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Chapter Four

6:03 a.m.

Buffy came awake suddenly, not sure what had woken her. She groaned, her eyes feeling grimy with sleep, and rolled over to look at the bedside clock. Six in the morning was far too early for anyone to be up, let alone someone who had a warm, sleepy husband to snuggle up to.

Buffy leaned her head against his shoulder, nuzzling the skin there and kissing him lightly.

“Morning,” his voice was groggy, not fully alert. “What time is it?”

“Just after six,” Buffy ran her foot up his leg, the fine hairs there tickling her pleasantly. “Too early, I know, but something woke me. Something…” Buffy frowned, sure that she was forgetting to do something, but not knowing what. She shook her head, putting it out of her mind. All she wanted to think about at that moment was how sexy her husband looked first thing in the morning.

***

9:25 a.m.

“Damn, damn, damn.” Buffy glared at the red light, mentally imploring it to change. She was already over an hour late for work, and she just knew her boss wouldn’t accept ‘morning sex with husband’ as a valid excuse.

The light changed to green, and she pressed down on the accelerator, determined not to be any later than she already was.

When she finally arrived at work, Buffy was in a foul mood. It had seemed like every set of traffic lights was against her, and the traffic as she'd neared the town centre had been unbelievable. Little Waterton wasn't a particularly large place, but it seemed like everyone and his dog had been out in force, all determined to keep her from getting to work at a reasonable time. Buffy pulled into the car park and swerved angrily into an empty space, the brakes squealing as she came to a stop. She got out of the car, and slammed the door shut - and the window shattered.

"What? No!" She kicked the side of the car, putting a huge dent in the blue paint. "Seriously? I didn't even kick that hard! Argh!"

Suffice to say, her day wasn't going well.

***

11:33 a. m.

Finally ensconced in her tiny cubicle, the reports she had to work through piled high to her right, and her ancient piece-of-crap computer to her left, Buffy let herself relax. Her boss, an evil weasel of a man named Simms, had yelled at her for a good ten minutes about punctuality and presentation. Was it her fault that in her frustration over ruining her car, she hadn't been looking where she was walking and splashed across a deep puddle? And she still didn't understand how slamming the door had caused the window to shatter, or how her gentle tap of a kick had put the huge dent in the side.

Buffy logged onto the computer and shuffled the stack of papers into a tidy pile. She peered around, hoping that Simms wasn't anywhere near, then laid her head on her arms, and fell asleep.

***

She was dreaming, she knew it. The strange sort of dreaming where you are completely aware that it’s not real, but it feels so much like reality that you can’t quite work out what is truth and what is a lie.

He had her husband’s face. His sharp, angular features, clear blue eyes and full, pouty lips. The hair was the same: bleached a bright white and slicked back neatly. He wasn’t dressed at all like William; the man in her dream wore all black: tight jeans and an even tighter t-shirt. Billowing around his legs were the tails of a long, leather coat.

He was standing in an alley, watching the door of what looked to be a club. His eyebrows were raised, and his lips were pulled into a cruel smirk.

There was a sudden crash, and Buffy saw herself – a young, perky-looking version of herself – stride out into the alley, shoving a man in front of her. She watched with amazement and a little bit of horror as her younger self threw kicks and punches at the man – and was there something wrong with his face? To the side were two teenagers: a brunette boy and a redheaded girl.

When she saw the two teens, Buffy felt a pang of something shoot through her, and even though she was in a dream, she knew there was something important about them. But she couldn’t quite work out who they were or how she recognised them. It was frustrating.

As she watched, her younger self grabbed a sharpened piece of wood from the boy, and stabbed the man she’d been fighting in the chest, and he exploded into dust. Buffy gaped as the sound of slow, somehow sarcastic clapping emanated from where William stood.

“Nice work, love.” His voice was the same as her husband’s, the deep, measured tones of an English accent.

“Who are you?”

“You’ll find out on Saturday.”

“What happens on Saturday?”

“I kill you.”

***

1:13 p.m.

"No!"

Buffy shot awake, the last part of her dream resonating in her mind. It had all seemed so real, so intense. What happens on Saturday? I kill you. Hearing those words… dream or not, it had shaken her. She shuddered, and picked up the phone, struck by an odd need to call her husband, to make sure that he was okay. That the dream had been just that - a dream.

The dialling tone rang out. No answer. Buffy hung up, and dialled again. No reply. She frowned, and checked her watch. Just gone one p.m. He should be there, sitting in the study, working on his book. That, or lounging around the living room, catching up on the latest episode of Passions – all in the name of research, of course.

Buffy set the phone back in its cradle, and tapped her fingers on the desk, wondering what to do. Of course, he could have gone out, but there was that niggling sense of something being not quite right, and it was sending prickles of unease down her spine.

The ringing of the phone made her jump, and she smiled, sure that this would be William.

“Hey, sweetie.”

There was a pause, then, “Hello? Is this Mrs. Summers?”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Buffy bit her lip. “I thought it was my husband calling.”

“Ah. Mrs. Summers, my name is Bill Greenwood; I’m a nurse at Little Waterton General. Your husband-”

“Oh, God! Is he all right?”

“He’s in no immediate danger. Mr. Summers was admitted earlier today with breathing difficulties and burns to the face and hands. And he’s exhibiting some other - rather odd – symptoms.”

“What symptoms?”

“I think it would be best if you came down to the hospital before I explain any further, Mrs. Summers.”

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

***

2:05 p.m.

Buffy brushed the hair back off William’s forehead, careful not to touch the burned skin on his face. He shifted slightly, and Buffy snatched her hand away, not wanting to hurt him.

“Buffy?”

“Hey.” She smiled. “How do you feel?”

William sat up, struggling a little, then smirked half-heartedly. “Like hell.”

“What happened? The doctor tried to explain, but…”

William shrugged. “Not really sure. I fell asleep on the sofa, dreamed a bit, next thing I know, I’m waking up and my hands and face are on fire, and I can hardly breathe. Bloody weird, it was.”

“On fire?” Buffy frowned, a sudden flash of William looking sick and pasty, cowering under a smoking blanket crossing her mind. She shook her head, and the image disappeared.

“Yeah. Doc can’t explain it.”

Buffy frowned again, but said nothing, simply grasping her husband’s hand in her own.

***

5:34 p.m.

The doctors had finally discharged William, and now they were in her car, driving home.

“What happened here, then?” William asked, gesturing at the shattered window.

“I slammed the door, like normal, and it just happened.” Buffy shrugged. “It was really strange.”

“Seems like a lot of odd things have happened to us today,” William frowned. “Keep remembering parts of that bloody dream, too.”

Buffy shuddered as she pulled into the drive of their house, remembering her own dream. She switched off the car engine, and they sat in silence.

“What happens on Saturday?”

“I kill you.”

“I dreamed of killing you.”

“What?” Buffy was jolted from her memory by William’s words. “What did you say?”

William shook his head, then winced. The movement had agitated his burns. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“No! You said… you dreamed of killing me.” Buffy hadn’t been able to shake the sense that something was wrong all day, and she was determined to find out what was going on.

“I… I was a monster,” William began. “Not human. And we were fighting. I had some sort of… ring. A magic ring, was taunting you with it. Then you took it off me, and I started to burn… that’s when I woke up,” he chuckled wryly. “On fire.”

Buffy stared ahead, eyes unfocused as she took in William’s words. Something about what he was saying seemed familiar… if she concentrated, she could almost see the scene unfolding in her mind.

“The gem of Amarra.”

“How did you know that?” William’s voice was sharp.

Buffy frowned. “I don’t…”

Images flashed behind her eyes, of William, always wearing the long leather coat, smirking evilly. Of herself, kicking and punching her way through cemeteries. The redheaded girl and brunette boy from her dream, and an older man with glasses, nearly always by her side.

Buffy opened her eyes when she felt the steering wheel crack under her hands. She had been gripping it too tightly.

She looked towards William, and saw that his skin was reddening again, thin wisps of smoke rising from his hands and face. His eyes were wide as he stared at her, one hand held against his chest.

“Buffy-” he reached out and grasped her hand. “My heart- something’s wrong-”

Buffy scrambled to undo her seatbelt, fumbling in her purse for her cell phone. Her finger hovered over the nine, but before she could press it, everything went black.

***

Buffy blinked, and sat up. It was dark, and she appeared to be sitting on the ground. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her jeans, wondering what was going on.

She felt him before she saw him, tell-tale vampire tingles tickling the back of her neck. When he stepped into her view, Buffy gasped, frozen, as memories of the day assaulted her. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground.

“Spike. What did you do?”

TBC