29 April 1883- LONDON, ENGLAND-

The sound of the carriage wheels and the horses’ hooves as they clattered on the pavement filled his ears. As the driver raced the coach through the London night, William found himself hoping that what he’d heard was just more of Angelus’s drunken boasting. Ever since Yorkshire, Angelus had expressed his displeasure with him in countless ways. Over and over again, and at times quite painfully, he had been told who was the master of the family he’d been born into, and just how far beneath the master he was.

Angelus was a jealous and cruel master, who liked to use his fists to teach his lessons. And, he had learned his lessons. But a cruel ruler could expect his subjects to revolt. And William had, on many an occasion, done just that.

The fact that he had not been one to easily bow under his boot had caused Angelus to search for things to taunt him with.

Most of the taunting could be, and was, dismissed. But last night, Angelus and Darla came home just before dawn. Angelus was extremely drunk, and through slurred words, began boasting about a particularly violent, and vile kill.

The sneer on Angelus’s face, and the glint in his eye when he looked at him spoke of someone who had finally put an unruly child in his place. And Darla did not deny the threat; the look on her face made William gasp involuntarily. What he saw filled him with a sickening knowledge.

Angelus had followed him. He had seen him outside of Rachel’s window.

The wait for dusk had been excruciating. His imagination took him to horrible places as he waited for the last ray of light to fade. * What could he have done to them…to her? *

All through the long ride to the estate his mind imagined all the horrors that might await him. It imagined all the things that Angelus could have put Rachel through; the things he could have done to her, and his mother and father, “No,” he breathed, cursing the carriage’s slow pace.

He’d told Rachel…he’d begged her…but she was so little…and Angelus could be deadly charming, “No. Please, no,” he whispered as the carriage neared the edge of the Dustins’ sprawling estate. William hastily jumped out of the coach before it had reached a complete stop and quickly ran the two-acre span from the roadside to the main house.

As the front door loomed closer, William hoped that he would be denied entry, that his Mother and Father were still alive and the fates would keep him out.

The house was quiet as his gloved hand hovered over the door. He touched the door lightly, and pushed. To his horror, the wood swung on its hinges and he stepped over the threshold with ease.

He knew what that meant. The owners of this house were dead, as was he. Angelus had killed them.

His mind spun. * Where were they? Where was Rachel? *

He tried to calm his mind enough to hope, enough to find Rachel. As he ran throughout the house, he tried to keep his emotions from overwhelming his senses. It was the most difficult thing he had ever done.

As he went from room to room the fear escalated with each passing second. The rooms on the lower level were empty, but he could smell the odor of death in the air. He ran up the stairs to the private rooms. Rooms he knew Angelus took pride in using to arrange his kills for viewing by whatever poor soul that happened upon them when the sun came up in the morning.

He looked into his Mother’s chambers, dreading what he would find, and he found an empty room. It was just as he feared when he opened the door. The smell of death and fear was heavy here. * This is where he killed them. I know it. The undertaker must have taken the bodies this morning. Oh God, Rachel! *

The outrage at what Angelus had done overwhelmed his senses. He staggered out of the bedchamber and down the staircase. He was about to leave the house when something reached him, something that had been hidden from him beneath the fear and death.

A tiny breath, and then a tiny sound. The sound filled his head. * Why had I not noticed this before? * The sound led him to an open place in the floor. A crawlspace that could hide valuables from thieves. A space in which Rachel would sometimes hide, whether in fun, or from cross parents. William could remember finding her in the spot on many a night, before what he became banished him from the house.

His own words came back to him, “You hide until the sun comes up in the morning!”

He moved to the center of the floor and moved the loose boards aside, their clattering hitting his nerves unmercifully as they fell back to the floor.

In the hollow of earth beneath the floor, Rachel lie on her stomach, her dressing gown bunched high on her little body, exposing the bruises that disfigured her upper thighs and buttocks. It looked as if she’d been tossed here, carelessly.

There was nothing careless about this. This was done with purpose. This was his lesson. This was art.

He hastily rolled her body until she was face up and as he did her gown moved again, revealing more of her skin. He closed his eyes and quickly pulled the fabric down, his stomach lurched at the thought of her lost virtue. The blood boiled within him. * She’s only nine! *

He removed his gloves, and trembling fingers brushed the earth and hair from the icy skin of her face. As he did, he noticed the wounds on her neck, and gasped, “Rachel,” he could hear her weak heartbeat; he knew that Angelus would never have killed her, not if he wanted the lesson to take hold, “can you hear me?”

When she whimpered, it took all his strength not to show his true face. She opened her eyes and blinked at him, disbelieving, “William?” she cried, “Oh he…he…. I hid…. but he found me…He killed them and he…He…”

He closed his eyes and begged, as tears of rage escaped, “Don’t say it, please,” he whispered, holding her close, “I’m here. William’s here. He will never hurt you again…”

Hearing this, Giles longed for a brandy…or something stronger. He raked his fingers through his hair, “She never told me,” he breathed, “If she had…”

“If she had…” Spike sighed, “Maybe Jenny would still be…” his blue eyes glistened up at the Watcher, as a shared pain passed between them, a pain he hadn’t voiced until now, “If I could have, I would have killed him myself, for what he did to her. If I had…If Buffy had been able to, that night in the factory, then maybe she would still be…happy. If she had staked him the first time she saw him… The world would have been better off.”

Giles looked intently into Spike’s beleaguered face and saw the truth, “If Grandmother Rachel had told the truth, then things may have turned out differently. And perhaps,” he said gently, “the impetus for change would have never been put into place.”
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Willow took a deep breath, “Althenea tells me that I’m a bit of a control freak.”

“Uh huh,” Dawn agreed.

Willow’s eyes widened in shock, “You knew?”

Dawn winced and nodded, “Uh huh.”

“Wow,” Willow blushed, “I’m always the last to know. When Tara died,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “…No, it started before that, way before that. It started when Oz left. Magic made me feel in control again. When Tara died…there was no control. I knew I would never be in control again. And, I was so angry. I couldn’t bring Tara back, and I knew that. I know I shouldn’t have brought Buffy back. That wasn’t fair to her. I should have known the forces would punish me for that. Tara said…” she shook her head as the tears came to her eyes, “But, I didn’t think that- and then it happened, and I knew why. I was so angry. The world wasn’t fair, so I was going to destroy it. And then Xander tried to stop me. He told me he loved me…”

“And,” Dawn said softly, “you made a choice.”

“A choice I can’t take back. Now the magic’s inside of me, and I can’t get rid of it. I don’t know what that means, but it has to mean something,” she lowered her eyes in shame, “Xander’s death has to mean something,” Willow whispered.
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Spike’s voice shook under the weight of what he’d done, “If you had seen her face…I was so ashamed. There was nothing else I could have done. I couldn’t be…” his tears flowed easily, and Giles saw the honesty of his grandmother staring back at him, “that anymore. And, I couldn’t do that, anymore. Not to her, Buffy, or you.”

Giles’s head bowed, “It didn’t happen that night,” he stated, his voice shaken.

“No,” Spike sobbed, “but the fact that I tried… Something had to change. And now…” he looked up at Giles, his face despondent, “I’ve changed. But, I don’t know…” his voice ebbed, “what I am.”