Postcards From The EdgeWhen Skeletons Point
Willow slowly began sorting the mail, creating two piles - one for her parents and one for herself - until her eyes alighted upon the picture of an ancient wooden mask washed in muted tints of mauve and green. She flipped the postcard over.
Willow Rosenburg, 1213 Elm Street, Sunnydale CA
postmarked September 13, 1999 - Sanatarem, BrazilIn catacombs I sleep & wait for the boat to come from Belem - it's the only one with night passage. The skeletons point at me. It's as if they're laughing at my bloody misery. Dru's gone. No sign of her anywhere. Stuck here, for a little while, with my thoughts. Thinking about drinking the fire of your hair, savoring every drop of its power as it pours like blood over my hungry lips. There's just no rest for the wicked. --S
Willow flipped the card over again and blinked at the stillness of the mask... half-closed eyes, parted bruised lips, startling pale flesh... an image of death. Turning over the card yet again, she read every single word as if for the first time, noted the postmark, and there was no question in her mind who had sent it.
With the weight of uncertainty, her legs trembled as she sat in a kitchen chair and leaned her elbows against the coolness of the table. A shiver slithered through her and marked her flesh with goose bumps. A numbness set into her mind as she considered the imagery of the prose, and sought to understand its meaning. Did he mean to simply frighten her? Or did he mean to kill her?
When a year ago she nearly lost her life to the vampire, Buffy had assuaged her fears. Spike had returned to Brazil to do the one thing he did best: inflict unbridled pain and torment on the woman of his affection. The Slayer was certain it would be the last they would see of Spike or Drusilla.
Scanning the words again, Willow breathed deeply as she detected a certain despondency to the vampire's tone. No explicit threat was made to her, only innuendo. He was probably just trying to frighten her, and there was no sense giving it any more thought. Regaining her strength, Willow sought out the trashcan, but stopped herself from discarding the correspondence.
Glancing at the postcard questioningly, she considered telling Buffy about it. If it was a one time prank by the vampire, then there was no point riling up the Slayer about nothing. If it wasn't a one time prank, however, she would be smart to keep track of it and any more correspondence that may follow.
"Done with the mail?"
Willow jumped. She smiled weakly at her father, nodding as she scooped up the rest of her letters.
"Listen, your mother and I are going to be out of town quite a bit over the next few months," Ira said nervously. "We were wondering if you wouldn't mind dropping by and making sure the house is okay, water the plants, pick up the mail, y'know, that sort of thing? If its okay with you! I know it must be a bit of a pain coming all this way from the campus, but-"
"It's okay," Willow said, smiling at the familiar ramblings of her father from whom she learnt to do the same. "I don't mind. Really! I'll camp here on weekends, how's that sound?"
Her father breathed a sigh of relief, then silently retreated to the living room.
Sadness pulled at Willow's heart. Her parents had always been remote and distant to her. She had hoped that as she got older, they would be interested in her activities, especially since she now lived on campus. They seldom asked how well she was doing in classes, or if she was enjoying the course material offered. Willow supposed that they already knew the answers: She always did well in school, and she always found something of interest in any subject.
Willow sighed in defeat, and finally admitted to herself that her parents just didn't find her interesting enough.
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