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Chapter 10 –

His vision was locked on the reflection staring back at him, wondering exactly who and what he had become as a vampire after his death. What had possessed him to make his hair this garish color? Why had he clipped it so short? It rather reminded him of his father, what little he could remember of him, save the color of course. And what of this scar trisecting his brow? How does an immortal creature develop such a mark? Or was it something that happened when he was attacked by the woman in the alley, Drusilla?

And what of his name, Spike? What an odd moniker. Why had he chosen it? Miss Buffy said he’d traveled with three other vampires, Drusilla, the one who’d turned him into a vampire, Darla, and Angelus, who’d “sired” Drusilla. Did that mean Angelus was her father? Were they now family? He’d apparently been devoted to her for more than a century. Spike, such an odd name. Did all vampires choose a single name, or did they have family names and titles? Where were these others now? Would they try to murder him as the others had earlier, or merely turn him into a vampire once more?

And what had he been like as a vampire? “The scourge of Europe,” she’d called them. That certainly didn’t have any good implications. “Killing and destroying everything in your path,” she’d told him. Had he really become such a monster? No thought or feeling for others, discarding lives so carelessly?

But apparently, he’d also retained a bit of noble character. Or had he? She’d said the government had put something called a “behavior modification chip” in his head. Was it still there? How did such a thing work? How did it modify his behavior? He didn’t feel like something was currently altering his behavior. Still, he could not fathom how something put in his head could so drastically alter his behavior to take him from being an instrument of wanton destruction to dispatching a Hell God. As an agent of evil, wouldn’t he have been trying to assist the Hell God?

And what of the young girl, Dawn? Miss Buffy had said that he’d promised to care for her until the end of the world, and he evidently had, while helping her associates maintain order against the vampires and demons in her absence. Thinking back, he recalled Miss Tara saying that the girl had seen him as a brother. He’d always wanted siblings, and could certainly imagine himself doting on her. And what of her associates? Where these his friends as well? They seemed to be quite familiar with him, to say the least.

And what of Miss Buffy? He’d apparently abandoned the lady he’d devoted his love to for a century due to a tryst, and he’d come here to apparently fall madly in love with Miss Buffy. He could certainly imagine doing so. Her unadorned beauty was unparalleled. Her being seemed as if it were born of fire and grace and power like he’d never beheld. His mind recalled the words of the creature who’d made him a vampire, “You walk in worlds the others can’t begin to imagine.” The words were more aptly applied to Miss Buffy. Loving her would come as easily as breathing. He’d become her companion, declared his love to her a thousand times, and they’d been physically intimate. Yet, according to her recounting, they had recently ceased such relations. Just that day they’d had a quarrel that led to her wishing him dead. Or, rather, that he no longer even existed. Why? What could have led to such a seething hatred as to warrant such a wish?

Was he an evil creature who took the innocence and life of others at will? Had he committed some evil against her? He shuddered to think such a thing. Love was not something that was so easily dispatched with life. His associates were certainly known to partake in the pleasures of the flesh, but he’d never been one to fall victim to his baser desires, until tonight when Drusilla seemed to truly see him for who he was inside. Had becoming a vampire changed him so completely? If so, why had he devoted a hundred years to Drusilla? Why had he gone so far as to seek out this Angelus fellow to cure her sickness? And why declare his love so effusively to Miss Buffy? And why, at her death, would he then swear an oath to care for the young girl in her charge?

And yet, he’d spent that same time murdering innocents. He’d become an instrument of destruction. He’d become a creature of darkness. How many had he slaughtered while embracing his demonic nature? How many virtues had he taken? Had he made them into other vampires, stealing their soul’s from them as they begged for life one last moment? Did he have a soul now? Had he unwittingly made a Faustian bargain in exchange for the physical pleasure and comfort Drusilla had offered earlier in the stables? Was he now doomed to suffer an eternity of torment upon death, for crimes he did not even recall?

Had he completely abandoned his current life and duties, or carried on with them for a time? What of mother? Had he abandoned her, or killed her, as Mr. Xander had suggested? He couldn’t imagine even his evil self cause any harm to come to her. What of Cecily? Had she wondered what became of him? What of his nephew? Had he grown into a young man and inherited the title, or had he perished as a youth, and with no surviving male heir, the title perishing with him? Did he have any family remaining at this time, or had his own death sealed the fate of the family for eternity?

Who was this person looking back at him? A scoundrel? A penitent? A villain? A man of nobility? A sinner? A paramour? An unfortunate fool who gave his heart to those who would not take it? Someone who took what they wanted from others for a hundred and twenty-two years?

He wasn’t the presumptive heir of Lord Camden anymore, that was certain. That fellow had apparently died long ago. He wasn’t this Spike fellow anymore either as he wasn’t an immortal creature, a vampire, any longer. He wasn’t the man he’d been just a few hours prior either. How could he be, knowing all he did now? He still felt like himself. Or did he? Had such a small amount of knowledge changed him? Had a hundred twenty-two years that he didn’t recall still molded him into someone else? He’d done things, some he was glad he couldn’t recall, and others he desperately wished he could remember. And if he was neither William nor Spike, then who was he?

And what did this person staring back at him do now that he’d been transported through time and space to this strange new place in America? Did he abandon all pretense of who he was, or rather who he used to be? The thought seemed rather frightening, but also rather intriguing, perhaps even exhilarating. The idea of becoming someone new, without the encumbrance of title or duty, did sound appealing. To simply seize the moment and freely live his life? All the things he could see and do, or immerse himself in the study of anything he desired. Then again, how could he so easily consider abandoning everything he’d ever known? With neither past nor present, how and where and with whom did he even begin to forge a future? He needed answers. A lot of them. But not from her. Not yet, at least.

“William?” The young woman’s voice called to him from beyond the door, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s Dawn. I know you’ve had a really bad day and all; but, I was wondering if you were planning to come out anytime soon? Not that I’m trying to rush you or anything, but some of us kind of have to use the bathroom, like…soon.”

It was time to find out exactly who he was, and he thought he might know just who could help him find the answers.





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