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Return to You by Thianna
 
14 - Dreams or Memories
 
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Disclaimer: The characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox studios. This story is not meant to infringe upon anyone's rights, only to entertain.

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Chapter 14 - Dreams or Memories


October 9, 1885

… I finally have it on canvas. I do not think it is good, but cousin Catherine seems to think so. She says that my lady looks like an angel. That she is strong and beautiful. It is strange seeing it all finished – finally seeing her in color. The sketches that I have done before, the ones in my journal, seem more like mere glimpses into my lady’s beauty. I just wish I knew who she is. All I have is dreams of her … my one salvation from the torment of nightmares that have plagued me for years now.

The nightmares have affected my constitution I’m afraid to say. I hardly find any rest at night. When I awake, I always feel disoriented as if I am meant to be somewhere else. Is that possible? …


December 15, 1885

… I saw her again last night. I saw my angel. One might assume that I perhaps I am indeed insane for pinning over a dream. I dreamt I kissed her. I have kissed her before but those paled in comparison to what I felt last night. This was far from chaste. I can still feel her warm lips as if she was here with me right now. It was the kiss of lovers … a kiss full of raw passion and desire … a kiss that spoke of a love that burned brightly. She has awakened something in me that I had not felt in anyone before. She has elicited thoughts in me that I dare not speak of.

I have to watch my words when I speak. The thought of her invokes such emotion that I cannot contain myself. I have gone back to writing poems though this time I dare not share it to anyone. Cecily had been cruel to me, but my angel gives me hope. I wonder if I will ever find her, or if I will meet a woman that would fill my heart so. …


February 23, 1886

… Michael and Catherine’s little boy David visited me today. Such a spirited boy and curious though a little head strong. I do not believe I was as disobedient when I was his age. He has his mother’s sweet smile and his father’s boldness. I am happy for Michael that he finally has a son. He had so wanted one for the longest time. Perhaps now, the slight teasing will cease since David will carry on the Pratt name. He is truly a blessing though I am sure he will be the cause of a multitude of head aches and perhaps even heartaches. …


June 12, 1887

… I thought I had died. My dreams of late have been somewhat dark and foreboding. There was a woman with me, but she was not my angel. I believe I called her my Dark Princess. I am not sure where we were but there were many hands trying to grab us. We ran through the night … through dark alleys and streets. This woman clung to me and I protected her. I knew that I would never let anyone harm her. I felt single-minded in thought. She was all that mattered. I fought for her, killed for her, did everything to keep her safe. For once, I felt no guilt in my dreams. I felt power, strength and anger. …



September 15, 1888

… My angel is still in my thoughts and I am afraid that I have not found anyone that can compare. The family has helped or I should say more likely pushed women at me. If I had not expressed my distinct displeasure over the idea, I am sure Aunt Abigail would have employed the services of a matchmaker. They have teased that at my age I will never find a wife. But I am bewitched by my angel. I doubt I could truly love another. What kind of spell am I under to yearn for such a figment? I feel … no … I am incomplete without her I am sad to say. I do not even know her name. I think about it for the longest time but her name always eludes me. Perhaps I should call her Anne. The name suits her somehow. But then perhaps I am just thinking of Mother. …


October 29, 1889

… The nightmares come still and I fear for my soul. What rage could be inside me to commit such crimes? I see blood and hear screams but I have a feeling of rejoicing in it. I do not know how many lives I have taken in my dreams but to have such thoughts weighs heavily on me. I know that I have committed no crime. I would not dare take a human life, yet in my dreams, the sense of right and wrong do not seem to apply. …

I have developed a taste for liquor, much to the family’s dismay. It helps with my nightmares. I have no one to turn to nor do I wish to say any more of what plagues me at night. All I have are my thoughts and I write them down to help me make peace with myself.

The dreams seem all to real … and that is what bothers my soul. …


November 20, 1889

… Catherine has been teasing me again. She says that she is jealous of my muse for no one has been privileged with so much of my affection. I have finished another painting of her, though my motives maybe somewhat selfish. I had that dream again, and forgive me I want to dream it again. I was a bit harsh to her, words of spite and anger then I hit her. But I knew it would not really hurt her. My lady is strong, stronger than most men I know. She replies to me with her fists and we dance, but when our bodies came closer anger leads to other things … pleasant things. I have thoughts that are fit for a man to have only with his wife …

... such passion and heat. Her flesh sweet and tender. I think I saw marks on her neck and it pained me to see the smooth skin on her elegant neck marred. Nevertheless, she was perfection in my eyes. I wanted to kiss her there. I wanted to cover the scars that had marked her and perhaps erase them if I could with my lips. She was my girl, my woman, my angel. ...




Spike felt Buffy moved against him on the bed, her head against his chest, while his arm was lovingly wrapped around her. He looked down at her, gently caressing her waist for a few moments while he watched her sleep. It was late and they had moved from the library to his bedroom when midnight struck.

He had been reading through the journal since his “father” handed it to him, learning more of this human William that lived a somewhat troubled life according to his journals. He could remember none of it, writing in the journal that is, but the stroke was unmistakably his. This William spoke of dreams that invoked memories in Spike. There were passages in the journal that seemed to mirror something he felt Collin had dreamt before.

Then he remembered something, a dream a few days ago. He could hear a voice inside his head … Collin … telling him how much he hated the dreams. He told him how much he hated Spike. The floodgates where starting to strain -- voices from the past coming forth, screams and grunts swirling in his head, holding on to lifeless bodies in a sweet embrace, bones breaking, blood flowing – over and over different scenes, different places, different times. Spike closed the journal and leaned his head back against the headboard. He took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly to calm his now racing heart. He still felt the guilt and he wondered if there would ever come a time when it wouldn’t hurt so much anymore.

Buffy snuggled closer and as if sensing his unrest. She draped her arm across his waist, holding him close somewhat possessively. He smiled at the contact and opened his eyes to look at her sleeping face. He placed a kiss on her hair, happy to have her familiar scent around him.

Tomorrow hopefully Giles will have answers. Tomorrow he will know what his future will hold. He could only hope that he could stay, that maybe now he could be the man this Slayer truly deserved.




 
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