Chapter 21

A/N-Sorry for the long time between updates, but to those that don't know, Jypz is getting married. Two days after Christmas no less! Between that and Christmas, AND the fiancé's birthday the day after the wedding, I'm a little crazy right now. Well, to bring this ramble to a close, I will be taking a break from the other fics I am writing to finish this one, since it is almost done. Don't want to burn out, do I? So, expect to see regular updates to this, and I'll get back to the others soon. Lisa

Goddamn it, Riley thought as he stormed down the street. Wes is going to be pissed. Again, he hadn't done as he was told, and again Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was going to make him pay.

His stomach pitched dangerously at that thought, and he had to struggle not to step into an alley and empty the bolstering drink or two he had taken onto the street. A cold sweat broke out on his skin, making him shiver. He was built for this, killing. He was a simple man, who had wanted nothing more than to play for the Oakland Raiders, and get the hell out of this shit ass town. But all those dreams had been smashed when he had blown out his knee. He had lost Faith, and had been forced to go into his father's locksmithing business.

When Wesley had first approached him, all those years ago, he was still so bitter over what he saw as her betrayal, he was willing to do anything to get back at her. Follow Angel, Wes had told him. See if he's coming into the house. He'd said he was on his way back to England for school, and couldn't be around to keep an eye on things for his ailing father. Riley had done it, willingly. Especially after Wes had handed him the fat envelope full of hundreds.

That little job was actually how Finn had met Darla, his wife. She was a maid at the great house, and had seen him snooping around. She'd made it clear that she didn't care what he was doing there. Had actually laughed out loud when she found out that he had been paid, by the master's son no less, to spy on his stepmother. In fact, Darla had a nasty streak, and offered to help. She and Faith were from the same part of town, but whereas Faith dreamed of having a big house and staff one day, Darla knew she was destined to be one of the staff. The blonde woman had no illusions about her life, and hated Faith for thinking she was better than everyone else in their neighborhood.

And so, a beautiful friendship, that quickly dissolved into a hot affair, had started.

In fact, he had been recovering after Darla had met him outside the manor, when he had seen it. He'd had word that the old man was out of town, and was on alert for Angel. They often got together when he was gone. His eyes had widened with shock when he had seen the old man, who was NOT out of town, slip into the well hidden basement door. The same door that Angel used to get into the house. He watched, with rapt attention, a sense of foreboding settling over him. He didn't know how, but he just KNEW something was going to happen.

Especially after Charles Gunn had followed a few minutes later. Riley edged along the side of the house, keeping himself hidden, so as not to attract attention. His eyes stayed riveted to the door, finally starting to sting after a few minutes, because he was afraid to blink. He had just about given up, when roughly thirty minutes later, he saw the old man come back out of the house. It was at that precise moment, that the locksmith's foot stepped on a branch, the resulting snap sounding like a gunshot to Riley. He tensed, and shrank further into the shrubs that concealed him, trying to calm his thudding heart. He didn't think the old man would appreciate finding out his son had set a spy on the house.

After a few more minutes, when nothing had happened, he peered out over the hedge, and saw the old man was gone. His sigh of relief hitched in is throat when the sound of heavy footsteps hit the air. He turned in time to see a ashen faced Gunn explode from the door. He obviously wasn't looking where he was going, because he stumbled head long over a pool chair. Without breaking stride, he was back up and hightailing it out of the fence, his dark eyes darting back to the house every few steps.

Riley sat in the shadows as the chauffeur disappeared, his face twisted with confusion. What had Gunn seen that had him so scared? It took him a few minutes to bolster his courage to go and see, but at the moment, Angel came striding through the gate, his tall, solid form moving precisely across the pool area. He didn't skulk, or sneak, and he certainly didn't act like someone who shouldn't be there as he went to the door. The locksmith was now at a loss. He wanted to go inside to see what was happening, but he didn't dare with Angel inside.

He battled with indecision for awhile, before finally convincing himself he had what he needed. Angel was there, and that's all Wes had asked for. He glanced briefly at the door before he started to walk away, his mind swirling with a thousand different ideas of what could have happened.

And none of them came even close to what HAD happened.

When he'd read the newspaper the next morning, he had been stunned to find Faith on the cover, dead. He'd been even more stunned when he'd found himself bawling, a puddle of orange juice at his feet from where the cup he had been holding fell from numb fingers. When he had calmed, he didn't know how long later, he figured he knew who had killed her. Then, his very self serving mind had started to work, sorting out a plan to make his knowledge beneficial.

After some serious thought, he kicked back and waited to see what the police would do. When it became very clear that they felt they had their man, Riley decided it was time to act. He had called the main house, to set up an appointment to see the old man. Finn fully anticipated being compensated well for keeping his mouth shut about what he had seen. Frederick Wyndham-Pryce would never survive jail, and Riley figured it would be worth a pretty penny for him to get amnesia. A very pretty penny indeed.

He'd arrived early for his appointment, and had smiled winningly at the severe looking secretary as she let him into the cavernous office. His smile faltered when he saw, not Frederick, but Wesley sitting behind the huge, mahogany desk. And Wesley didn't play nice, either.

He told Riley, quickly and with no little menace, that should he find it in his conscience to breathe a word about what he had seen that night, the police would get a full report about the locksmith's actions over the last few months. They would learn that the former football player had never quite gotten over the young Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce, and had started to stalk her. He was seen, regularly, sneaking around in the shadows of the old manor, peeking in through windows. It was, of course, quite logical, that he would have started an affair with one of the maids, and had duped her into telling him the secrets of the house. How easy it would have been for him to slip inside that night, kill Faith, and then leave, without the servants ever knowing he was there.

Riley had sat in one of the stiff, wing backed chairs and listened in horror. His eyes widened comically when Wesley pulled out a thick folder, full of pictures of him, crawling in the bushes waiting for Angel. Or worse, nailing Darla into one of the benches in the pool house. A bulky report was included, that detailed times and dates when he had been at the house.

"You set me up," he had gasped, staring wildly at the stack of circumstantial evidence on the desk. Riley shivered at the thin, cold smile that spread across the Englishman's face.

"No, Mr. Finn, I am merely taking care of business." From that day forward, Riley had been in Wes's pocket, doing what was asked of him with no question, lest that report find its way into some sergeant's in box at the Sunnydale P.D. He hadn't minded so much, taking the money to the jail and passing it to the guard that had killed Angel during the riot. He hadn't asked what it was for, and refused to think about it when the death had been reported. He'd married by then, and he and Darla'd had a son. And all that mattered to Riley was keeping them safe. So, he'd become a patsy, and kept his mouth shut.

The only time he had even come close to defying Wes during all these years, had been when he wanted Gunn, the last of the ones who knew what had really happened, dead. Fred was gone, as were Angel and Frederick. Gunn had to be dealt with now. There was nothing keeping him silent any longer, and he was a danger. And Wes had wanted Riley to take care of him.

He'd refused, flat out refused. If Wes wanted Gunn dead, he could do it himself. A few thinly veiled threats thrown the way of Darla and their son, Connor, had stopped all rejections in their tracks. So, Riley, had become a killer. And had spent the next three years in a bottle because of it. Of course, this nearly ruined his marriage, and had his son hating him for quite some time. Finally, he convinced himself that it was Gunn or him, and surely Gunn would understand what he'd had to do. He'd done something similar himself, after all.

But now, now Wes wanted him to take care of a bunch of kids. Three of whom he had watched grow up. All because he felt they were getting too close. Riley was getting to the point that he didn't understand WHY he needed to keep Frederick's involvement with Faith's death secret. He was dead, as was everyone else. What did it matter? Faith, it seemed wanted it to be known, and Riley had no doubt it was Faith spurring on this jr Detective investigation. She often came to him, haunting his dreams, calling him a coward, and saying his life with Darla was tainted by blood. Her blood, as well as Angel's and Gunn's.

He'd nearly lost it when he'd seen the blood pouring from the gash in the back of Mark's head. A gash HE had caused. After shakily checking for a pulse, he stumbled out of the house, barely remembering to take the candlestick with him. Then drove like the devil himself was on his tale. Reality didn't hit him again until he saw a set of headlights coming towards him. He knew he had been seen, and there was no getting out of this now. That also made him remember the slicing job he'd done to the purple haired drummer's brake lines. Images of the girls as they grew up swam through his brain, clouding his vision with tears. He couldn't do this, he realized then.

But then Wes had shown up at his house, and it had started all over again. Fear for his own hide, and his family had spurred him out into the night, to take care of the bleached blonde and Buffy. And when he had looked into the living room, and had realized what was going on, shame slammed into him with a crippling force. What he saw was love, young and hot and free, and there was no way he could do what Wes wanted him to do.

NO, his mind screamed. This was where he got off this particular ride. He would NOT kill those kids. If Wes couldn't handle his father's good name getting smeared, that was just too damn bad. What he had just witnessed, between Buffy and that Spike guy, was powerful. He wouldn't destroy it. And there was nothing Wes could do to make him. He decided, right then, that he would go straight home, and tell Darla everything. Then, even if she walked out on him, he would go to the police, and finally, FINALLY put this mess to rights. Like he should have, twenty years ago, instead of letting his greed get the better of him. No, this time the Wyndham-Pryces wouldn't win.

~*~*~

"Listen to me sweetcakes, if you aren't at the restaurant in exactly fifteen minutes, I'm coming to drag your lily ass out of there myself. Understand?" Spike scowled at the phone, and cursed his cell phone's battery for not dying during the night. The damn thing had rung, right when he'd slid into Buffy's slick depths. He'd ignored it then, but he couldn't ignore it now, not after it had kept ringing, like the caller was constantly hitting redial. Their morning tryst officially shot to hell, Spike had snatched it up and groaned when he saw the number flashing across the face.

"Lorne, I'm kind of busy at the moment. . ." he started, only to be cut off by Lorne's angry retort.

"I don't care if you're having tea and crumpets with the Queen Mother. You guys are costing me money, and I want to know what you're going to do to rectify the situation. Tell the sweet thing you're with that you'll call her later, and get there. I've already had this same conversation with Mark, and he will be there."

"What about Johnny?" Spike asked, petulantly. If he and Mark were going to get yelled at, the drummer should too.

"Well, I'd say he's excused since he's currently sitting in the hospital. And he's had enough this morning, since I heard that Nazi nurse yelling at him because he was using his cell phone in the hospital. Which is another thing I want to talk to you about." The sound of Lorne's voice told Spike there was no way he was getting out of this. Lorne was worse than a Nazi himself when he got a burr up his ass.

"Fine," Spike growled, rolling out of bed with a look of apology for Buffy.

"That's what I like to hear. Total cooperation from the boys I made stars," Lorne said before his cell disconnected.

"Who was that?" Buffy asked with an annoyed look on her face. Somewhere during the night, they had finally made it up to her bedroom, and she was stretched lazily across the snowy white comforter, her golden skin a stunning contrast against it.

"That was Lorne. Bugger. I have to meet him, pet. He's all bug shagging crazy at the moment, and me and Mark have to calm him down before he starts sprouting horns and changing colors," he said with a snort.

"Sounds like fun," she drawled with a roll of her eyes.

"Ah, the price of fame." Spike's mouth twisted into a wicked grin. "I've got about fourteen minutes. Want to take a shower with me?" She laughed when his brows waggled suggestively. Suddenly, she was springing off the bed, and darting towards the door.

"Race you," she squealed, giving Spike a luscious view of her ass as she ran out into the hall. With a growl, he was off the bed, and after her.

Spike was thirty minutes late to the restaurant, staggering in a mere five minutes before Mark, who looked as unashamed as he did.

~*~*~

"Thanks for coming with me, Will. I know this is the last place either of us wants to be right now," Buffy said, turning the key in the door, and letting them into the mansion.

"Oh, no problem. I have to get my car before work, anyway. I won't leave until the cleaners get here. Okay?"

"Sure." Buffy walked into the house, and stared around with trepidation, looking for people springing out of walls holding blunt objects.

"And you'll leave as soon as they do, right? I don't want you here alone."

"Promise," the blonde said, holding up three fingers and crossing her heart with her other hand.

"They'll be here soon?" the redhead asked as they walked into the living room. She paled even more than usual when the blood stain came into view. She started when she felt Buffy's hand in the center of her back.

"He's okay, remember? Right now he's at a restaurant with Spike and their manager, probably getting yelled at for not being more productive," Buffy reminded her, giving her a smile.

"Yeah. I know. It's just. . .weird, how important he is to me. And so quick."

"My mom told me once, that she knew within the first five minutes that she was in love with my father," the blonde said as she walked over to the coffee table, and picked up the legal pad and sheet music. She placed the music on the piano then handed Willow the legal pad. "You might want to take that when you leave. Don't need the cleaners seeing it."

"Yeah. Okay. Are you going to go see Tara today? I'm going to go when I leave."

"Yes. I'm going to meet Spike back at my house, then we're going to go over. Push Johnny out so he can go get cleaned up and stuff." Both girls giggled at that. They both jumped a little when they heard the sound of a car door slam outside. "That must be them. I'll walk you out."

Sure enough, when they stepped into the bright, hot morning, three men were unloading an industrial size steam cleaner from the back of a van.

"Well, I'll see you later, right?"

"Yeah. Tell Tara I said hi, and I'll see her later."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye." Buffy waved at Willow as she climbed into her car, then smiled at the cleaners when they walked up to her. "Right this way, guys." She then turned and led them into the house.

While they worked, she wandered upstairs to collect clean clothes for the guys, the money Spike told her was in his dresser to pay the cleaners and to see if she'd left anything the last time she was there. She didn't even glance at Faith's door when she walked past it, not wanting to deal with that at the moment. In fact, she'd happily forget about the whole thing, if she could. Except for Spike. She never wanted to forget about Spike. Ever.

She found herself lingering around his room, picking up things and looking at them, a soft smile playing across her lips. She didn't know how long she had been up there, so lost in thought was she. She whirled around when she heard the door open, and immediately forced a smile on her face when she found herself faced with Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.

"Wes, what are you doing here?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound overly bright and cheerful. Her heart was slamming against her chest, and she clutched the pair of jeans she was wearing in her hand. Wes smiled warmly at her, reminding her that this was WES and setting her somewhat at ease. No matter what, they hadn't come up with anything that suggested he was involved in any way with Faith's murder.

"I came to collect the month's bills for the house and saw the cleaners. They said they'd seen you come upstairs.

"Oh, okay. They're downstairs." She started towards the door, looking at him quizzically when he didn't turn to precede her out of the room.

"Where's the others?" he asked, keeping that smile on his face.

"Spike's supposed to meet me here anytime now, with Mark," she lied quickly. The way he was looking at her, although no different than any other time he had looked at her before, was putting her on edge.

"Really? I didn't just see them in town, with a rather excitable dark haired man?" Okay, she SO didn't imagine how his voice just dropped a degree, and that smile seemed to take an edge to it.

"Uhm yeah. They're having a meeting with their manager. But they'll be here soon," she repeated, feeling her skin break out in a cold sweat. "I need to get downstairs, to pay the carpet guys." She moved around him, and reached for the door, which she hadn't noticed he had closed.

"Oh, there's no rush. I already paid them," he said easily.

"Really? Well, okay. Then, let's go get those bills, shall we?" Just as her hand seized the doorknob, she felt his fingers wrap around her arm, his grip vice-like.

"Why don't we stay here a moment, and have us a chat, shall we?"

"I-I don't want to chat. I need to go downstairs, and wait for Spike. A-and, I'm supposed to pick up Dawn. She'll call mom if I don't show up on time. You know how childish she can be." She forced a laugh, and tried not to squirm. She feverishly prayed that she could talk her way out of this room. There was no doubt in her mind she was in trouble, and being trapped in here, with nowhere to go was not good.

"Well, I'm sure if you gave her a ring, she'd understand you being late." Another smile, and Buffy felt herself stumble a bit when he let her go. She gave him a tight smile of her own, and opened the door. The short hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, and gooseflesh had broken out on her arms.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Why don't I go do that?" She started down the hall swiftly, thanking God he'd let her out.

"Yes, why don't you?" She heard Wes say as she trotted down the stairs, her only thought to get to the phone and call Spike. She could feel him behind her, close behind her. She almost faltered on the bottom step, but she righted herself quickly. Moving as fast as she could without running, Buffy made her way into the living room, and walked across the now spotless carpet to the phone. Relief flooded through her, when her fingers grasped the phone. Her blood ran cold when she heard his voice once more.

"Why are you lying to me?" She turned towards him slowly, hoping her face looked confused, not terrified.

"W-what? What do you mean?"

"You're not going to call your sister. She's at her friend's house, sleeping off a weekend long sugar binge. And Spike, well, Spike looked quite tied up when I saw him. I don't think he'll be here anytime soon. So, why did you lie? Are you afraid to be alone here, with me? Oh, and I think you'll find, that's not working." He said this casually, his hands deep in his pockets, that same friendly smile on his face. Buffy's eyes shifted to the phone, horrified. Swallowing, she pressed the on button, and to her horror, she found, indeed, that it was dead.

Her mind started to scramble for a way to get herself out of this.

"Wow, that's weird," she said with a stiff laugh, replacing the receiver in its cradle. "You paid the bill this month, didn't you?" she joked, edging towards the french doors that led out to the pool.

"Buffy, don't. That will only make this harder."

"W-what are you talking about? Make what harder?" Playing dumb seemed like a good plan for some reason, and Buffy ran with it.

"Stupid girl." All of a sudden, amicable Wesley was gone. In his place was someone Buffy had never seen before, and someone she wished she'd never met. "You don't think I don't know what you've been up to?"

"Wes, I swear, I have NO idea what you're talking about. Unless you mean sex, and I don't think that's any of your business," she quipped, staring at him as he crossed to her, his face full of rage.

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" he roared, making her flinch. Reflex and instinct had her grabbing a bottle off the bar, and swinging it. To her luck, he hadn't been expecting it. Without time to block it, he took the bottle full on the side of his head, the smell of liquor immediately filling the air. Buffy watched as he dropped to the floor, screaming in pain. Fear gripped her, stiffening her legs, and making it impossible for her to move. It wasn't until he looked up at her, his blue eyes the consistency of ice, that she finally snapped out of it.

Still clutching the jagged neck of the bottle, Buffy ran.

Phantom Whispers (continued)

Chapter 22

Faster than Buffy had ever run in her life, the tiny blonde tore out of the living room, feeling as if she were in some sort of surreal dream. This couldn't be happening. Not Wes. Her mind's grasp on the situation kept slipping, telling her this was WRONG! There was no way she was running from the man that had been friend to her family for so many years. Flashes of memory showed her the times he had been at her house. The house warming party when they'd first moved to town. Her and Dawn's birthday parties. Playing golf with her father before he died. Her father's funeral. The way he stepped in and helped her mother afterwards. Joyce would be crushed when she found out.

This was all intertwined with the events that had just passed between them. There was no denying the way he had looked her, the way his eyes had become so cold. There was nothing of the man she'd known most of her life. It was suddenly glaringly apparent that she had never known him at all.

Pushing everything from her mind, save the thought of 'Get out of the house!', she skidded to a stop in front of the door. Her sneakers screeched against the marble floor as they gripped and held to keep her upright. She stilled clutched the neck of the bottle, while her other hand fumbled with the knob. Fear closed her throat when it wouldn't give. She started to throw the locks, not pausing to see which one was open. She didn't dare look towards the entrance to the living room as she struggled to escape. If she saw him, how close he could be, she was afraid she would pass out.

With a triumphant cry, the door knob turned. It turned into a dismayed sob when it only opened a couple of inches. She looked up wildly, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of a shiny new chain at the top. Slamming it closed again, she reached up, started to grapple with it.

"Buffy, why are you making this so hard?" She refused to look at him when she heard his voice, so dangerously close. "I mean, really. You don't really think I'll let you leave?" Tears slid silently down her cheeks, fear threatened to choke her. She could see him, just in the corner of her eye. He wasn't moving fast, which sent the ridiculous comparison of him to those ax murderers in horror movies careening through her mind. At least she wasn't wearing high heels, she thought stupidly.

"Leave me alone, Wes. People do know I'm here. And the cleaners, they know you're here. If I turn up dead, don't you think people will ask questions?" Thankfully, her voice didn't tremble when she spoke. She silently cursed when her damp fingers slipped off the chain in her haste to get it open. She turned then, resigned to the fact that she was going to have to face him. Her blood ran cold when she looked at him.

Wes was giving her that same friendly smile that didn't reach his eyes. Blood trickled down the side of his face, from his alcohol drenched face. The soft grey of his light sweater was stained with the liquor and red flecks from where the blood had dripped from his chin.

"Silly girl. I left with the cleaners," he explained, as if she was the slowest girl in the class and needed special attention. "Followed them all the way back to town. You were so busy daydreaming upstairs, you didn't hear them leave. Of course, the fact that the walls are sound proofed doesn't help either." He gave a slight chuckle, as if amused.

"Spike's coming," she insisted, taking a step back. She brandished the bottle neck in front of her, prepared to hack him to ribbons if the need arose. She scrambled to remember every self defense class her mother made her take and coming up blank. Praying that her body would remember should it come to that, she stiffened her stance and prepared to strike.

"I don't think so. You see, I was here, when you were talking to Willow. He's supposed to meet you back at your house after his meeting with his manager. By the time he realizes something is wrong, it'll be over and that idiot Finn will have taken the fall." Wes's face had taken on an almost dreamy expression at this, making Buffy involuntarily shiver.

"Mr. Finn?" Keep him talking, swirled around in her head. Keep him talking so you can figure out how to get out of this! It seemed like as good a plan as any, and she went with it.

Wes waved a hand, as if Finn was as inconsequential as a gnat.

"Really, Buffy. Do we need to get into all this? After all, you and your little junior detective friends couldn't figure it out, why should I clue you in?" This was said with a nasty smile. Buffy waved the bottle in her hand, reminding him she wasn't unarmed. The fact that he looked unconcerned made her stomach tip dangerously.

"Why did you kill Faith?" she asked, cursing her trembling voice. A look of annoyance passed over his features.

"Well, if you insist on prolonging the inevitable, I suppose I can humor you," he said with a sigh. "I didn't kill Faith."

"You'll understand if I'm not one with the believing right now," she quipped, her voice disgusted.

"I can assure you I didn't. I was in England at the time, just like I told the police." Confusion flooded through her.

"Then, why? Why are you trying to kill me and the others if you didn't think we were getting too close to you?" She shivered at the smile that spread over his features.

"I'm sure, if you put that little brain of yours to work, you can figure it out. Or, do you need others to think for you?" Buffy's eyes narrowed at the insult, but she said nothing. Her brain was working quickly, forming an idea, as well as realizing just what Wesley was saying. She felt as if the proverbial light bulb was flashing over her head when it hit her.

"Your father. Your father killed Faith." Wes got the look of a patient teacher on his face.

"Very good."

"But, why? Why didn't he just divorce her?" Again with the look that made her feel like she was the dumbest person on the planet.

"Because, Buffy. She did the one thing she promised she'd never do. She was carrying another man's child."

~*~*~

"But what I REALLY want to know is, why I had to hear it from Diane Sawyer that Johnny was involved in a car wreck that could have killed him AND the two girls in his car? Don't you think, as your manager, this is something I need to know? What if that girl's parents get it into their heads to sue the purple haired wonder for reckless endangerment? Huh? I need to be prepared for these things." Lorne hadn't taken a breath since they sat down, starting on the two of them as soon as their butts hit the seats. He'd ignored the waiter who had tried to come take their order three times, so intent was he on tearing into them. Spike and Mark had managed to order coffee around his tirade, and were sitting there like children being chastised for breaking a vase and trying to hide that they did it. People kept glancing over at the animated man, eyes widening at the snatches of conversation they heard. Spike was glaring down at his coffee, and Mark was angrily smoking a cigarette. They didn't interrupt though, knowing Lorne would run out of steam soon, and they would have their say.

In fact, not a minute later, he seemed to deflate, and sat back in his chair. He eyed them both as he pulled out a slim case and extracted a thin cigar. They stared at him until he lit it and started to blow smoke rings before talking.

"We've been writing. Got three or four songs back at the house right now," Spike started.

"We would have called last night, but what was the point of worrying you?" Mark shot off at the same time. Lorne's brows shot up at their words, his face telling them he wasn't buying a bit of it.

"Why worry me?" He chose to start with Mark. "Like I wasn't panicking the second I saw that damn report? The ONLY reason you two didn't get called last night was because I called the hospital my damn self to find out what was going on. And the songs. This isn't about the songs. You've barely been down here a week, I didn't expect a whole damn album. What I expect was for you three to show me the respect I deserve and keep me in the loop. Do you know that I got a call from Wanda AND Anya last night? I could hear old Rupert having a coronary in the background. You two couldn't even call them. I don't know what's gotten into you, but when you can't even call your parents, I'm not sure I like it." Guilt lanced through them both. Lorne was as much a parent to them as anybody back in Arizona, and they knew they were wrong to worry him.

"We said we were sorry," Spike muttered, looking up and scowling when Lorne snorted.

"Did you? Sorry blondie, think I missed it."

"Fine," the blonde said through clenched teeth. He took a deep breath and calmed down, before speaking again. "I'm sorry, a'right?"

"I'm sorry, too," Mark said, crushing out his cigarette. Lorne looked at the two of them, reliving a bit of the worry that had hit him the night before. He'd known these boys for the last few years, and had come to care for them like they were his sons. His fear had been as real as their parents, and he wasn't quite ready to forgive them yet.

"I hope you've learned your lesson," was all he said though. Frankly, he was losing his urge to knock them both around a little. Now, he just felt tired.

"Yes, Dad," Spike said with a tight smile. That caused Lorne to chuckle.

"Good. Now, tell me what's been happening and just why the police think someone's out to kill you?" At their shocked looks, he laughed again. "What? You don't think old Lorne has a few tricks up his sleeve? I can find out just about anything," he told them, finally acknowledging the waiter when he came back to the table. "Oh, there you are. Listen gorgeous, I want an egg white omelet, with a side of bacon. English muffin, NOT toast. No butter, with fruit spread, not jelly. Oh, and bring me a mimosa, heavy on the champagne." The waiter stared owl eyed at him for minute, wondering about the gorgeous comment, then turned on his heel to put the order in. "Where were we? Oh, that's right. Who has you on their death list? Care to share?"

Spike and Mark exchanged a glance. Then, by silent agreement, Spike started to tell the manager of all the weird things that had been happening. Lorne didn't speak while the drummer talked, and his face showed no expression. When the story came to a close, he took a delicate sip of his mimosa before looking back up at them.

"Forgive me when I say that I think you were with Druscilla for too long."

"Hey!" Spike snapped, glaring.

"I wasn't with Dru at all. What's my excuse?"

"Peer pressure?" Lorne suggested, picking up his fork and starting to eat.

"So, how do you explain the bump on his noggin? Or the fact that Johnny's sitting on the hospital with a girl that was hurt because SOMEONE sliced his breaks?"

"I'm not saying I don't believe someone is trying to harm you guys. What I DON'T believe, is all the ghost story stuff," the older man snapped.

"So what, you think we had some mass hallucination?" Mark asked, incredulous. "SIX people saw her. And what about all the dreams? And the voices I heard in the basement?" Lorne didn't look like he had an answer, but tried anyway.

"Look, I don't know what's going on in that house. But I highly doubt it's other worldly," he said with finality.

"Fine. Are we done here?" Spike spat, glaring hard at the man across from him. The manager sighed.

"Yes. I'm going up to the hospital to see John boy. You two make sure you start calling me when something life threatening happens. Understand?"

They both mumbled "Yeah" before scraping their seats back and getting up to leave.

"Listen to me boys," he said before they could leave. "If you guys are really convinced there's something going on in that house and since someone is obviously out to hurt you, maybe you should come back to LA." His face was serious and full of worry. The pair in front of him thought about it for two seconds. That was just long enough for the faces of a certain blonde and redhead to swim across their minds.

"No, thanks. I think we'll stick it out. Don't you, mate?" Spike turned and looked at Mark.

"Yeah. We'll be fine. Bye Lorne." With that, they turned away and left their manager sitting there in front of his half eaten omelet.

"I'm going to go meet Willow at work," Mark said as Spike pulled out his cell phone and dialed Buffy's cell number.

"Alright. We'll meet at the house later?" he replied with a frown when he got forwarded to her voice mail. He hung up on it and dialed the mansion. Again, all he got was rings.

"What's the matter?" Spike looked up at Mark, disconnected again and tried Buffy's house. Again, no answer.

"I'm supposed to meet Buffy, but she's not answering anywhere."

"Was she at the mansion?"

"Yeah. But she was supposed to call me when she got to her house."

"Maybe she's on her way there. You know cell phone signals. They go haywire for no reason," Mark suggested, trying to ease the look of apprehension on his friend's face.

"Maybe," Spike agreed half heartedly.

"Do you know the name of the cleaners?"

"No, but there's a phone booth." Spike made his way over to the phone and pulled out the phone book. He flipped through until he found the carpet cleaning place. He dialed the number, after giving up a word of thanks that Sunnydale was a small town.

"Keep it Clean Carpet Cleaners, this is Angie speaking. How may I help you?" A bright, cheery voice filtered through the phone, jarring Spike out of his inner worry.

"Hello, luv. I was wondering, you had a job this morning at the Crawford Street mansion. I was just wondering if they were still there. I'm staying there," he explained.

"Let me see," she said. Spike heard the rustle of pages as she looked for the information. "Uhm, ah, here it is. They've already been and gone, sir."

"Could you tell me if Ms. Summers was still there when they left?"

"Hold on, I'll ask one of the techs. Jake? Was Buffy still at the house when you left?" he heard her ask in a muffled voice. He heard someone answer her, but couldn't make out the words. "Sir? He says as far as he knows she was. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce was there and paid them." Spike's heart slammed hard against his chest, the look on his face causing alarm to swell in Mark as well.

"Thank you," he mumbled, turning off the phone.

"What?"

"They didn't see her when they left. Wesley was there." In one agonizing second, they both imagined everything that could be happening.

"We have no proof he did anything," Mark reminded the blonde, the look on his face saying exactly what Spike was thinking.

"Bugger that," Spike snarled, turning on his heel and heading towards his car. "I'm going over there. You head to the police, alright? The worst that will happen is we'll have to issue a public apology," he called over his shoulder, digging his keys out of pocket. Mark didn't answer, but turned to his own car to do as Spike had asked. They slid into their cars and peeled out into the light traffic, each praying that an apology was the worst that would happen.

TBC

Chapter 23

Buffy blinked once in confusion, her overworked mind trying to process this newest information.

"Huh? I'm still not understanding how Faith being pregnant with Angel's kid was a reason to kill her. Divorce court, hell yeah," she said, taking a step back when Wes stepped towards her. The bottle neck was clutched unwavering in her hand, despite the hammering of her heart. She could have sworn Wes rolled his eyes at her comment. He then heaved a deep sigh, going into patient teacher mode again.

"Forgive me for not clarifying." Was that sarcasm dripping from his voice? Buffy was starting to get a little tired of his 'how stupid are you?' attitude. "She was not pregnant with Angel's child." The implications of that statement hit her with a force that stole her breath.

"You. It was yours. You were the one that raped her." Her voice was barely a whisper, but her words wiped that look of mild interest off his face. Rage swept across his features, turning his eyes hot.

"Who told you that lie? I never raped that girl. She was a slut. A common whore that seduced my father into marrying her," he spat, his body shaking with violent anger. Fear wrapped around Buffy once more and she scrambled to figure out how she was going to get away. Then, it hit her. Faith's bedroom. There was a passage to the basement there. She could get out that way. Now, all she had to do was get him incapacitated.

"Well, that wasn't the message she sent us," she replied, a shiver running over her at the memory of Tara's anguished cries. Wes's face turned incredulous at that.

"Don't tell me you believe that rot about a ghost?" he asked with a laugh.

"Lets just say some things have happened to make me reconsider my opinion on the subject." She started to hedge towards the stairs, slowly, so he wouldn't notice. He shook his head in disgust at her statement.

"There are no such things as ghosts. You may have developed your own theories about what happened here. But you have no idea."

"Why don't you fill me in? Since I seem to be so stupid. I mean, it seems obvious that you and your father were off your rockers, but hey, I could be wrong. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for you two to have hurt that girl so bad." His eyes narrowed at her tone.

"You think you're so bloody smart. You're nothing. Just like her. She thought she was smart too. Marry my father, get him to agree to allow her to have consorts, since my father was impotent. Use him for his money and his kindness. Then, she sleeps with me and calls it rape." A shake of his head and a snort.

"Weren't you engaged already?" she asked, suddenly remembering Fred. She was almost at the bottom of the stairs. If she could keep him talking long enough, she could throw that heavy, bronze vase at him and make a break for it.

"Winifred?" Another snort. "That was father's idea of a good match. I begged to differ. And she was having an affair with the chauffeur," he said that with such venom, it practically dripped from his tongue. "I didn't want to marry her, anymore than she wanted to marry me. I would say though, that Faith's murder was rather beneficial to her in the end."

"Except that her brother went to jail for a murder he didn't commit. I don't understand why he didn't say anything."

"They had no choice, you see. Not if they wanted to protect Winifred." Snippets of the conversations Mark relived in the basement came back to her, and suddenly it made sense. Gunn had seen who killed Faith. And he was in love with Fred.

"He came to me, trying to tell me that it wasn't Angel, it was my father. He was so upset." A short, nasty laugh followed this. "He was prepared to go to the police. I couldn't allow that. I had a perfect plan, and I couldn't allow him to screw it up with some false sense of conscience. I already took care of Finn, but if Gunn went to the police, that would fall apart." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, as if he was tired. Buffy finally reached the stairs and tensed to strike. "So, I made it clear, if he wanted Fred to stay healthy, he would keep his mouth shut. He went to Angel the next day. My contact at the prison informed me that he had told Angel of my proposition. The git wisely saw the logic. Faith was dead, nothing could be done. They needed to protect the woman that was still here. I released Fred from our arrangement and everybody was happy. My father died a few years later, in his bed, and Angel died in a prison riot." The smile that spread over Wes's face made Buffy's heart thud even harder. If she was going to do this, she needed to do it soon.

"You had him killed, didn't you? And Gunn. Hit and run accident my ass." He gave her a look of pride that she figured it out, which sent her stomach into a tail spin.

"Yes, Mr. Finn proved himself to be useful." So, Finn HAD been involved. Somehow, the confirmation didn't make her feel better.

"How could you play with other people's lives like that? You had no right. . ."

"RIGHT?" he bellowed, making her flinch. "You talk to me about rights? You don't know anything about it, girl. We are the Wyndham-Pryces. The most powerful family in the county. They had no right to try to destroy that. The lot of them. So, I took care of it. With Gunn's death, it was finally over. Then your mother had to rent the house out to those musicians." Contempt filled his words. "And they had to dredge all of it back up. So, now I have to take care of it again."

"How do you expect to do that, Wes? You can't kill six people and get away with it."

"You underestimate me, Buffy. I've gotten away with it thus far. There's nothing that can stop me. And in the end, Finn will take the fall."

"He was the one that slashed Johnny's brakes. AND tried to take Mark's head off." She sighed as the last piece fell into place.

"Yes. Now that you know, you can die happy." His smile was sinister. He advanced on her again, with purpose.

"Except for the fact that I'm not going to die." She got satisfaction from the confused look on his face in the second before she hurled the bottle at him. He raised his arm to deflect it, just as she turned and grabbed the vase, swinging with all her might to fling it at him. The bottle distracted him enough so he didn't see it flying through the air at him. Buffy didn't wait around to see her handiwork. As soon as her fingers released the bronze piece, she turned on her heel and fled up the stairs. She did hear his loud curse, and the crash as he and it hit the floor. She pushed herself up the stairs, her breathing labored by the time she reached the top landing. She didn't look back, just turned in the direction of Faith's room and hurtled herself towards the door.

Luckily, the knob turned under her slick fingers and she slid inside. She slammed the door, then turned the lock before turning and rushing to the wall that Mark and Willow had appeared through. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to open it. She and Tara had been on the floor in fits of laughter when Johnny and Spike got it open. She brushed past the dresser, upsetting it's contents and sending a plume of dust into the air.

"Buffy! Open this door. You're only making it worse." Wes's voice filtered through the door, startling her. The jewelry chest went flying, spilling a sea of jewels onto the floor. The ruby heart necklace winked at her from the floor, compelling her to pick it up.

"I don't have time for this Faith," she muttered, trying to resist the urge to get the jewel. "Kinda have crazy, psycho English guy on my ass. Living would be the priority for me at the moment." She groaned when she turned, as if directed by an unseen force and reached down for it. "Faith, give me a break here." Her voice sounded desperate, even as her fingers clasped the chain around her neck. As soon as the necklace rested against her skin, a burst of heat spread through her, taking away her fear and filling her with the essence of the other woman. Buffy knew the second Faith took complete control. Her body was moving towards the door, but she wasn't taking it there. It seemed that the blonde was just along for the ride now.

Faith smiled as she crossed the floor and unlocked the door. Wes stumbled into the room at the unexpected removal of the obstacle to the room. He righted himself and looked over at her, his eyes narrowed.

"So eager to die, are you?" he sneered, stalking towards her.

"Why no, Wesley. Are you?" His eyes widened in disbelief when the image of his stepmother passed over the golden skin of the girl in front of him.

"No, it's impossible."

"You better hope so." Faith's laugh rang through the room, making his blood run cold.

~*~*~

Spike's car skidded to a stop in front of the mansion, sending gravel spewing in different directions. He barely remembered to put it in park before he was out of the door, flying as fast as his legs would carry him to the door. All the way there, his mind had supplied all sorts of horrible things that could be happening. Panic had risen to near choking levels in his body and it propelled him towards the house.

The knob turned and he flung himself against the wood, cursing violently when his progress was impeded by the new chain on the door. He threw himself against the door, trying to force it open, but it was too solid. He raced around the side of the house and onto the patio. The french doors were locked as well, but that didn't stop him. He whirled around and seized one of the lounge chairs. He hurled it towards the doors and raised his arms to shield his face from the glass. He then burst through, not noticing the cut he acquired from a stray piece still stuck in the frame.

"BUFFY!" he screamed, streaking through the house. He stumbled to a stop in the foyer, surveying the vase on the floor. He had just taken his first step towards the stairs, when he felt a cold that seeped into his bones overtake him. He fell to his knees as he struggled to maintain control of his body.

"They're upstairs, hurry." A voice, his voice, only different, came from his own mouth. Bloody hell, he cursed inwardly, realizing then that Angel had control. He felt like a puppet as he bolted up the stairs, rage and hate taking the place of his worry over Buffy. They burst into Faith's room, his mouth smiling coldly when he saw Wesley cowering on the floor at Faith's feet.

"Hello, lover," she said, turning to face him.

"Hello, baby. Having a little fun?" Angel returned, seizing her about the waist and placing a hard kiss on her mouth.

"Just waiting for you," she answered when he released her.

"This isn't possible," the Brit mumbled from his spot on the floor. His eyes were squeezed shut behind his glasses, his mind refusing to believe what was happening. He was afraid he would lose his sanity if he looked up and saw the faces of dead people.

"Oh, it's possible Wes. And now, you get to pay for your sins," Angel told him with a nasty laugh. He walked over to the trembling man and hauled him to his feet, giving him a rough shake as he did so.

"NO!" Wes cried, shoving with all his might against other man. Angel stumbled back, surprised, then started towards him again. He stopped when he found himself staring down the barrel of a snub nosed gun.

"Uhm, Wes. I'm already dead," Angel said, his Irish lilt coated with contempt. Wes gave him a thin smile.

"But the bodies you're inhabiting aren't. I wonder, are you willing to risk them to get to me?"

"You're going to kill them anyway, so what does it matter?"

"Angel!" Faith hissed, eyeing the gun as it swung between the two of them. She didn't want anything to happen to the bodies they were in. She could feel the fear of the girl, sympathized with it.

"What? It's true. What do you think was going to happen if he'd gotten through that door before you took her over? He's only concerned with saving his own hide, not theirs," Angel growled in response. He felt the owner of the body railing against his words, wanting control back so he could save the girl. Angel kept him at bay, trying to figure out a way to get the gun. After all, despite being dead, he didn't fancy getting shot.

Time seemed to freeze with the sound of the gun being cocked.

"You are too right, Angel. I shoot you, I get the bonus of killing that Spike character. And you just float back to wherever you came from," Wes said, grinning evilly.

"Why don't you give it a try? Something tells me this lad won't go down easily," Angel returned. A shriek of anguish filled the air, drawing their attention away from each other, and towards the woman. She hurled herself at Wesley, dragging his arm down just as the gun went off. Angel grunted in pain when the bullet sliced through his arm, setting it on fire with agony. He ignored it though, and lunged at Wes himself, seizing the hand with the gun before he could swing it around to Faith. "Not this time," he snarled, slamming the wrist over his knee and shattering it. The gun skidded across the floor, coming to a rest underneath the bed.

Wes howled in pain, but swung with his other arm, his blow landing on Angel's jaw. The Irishman stumbled back at the unexpected hit. Faith streaked over to the fireplace, grabbing the poker before turning back to the men. With a war cry, she brought the steel down across Wes's back, just as Angel sent another punch flying. His body twisted like that of a doll and he crumpled to the floor. Faith stared down at him for a second, a murdering rage rushing through her borrowed blood. She raised the poker again, prepared to bring it back down on Wes's head.

"No, baby," Angel said, grabbing her wrists. Her eyes locked with his, wide and full of fire.

"Why are you stopping me?" she hissed.

"Listen," he whispered, cocking his ear towards the window. The distant, echoing sound of sirens filtered through. "He'll pay." Angel smiled at her, and laid a gentle kiss on her mouth. With a clatter, the poker hit the floor, as Faith clung to him, desperate to keep contact with him while she still had control of this body. She stumbled back when Angel's weight collapsed on her, nearly toppling her.

"Angel?" she gasped, watching as blood seeped from his hairline across his handsome face. Wide, horrified eyes raised to meet cold blue ones.

"This will be finished," Wes snarled, raising the poker and limping towards her. With a whimper, Faith pushed Angel off of her. He landed on the floor with a thud, but she couldn't spare him a glance. Wes swung at her. She managed to dodge it, threw herself at him. Neither of them had noticed how close to the window they had gotten. The sound of shattering glass exploded in the room, and Faith struggled to keep from going out of it, despite Wes's best efforts to make it happen. Glass cut into her skin, searing her with pain, but still she struggled. Her back was pressed into the bottom pane and she struggled to breathe around the hand that was crushing her throat. Spots started to form behind her eyes and she could feel herself losing control of the body as Buffy tried to survive.

She nearly slid out the window when the weight was suddenly pulled from her. She teetered for a second, while gulping in great gulps of air, then fell to the floor of the bedroom. She opened her eyes in time to see Angel, righteous fury all over his face, while he held a limp Wesley in his hands.

"Wonder if what they say is true. That chickens can't fly," Angel snarled in the instant before he flung the Brit out the window. Police cars careened to a stop in front of the house, one directly under the window. With a sickening thud and the screech of bending metal, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce's life ended.

Faith struggled to her feet, clasping onto Angel for support.

"It's over," she gasped, staring down at the lifeless body of her stepson and the police that were filtering around it.

"Yes it is, love. It's finally time for us to rest," Angel told her with a smile. Their lips came together for one last mortal kiss, before exiting their borrowed bodies. The two blondes pulled back and stared wide-eyed at each other.

"Thank you," came a pair of voices. They turned to see Angel and Faith, smiling and holding onto each other. With a wave, the pair shimmered into nothing, leaving Buffy and Spike alone. They shared another look, neither saying a word, before wrapping an arm around each other, and limping out of the room.

Epilogue

As soon as Buffy and Spike emerged from the house, they found themselves surrounded by a sea of blue. Mark's head showed across the top of the Sunnydale P.D. Buffy thought she caught a glimpse of Riley Finn sitting in one of the cars as she was whisked to a waiting ambulance, looking sullen and resigned.

It quickly fled her mind, though, when the EMT's stared to fuss over her. Her eyes searched out Spike, who had been ripped from her side in her trek to the ambulance. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw him at another one, the gunshot in his arm getting wrapped. Their eyes met and held, each ignoring the technician working on them. It wasn't until someone moved into her line of sight that she came back to reality. Her eyes misted when she caught the glimpse of a stretcher topped with a black bag. She quickly looked up at the officer in front of her and recognized him as Doyle.

"Come to arrest me?" she asked, her voice holding no emotion. She felt cold, so cold, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She didn't react when he smiled at her kindly, his dark head shaking.

"No, Ms. Summers. I just need to take your statement." Buffy almost laughed at that, but couldn't seem to find the energy.

"What do you want to know?"

~*~*~

"Bloody hell," Spike hissed while the EMT worked to staunch the flow of blood from his arm.

"You're lucky. It went straight through," he told the blonde, hiding his own smile when he snorted in disgust.

"Yeah, feel real lucky, mate," Spike growled.

"Man, are you alright?" Mark's voice had him swiveling towards the sound, a burst of creative curse words slipping from his lips when his wound burned anew.

"Yeah. Just have an extra hole for my troubles." Mark didn't look too sympathetic, since he still had stitches in his own head.

"So, it really was Wesley?" Spike nodded, casting his blue eyes over to the stretcher bearing the remains of the Wyndham-Pryce legacy.

"Yeah. Hey, was that Finn I saw in that cop car?" Mark's grin was huge when the blonde turned to him.

"Oh yeah. When I got to the police station, I had a hell of a story cooked up to get them to come out here. Seems I didn't need it. Riley was inside already, singing quite a song for them and admitting to the attacks on me and the others last night. I had no problems getting them to believe me."

"Well, well, well. Seems the locksmith had a guilty conscience. Are you done yet?" Spike snarled at the tech. He desperately wanted to get to Buffy and make sure she was alright.

"You need to come to the hospital to get it stitched up," the EMT explained as he wound gauze around the thick pads of cotton.

"Only way I'll go is if I'm in that ambulance over there with the young lady." Their eyes met and the other man could tell Spike wasn't kidding.

"Fine with me. There ya go." He finished taping up the bandage, then stepped back to allow Spike to get up.

"Thanks," he said as he slid out of the back of the ambulance. Mark fell into step beside him and together they threaded through the masses of police officers swirling around the front yard. They reached the other ambulance just as Officer Doyle was closing his notebook. He reached out and squeezed Buffy's arm, offering her sympathy, before turning away. His eyebrows shot up when he saw Spike.

"Mr. Giles? I'm going to need your statement."

"Later," Spike said as he breezed past him, his eyes locked with Buffy's. Big, fat tears started to slide down her face when she saw him. "Shhh, baby. It's over," he cooed, wrapping his good arm around her trembling shoulders. The dam burst and sobs shook her tiny body. She pressed her face into the front of his shirt and cried out the fear and pain of the last few days.

"Hey, I'll meet you at the hospital," Mark said quietly, waiting for Spike to nod before turning away.

The blonde waved away the hovering medical personnel and held her tighter. After a few minutes, her sobs waned to hiccups, until she was finally able to pull in a shaky breath.

"Better?" Spike asked when she pulled back, tenderly sliding his thumb under her tear swollen eye. She nodded and offered him a watery smile.

"Are you okay?" she croaked, eyeing the bandage on his arm. He gave a nonchalant shrug.

"Fair to maudlin, I suppose. Wish that wanker hadn't felt so damn brave in MY body." Buffy snorted in agreement.

"But, it's over now, right? Finally, it's over?" She looked so hopeful, it almost broke his heart.

"Yes, luv. It's over. The wicked Wesley is dead, and all the ghosties are tucked into their otherworldly beds for eternity. The wrongs have been righted," he assured her. Her head bobbed as she nodded, her eyes seeming to get a distant look for a second. Then, she squared her shoulders and raised her gaze to his.

"So, I guess we better get you to the hospital. Don't want Anya to think I'm not taking care of her baby," she told him softly. Her lids drifted closed when he leaned his head down to brush his lips across hers in an achingly gentle kiss.

"I love you, Buffy," he said when he pulled back, the blue of his eyes burning her.

"I love you too, Spike."

"Right then. Let's go." The EMT's sprang into action then, ushering them aboard the ambulance to whisk them to the hospital. Without a backwards glance, Spike climbed inside, gathering Buffy close to his side and holding on tight.

~*~*~

MCI Center, Washington D.C. Six months later.

Three pairs of eyes watched as the lights of the theater brightened to illuminate the figures on stage. The explosion of applause when Spike stepped up to the microphone threatened to deafen them. Willow, Buffy and Tara grinned at each other when his deep, accented voice echoed over the din, silencing the crowd.

"You've been a hell of an audience tonight," he said, grinning when another burst of applause rang out. "A perfect ending to a rather unusual year," he added with a chuckle. Johnny gave him a ra-tat-tat at that. Mark stood off to the side, arms draped lovingly over his guitar, smiling out at the audience. Girls screamed and men hooted before Spike continued. "We'd like to leave you tonight with our soon to be released song, Phantom Whispers." Lighters sprang on throughout the crowd as the first haunting notes came from Mark's guitar. Johnny and Spike joined in, then the blonde started to sing.

Silent in the night
Her screams rang out
Nobody around to help her out
The one who vowed to love her
Stole her life
 

Phantom Whispers in my ear
Tempting me, telling me, begging me to hear
Help me she said, while I was laying in my bed
Secrets explode in the dead of the night
compelling me, telling me to make it right
 

Mystery solved
Eternity found, the one that tried to cover
laying in the ground
Two young lovers, together again
The golden rays of forever is all that's left for them

 

Phantom whispers in my ear
Tempting me, telling me, begging me to hear
Help me she said, while I was laying in my bed
Secrets explode in the dead of the night
Compelling me, telling me to make it right

 

Phantom Whispers

 

Spike's voice was nearly drowned out by the eruption of screams as the last note strummed through the air. Mark and Spike unstrapped their instruments and Johnny emerged from behind his drum kit. They lined up in the front of the stage, bowing deep to the crowd. They left the stage with waves of goodbye, and shouts of 'MORE!' from the audience. But their attention was already turned to the three awaiting them backstage.

"That was great," Buffy called over the din of voices, smiling wide and slipping easily into Spike's embrace. Time had indeed healed the small group, making the events that had brought them together pale in comparison with the love they shared.

"Great?" Johnny's incredulous voice as they made their way into the back to change. "That was freaking stupendous." He was practically dancing on his toes, his arm slung casually around Tara's shoulders. The blond rolled her eyes and laughed when he graced her cheek with kiss. The scar from the accident was barely noticeable now, despite her decision not to have plastic surgery. The idea of going under the knife that close to her eye made her queasy. So, she decided to keep it. Amazingly, it seemed to be healing itself.

"You'll have to excuse Johnny," she said with a laugh. "He overdosed on sugar this morning."

"Can I help it if you're so damn sweet?" Johnny mock growled, his comment turning her skin a deep crimson and making her smile brighter.

"Insatiable bunch," Willow teased, yelping when Mark's hand squeezed her denim covered ass in appreciation.

"You better believe it baby," he leered, chasing her into their dressing room. The other two couples followed, laughing. This easy laughter and happiness was hard won for the bunch. The months following the events in Sunnydale were rough, to say the least. The girls found themselves thrust into instant celebrity and had to deal with reporters following them around. The worst had been the tabloids that exploited the ghost stories that surrounded the house. The funny thing was, they were closer to the truth about what happened than the official version.

Joyce had flown home the second she found out. When she got there, she had been torn between relief that her daughters were alright, and horror that someone she had called a friend would try to kill Buffy and the others. For a month, she wouldn't let Dawn out of her sight, something which caused the girl great anxiety. How uncool was it to have your mom with you when you went out with your friends?

The only thing that kept the girl's coolness intact, was the fact that her sister was dating Spike Giles.

Tara's father had burst into the hospital, finally showing up on the day she was set to be released, and started to rage against her. The reporters who had snuck in ate it up. Especially when Johnny had stared the little man down and threatened to kill him if he ever came within viewing distance of Tara again. Mr. McClay had huffed and puffed, but ultimately left. They hadn't heard from him since.

Tara had moved to LA with Johnny. They had shocked the others when the drummer had shown up for recording with a brand new band of gold on his left hand. It was official, Johnny Lynch was no longer available. And he couldn't have been happier about it.

The reporters had cost Willow her job. Mark had offered to pay for her to continue her schooling, but she would hear nothing of it. Instead, she applied to every loan and scholarship program she could find, while acting as Lorne's personal assistant. She knew he overpaid her, but she didn't complain. She was proud, not stupid.

It wasn't much better in the classrooms. Whispers followed her wherever she went. She chose to ignore them, laughing in the faces of the ones that found the nerve to come up to her.

Mark had relocated to Sunnydale to be with her, despite the town's reluctance to have one of the musicians that brought all the infamy to them in town. He loved Willow and Willow wanted to stay in Sunnydale, therefore, he did too.

Buffy had been the worst, since she was the one in the house at the time. She dreaded picking up the morning paper and seeing what new bit of her life was going to be spread across the front page. A lot of people in town, most of whom had been friendly towards her, seemed to stare at her with accusatory eyes these days. Wesley had been an active part of the community and a lot of people liked him. They just couldn't believe he was capable of what the newspapers and police claimed. In their eyes, it was Buffy's fault and they let her know it every chance they could. That is, until Joyce started threatening to pull her money out of all the causes and local charities she supported and stop the construction on the new wing of the hospital that she had donated. All of a sudden, it was like nothing had happened. It was all too fake for Buffy, though. She had happily moved in with Spike when he asked, and rediscovered her love for LA.

The Governor of California had issued a pardon for Angel, a gesture that Buffy considered too little too late. And anyway, she knew Angel had gotten what he really wanted. Eternity with Faith was repayment enough for being imprisoned falsely.

She had gone home with Spike for Thanksgiving. Her stomach had been in knots the entire plane ride there, which had continued to tighten as the cab got closer to his parents' house. It didn't take her five minutes in Anya's presence to realize she'd had nothing to worry about. The pretty blonde woman took one look at her, then nodded, before giving her a wide smile. Buffy had found herself ushered into the pretty, two level rancher firmly in the curl of Anya's arm. Rupert Giles, Spike's father, had barely glanced up from his book when he was introduced. Something which Buffy had found highly amusing.

The visit had gone great. When they left, Buffy found herself loaded down with leftovers and pumpkin pie, all because Anya had declared she was too damn skinny.

When they had gotten back, the guys had gone into the recording studio. Once they were there, everything seemed to flow effortlessly and in less than a month, they had an album recorded. The Christmas holidays had been spent together in Tara and Johnny's house, while the radio played the newest hit from SMJ, Phantom Whispers.

When the tour started, Buffy and Tara opted to go with them. Willow stayed in Sunnydale for school and flew out on the weekends. It still amazed them that no matter how many cities the band played, the guys rarely seemed to tire.

Everything had finally settled down for the group. The story of Faith and her murder had slipped from the front pages once more and back into obscurity. Joyce had sold the mansion to a developer who wanted to build condos, thereby assuring that whatever other secrets it held would be buried. Finally, the ghosts of the past were put to sleep, making the six involved heave a deep sigh of relief.

The loud POP of a champagne bottle startled Buffy from her thoughts and her laughter joined the others when Johnny aimed the foaming spray at Spike. The grappling that commenced managed to soak them both, as well as the carpeting. Spike's eyes pinned her when he realized she was near hysterical. She yelped when she realized he was stalking towards her, the remnants of the champagne sloshing merrily in the bottle.

"Oh no you don't," she warned, trying to look stern while laughing. She darted away and tried to hide behind the drenched Johnny, only to squeal when he seized her around her waist. "TRAITOR!" she screamed in the second before Spike turned the bottle over her head. She sputtered and shook her head, spraying the two even more. "YOU ASSHOLE." She fought against his hold as he took her from Johnny. She was torn between fighting and laughing and it showed in her eyes.

"Well, well. A perfect waste of champagne if I ever saw one," Spike teased, his eyes dancing. "Now, what should we do?" His voice had deepened and a smirk tugged at his lips.

"You can put me down, you pig. You aren't getting anywhere near my naked body for a week for this!" Spike tsked at that and started towards the bathroom.

"You'll excuse us, won't you?" he called casually over his shoulder, ignoring Buffy's protests and struggles.

"Sure, take your time," Johnny answered sitting next to a chuckling Tara. She tried to ward him off, to no avail. He wrapped his arms around her and shook his head like a dog, sending rivulets of the sparkling wine flying.

"Just leave some hot water, please," Mark called, lighting a cigarette.

"Bye Buffy," Willow yelled at her friend, when Buffy yelled for help. The door closed with a click, and Buffy's indignant, laughing yells of protest could be heard clearly through the door.

The small group laughed as the sound decreased inside the tiny room until there was nothing to hear. Then, by unspoken agreement, they each got up and left, not wanting to wait themselves.

Up in the heavens, two pairs of brown eyes watched the blonde pair through the steam of the shower and smiled. With a wave of a hand, the scene disappeared and the brunettes walked away together.

~*THE END*~