riley 'hands off'. I knew he just wasn't right for me. He can't love me the way I want."

I can't marry someone I don't love, especially when I care so strongly about someone else," she told Spike.

Spike looked at her with awe. Could she love him? Did she love him? He wondered, and he hoped.

"So, you're sayin' you love me?" he asked her.

Buffy considered that. There was still very much she didn't know about Spike, and she also didn't know if she loved him.

"I care about you, alot," she said. "I feel connected to you, like the long lost friend I never had."
When Spike gave her a stony look, Buffy said, "That didn't come out right."

"No, it din't," Spike responded in a disgusted tone.

"It's just…" Buffy responded, "I'm trying to figure this all out. I'm trying to make sense of what I feel for you; how I feel about you. Until I know, I can't say that I love you."

Spike gave her a long look, then he said in a emotionless voice, "Well, you might want to suss out your feelings for me when I tell you about my Curse."

Buffy stared at the vampire before her. She wanted to say something to reassure him that she didn't care how he became what he was, but words failed her. "Cursed?" she repeated.

"Yeh," Spike replied. "An' my sire could be the beast who's harmin' everyone for all I know. Haven't sensed her, but that doesn't mean she isn't nearby."

"H-her?" Buffy asked.

Spike nodded. He sat next to her but both didn't say anything for a long time.

"How did she…?" the Slayer wanted to know.

Spike's glowing eyes never left Buffy as he began to tell his tale.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

(England, 1880, Night…)

William made sure that all of the poetry he had written to his one true love was in his leather case. He also made certain that he looked resplendent tonight, with both his brown tailored jacket and matching vest over his freshly ironed, white shirt. His hair with its princely looking curls was combed back, leaving only a slight trace of them falling in soft waves over his forehead. His gold glasses were set upon his angular face and were not askew.

Dawn bounded down the stairs, followed by William's mother. Anne crossed over to her son, taking in the bowtie that was hanging loosely around his neck. She gasped as she regarded its condition.

"William!" she cried. "Do you wish to cause a sensation? Do up your tie in a proper fashion!"

The mother tied the tie so tight that William could feel himself choking.

When he coughed and protested, "Mother! I cannot breathe in this confining thing!"

"Better to choke a little than to be vulgar!" Anne responded.

When he didn't fidget and the tie sat upon his neck properly, his mother beamed a smile of approval. William decided that he could always lose his bowtie at the party.

"I thought it looked better the other way, Mother!" Dawn was saying. Anne gave her a scolding look.

"There will be some important people at this gathering," Anne reminded her children for the umpteenth time so that, this time, Dawn was mouthing her mother's next words when Anne turned back to look at William.

"It will be the single most important time in William's life when he manages to secure a patron to endorse his poetry!" Anne said.

William's thoughts, however, were millions of miles away or at least with a young woman who he wished could be his patron in matters of poetry and his love in everything else. He could not wait to entertain Cecily Underwood, the love of his life, the One he wished to enchant with the poetry he had been working on for the better part of a month.

"Please take me with you!" Dawn pleaded. "I long for a party!"

William kissed the top of his sister's head, saying, "When you're eighteen, Nibblet. Not before."

The future poet's younger sister went back upstairs, grumbling, "Probably won't be out until I am thirty!" A moment later, Dawn's music box playing the tune "Early One Morning" could be heard.

Both Mother and Son turned back toward the front door when they could hear the pulling up of the carriage. Before William left their house, his mother said, "Do not disappoint me in this, my son. If you fail, it shall be the workhouses for both of us!"

William looked at his mother as he opened the door and stepped out into the night. "I have a feeling that this evening will contain surprises for all of us," he prophesized.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Later that night, at the party, William drank a modest sized glass of port with the men. His blue orbs scanned the room for any trace of Cecily. A megasized grin lit up his face when he saw her. She wore a beautiful, white dress which the future poet decided suited her looks to perfection.

Cecily was with a friend of hers, a dark haired beauty whom William had discovered was named Anya. Anya whispered something into her friend's ear and Cecily laughed. William was thinking of all the rhymes he could come up with for the word "perfect".

As they drew closer, William took a deep breath and said to Cecily when she was in hearing range, "Good evening, Miss Underwood. It is truly a pleasure to see you at this gathering."

The light brown haired woman didn't respond. William cleared his throat and tried again.

Cecily turned, looking at him with disinterested eyes. "Did you say something to me?" she asked in a bored tone.

"I said, 'good evening' to you," William responded, but by that time, Cecily had moved on with Anya.

"Poor Prince William," a voice cooed from behind him.

It was a Cockney accented voice and it had a singsong quality to it. William turned to see a raven haired beauty, with dark eyes set in a round face. Beside her were a blonde woman who wore the same disinterested expression and a dark haired man with a pronounced forehead.

It was the raven haired woman that grabbed his attention. As he stared into her eyes, he saw the promise of dark adventures, and of sexual enticements. He also saw the hint of insanity.

"My Prince William has no subjects to bend to his will," she said.

"I'm not a prince," William told her. The woman growled in his ear. William drew away.

"But you could be, with me as your Princess," she purred.

William regarded her and her family, or friends, he did not know which.

"I am flattered, Miss…?" he asked.

"Drusilla," the dark haired temptress provided.

Her pale, alabaster skin was reflected in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window behind her. William didn't know why, but he suddenly felt a chill in his spine as he studied the trio.

"As I was saying, I am flattered, but I must withdraw," he told Drusilla. "They are expecting me to read tonight."

"Tha' should be interestin'," the man said with a pronounced Irish brogue. William moved on from the odd trio.

In the living room, where at least twenty five or thirty people were gathered, the host of the house announced that William Pratt would entertain with his wondrous poetry. William went into it, taking sheets out of his case and fighting his nervousness. Cecily sat on the couch, surrounded by several potential suitors and Anya. The women fanned themselves as they waited for William to read.

He looked at Cecily with love in his blue eyes. "This is for a woman who has captured my heart," he told her.

He looked at the paper and began to read the first few lines. When he paused to gauge her reaction, Cecily looked uncomfortable. People stared at him with shocked expressions on their faces. Anya smothered her mouth so that he could not see her laughing. A woman tittered, then laughed unceremoniously. Men joined in.

One man said amongst his uproarious guffawing, "Well, William, I must admit it takes great courage to read poetry of that magnitude!"

"Tis true, Ethan," a man to his left agreed. "Our young William Pratt must have nerves of steel to read that disgusting rot!"

"Yes!" another man exclaimed. "'Twill be a great article for the papers tomorrow: the Great Love of Cecily Underwood, and his bloody awful poetry!"

"Let's all hear it for 'William the Bloody'!" Another man cried.

As the audience joined in, the exceptions being Cecily, who was escaping the room as fast as her booted feet could take her, and Drusilla, who looked smugly pleased that William had stunk so bad with the young woman so that the raven haired female could have her way with him.

The poet joined Cecily in the foyer, placing a consoling hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, Miss Underwood," he apologized. "I will do better next time, you will see!"

The woman's angry eyes found his. It took all of William's courage not to shrink away under such censure.

"There will be no 'next time', William Pratt!" she snapped. "To THINK that I allowed my father to talk me into coming here tonight to hear you! And I knew from rumors I had heard that your poetry was not to be repeated in polite society, but I never dreamed that it was that horrible! Why, it is worse than being tortured by a man-eating night creature, or forcing myself to listen to my doddering old history professor's ramblings about the Battle of Hastings!"

"But my own, I only sought to tell you how I really feel about you," William told her honestly, his heart shattering.

"And you sought to make me into a laughingstock!" she shouted. "Leave me alone! I do not wish to see you in my presence again! If I do, I shall contact the authorities and have you locked up!"

Cecily stormed out then, followed by her mother who still was laughing, and her brother, who stared at William with an icy look of utter contempt.

William followed out moments later, still stunned. How would he break the news to his mother, and more notably, his sister? Maybe he could grab whatever fortunes the family had and run away now, this very evening, he decided suddenly. He was about to hail the carriage when he felt a presence behind him.

"Poor, poor William," the woman Drusilla was saying in a sad, yet mocking voice. "If only there were something I could do to ease the pain." William willed his eyes to not shed tears in front of her.

"Leave me be," he said softly, hoping that in the weeks that followed, he could create the prefect poem that would earn Cecily's forgiveness.

"Perhaps there is something you can do, Drusilla," the blonde haired woman said.

Drusilla smiled in William's direction. He had never seen such an evil smile before. His eyes darted to Anya, who was just leaving the party, her still laughing form exiting the front door.

"No! I don't want your help!" William shouted. "I do not wish to be seen by anyone! Just LEAVE ME BE!"

The poet ran then, not waiting for the carriage, wanting to be swallowed up by the darkness, wishing he was dead.

(In the present…)

Buffy listened to the story with rapt attention, not wanting to say anything lest Spike stop telling what he so obviously needed to share. She wanted to kiss him when she could see his hurt, his sadness, and his anger welling up and bubbling over the surface. But she remained silent as he continued.

"My evenin' was bad, the most horrible evenin' of my life," he told the Slayer. "Bu' as bad as it was, it was gonna get a whole lot worse. You know, pet, that sayin' 'be careful what you wish for, you jus' might get it?'"

Spike didn't wait for Buffy's response as he went on talking.

(England, 1880, later that evening…the Pratt house)

All was quiet as William went into his hallway. He lit the gas lamps and cried out, "Mother?"

William didn't relish the account he would have to give his parent. He walked into the sitting room his mother favored and was about to light the gas lamps in it when the moonlight streamed into the window. His boots slid along the wooden floor as William became aware of a liquid substance on them. It was then that the dimly lit room gave him the first of two ghastly visions that would haunt him the rest of his life.

Anne Pratt's body was bathed in a pool of blood, her eyes opened and staring at the ceiling; her right hand outstretched on the section of the room that was carpeted. William blinked in shock, his mouth wide open, staring at the lifeless form of his mother. He scrambled to the lamp, lighting it to get a closer view.

Surely, given the horrible events at the party, his mind must have conjured up his mother's death. He shined the lantern on the floor and saw what the moon half hid. William groaned when the truth hit him with stark reality. Her throat had been slashed with razor sharp claws, and her body had been ruthlessly dumped on the floor after the killing. He backed away, running into the kitchen, vomiting into the sink. He had hated his mother on several occasions, but he had never in his wildest dreams thought that anyone else hated her enough to want her dead.

"Dawn…" he murmured as his thoughts turned to his sister. He started to run upstairs to his sister's room, yelling, "DAWN!"

It was then that he heard her music box, playing "Early One Morning."

William backed down the stairs when he realized that the sound was coming not from upstairs, but from the garden. He grabbed a gun from his father's prized collection, not pausing to check the firearm's condition. After loading it hastily with bullets, William ran into the garden.

To anyone else viewing the body of Dawn Augusta Pratt, it would have looked like she had fallen asleep amongst the roses she loved taking care of so much. But as he neared the body, he saw her figure, completely naked, her body artfully draped with roses on her chest, private parts, and legs.

Her eyes were closed, her lips parted in a silent scream. William could not move for a moment, the sound of the music getting more distant in his mind. He didn't register the closing of the box at first, his eyes unable to look away from the sight of the one person who had believed so strongly in his poetry, the one light in his life extinguished before her life had ever had a chance to begin.

William held up his arm, firing the gun once into the silent night. "Where are you?" he cried angrily, banking down his terror that he could be next. He fired his pistol once again.

"Come out and get a taste of what I have to give you! I am not afraid of you!" he snarled.

"Got to admit, boy, you've got a set o' them," he heard an Irish voice jeering seemingly from all around him.

William stared out into the night, but didn't see anyone.

"He does have courage, doesn't he?" another voice asked, this one female, and American sounding.

William saw that it belonged to the blonde woman he had seen behind Drusilla at the party earlier that night. He also saw that she had the most ghastly visage he had ever beheld on a female, her yellow eyes glowing, her face sporting ridges.

"I begin to see why you want this one, Dru," the Irish man with the pronounced forehead commented.

William saw that like the blonde female, he sported the same ridges. His mouth was open, and William saw a perfect row of fangs.

"What…?" William exclaimed in perfect astonishment. "What manner of creature are you?"

He saw that the man had gone, and felt his monstrous grip snagging the poet from behind. William struggled in vain, hearing a singing voice in his left ear.

"We are what you will become, my Prince," he heard Drusilla's voice saying.

William then felt a sharp pin prick on his neck. Was something biting him? He heard a sucking noise and felt the sensation of being drained. A smooth, coppery feeling was present in his mouth. He didn't know what it was, but he could hear a voice telling him to drink. As he did, William felt the lightness of an endless sleep overtaking him, as his soul drifted from the confines of his body.

He could feel a change, but before he was able to identify it, William realized that the life he had known was leaving him, and a hellish presence was taking over. The poet slumped to the soft ground as he heard a voice saying, "Now, the transformation will begin…".

XXXXXXXXXXX

The first thing William felt was the need to shake the ground off of him. When that was accomplished, the second thing he felt was a symphony of sounds he should not have been able to hear. He heard the stirring of crickets, but their chirping noise sounded a thousand times greater; he heard the distant stream which was miles away from the house running over rocks. He could hear the fish and wildlife in the stream, as well as the people who walked by it whispering quiet words that he could distinguish clear as a bell. He smelled the dewy, fresh odors of the soil, and he also smelled the living death of three other figures who stood nearby.

"He is alive," he could feel Drusilla saying, even before he saw her.

His eyes, which were bursting with sights he had never seen before of the night creatures slithering on the ground, registered the dark beauty before him in all of its infinite glory.

"What have you done to me?" William asked, horrified.

"Changed you into what I am," Drusilla cooed. "A true Prince of the Night, my William. A being who will not know sickness, or aging or death,."

"But you will know the hunger, eh, Willie, boy," the man said, "unless you feed."

William saw Drusilla cutting her arm. Her blood spilled out, calling its siren's song to him.

William turned his head away, screaming, "No! It cannot be!" He ran inside to his house, which thankfully was not far from where he had just been.

He flew past the looking glass in the foyer when his mind processed a terror producing sight. There, in the mirror, was the wall beyond reflected in the glass, but William's visage was nowhere to be seen.

He backed away from his reflection-less image; at least, he felt himself backing away. "Poor boy's spooked," the blonde was saying from all around him. She waved her arms, producing a dark mist around William.

"This is the image of who you were," she told him. William's glowing eyes stared at his human form as the blonde woman continued.

"And this is who you are now," she said. William saw his glowing, yellow eyes; his slightly shorter hair, and his face, which sported ridges. His torso was human, muscular, and well formed, just as it had always been.

He concentrated, finding that he could will himself back into the form he wore as a human male. The poet was astounded for a moment by his newfound ability.

"Got to admit, Darla," the man commented, "the newest member o' our family catches on quick."

William became aware of the scent he had smelled earlier as the cloud Darla had produced had dissipated. Drusilla's blood was enticing; it called to him to take a taste. He tried to run away again, tried to fight the overwhelming hunger.

But as she held out her arm to him, William was powerless as the pangs of hunger overtook him. His blue eyes never left the woman who had given him this new life. He could feel the ridges forming on his face, transforming him from the human to the demon.

His legs propelled him closer to the nourishment Drusilla offered, and he bent over her arm. Without hesitation, William drank. As the first waves of the salty liquid rolled over his tongue, offering its succor, William thought he'd never felt anything as delicious as the blood. It gave him new strength, and a new sense of purpose. Drusilla withdrew her arm, smiling and showing her canines to him for the first time. It was her revealing of his new nature that gave William pause. Despite his demonic side raging from within, despite the terrible hunger threatening to seize control yet again, the newest family member yanked himself away.

"I will not!" he screamed to Drusilla. "Kill me now! I would rather die than be your Prince, or whatever you want me to be!"

Drusilla frowned, then became angry. She clapped and the branches coiled around William's arms, trapping him when he would have run away again.

"Naughty, naughty boy Prince William!" Drusilla scolded. She stared at her newest acquisition, the dark haired man and Darla watching with fiendish gleams in their eyes as William looked on, paralyzed by Drusilla's stare.

"I'll have to teach you a lesson about rejecting gifts from those who are your betters," the raven haired sire of William pronounced. She considered a moment, then brightened as she conjured up the perfect punishment.

"This spell I pass, this Curse is thine, until such time you declare you are mine. The form of a beast shall thy form take until such time this spell I break. And with each passing day that dies shall your humanity succumb to the beast inside. I speak these words, and will the Dark Light to make this so!" Drusilla cried.

Darla cruelly showed him his now bumpy, ugly self. William screamed, crumpling to the ground when the trees let him go. Angelus had looked bored, and Drusilla was smiling and holding out her hand. The former poet decided that he had to get away; he buried his ugly face in his hands, and ran, determined at any cost to leave the family he wanted no part of….

(In the present…)

"So she made you into the beastly form you are now?" Buffy asked.

"Yeh," Spike said sadly.

"I could beat her up then stake her!" Buffy declared. Seeing the look of fear in Spike's eyes, she asked as she changed the subject, "how did you get the house?"

"Got what few monies I could an' I managed to seize control of a ship that was bound for the States. When I got to America, I searched for the perfect home that I could call my own, an' I found this deserted house. Since I've been here, I've been searching for all o' my life as a vampire for a cure, trying to break the curse before my beastly nature overtakes me completely. Haven't seen any o' them since the night I escaped."

"And that's why you pulled away from me when I tried to kiss you the other day?" Buffy guessed. "You were afraid of hurting me."

"I couldn't do that to you," Spike told the woman he knew he loved. "Couldn't change you into the monster I am, or kill you. I would rather have you stake me before lettin' anything happen to you. It's only from sheer will that I din't feed on you, your mum, or Wesley, or anyone else. But as each night passes, it gets harder an' harder to not give in."

Before Buffy said anything, Spike continued. "Tha's why, though I wanted you to before, you can't stay here," he said. "Thought I could make it work…thought I could resist you. But I can't, Buffy. 'M not strong enough."

Spike gave her a pained look as he came to a momentous decision.

He said in a low voice, "go home, Buffy. Forget you ever saw me. Marry Riley, or whoever, an' have a great life as the Slayer. Make me proud an' kill as many o' my kind as you can."

Buffy cried out. "No! I won't let you do this!"

Before Spike gave her a counter argument, she exclaimed, "Giles is a White One, right? And I'm assuming they have powerful magic, right? He can break this Curse, or somebody can!"

"Kitten," Spike said, "it's useless. I've been like this for over a century. There's no way this Curse c'n ever be lifted!"

Buffy would not be deterred. "Sure it can!" she shouted, desperately grasping at any straws she could. After a moment, the Slayer declared, "I know! I'll find this Drusilla, and I'll kill her! That should break it, right?"

Spike grabbed Buffy just then, saying, "No, Buffy! Dru is a Dark One, full of negative magic energy from the First Evil! You are a newly chosen Slayer! It's too dangerous to go up against her! You'd be killed right away, an' I couldn't bear that! Promise me you won't stake Dru, at least not until you have been the Slayer for awhile!"

"Giles will fix this! I know he will!" Buffy insisted.
"Dunno if he can, pet, but in any case, I still want your promise that you won't go get Drusilla," the vampire said.

"But…" Buffy faltered.

"Promise me!" Spike repeated.

"Okay, I promise I won't stake or attack Drusilla until I am ready as the Slayer," Buffy insisted. When Spike let her arms go, Buffy considered his actions of the past few days. His wanting to be with her; his willingness to let her go, even if it cost him greatly…she had to know, she decided, the true motivator behind the things he did for her.

"Do you love me, Spike?" she asked the vampire.

He thought about lying to her, thought about simply not answering the question. But he knew that he could not hide what he felt inside from her. "I love you more than my own life…my own happiness, Buffy," he told her with all sincerity.

Buffy pulled him to her, hugging him, wishing that she didn't know about her destiny, or about his Curse. She had promised she wouldn't go after Drusilla, but Buffy also knew that she would not rest until Spike was freed from the beastly curse that the evil Dark One had imposed on him. Buffy also knew that if she denied Spike his request for her to be happy he would only do something foolish. Oh, she would never marry Riley, but she had to put her desire to stay with Spike on hold for now if it kept the vampire safe.

"I guess I'd better go, and leave you in peace," she said, deciding to call Giles the moment she knew Spike couldn't hear her. The Slayer turned away, starting to leave the gym and the man she cared about more than anything when Spike touched her on her shoulder.
"Buffy," he said when she turned around. She gave him her undivided attention once more.

Spike ran upstairs and, seeing the Star of Samara that Wesley had given him on Spike's nightstand, gave the stone to Buffy.

"A li'l keepsake. I don't really believe in its power, but it might bring you luck," he told her.

Buffy smiled and tucked the gem inside her pocket. A moment later, she frowned, saying, "I don't have anything to give you."

"A quick kiss goodbye, Slayer?" the vampire suggested. "I think I can control myself this time."

Buffy's answer was to kiss him tenderly. For several moments, the more-than-friends-but-not-quite-lovers kissed softly. When Buffy was about to pull away, Spike lowered his face to her neck, nuzzling it. The revenant was about to withdraw, but Buffy pulled him closer.
"Buffy, I can't…" he said into her collar bone.

"Just one taste to remember me by," she said. When he started to protest again, Buffy urged, "Please, William."

William couldn't deny his love's request. He stroked her neck, whispering, "You're sure?"

Buffy response was to pull him to the spot where her pulse was beating. Spike buried his canines in her neck, drinking slowly at first, then more rapidly. Buffy sighed as she could feel herself drifting on waves of passion. The demon in him was in heaven. It panted for more…more Slayer blood, the most potent of all blood, or so Spike had learned from the books he had read about the future Slayers. Buffy mewled, her pleasured sounds urging him on. Spike drank as much as he dared. When he withdrew suddenly, the vampire earned a protest from the Slayer.
He sealed the puncture wound on her neck, saying, "Thank you. I'll never forget this."

Buffy stroked his cheek, banking down her disappointment. "Neither will I," she said.

Both were unable to move and deal with the reality of being by themselves, of being apart. Buffy and Spike hugged and held each other tightly for what seemed like forever, each conjuring up their own fears of what lay ahead.





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