AUTHOR'S NOTE: Those of you who read "Vanishing Point" might recognize someone who makes brief cameo. ;)
******************************

24 DECEMBER 1872-LONDON-

The gentle snow fell on the forgotten boxes, with their bright ribbon, as they were strewn in the street. Oscar Lendman frantically searched for her, “Diana,” he called as he ran through the streets, his panic rising with every step, “come out, Rabbit,” he tried to keep the fear out of his tone. If his girl thought he was cross, she would never come out from her hiding place.

He’d only looked away for an instant. How could she have disappeared? The streets were crowded with people. Surely, someone must have seen her.

As he searched the crowded street for her, the horror grew within him. She was so small, “Diana,” he called, peering into every alley and hovel that could possibly hide a little girl, watching for a flash of her red hair, all done up prettily with a green satin ribbon. He listened intently for any cry, for the rustle of the petticoat she was so found of, but there was nothing.

Faces became indistinct as fright blew over him, colder than the winter wind. No face mattered but hers, all others passed in a frenzied blur. He dimly noticed concerned looks from the sea of faces that were not hers. Tears of loss made it difficult to see.

The black outline of a constable came into view and he seized upon it. He gripped the man desperately, “Constable, please,” he gasped, the tears running unashamedly down his face, “My little girl…she’s very nearly seven…she has red hair, that’s bound up in a green satin ribbon. Diana, she…” he fought for control, and his voice shook with the effort, “Her frock is red, and she’s wearing a black frockcoat. Tell me…” his breath heaved, “…have you seen her? She was here a moment ago…”
*******************************************************

The scream of the police siren as it faded into the Los Angeles night brought back the sound of the constable’s whistle. It was a sound that Oscar would never forget.

There were many parts of Los Angeles that were full of abandoned, or run-down buildings. Places that were perfect for the things he needed to do. Places where they would not be disturbed.

If there were any screams, they would fade into the din of the city. His screams would fade. But for Oscar, the silent screams of his little girl would never fade. It was that sound that drove him, that sound that made him do the unthinkable.

As Oscar shut his eyes against the echo of the whistle, and its gruesome aftermath, he was transported forward in time.

In an instant, one hundred and thirty-three years flew by and he was face to face with her killer. The day she was found, lifelessly strewn atop the bales of rotting horse feed in an abandoned stable, his heart blackened and he became a monster.

But now-at last, now- he was looking into the calm, sleeping face of his daughter’s killer.

The man groaned to life and Oscar knelt down, “How did it feel…” he asked the groggy man, as his eyes began to focus on the frightening visage of his captor, “to be frightened? To feel the pain in your chest as your breath came shorter and shorter? How did it feel? Did it feel like you were drowning? Did it choke you,” he watched as the man who called himself Liam began to rouse, and the haze of unconsciousness lifted. Wide eyes met his as the man began to understand what was happening to him. Suddenly Oscar caught the most wonderful, hideous scent in the air, “Ah,” he sighed as he breathed in its heady aroma, “there it is,” his voice was quiet and low, almost a growl, “Fear. Do you remember it? Did she…?” Oscar stopped, taking in the sound of his heartbeat and his ragged breathing, “Is this…what Diana sounded like?” his voice snagged on a long ago hurt, “Did her heart beat like a frightened…” his voice trailed off as memories assailed him, “…rabbit?” he asked quietly.

The sick sense of irony settled in Liam’s stomach as he took in the wavering image of what he knew, instinctively, was a vampire. Liam resigned himself to his fate. He’d been a monster for centuries, preying on the weak. Now, he was weak.

He had become the victim. And, he had no hope of rescue. Over the years, he’d killed or tortured, in one way or another alienated any hope of rescue.

He was a good monster, but he was never a man worthy of rescue.

His only hope was to pray to a deity, or something, that cared for him. He just hoped that he hadn’t spit in the face of his savior once too often.

Please Spike…if you can hear me at all…please…

His mouth went dry in fear, and he felt his new blood rushing through him quickly, “Please,” he begged, his head swimming in fog from the asphyxia of hyperventilation, “Please don’t kill me. I know you want to. But, please don’t.”

Yellow eyes flashed in the dim, dingy warehouse, “Do you know me?” Oscar growled, “Do you really…know me? Because, I know you, very well, and I have better things to do than kill you. You didn’t give Diana the mercy of just killing her. No,” Oscar’s voice shook with the emotion that had carried him through the centuries, “…what you did to her…” he shook his head, feeling the hatred enlarge within his silent chest, “Before I’m done with you,” he hissed, “you will know what it is she felt.”
************************************************************************

Buffy could tell that he was agitated. His game face was firmly in place, and had been for hours now.

As the sun began to light the sky Buffy was grateful for the necro-tempered glass that he had had installed before Joni had been kidnapped and taken to that hellish place, because Spike was too fixated to take care of himself.

He’d walked the floor for hours now, in an obsessive circuit; from their bedroom to Joni’s and back, he was a mute sentry. When she had attempted to leave the room to try and calm him, he growled, and his eyes begged her to stay where he knew she was safe.

There was nothing more she wanted in the world but to help him. So, if staying where she was would help, that was what she would do.

She just hoped it was enough, and as the wee hours waned into daylight, she felt his agitation fade into sorrow.

When he was too exhausted to continue, and the unseen foe could not be fought, he collapsed in her arms and wept.

As she held him, she felt the pain he felt, and cried out to any and all guardians of this dimension, be it deity or otherwise, for help.

The prayers floated up to the ether, and were caught by one who knew all concerned. The one who had long ago made the promise.

The one who had changed everything, for her. To help her- and all she cared about.

That one smiled, and made the promise once more.

Surely Love, the wind seemed to whisper; this isn’t going to be easy.