Chapter 34: The Scooby’s

The day passed with no real result for the wannabe sleuths. After the discovery of Buffy’s car, Spike and Oz struck out. They called the police who towed it to the station for “forensic evidence”. This make Spike laugh. Wankers probably couldn’t find their way to a doughnut shop.

Oz shared Spike’s cynicism of the local law enforcement. They had yet to find any new evidence about the identity of Willow’s shooter, or the person responsible for burning the club. With an overall feeling of dejection, the three headed to Willow’s apartment.

Willow trudged to her couch and threw herself down. Oz gave her a sympathetic smile and sat down behind her. Spike took the chair next to them, and they heaved a collective breath. It was silent for a few minutes, until Willow suddenly jumped up.

“This is ridiculous,” she stated.

Spike looked at her, askance. “What’s that, Red?”

“My best friend is missing and I’m sitting on my ass. Well, no more. Put you’re thinking caps on, guys, it’s time to brainstorm,” Willow declared.

Oz and Spike shared a look of surprise. Willow ran to her room and came back with a notebook. She sat on the floor between the two guys and pulled out a pen. “Okay, what do we know?”

They listed off all the information they could think of, and Willow carefully wrote all of it down. When they finished, Willow read the list back.

“So, we know that Buffy went to meet Angel in BFE. She didn’t leave in her own car, and someone took the time to hide it. We also have an attacker who has been following her and leaving notes and flowers. Spike found a note and flower the day Buffy disappeared. It figures that whoever is leaving the notes may be the one who took Buffy yesterday. Spike, what did the person who attacked your house look like?” Willow asked.

Spike sighed. “Don’t know Red. Was covered in black clothing and had a mask on.”

Willow pondered this. “Well, how big? Like, man size or woman-size?”

Spike closed his eyes and tried to remember. “About the same height as me, I’d say. Maybe a little taller. Definitely a man’s build.”

Willow nodded. “Okay, so a man, probably.”

Spike nodded. “Definitely a man. But, who’s to say that it’s the same person doing everything?”

Willow shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing, actually. But it stands to reason that it is the same person. None of this happened until Buffy received the first note.”

Spike looked down in shame. His father, his family, his fault.

Willow reached out and touched Spike’s shoulder. “Not your fault, Spike. Don’t start thinking like that.”

“You can read my mind now?” Spike asked sardonically.

Willow arched a brow. “Don’t have to, it’s written all over your pretty little face.”

Spike looked at Oz who nodded in conformation. He sighed. “Sorry, Red. It’s just too much, you know?”

“I know,” Willow said softly, unconsciously tracing the bullet scar on her stomach.

Oz followed her hand. He reached out and covered her hand with his own. Willow smiled up and him, and leaned back against the couch.

Spike watched the couple. Suddenly, he felt out of place and awkward. Standing, he grabbed his coat. “Well, I see you guys later.”

“Oh, Spike stay. We still have stuff to discuss,’ Willow said.

Spike shook his head. “Nah, Red. Gotta go home. Well, actually, I can’t go home. Gotta go to the Summers.”

“Alright. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Willow said.

Spike nodded and headed out the door. Tomorrow, tomorrow we’ll find Buffy. Hold on, luv, I’m coming.

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“You okay, baby?” Oz asked quietly.

After Spike left, they went to bed. Just wanting a cuddle, Willow snuggled next to Oz and sighed when he wrapped his arms around her. She felt kinda guilty, knowing that she was safe with Oz while Buffy was who knows where.

“I’m fine,” she answered.

Oz tightened his grasp. He all too vividly remembered Willow’s hospital stay, and he silently pledged to protect this beautiful woman, no matter the cost.

Willow sighed again. Something was bothering her, something important. The feeling started last night when she was dreaming. She dreamed about the club and the shooting, but was unable to keep the details from slipping away when she awoke. Now, she was left with an uncomfortable feeling of forgetfulness. There was something there, something important, locked in her unconscious mind.

Pushing the troubling thought aside, Willow instead focused on Oz. Already asleep, his breathing was slow and even. Eventually, Willow fell asleep too, safe in the arms of her purple-haired lover.

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Spike finished his cigarette and walked into the apartment.

And caught his uncle Rupert and Joyce kissing on the couch.

“Bloody hell!” he yelled.

Giles and Joyce jumped apart.

“Spike, we didn’t expect you back so soon,” Joyce said, flustered.

Giles, meanwhile, pulled his glasses off and began to polish. “Yes, um, hello William.”

Spike groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Bloody hell, I’m going to bed, and I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that.”

Turning, Spike walked into Buffy’s room. Stripping off his clothes, he crawled into her bed.

He couldn’t sleep.

Everything smelled like her. The pillows, the blankets, Mr. Gordo, everything was a painful Buffy reminder.

Muttering, Spike rolled over and threw his arms and legs out. No help.

After an hour of tossing and turning, Spike gave up on sleep. Pulling on some pants, he headed for the kitchen.

And caught A.J on the couch kissing some girl.

“Jesus bleedin’ Christ, what is it with you people!” he yelled.

The teenagers jumped apart with guilty expressions on their flushed faces.

“Cor, you people are like a bunch of bleedin’ bunnies,” Spike said.

Grabbing a glass of water, Spike walked back into Buffy’s room.

A.J watched him go, and then turned back to Vanessa. “Sorry ‘bout that. My sister’s boyfriend.”

Vanessa looked at him, amazed. “Your mom lets him stay here?”

A.J shrugged. “Well, his house did get blown up.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

A.J shrugged negligently. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”

Just then, Joyce walked in from her room. “A.J, time for Vanessa to leave. Let me grab my keys and I’ll drive her home.”

The teens shared one last kiss before Joyce appeared keys in hand.

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The next morning, Spike was up early and out of the apartment, avoiding both Joyce and A.J. He didn’t want to rehash any of last night’s details just yet. Jumping into his car, he headed toward Willow’s. Oz answered the door in his boxers and with wet hair.

“Hey,” he said and moved to the side to let Spike in.

“Morning,” Spike replied.

Willow walked into the living room, her vibrant red hair still wet from her shower. “Hi Spike. Sleep well?”

Spike shook his head. “Not really.”

Willow gave him a small smile. “We’ll find her.”

Oz left to get dressed and Willow poured everyone some coffee. “So, shall we continue on?”

Spike nodded and Oz returned to the living room. Once again, the three friends brainstormed ideas and leads. After and hour, a break was called. Spike’s cell phone rang.

“Hey, Spike, have you seen Buffy?” Xander asked.

Spike gave himself a mental head-slap. He had forgotten to tell Xander about Buffy. Quickly, Spike explained the events of the past few days.

Xander grew quiet. “Anya and I will be right over.”

They disconnected and Spike walked back into the small living room. “Xander and Anya are coming over. Hope that’s okay.”

Willow nodded. “Sure, the more minds working on this, the better.”

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Buffy awoke slowly. Layer by layer, she drifted up from the sea on unconsciousness into the world of reality. Once she was fully awake, Buffy took a minute to pray that yesterday had just been a bad dream. Once said, she opened her eyes.

She was still in the room.

Tears burned her eyes and a tsunami of desolation passed through her. Still here, still stuck. I’m trapped in a room with a fucking psycho lurking about. Why did I have to meet Angel?

Mentally berating herself, Buffy didn’t hear the door open again. Then she heard the same mocking laugh from the night before. Gathering her courage and shreds of composure, Buffy turned to face her foe.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Her kidnapper paused to think. “I want to be wanted.”

Buffy furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand. Why me?”

No answer was given. A tray was dropped onto the floor by Buffy’s bed, and the attacker turned for the door.

Buffy lunged. The two of them grappled for a minute, both exchanging blows and rolling on the small wood floor. The kidnapper got the upper hand and bolted for the door. Buffy dove for the door, but was too late. The door slammed in her face, and Buffy heard the distinct sound of locks.

Buffy sat back on her heels. “Shit.”

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“This is pointless,” Spike growled.

For hours, the group of friends had pondered and discussed every single thought relating to Buffy and her disappearance. They had netted a big zero. The one highlight was when Willow christened the group “Scooby’s” in honor of the inept cartoon detectives.

“Okay, when in doubt, go back to the beginning,” Xander said.

Spike sighed. “Buffy left me a note…”

Xander cut him off. “That’s not what I meant. I mean the very beginning. First time you met Buffy.”

“When Dru dumped me and you dragged me to the club,” Spike answered.

“Alright. After that,” Xander said.

“Went to the club, met Buffy out in the parking lot….bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed.

“What?” everyone asked in unison.

Spike looked at the group of people. “How could I have been so bloody blind? Right in front of us the entire bleedin’ time. Riley”

Everyone was quiet for a minute. Then Willow spoke up. “I think I speak for everyone when I say ‘Huh?”

Spike jumped up and began to pace restlessly. “It’s got to be. He works at the club, is infatuated with Buffy, and fits the size of the intruder in my house. Hell, he could have even been the one to take the shot at you, Red.”

Spike continued to mumble and pace while Willow digested his words. A sick feeling began to grow in her stomach. She didn’t want to believe what Spike was saying, but it was making a horrible kind of sense. Riley was pissed off when Buffy and Spike began dating, and he had the motive and opportunity at the club. Unbidden, the memory of her and Buffy discussing Riley over milkshakes at Al’s came back to Willow and she shivered. What would have happened if Buffy had dated Riley?

“So now what?” Xander asked.

Spike considered the question. “Now, we go pay Riley a visit.”

Chapter 35: A Twist in the Works

Spike resolutely walked up the small pathway leading to Riley’s house. It took some doing, but the friends were finally able to track down Riley’s home address. It sat outside of Sunnydale, off a small dilapidated road and back into some brush and trees. It gave Willow the creeps.

“This is the perfect setting for some horror movie. I just keep waiting for the axe murderer to jump out from behind a tree and start chasing us,” she said.

Anya shuddered. “Thank you for that. Now, when I try and sleep tonight, I’ll have scenes from scary movies running through my head.”

Willow shrugged. “Sorry.”

Spike looked back. “You guys really don’t have to come, you know. You can wait back in the car.”

Willow shook her head vehemently. “No way! Not me. I’m not going to be the lone female, stupid enough to walk by herself and then sit and wait for certain dismemberment. Nope, no siree. I’ll stay here, and if anybody jumps out, I’ll push Spike down and run the other way.”

Anya nodded her head. “That’s a very good plan. I’ll walk with you.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine then, you two walk together, but be quiet.”

The girls nodded and fell in step together. Spike walked out in front of the group, with Xander and Oz behind him. Slightly behind them were Willow and Anya, who were quickly bonding over the shared agony of slasher flicks.

“Hey, man, you got a plan?” Xander asked as they approached the front porch.

The house itself was in need of major repairs. The beige paint was peeling, and several of the boards on the porch were rotted away. Windows were missing shutters, and some panes of glass were broken.

“First of all, I thought I’d knock on the door. Then, when he answered, I thought I knock him the hell out,” Spike replied.

“Great idea, Obi-Wan, but what if it isn’t him?” Xander asked.

Spike shrugged. “No great loss, I’ve been looking for an excuse to hit him.”

They approached the steps cautiously. Having seen the state of the house, Spike didn’t think the stairs were altogether trustworthy. Slowly, he put a foot on one and tested his weight. It held. Inch by inch, Spike, Xander and Oz made their way up the stairs and onto the few remaining boards of the front porch.

Spike looked back and saw that neither Willow nor Anya had attempted to move onto the porch. “Are you girls coming? We don’t have all bloody day you know,” he called.

They both shook their heads. “No way,” said Anya.

“Like hell,” echoed Willow.

The guys shared a look that silently communicated their feelings about girls and scary houses.

“I’ll stay behind,” Oz offered.

Ever so carefully, he made his way back down the rickety stairs and to the girls. Spike and Xander gave a little wave, and then turned to the door.

Spike raised his fist and knocked. Nobody answered. He knocked again. Still no answer.

Spike looked at Xander with a raised eyebrow. Xander shrugged.

“What’s going on?” Willow called out.

“No one’s answering,” Spike replied.

“Now what?” Xander asked quietly.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Spike raised his foot and kicked the front door.

It opened.

“Looks like we’ve been extended an invitation,” Spike said.

Warily, Spike shuffled forward. The boards creaked under his weight, but held. He motioned for Xander to follow him.

“Apparently, we’re going inside,” Xander yelled.

“Be careful,” Oz yelled back.

Taking a deep breath, Xander followed Spike inside.

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Oz, Willow and Anya stood in silence. Anya had her head cocked to the side and looked deep in thought. Oz and Willow watched in fascination as she moved back and forth, muttering to herself.

“Hey Anya, whatcha doing?” Willow asked.

Anya stopped moving. “I’m formulating escape routes in case the “Scream” guys show up.”

Oz chuckled. “I really don’t think we have to worry about that.”

Anya shrugged. “Never hurts to be prepared.”

While Anya hatched escape plans, Willow and Oz talked about Riley.

“You think he could’ve done it?” Willow asked.

Oz gave a minimal shrug. “Dunno.”

Willow nodded. “I don’t know what to think. I mean, it’s Riley! You know the farm boy lunkhead who’s hopelessly in love with a dancer. He seemed so harmless.”

Oz touched her shoulder in support.

Willow smiled at her quiet boyfriend. Breathing in his scent, she leaned back into his arms. Together, they quietly giggled at Anya’s antics, her pacing and murmured comments about wild woodsmen bearing hatchets and guns. A slight breeze blew, and birds were chirping. Willow could almost ignore the fact that they were hunting down a crazed stalker and enjoy the peace of the day. Her eyelids became heavy and began to droop. She let her head loll down to Oz’s shoulder.

Oz cradled her in his arms and moved them back until he could prop himself against the porch and support their combined weight. Willow’s breathing became even and deep and Oz knew that she had fallen asleep. Sitting back, Oz let his mind wander. Anya saw the sitting couple, and she walked over to sit with them.

“They should be out here by now. What do you think is happening?” she asked worriedly.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Oz said in a quiet voice.

“But you don’t know for sure,” Anya replied.

Oz sighed. “They’re big boys, Anya. I think they can handle themselves.”

Anya restlessly moved her shoulders. “I know, but I just have these horrible images running through my mind, ya know?”

Oz gave a compassionate smile. “Just relax, Anya. I’m sure they’ll be out here any minute.”

Anya nodded. They sat in silence, Anya lost in thoughts and Oz listening to Willow breathe. When she began to breathe hard and whimper in her sleep, Oz became alarmed. He tried to wake her, but she wouldn’t wake, just like she wouldn’t in the hospital.

Anya looked over. “What’s wrong with her?”

Oz shook his head, ignoring Anya. “Baby, wake up.”

Willow didn’t respond. Her whimpers and cries became louder and louder. Oz continued to shake her, but to no avail. Soon, Willow was shouting in her sleep.

“No, no,” she cried.

Willow began to thrash. Her hand flew out, hitting Oz and causing them both to fall backwards. The porch broke behind their weight and Oz landed on the ground with Willow on top of him. She screamed and her eyes flew open.

“Oz,” she called.

“I’m here,” he replied.

Anya walked over and helped them to their feet. “Your cries were most distressing,” she said to Willow.

Willow grabbed onto Oz. “I remember.”

Oz raised a brow. “Remember?”

“That night, I remember what happened. I remember who shot me,” she cried.

Willow ran for the door. Oz and Anya looked at each other, and then ran after her. “Willow, baby, what are you doing? We know who shot you.”

Willow shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

They reached the front door and Willow burst through.

“Where are you going?” Anya yelled. “We know it was Riley.”

Willow screeched to a halt. “That’s just it. It wasn’t Riley.”

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Inside the house was a scene straight out of Wrong Turn, in Xander’s opinion. They were standing in a small living room, cluttered with old dishes, TV trays, and magazines and about an inch of dust. To their left was a small hallway and to their right, a kitchen/dining room. Any second, Xander expected to hear the dueling banjos.

“We need to get the hell out of here,” he said urgently.

Spike didn’t appear to hear him. After perusing the living room and kitchen, he started down the hallway. The first door was a bathroom that had seriously seen better days. Across the hallway was a bedroom. More dust and crap covered every surface. Spike was getting agitated. He couldn’t find Riley, or anything that indicated Riley had even been here in the last month. Another bloody dead end. Shit.

Spike turned the bedroom light off and was about to leave when something caught his attention. Across the room, under a poster featuring Pamela Anderson in her blonde glory was a small crack of light. Stumbling through the room, Spike made it to the wall and ripped the poster off. Behind it was a door.

“Xander,” Spike yelled. “Get your arse back here, now.”

Xander appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Yuck, what is that smell?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Not why you’re back here. Help me.”

Xander crossed the room and stopped next to Spike. At Spike’s nod, both men threw their combined body weight into the door. The wood groaned under the impact, but held. Spike wiped his eyes. He nodded a second time and once again the men launched themselves into the door. This time, the hinges groaned and splintered enough for Spike to pry the door loose. What he saw made his blood boil then ice up.

Candles littered the surface of the shrine. In the middle was a picture of Buffy, taken while she was onstage. Around it were hundreds of other pictures, Buffy sleeping, eating, laughing with Willow, with Spike and with her mom. Moments of time in the life of Buffy Summers. The shrine pissed Spike off, but it was the note under it that made him freeze. Not one of the usual notes Buffy received, it was written in a more flowing script. The elegance of the handwriting did not belie the seriousness of the words.

As Spike read it, his head picked up pace and beat painfully against his chest.

I hate her. She’s so fucking perfect. Why her? Why not me? No one sees me through her. But they will. I will make them. She’s so perfect, but not for long. Not after I’m done.

Threats of a deranged mind against the woman he loved. Who’s mind, that was the question. Paper in hand, Spike rushed from the room, taking the time to grab Xander along the way.

“We’re outta here,” he said by way of explanation.

“No arguments here,” Xander replied.

The two men rushed from the room and down the hallway. In the living room, they collided with a frenzied Willow and a confused Anya and Oz.

“Spike,” Willow said breathlessly. “It’s not Riley. I remembered that night, and it wasn’t Riley.”

“I know, ducks,” Spike replied.

“Okay then, I’m confused. If it isn’t Riley, then who is it?” Xander asked.

Everyone looked at the redhead. “Maureen.”

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A/N: Oh my! A twist! Whoo hoo for that! Until next time, my pretties.

Chapter 37: Darkness and Shadows

Buffy ran until she couldn’t breathe. She collapsed next to a big tree and took a minute to survey her surroundings. Nothing looked familiar to her. That was a very, very bad thing. When A.J was younger he would constantly bug Buffy to take him on walks through the woods that surrounded Sunnydale so he could see the animals and play. As a result, Buffy knew most of the woods very well. And none of her current surroundings looked familiar. This meant that she was either no where near Sunnydale, or in an unexplored part of the forest. Neither of those ideas was particularly appealing right now.

Just then Buffy heard a stick snap and break. Gulping down some more air, Buffy pushed to her feet and began to run again. Her only thought was to escape, and so far the best plan she could think of was to head south and hope to find someone willing to help a wildly disheveled blonde girl. Buffy didn’t need a mirror to tell her that she looked frightening. She could feel the small sticks and twigs in her hair and feel the mud and sweat caked to her face. Another bead trickled down her back but Buffy pushed herself harder, faster.

Moving fast was essential, but also painful. Her lack of shoes left her stocking feet open and vulnerable to the thorns, rocks and other horrors of the forest. When Buffy found a small road made by ATV’s she almost wept with relief. Taking a moment, Buffy sat on a rock and gingerly examined her feet. Both were caked with mud and dirt, and Buffy could feel blood oozing through several of the deeper punctures. Suppressing a whimper, Buffy pulled the thorns out. After she was sure that all thorns and rock pieces were gone, Buffy carefully pulled her socks back on. She took another deep breath and followed the road.

A few hours later, Buffy was still following the faint road, hoping that it lead to some form of civilization. Her newest fear was that she wouldn’t find someone before the night. Buffy really didn’t want to end up out in the open all night. All manner of creepy and scary things came out at night. And although part of her brain knew that she was being ridiculous, Buffy couldn’t help but equate Riley with the boogeyman, the worst of all night creatures. Buffy would gladly face any number of fierce woodland creatures, as long as Riley didn’t find her.

Another big concern was food. Buffy hadn’t eaten since she ran from the house. Her stomach was loudly announcing the fact that some sort of food was very necessary at this point in time. All these problems and fears started to weigh on her as light began to fade fast. Sunset was approaching.

Buffy felt the fear claw up from her stomach and into her throat. She used sheer willpower to force it back. Panicking would do nothing for her right now. She needed a clear, focused mind if she wanted to live. And that was it; Buffy was fighting for her life, fighting for her right to live, and her survival. Never in her life did she think this would happen. And Buffy was scared, so scared of what might happen. She was scared that Riley would find her, that she would remain forever lost in the woods, or that an animal would attack her. These fears and more flashed though her mind in a gruesome slide show. But Buffy stood up and again began to walk. Because there was more than the fear coursing through her body was strength.

She used it when her mom was sick, when she first began to be stalked by Riley and when Angel devastated her world. Her strength and will to live, to see Spike smile, hear A.J laugh and watch her mom and Giles fumble through the dating game they thought she didn’t know about, it pushed her on.

And so onward she continued. And when the day faded into night, Buffy found a small niche in the base of a huge tree. Using branches and grass, Buffy made a small pallet to sit on while she waited for night to pass. Buffy had no intention of sleeping, but she wanted a change to regain her strength. She nibbled on some berries she had found and rested. Somewhere out there, she knew, was Riley. The dark might slow him down, but Buffy was sure that it wouldn’t deter him.

And if he found her, she would be ready to fight him.

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Spike almost screamed with frustration. As it was, he was on his fifth cigarette in as many minutes. His brain wave about Maureen working with someone seemed like a sound theory, but he was hitting a wall about where they might have taken Buffy. No luck at Riley’s, or Maureen’s and Spike had even cruised by Angel’s and Drusilla’s. Nothing. So now he was at the courthouse, looking through old property licenses and contracting bids. Spike swore his eyes were going to start bleeding.

On a sigh and an oath, Spike pushed back from the table. He rubbed his eyes and promised himself that he would look into getting glasses. Buffy had been nagging him about it for weeks. It’s not good for your eyes to have to squint at everything you read. Promise me that you’ll make and optometrist appointment. And he had. The day that she disappeared, Spike had made an appointment with Dr. Watkins. He hadn’t made it all the way there. No, when he heard about Buffy, Spike had thought of little else.

And now, he was stumped. Up against a dead end, a brick wall and any manner of unmovable objects. After talking to Angel and confirming that he hadn’t seen Buffy, Spike had run out of possible places to look under the obvious names. For the past hour or so, he had been looking under a combination of Riley’s and Maureen’s or Angel’s and Dru’s names. No luck. Muttering another oath, Spike stood up and paced the small room. The sunlight was fading quickly; the rays were dim as they passed into the small room. Spike hated the thought of spending another night without Buffy. It was unnatural.

Spike almost had to laugh at that. In such a short period of time, Buffy had become his center, his everything. It was painful for him to be without her, and the thought of her in danger made his stomach roll greasily and twist into knots. With new resolve and determination, Spike sat at the table again.

Forty five minutes later, he hit pay dirt. In the name of Maureen R. Winters. It was a permit and contracts to build. The address given was unfamiliar to Spike, so he dug out a map and looked it up. It was on old house, built in the forest north of the town. Accompanying the map were several newspaper articles dated back several decades. The articles described several unexplained abductions in the vicinity of the house and woods. Several theories were proposed, the most popular blaming the ghosts that haunt the house. One article described the family that built the house as “worshiping Satan and all his works”. Another stated that it was the ghost of a vengeful bootlegger, killed and buried under the house where he hid his fortune.

The rumors and theories were fanciful at best, but they all conveyed the same meaning; the house was haunted and was dangerous. In a word, perfect. Nobody in their right mind would go near it, and it was remote and private. If someone was taken there, it would be a long time before they would be seen or heard.

The more Spike thought about it, the more he was sure he found something. Glancing out the window, he saw that night had descended. It was inconvenient and a pain in the ass, but Spike decided to drive out there anyway. The more time he spent looking for Buffy, the less time he spent in frustration.

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Buffy shivered. This sucks. She supposed that she should be thankful. At least she had some protection against the night. Not nearly enough, though. And it was very cold. Funny thing, it being the middle of summer and everything. Okay, brilliant plan, not working out so well. Now what am I going to do?

Millions of thoughts ran through Buffy’s mind, but the only plausible idea she could fathom was to return to the freaky house and find some supplies. And as much as she disliked the thought of going back to Hell House, there was no other way. Without food, blankets or a way to start fire, Buffy knew she was as good as animal bait.

Buffy giggled before she could stop herself. The panic and stress of the situation was getting to her. Hysteria was one precarious step away. Already, Buffy could feel the burning sobs buried under the laughing façade. She took several deep breaths until she felt somewhat calmer. Her options were slim, and the only way to survive was to keep calm. Later, when she was safe, she would collapse into tears. Right now, however, she needed to go to the house, find food, matches and a blanket. Her checklist firmly in mind, Buffy took another cleansing breath, and then purposefully strode back into the forest toward the house.

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Spike cursed. Whose bright idea was it to drive out here in the middle of the night? Oh yeah, his. Stupid sod.

Lost again, Spike pulled to the side of the road and studied the road map carefully. Finding that he should have taken a left and not a right, Spike cursed again and doubled back to rectify the mistake. It had taken quite some doing to even get as far as he had. The damn house must be buried in the middle of bloody forest. How anybody in their right mind would voluntarily stay in such a place boggled Spike’s mind. The night sky was bright thanks to the moon, but it did nothing to dispel the shadows that blanketed every corner of the forest.

It was downright creepy. It reminded Spike of Ichabod Crane and Sleepy Hollow. Not the movie, but the original story. He could almost see it happening. The poor sod on the horse, and the Headless Horseman chasing him down. This would have been the perfect setting for the final scene. Running for his life, Ichabod looks back through the waving branches and sees the ghostly specter behind him, grinning maniacally. Sweat pouring down his back, Ichabod turns and urges his poor horse in a faster pace. Faster, faster and faster still, but nothing can escape the Horseman’s reach. He sees an opportunity for blood, for retribution, for whatever, and he takes it. Stalks his quarry as carefully and as skillfully as a lioness sizing up prey. Because that’s all he is, prey. Let him run, try and escape, it only makes the capture that much sweeter, knowing that blind hope is the only driving force. Ichabod runs until he sees no one, breathes a sigh of relief, he’s made it. Then BAM! The Horseman strikes. So much better when they don’t expect it, when the panic is fading and the breath is coming freely. Then the strike is that much more deadly, hope giving away to pure panic.

Something darted out in front of Spike’s car. “Bloody fucking hell,” he yelled, shaking out of his dark thoughts and jerking the wheel.

The car responded and swerved violently to the other side of the road. Spike immediately jerked the wheel back and the car fishtailed violently. “Fuck, shit, son of a bitch,” Spike said as he fought for control of the car. He finally managed get control and to slow down.

Pulling to the side of the road once again, Spike sat in his car and tried to calm down. His heart was racing and his palms were sweating. He gulped some air and waited for his hands and body to stop shaking.

“I hate the bloody woods,” he muttered.

As his heart rate returned to normal, Spike started his car and turned on the a/c. His hands were still far too unsteady to grip the wheel, let alone drive, so Spike sat and let the cool air blow on him.

Something hit his car. Curious, Spike turned his head and looked out the window. And saw someone standing right next to his car. It was too much for his abused nervous system. Spike screamed in fright and instinctively scrambled away from it. His mind was replaying his earlier thoughts about the Horseman and Spike’s rational side took a flying leap out the window. Fearing the boogieman and other horrors, Spike practically launched himself into the passenger’s side of the car. It wasn’t until he heard laughing that he realized that he was cowering and screaming like Jamie Lee Curtis in a “Halloween” movie. He stopped screaming and gulped air like a drowning victim. Spike unlocked the door and opened it. Cautiously, he stepped out of the sanctity of the car and into the eerie night.

The specter was no longer standing at the driver’s door. Carefully, Spike crept around the car. Looking around, he didn’t see a sign of anybody, or anything. A flash of color caught the corner of his eye and he whipped his head around. Just as a body crashed in him.

“Ooof,” Spike grunted as he and the body fell to the ground.

Spike landed on his back and a small curvy body fell on top of him. A familiar body. Intimately familiar.

“Buffy?” Spike asked.

“Hiya Spike. Damn I’m glad to see you,” Buffy chirped. An instant later, she smashed her lips to his.

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A/N: Siren’s Song has been nominated for best AU at Shattered Flames. Thanks so damn much to whoever nominated this story. If you can spare a few minutes, go and vote at angelfire.com/fang/shattered_flames. Thanks so much.

Until next time, my pretties.

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