"The Letter"

Author: Samantha
Email: sammer77@aol.com

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She’s gone. She left a few minutes ago and I watched her as she walked away, disappearing into the darkness. I don’t think she knows I followed her. I’m not sure it would matter if she did. And I know that she won’t go back to my place and find me missing, ‘cause she hasn’t been to my place in a while. She always seems to find a way to bow out whenever I extend an invitation.

I guess that’s why I’m here, despite the fact that I know I’m intruding. I really have no right to be here and yet, I feel as though I have every right. She’s been pushing me away and I want to know why. I want to know why, after all this time, she still can’t let go of the past. Yeah, I know what this place is, who used to live here. She told me all about it that night in the burned-out basement of the old Sunnydale High. *He* used to live here.

I can no longer see her figure in the darkness; I haven’t been able to for a while. But I have continued to sit and stare in the direction she went off in, unable to make myself move. I don’t want to go in there, but I want nothing more than to do so. And I battle these opposing forces as I sit in the shadows of the garden. A garden now overgrown with weeds, with an unused fountain full of stagnant, algae-covered water.

When I finally move to enter the looming building, I am caught by surprise when I see her. She is standing next to the fountain, smiling. And she’s looking in my direction, only she’s not looking at me. I turn to follow her gaze and there he is. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes dancing and a slight smile curving his lips.

This can’t be real. I shake my head and rub my eyes and look again towards where I saw her standing. But she’s gone. All that’s left are the shadows of the night and the silhouettes of apparitions from the past. My little escapade is enough to drive me inside and I stop and look around once I am through the door.

Everything is dark, the moonlight casting the place in an eerie glow. As my eyes adjust, I can see things more clearly and I begin to maneuver my way through the large room to the place where I watched her sit, watched her cry, and heard her laugh out loud just a few minutes ago.

I hear her laugh again, only this time it echoes through the entire structure and trails off hauntingly as it is reabsorbed into the stone walls. Ghosts of her past life with him are mocking me with every step I take.

The fireplace looms in the distance a few feet away and I am once again reminded of all I have witnessed tonight. She took a stroll down memory lane and I took it with her, though the exact memories were unknown to me. As I get nearer, I can see the faint outline of a book on the step in front of the fireplace and I bend down to pick it up. It’s very old, and obviously well-loved, as evidenced by the very worn cover that barely remains connected to the pages anymore.

I carefully open the cover, the light too scant to read the inscription written in an elegant hand on the inside. And when I do, something falls out of it, landing on the dusty stone floor with a soft thud. I reach down and pick it up. It’s a letter—a thick one judging by the heft of the envelope it’s encased in. And I tilt it towards the slice of moonlight that is snaking through a crack in the roof, trying to make out the letters written neatly on it. My chest tightens when I realize what it says.

"Angel."

She must have brought it with her when she came here and left it behind when she left. I hadn’t noticed. But the light was so dim and I was so preoccupied with my own conflicting thoughts that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if she had stripped naked and danced around the room.

I suddenly feel guilty for intruding and slip the letter back inside the book, closing the battered cover carefully over it. And I bend to place the items back on the fireplace step when I hear her voice again. It sounds so close and I turn to face the direction it came from, only to be met with more darkness.

"Angel…" her melodic voice whispers through the still air.

Gazing down at the book still grasped in my hand, I open it again and remove the envelope, holding it between my fingers tightly. Then I reach for the keys that are in my pocket and twist on the tiny pocket flashlight, flashing the narrow stream of light across the cream colored paper.

I read his name again and again, written in her unmistakable handwriting, and I swear I hear her voice whispering those two damnable syllables from every dark corner of this place. Flashing the light across the worn book cover, I discover that it is a book of poetry. And as I flip through the fragile yellow pages—many of which are no longer bound within the book but are stuck loosely between other pages—I notice that many of the poems’ titles have stars beside them. They have been set apart from the rest for reasons which become apparent to me as I scan the words—they all have to do with everlasting love and devotion. And I begin to wonder who put those stars there—was it she or Angel? But it doesn’t really matter, for the meaning is the same.

I flip back to the front of the book and quickly read the inscription. "Happy 18th Birthday, Buffy. Love, A." "A"—how mysterious and romantic, I think bitterly.

My attention is drawn back to the creamy envelope I still hold in my fingers and I flash the light over it again, debating whether or not to open it. It’s really none of my business, but my curiosity is piqued to the point of no return and I sit down on the fireplace step and carefully open the envelope. It isn’t sealed; the flap is just tucked into the opening.

I pull out the pages nestled inside. There are several of them, all folded in half. Taking a deep breath, I unfold them and close my eyes briefly before shining the light on the words and beginning to read. The first few lines take my breath away.

"My dearest Angel,

Those words cut through me sharply and a dull ache settles in my chest. She told him the words I have always dreamed she would say to me but never has. And I wonder how many times those words rolled off her lips when they were together, how easily they flowed from her when she spoke to him. And I try to suffocate the jealous rage that is building up inside me.

I continue to read.

"It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, since I’ve touched you, since I’ve heard your voice. And yet sometimes, I swear I can feel you next to me, can hear your voice calling my name in that soft, loving way I had grown accustomed to. But when I turn around, you’re not there. And I’m left with a strange feeling of emptiness that I can’t explain.

I realize that I am gripping the pages so tightly in my fingers that they are starting to wrinkle under the pressure. But I can’t tear my eyes away from the words and I proceed.

"When you first left me, Angel, I felt so lost. My love, my life had walked away, into the smoky night, without saying goodbye. And I was so angry with you for leaving me. We had fought so hard just to be together, and you just left it all behind without a second thought. At least that’s how I saw it at the time. You hadn’t even given me a choice in the matter and I resented you robbing me of the option to make my own choices.

Her handwriting has become more slanted, more rushed, as though she was in a hurry, as though her hand was trying to work as fast as her mind. The light of the flashlight is starting to dim and I pound it against my knee to make it brighter. There’s only a couple pages left; I can’t stop now.

"I heard a song on the radio the other day and immediately I thought of you. I had never heard it before, but the words stuck in my mind. And I want to share them with you.

"What ravages of spirit
conjured this temptuous rage
created you a monster
broken by the rules of love
and fate has led you through it
you do what you have to do
and fate has led you through it
you do what you have to do…

"And I have the sense to recognize
that I don’t know how to let you go…

"Every moment marked
with apparitions of your soul
I’m ever swiftly moving,
trying to escape this desire
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do…

"But I have the sense to recognize
that I don’t know how to let you go
I don’t know how to let you go…

"Glowing ember, burning hot
and burning slow
deep within I’m shaken by
the violence of existing
for only you
I know I can’t be with you
I do what I have to do
I know I can’t be with you
I do what I have to do…

"And I have the sense to recognize
but I don’t know how to let you go
no, I don’t know how to let you go
I don’t know how to let you go…."

My mouth is dry and I swallow harshly, tasting the sourness of the bile rising in my throat. I can’t bear to read what I am certain is coming next—her declaration of undying devotion to the dark vampire. But I’ve gotten this far and will myself to see it through until the end. So I focus my eyes back on the paper, reading the last few paragraphs in the dying light of the flashlight.

"I will never let you go, Angel. I’ve tried and I can’t. But maybe letting go isn’t the point. Maybe simply moving on is. I can’t keep playing this fool’s game with myself, living in this adolescent dream world. Because the truth is, that’s all it is—dreams and shadows of what never really was and what was never meant to be.

"And I have moved on. I have locked your memory away in that place in my heart that will always belong to you and have opened the rest of it up to someone else. Someone who loves me with all of his heart even though I can never return the favor. But even though I don’t love him with all my heart, I do love him with most of it. And all I can hope for is that it’s enough.

"I know he thinks I don’t love him. I can see it in his eyes every time he says the words to me and I say nothing in return. But he doesn’t understand how hard it is for me to say it and perhaps he never will. And I know that it’s not fair to him that I’m actually telling you before I tell him, but that’s the way it has to be. I have to end this chapter before I can start a new one.

"I love Riley. He laughs at my jokes. He wipes away my tears. He stands by me. He wears his heart proudly on his sleeve. He gives me red roses for no reason other than that he loves me. That’s it—he loves me. And he deserves to be loved in return, which he is. And to know he’s loved, which he doesn’t. I intend to fix that.

"So I have written you this letter to tell you goodbye, Angel. And I have returned this beautiful book you gave me two years ago. I don’t need it to remember you by. I know I’ll never forget you. Thank you for everything you have given me.

"Love always,
Buffy."

The flashlight finally goes out completely and I sit in the darkness silently, trying to regain the breath that has suddenly escaped me. I can’t believe the words that I have just read and I wonder if I just imagined them. Pounding the small flashlight against my leg, I try in vain to get it to light up again. I need to see her words again, to reassure myself that I am not hallucinating. But the damn thing won’t work and I am stuck in the shadows wondering.

I hear her voice again, softly resonating from the other side of the room. Only this time, she’s saying my name instead of his. "Riley…."

Looking up, I fully expect to see nothing but darkness, certain that what I heard was nothing more than another one of those apparitions. But what meets my eyes is her. She is standing right in front of me, looking down into my face.

"Buffy?" I ask incredulously as I gaze at her with wide eyes.

She smiles and sits down beside me, touching my face with her fingers. "I knew you were here."

The touch of her warm skin against my cheek assures me that she’s real. And I realize that I am still holding her letter in my hand, the guilt over invading her privacy washing over me as I stammer, "I-I’m sorry…."

She shakes her head and reaches for the pages. I relinquish them without resistance. Without saying a word, she folds them up, slides them back into the envelope, and places the envelope back inside the book. I watch in silence as she stands and places the book back on the fireplace step.

Reaching out her hand, she says softly, "Let’s go home."

My eyes rest on the book for a moment, the last few words of her letter flashing across my mind. And I feel a sudden rush of contentment wash over me. I look up at her, into her eyes, and feel my lips curve into a smile. "Sounds good to me," I say, grasping her hand and climbing to my feet.

She doesn’t seem angry to have found me here, and for that I am grateful. And as we walk out of the old mansion hand-in-hand, I no longer feel haunted by the ghosts that followed me here.

 

The End