ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES

CHAPTER 137 - BORROWED TIME

AUGUST 8, 2009
FRIDAY
3:00PM

“Have a great summer!” Buffy said, as the kids came up to her, hugging her good-bye. “I’ll see you and your parents either Monday morning, or Monday evening,” she said as each child came up to her.

She tidied up her room for another half-hour, grabbed her papers and the files on each child that she had to go through over the weekend before Monday, and walked down the hall.

“Good night, Elizabeth,” called Mrs. Carpello, “see you on Monday.

Buffy hurried out to the car. First she stopped at the bank, cashing her latest paycheck, putting money for bills into checking, and taking the balance in cash and traveler’s checks.

After leaving the bank, she drove over to Julian Travel to pick up the plane tickets she had booked the other day, Dawn was picking up hers and John’s near their apartment.

Leaving the travel agency, tickets in hand, she smiled at her own efficiency. All she had to do was buy a few more things for the trip, perhaps a new bathing suit for her and William, get through the parent/teacher conferences on Monday, and they’d be off for almost two weeks of sun and fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2:00PM

William pulled up in front of the house and turned off the engine. He went to the trunk of the car and opened it, lifting out the 3’ x 4’ watercolor he had brought home with him. Today had been the last day of class, and he had put the finishing touches on it this morning, then waited until work was over to go back to the io, io, wrap it up and take it with him.

He had some smaller pieces he’d brought home already, which Elizabeth had bought frames for and put up in their bedroom, but this was a surprise, and he wanted it to wait until the perfect time to give it to her.

Walking into the house, he looked around for a good spot to hide it. He didn’t dare put it under the bed, or in the closet. He thought about the barn, but didn’t want to risk it getting chewed on by a mouse. He stood in the livioom oom looking around, then looked over at the door to the spare room.

He walked over to it, opened the door looked around. The room was full of boxes and odd bits urniurniture, which they didn’t generally use, besides the bed used by their occasional guests. He knelt down and looked under the bed, and saw that there were suitcases there. That wouldn’t work; she’d probably be pulling them out for the trip.

He drew back the curtains and looked around some more. Perhaps, he thought, he could make this into a studio, when they returned, or a study, or both. Maybe one day, it might even be a nursery. He might have to add another room for guests. Or more children...

William was musing over the various possibilities, when he glanced over at the boxes blocking the door to the bedroom’s closet. If there were nothing in there, which looked like it was needed for their trip, he’d hide the picture in there until after they returned.

Boxes and the old end table, on which they were stacked, were moved out of the way, until he could open the door. He looked in and saw only a few things hanging off to the right on a short clothes rod, but straight ahead, he was surprised to see, was a narrow staircase.

He walked into the closed trd tried to see up the stairs, but it was pitch black. He went out to the kitchen and grabbed the flashlight, which was on the counter by the back door, then returned to the staircase.

“This is better,” he thought, as he started up. He reached the attic, and shone the light around. He saw an old Victorian couch in the middle of the room, then spotted an easel on one wall, and what looked like various canvasses, and old tubes of paints.

He also saw that there were windows around the whole room. Three walls had windows covered by vertical slats, the other, with horizontal ones. He opened the horizontal ones first, turning off the flashlight, as the light shone in. He examined the other windows, finally finding a thin pole, with a hook on the end. He grabbed a hold of a metal ring on one of the vertical slated windows, and with one quick pull, the other two-thirds of the room opened up. He looked outside and saw the tops of the trees around the house. He looked up and also spotted a skylight, but didn’t try to figure out how to open that.


William walked over to the pictures against the wall, and looked at them. Most of them were landscapes from the surrounding woods. His name was on them all. Why hadn’t Elizabeth ever mentioned these to him, especially when he’d started to paint? Or the attic? All he could figure was out of sight, out of mind.

He walked over to a small 8’ x 10’ canvas that stood against the wall, whose window he’d first opened, and picked it up. He turned it over, “Mum!” he whispered, looking at the familiar image of her. His fingers lovingly traced the image on the canvas. She wore a long, light blue dress, with a lace type shawl, and a matching small head covering, like a scarf, only round. She was seated on a couch, similar to the one that was in this room, in the drawing room. Their drawing room!

“No! It can’t be!” he said aloud.

His mind raced with questions, he had no answers to. Why would he draw her looking like this? Was it some sort of practice for an art class? Some attempt to make her look like she was from a different time?

His name was on the painting, like it had been on the others. There was something written on the canvas, underneath his name, but the frame was covering it. He tried to push it inward, to see what it was, but the framing was too tight. With shaking hands, he turned the canvas over. There was something written on the back, he could barely make out. He got up on unsteady legs, and brought it over to the window and held it in the light.

‘Mum, around 45 years old, probably 1870,’ it read.

“No, it should be 1970. But no, I wasn’t even born then! But maybe I’m not the William who painted this. I can’t be!”

Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he twisted the corner of the frame, until it broke and the canvas popped out. Turning it over he saw what had been covered by the frame was a date. It read:

11 October 1915.

William stared at the date. It didn’t make sense. Any of it.

He stood there by the windows staring at the picture for how long he didn't know. Finally he gently placed it back on the floor, adjusting the broken frame so that it still held in the picture, then he walked over to a drawing pad he'd seen and brought it back to the couch.

He saw a couple of loose papers sticking out of the back of the book, and pulled them out first. He stared at the images.

The first picture he saw was of a dark haired woman, sitting in what appeared to be a very high backed shell-back shaped chair of red velvet. Her gown was drawn with exquisite detail, red, with gold trim, lace cuffs and neck. She looked very beautiful.

The next few were also of that woman and a blonde haired woman. There was another of the two women and a dark haired man, who had a large brow, and appeared to be smirking. William had a visceral dislike for him immediately. It was dated 1910 aigneigned Spike, not William.

William started to shake and the pictures fluttered to the ground. Somewhere off in the distance he heard his cell phone ringing. With much difficulty he rose up and went downstairs until he located it in the living room.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Hey,” Elizabeth said, “why didn’t you pick up? Are you home?”

“I...I’m sorry, I was doing something. I’m home.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay, I just wanted to tell you I’m running to the drugstore to pick up some suntan lotion and the other stuff we talked about, for the trip. Do you need anything you can think of?”

William stood there, his head pounding, trying to make sense of her words.

“William?”

“I’m thinking...uh...I guess not; least I can’t think of anything.”

“Well, if I see something I think you might need, I’ll just call you and ask. How’s that?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You sound funny?” Buffy asked, getting a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you when you get home, then.”

“Okay, I shouldn’t be too long, I’ll pick us up something that’s easy to make on the grill.”

“Good,” he intoned.

“Bye,” she said about to hang up.

“Bye,” he answered.

“I love you,” she said, but the line had already gone dead.

William put the phone back down on the couch, and went back into the bedroom. He picked up his picture for her, and carried it upstairs, setting it down near him.

The drawing pad was still on the couch where he'd left it. Almost afraid of what else he would find in there, he gingerly picked it up.

Opening it, the first thing he saw was a drawing he’d done of Elizabeth, in their bed. She was asleep, a look of peace on her face. He turned the page. The next one was of the lovebird necklace that she always wore. There were a series of nude drawings he’d done of her up here in the attic, her lying on the couch. Next, there was a series of drawings of their ‘tree’ and with the imprint of her on it.

Lastly, there was a series of erotic drawings from somewhere he didn’t recognize. It appeared to be some sort of beach scene. There was a table with glasses, and chaises, and an umbrella. A beach, except that they appeared to be surrounded by walls and the light seemed to come down from very distinct points above, like in a ceiling of some sort, rather than overall.

The closer he looked the more he thought it reminded him of some sort of indoor Hot Springs. He could see the steam rising from the water, as he stood in the small pool, his hair white, and curly from the water, his face on her naked breast, looking out, love for her in his eyes. Elizabeth’s arms were around his back, her eyes half open, half closed; love and ecstasy written on her features.

He looked at the date; it was 15 February 2003 and it was signed, Spike.

His eyes unexpectedly teared up, as relief washed over him, “This is real, this...not the others,” he assured himself.

He wiped his eyes a few moments later, “God, I’m such a ponce!” he scolded himself.

Elizabeth, his love for her, this was proof that he was here, just a few years back. The others...he didn’t care, he’d burn them. They were figments, some sort of joke that he must have played on himself. Or maybe, he'd been trying to pawn them off as old paintings. But then why sign his name? Maybe there had been somebody famous with his name from the early 1900’s. William Worthington, perhaps, but Spike? And what of his mum? He didn’t have an answer for that.

He replaced the drawing pad where he'd found it, then went about closing the windows.

He descended the stairs, closed the door, and replaced all the things that had been against the door, then walked out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy drove to the drug store, almost under duress. She kept telling herself that everything was alright, but instinct, kept telling her it wasn’t. She went into the drugstore, leaving her list on the seat of the car, and panicked when she realized she also didn’t have her cell phone in her purse. She ran back outside to the car and was relieved when she saw it was there.

Back in the drug store, she hurried through the aisles, no longer enjoying the feeling of buying things for the trip, but almost in a panic to get out of there. She stopped in the men’s aisle and looked at the razors. Not really needing to worry if she bought him extras or not, but needing to hear his voice, she flipped open her cell and dialed his.

“Come on, William! Pick up!” she said, glaring at someone who dared to give her a look, as they pushed their cart past her in the aisle.

“Shit!” she said, and hurried out of the store, her items forgotten.

She raced through town, making it home in less than 10 minutes.

As she walked in, calling his name. He didn't answer. She looked in the bedroom, but he wasn't there. She was starting to get panicked, when finally she spotted him standing outside by the garden.

Taking a couple of steadying breaths, she walked outside over to where he stood. As she walked up to him, she couldn't help feel uneasy at how unnaturally still he looked.

"Hey," she said, at the same time, softly putting her hand on his back.

He startled a bit, his muscles quivering under her hand, "Hi, you're home," he said, his tone a bit odd sounding.

"Um, yeah, just got here. I tried to call, you didn't answer," she said, looking at him.

"I didn't hear the phone. Guess I was out here. Did you get everything you needed?"

"No, I decided not to stop today," she said. "How about you? Did you pick up anything today?"

"For what?"

"The trip?"

"No, was I supposed to?"

"Nevermind, we'll do it tomorrow, okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. Tomorrow," he replied.

They had cheese sandwiches for dinner, since she hadn't gotten anything to cook and they had used up just about all the food they had in their refrigerator, so it wouldn't go bad when they were away.

During dinner and for the rest of the evening, Buffy did most of the talking, with William only answering her questions or commenting on something she said, but otherwise, not making any conversation on his own. She noticed that whenever she stopped talking, then so did he. She asked him again, and again, he denied that anything was the matter.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“G’ night, Elizabeth,” William said, returning her kiss, but withdrawing before it went any further. His head ached from having tried all night to act like nothing was bothering him. He didn’t think he’d succeeded by the way she looked worriedly at him, when she thought he didn’t notice. And really, he would’ve liked nothing better than to take her in his arms and lose himself in them, but he was just too distracted by what he’d seen in the attic.

“Night,” Buffy said, sighing, as the door on her last attempt at connecting with him in some way that night closed. At least he didn’t turn over, she thought, as she settled down on his chest and fell into a fitful sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUGUST 9, 2009
SATURDAY
EARLY HOURS PAST MIDNIGHT

“William,” the familiar female voice called to him, “it won’t be long now, not at all.”

He was standing alone in the dark, surrounded by tall trees. “Who are you?” he asked, looking around to find the person whose voice he heard.

“You know who I am. You’ve always known. You remember our little songs...you always liked our little songs. Soon, we’ll be singing them again, and you won’t be singing hers any more.”

A chill went up his spine and he shivered, although it was summer outside, “Where are you? Show yourself!” he called out.

“It’s not time yet, Sweet William, but soon it will be. Very soon. Then you’ll be mine once more, and you’ll forget all about trying to be a man, again.

“Whoever you are, you’re wrong! I am a man and I belong right here,” he said, suddenly seeing the house off in the distance, and started for it, but he felt a cool hand grab hold of him.

“Let go!” hed, td, trying to shake loose of the dark haired woman who had him in an incredibly tight grip.

As he looked at her, she started to fade before his eyes, the feel of her grip on his arm fading as well.

“Soon, William. Soon,” she said, before fading completely.

William’s eyes shot open in the dark. For a moment he thought he was still outside, but then he felt Elizabeth stir in his arms. He tried to remember what it was that he had just dreamt, but it was fading. He tried to go back to sleep, but his mind raced, trying to pull together all the bits and pieces of the puzzle that was his life.

Finally, he got up and went into the living room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


2:45AM

“It’s coming,” William said, pointing to the sky, as the dark bank of clouds advanced towards them.

She looked up and saw the dark bank of clouds quickly advancing towards them. The wind whipped at her legs and she could hear a distant roaring sound. She looked around her and noticed that they were standing in an open field. Off in the distance was their house.

“William, we need to go now, we need to get out of its way,” Buffy said, pulling at his arm.

He stood rooted to where he was, “I can’t, I can't make it," he told her.

"You can, you just have to run really fast. It's not too far, come on!"

"I can't," he insisted pointing, and when she looked again she saw that the house appeared to be smaller than when she'd last seen it. Still, she calculated the distance and knew if they left now, they could outrun the storm.

"Please William, try," she begged. She looked up and now saw that a tornado had formed and would be upon them any second now.

“Go on now, lamb,” he told her, "save yourself."

“Why? Why won't you try?” she asked, panicking.

William pointed down to his feet. Roots had taken hold of him where he stood, anchoring him firmly. Buffy pulled with all her might, but he couldn't move.

"Go!" he yelled at her through the increasing din.

“No!” she yelled back, holding onto him tightly.

The tornado was upon them, thundering like a freight train, “I’m staying! I won’t let you go through it alone!”

“Elizabeth!” He cried out, as he was torn out of her arms, his voice quickly evaporating in the wind’s fury.

“William! I’ll find you, I’ll find you!” she called back, into the vortex.

Buffy awoke with a start, the sound of her heart thundering in her ears. She reached over automatically to William's side of the bed, but her hand fell on the empty bedding. A feeling of foreboding coursed through her, as she listened to hear if he was in the bathroom.

She got up and after first throwing on a robe, she went to look for him. She spotted him standing by the living room window looking outside.

"William?"

She went up to him and put her arms around him, leaning into his back.

He put his hands over her arms, drawing them in closer; "Did I wake you, luv?"

"No, I...I don't think so; just woke and you weren't there," she said, gratified by his easy affectionate response and endearment, compared to earlier in the evening.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, as he looked out at the night sky, his mind unsettled by so many things he couldn’t fathom.

"Me, either," she said, thankful for the warm feel of his back, as she mentally fought against recognizing or remembering the dream she'd had for what it was - a slayer dream.

"Fine pair, aren't we?" he quipped.

She nodded into his back.

He turned away from the night, and into her arms, "How about I make us some hot milk, with a dash of cocoa in it?" he asked, as he smoothed her hair back off of her face.

Buffy looked up into his face, half of it lit by the moonlight coming in from the window.

"You're so good to me," she said, her voice tight, her hand stroking his face.

"It's just milk," he said, winking at her, trying to make light of it, before he pulled her into a tight embrace.

They stood holding each other for a few minutes, then unexpectedly, she felt him shudder, and when she pulled away, she saw tears glistening in his blue eyes.

"What? What is it?" she asked, concern in her eyes.

"It's..." he said, looking at her, then turned around again to face the window, "all this, us...just sometimes...sometimes I have the feeling that it's all unreal..."

"I know, sometimes I feel like that, too," she said, her face against his back, "that we found each other again, that it's just too good to be true, that..."

He continued, as if he hadn't heard her, "...that I'm living here on," he turned again to look at her, "the only term I can think of is borrowed time..."

"WHAT?” she asked, paling, as she backed up, eyes wide. "NO!"

He looked at her, helplessly.

"NO!" She repeated, "This is real! You're real! We're real! You deserve to be happy! We deserve it!” she said, unaware that she had started to shake.

"Elizabeth? Oh God, I'm sorry,” he whispered, snapped out of his own misery, by hers. He went down on his knees in front of her, holding onto her waist, "Please forgive me, luv. I'm sorry.”

"Don't ever say that again!" she said, her voice breaking as she grabbed onto his head, before sinking down to the floor, too. "Please, don't say that again. Please, please..." she repeated, anguished, as his words, and the dream she'd had collided together in her mind.

"I won't, I promise, I'm so sorry,” William murmured into her hair, as he held onto her.

Despair rose inside him, for the pain he’d caused her, "I’m sorry! I love you! Please don't cry! I love you!" he told her over and over again.

She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him hard, desperately, her hands pulling at his hair. He felt himself become aroused and he moaned into her mouth. Still kissing, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He lay her down on the bed, covering her body with his own, as they continued to explore each other's mouths. Her legs parted for him and her breath became ragged, as she felt his erection through the thin material of her nightgown. He pulled it up, at the same time she was pulling at the drawstring of his pajama bottoms.

He slid into her, feeling her heat and need for him.

Home.

His hands went underneath her bottom, pulling her upwards to meet his thrusts, as her hands moved pulled him in even more.

Closer, harder, until there was only them, only now.

Just before they went over the edge into ecstasy, he pulled back for a moment, and looked down into her green eyes, holding her in his gaze.

“Don’t let me go,” he said, hoarsely.

She shook her head, as she put her hands on either side of his face, “I won’t, William. I promise. I won’t let go; never.”

“Me, either. Ever.”

END CHAPTER 137