Spike Thomson stared at the envelope in his hand.  The script on it was gold and ornate, written with a flourish, but what made it distinctive was the name to which it was addressed.  Spike Thomson.  It was strange, for almost all of his correspondence was sent to James, because that was what the government considered his real name to be.

The only place he'd been actually recorded as Spike, he mused, was in the files of the Junior Gazette and that had been almost ten years ago.

Ten years.  The knowledge hit him suddenly; a revelation both surprising and sorrowful.  Had it really been that long?  Spike tore open the envelope and an elegant, if childish, invitation fell out and fluttered to the ground.  "You are invited to the 10th anniversary of the Junior Gazette!" the heading blazed.  He stared harder at it, bending down a little, but not really comprehending what he read.  "The current staff is proud to invite all founding members of the paper to a reunion party!"

Reunion.  The one word stuck out as Spike slowly retrieved the dropped invitation, his hand shaking just a little.  He couldn't believe that it had been ten years since he first sauntered into the office, and over six years since he had left.  Six years since he'd called a cheerful, "Well, guys, I'm outta here!" and walked into a new job, a new town, and a new life.

Not that he had wanted to leave.  There had just been certain practicalities involved.  He couldn't spend his life working on a kiddy newspaper and if the truth be told, the pay hadn't been that good either.  It was all he could do to keep up with the rent (and the expenses of dating) during his last year at the Junior Gazette.  Yet it had been fun and Spike never regretted a moment of it.  The time had just come to move on.

Well, Spike reflected, his life had certainly changed since then.  He wasn't the richest man in the world (amazingly enough, it seemed that Colin would soon have that honour) but he liked his job as an investigative reporter for the Nightly News and he liked his fiancee even more.  Caroline was beautiful, devoted, and rarely gave him grief about anything.  Not like someone else from Spike's past....

He smiled nostalgically as he remembered Lynda Day.  Incredible Lynda Day with whom he had loved and fought for years, the woman that some small part of him would always love no matter how far apart life took them.  Spike wondered what she was doing now.  She was probably the manger of some important newspaper, making a million dollars every hour and firing people at a whim.  Lynda had always been so good at that.  Yet Spike was a little surprised as he realised he didn't know her exact whereabouts.  Someone like Lynda should have been a lot harder to lose track of.  When Spike had left the Junior Gazette, one thing he'd been sure of was running into Lynda again and again, either at corporate functions or just in the street (she was like a curse sometimes).

Yet it hadn't happened.  And as Spike remembered Lynda, he began to remember the rest of the first news team and realised that he hadn't seen any of them either.  Not Sarah, a good friend who had always listened.  Not Tiddler, or Julie.  Not even Frazz, who'd been 'the man' all those years.  Of all his old friends, Colin Mathews was the only one Spike had any idea about, and that was because Colin was in the news half the time, generally because of a scandal that his lawyers bought his way out of.

While staring at the letter, Spike realised that he missed his friends.  It was something he hadn't been aware of - their company had just slowly slipped away without him even noticing.  Yet now, with the sudden reminder, he wanted to see them all again and recapture old times.

Taking the reply card enclosed with the invitation to his desk, Spike proceeded to fill it out without even bothering to check if he was free on that date.  He would make sure he was free.  He was going to a reunion.

The building was huge.  Somehow, an extra story had been built on top of the old, familiar newsroom.  It still had the traditional passage/entrance that Lynda had insisted on rebuilding after the fire.  The dimensions weren't quite the same but she had insisted that nobody would notice.

"Welcome, Junior Gazette Veterans!"  Spike decided he should be mildly insulted by the sign but simply smiled at it, wondering about the staff.  As people had moved on from Lynda's newsroom, she'd taken up recruiting school students in their final year who had, in turn, invited their younger counterparts along to gain experience in the newspaper business.  The result was a constant flux of new, untrained but enthusiastic staff mixed with the stable core who knew how to run a business.

Spike stepped inside the entrance and was greeted by the general hubbub of a party in full swing.  A desk was set up in the hall and two young looking girls smiled at him sweetly.  "Name?" one asked and Spike shifted uneasily from one foot to another, because the pair eerily reminded him of Sophie and Laura.  Now that was a pair he didn't want to remember.

"Ah...Spike.  Spike Thomson."

"Oh, so you're the one..." one of the girls began, and then broke off as both she and her companion collapsed into giggles.

"Yeah, but don't spread it around, okay?" Spike disclosed, slipping back into his charming persona that had been legendary around the newsroom.

Spike was handed a name badge once the girls recovered themselves and he turned to enter the main newsroom when he was called back again.  The taller girl held up a newspaper which Spike recognised as the special edition written about himself and Lynda.  A pang shot through his heart.

"Did the two of you get married?" the girl asked, her face hopeful.

Shaking his head, Spike muttered, "No, we didn't."  He escaped before they could ask another troubling question and entered the room of his past.

It looked exactly the same.  Well, that wasn't entirely true, for the desks had been removed to make room for the party which extended upstairs as well.  But the walls, the atmosphere, the very smell of the place took Spike back in time.  It took him a few moments to realise that someone was calling his name.

"Spike!  How are you?  God, it's good to see you again!"  Julie, as beautiful as ever, raced up and threw her arms around him.  "I can't believe it's been so many years!"

"Tell me about it," Spike replied as he took a step back and studied her.  The same hairstyle, a slightly better dress sense, yet there was a warm glow in her eyes that Spike couldn't quite account for.

He was about to ask Julie what she'd been doing since her time with the Junior Gazette when she stepped aside and proudly introduced, "My husband, Bill, and my children.  Christine, Alex, say hello to your Uncle Spike."

The children dutifully chorused, "Hello," while Spike fought to contain his surprise.  Julie, married?  With a family?  He never would have guessed.

"Nice to meet you," Spike finally managed.  He made idle chit-chat with Julie for a few more minutes but was eager to catch up with other old friends, one in particular.  Julie seemed to understand and released him from the conversation fairly easily.  Perhaps she, too, had other people to greet.

Spike found Frazz, Sarah, Colin, Tiddler and Kenny already congregated together in a group across the other side of the room.  "Hey guys, the party can start now because I'm here!" he announced as he strode into their midst.

"Spike!"

Greetings, laughter, hugs and kisses were exchanged as the old friends were reunited and they caught up on each others' lives.

"You came all the way from Australia just for a reunion?" Spike found himself asking Kenny.

Kenny looked down.  "It wasn't just that, I had a lot of other things to do here as well...."

"Right," Spike agreed, not believing a word of it.

"It's true!  I promised my aunt a visit months ago and I also wanted to catch up with my old friends.  You, Sarah, Lynda..."  Kenny's voice trailed off as he looked around the room yet again.  "Which reminds me, where is Lynda?"

"You got me," Spike responded flippantly, trying to hide how nervous he felt about seeing her again.

"You mean that after everything the two of you went through together, it didn't work out?"  Kenny seemed genuinely upset.

Shrugging, Spike responded, "That's the way life is, I guess.  It never turns out the way you think it will."  He glanced around the room.  "When was the last time you heard from Lynda?"

Looking down, Kenny replied, "A long time.  I moved around a lot and I don't think her letters caught up with me.  She didn't write that often, anyway.  The last I heard was that the newsroom had burnt down and she would finally get to build her own office."

Spike nodded, looking towards Lynda's old office.  The place that had taken her from the newsroom, from him.  He couldn't even recall saying goodbye to Lynda.  Once the gazette offices were rebuilt, she'd spent more and more time in her office, rarely stepping out to tear into the news team as she used to.  Even her memos had become softer, a simple "Do you really think this is acceptable?" rather than "Rewrite this or I will personally rip your arms off".  The memory made Spike grin and he wondered why she had mellowed.

Closing his eyes, Spike tried to remember more of Lynda in that last year.  When had they drifted apart?  He couldn't even recall their last kiss.

Suddenly unable to stand one more moment of conversation with Kenny, Spike excused himself and hurried back out to the reception desk.

"Hey," he said casually to the munchkins, "I don't suppose you know if Lynda Day is coming?"

"We thought she was coming with you," quickly answered one girl as her friend hit her in the elbow.

"No we didn't!" the other interjected loudly, and then hissed to her friend, "I told you he would have checked the box for two people if he was bringing her!"

Spike sighed.  "Did she even reply?"

The girls shook their heads.  "The organising committee was really upset about that, seeing as she was the first editor and all.  Anyway, we're still hoping that she will come.  See, we even made her a name badge!"  It was displayed proudly.

"Great," Spike answered wryly.  "Listen, is there a phone around here someplace?  Maybe she never got her invitation."

The girls pointed back to the newsroom and Spike grimaced.  He really didn't want to wade through all those people again; there was a sense of urgency tugging at him.  A vague memory of a telephone box in the street came to him and he called a quick thanks to the girls before hurrying outside.

The remembered telephone wasn't there but a new one stood a little way up the street.  Spike found that he didn't even have to struggle to recall Lynda's old telephone number, the one he had called so many times when they first began dating.  It was a long shot but worth a try.

"Hello?" someone answered.

"Hi, my name is James Thomson and I'm looking for someone who used to-"

"Spike Thomson?" the voice interrupted.  Hope surged through his heart.

"Yeah, Spike!" he affirmed.

"This is Penny Day, Lynda's mother.  I must say, it's been a long time."

Smiling, Spike said, "Too long, Mrs Day."  He was gratified to hear that Lynda's parents still lived in the same house, with the same number.  "How have you been?"

From the sudden silence at the other end of the line, Spike could tell it was the wrong question to ask.  "It's been hard, Spike.  My husband passed away last winter and Lynda, well...."  Her voice trailed off and Spike grew more concerned.  "Perhaps you should come visit some time.  We could have tea and a chat."

"Are you busy now?" Spike quickly asked, knowing it was rude but desperately wanting to visit Mrs Day right away.

"Well, I have to do my shopping," Mrs Day answered.  "But you can pop around for a few moments if you wish."  She paused and then continued, "Wasn't there some kind of newspaper reunion on this afternoon, though?  Lynda's invitation was forwarded to me...oh dear, I don't believe I sent that back."

"It doesn't matter, Mrs Day," Spike reassured.  "Do you mind if I stop by in a few minutes?"

"No, Spike, you come on by.  Do you have my address?"  Mrs Day answered her own question.  "Of course you do, you used to come by here all the time!"

"That's right," agreed Spike.  He quickly ended the conversation and proceeded to his car, not even bothering to say goodbye to the many people at the reunion party.  If he was lucky, he'd be back later and perhaps have the answer to the mystery of Lynda's whereabouts.

His mind began to turn over countless possibilities during that short, yet endless, drive to the Days' house.  Was Lynda overseas with no plans to return?  Or was it something much worse than that?  Had she suffered a setback - had her fears of social situations returned without Spike around?  Had she been in a terrible accident and was now confined to a hospital?  Spike angrily shook his head, not wanting to think such terrible things, but he couldn't help the fear pounding through his heart as he drove to Lynda's old house.

Before he even pushed the bell, Mrs Day had opened the front door and smiled at him.  "I'm just on my way out - I didn't want the shops to close before I was all done!"  She laughed and it sounded strangely harsh to Spike.  He found himself wondering about Mrs Day's health, for she looked so old.

She held something large and white in her hands and Spike decided it looked like an envelope.  "She said you would come one day," Mrs Day half-whispered.  She handed him the envelope; upon it, eerily written in Lynda's handwriting, was his name, Spike Thomson.  He was reluctant to open it here and Mrs Day understood.  "There's a park nearby if you want to be alone," she offered.  Spike accepted her directions and said a quick goodbye.  Mrs Day only waved vaguely and Spike promised himself that he would visit her again soon.

Spike found a park bench near a tree with white flowers giving off a heavenly scent.  He was tremendously nervous, wondering over Mrs Day's strange message and even more terrified of what the letter would tell him.

He could no longer deny it; he wanted Lynda back.  Maybe not as a lover, maybe just as a friend, but he wanted to see her and tell her that he was sorry.  He was sorry for leaving and not trying harder with their relationship, for as Spike looked back, he could only remember the good things and how much he had loved her.

He lifted the envelope to his nostrils and breathed deeply, detecting, so very faintly, the perfume that Lynda used to wear.  It made him smile.  Ever so carefully, and with shaking hands, Spike opened the envelope and took out several pages, folded so precisely.

Suddenly hit with a fresh wave of fear, Spike realised he didn't want to read the letter.  The way Mrs Day had spoken made it sound like Lynda wasn't coming back.  Yet where had she gone?  And why hadn't she told him?  Did he really want to face the answers?

Summoning up all of his courage, Spike began to read.
 

"Dear Spike,

By the time you read this, I will be gone.  I wonder how long it will take you.  Will you wake up one morning and suddenly realise that Lynda Day is no longer in your life?  Or will years go by with nothing but faded memories, until one day you decide to look me up?  I wish I could see the future and know what happens, but I learnt a long time ago that even when you dream the future, it's not always the truth.

This is the hardest letter I've ever had to write in my life.  In my life.  What a phrase.  I'm writing this as if I still think I'm alive, that I have hope and a future.  But I don't.  And although I accepted that a long time ago, I'm still filled with regret.

Spike, I loved you more than anything else in the world.  I never told you in so many words because I was scared of the intensity of my feelings.  By admitting it to you, I would also be admitting it to myself and I never wanted to face that reality because it would mean that I was losing control.  I didn't know how I would ever cope if I lost you, so I tried to pretend that it wasn't love no matter how I felt.

I guess all of that's pretty useless now.  It wasn't you who died.  You're going to go on until you're well over a hundred - it'll take a lot more than old age to shut you up!  ...I'm going to miss your voice, Spike.  I'm going to miss everything about you because despite what I've been telling myself, and despite what's happened between us this last year, and despite the terrible knowledge I have, I still love you.

There.  I said it.  Spike, I love you.

Does it mean anything now?  It shouldn't, but I just wanted you to know.  Part of me wants to have you pining over me forever but I can't wish that on you.  I hope you're happy, married even, with someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated.

Spike, I gave you so much grief and I'm sorry for that.  I'm sorry for everything I ever did to anyone.  Causing pain seems to have been my talent in life and I regret a lot of it now.  My nastiness was who I was and it shouldn't have been like that.  But you know what?  I had fun.  And isn't that what's important in the end?  I shouldn't go out with regrets; despite what I did, I am proud of who I was.  I hope that part of you is proud of me too.

Do you know, Spike?  Do you understand?  You never asked how I escaped the fire that burnt down the newsroom.  The truth is - I didn't.  I'm dead.  I died in that fire along with the hopes and dreams of all my friends.  I died screaming your name.

The strange thing was that I couldn't leave.  For hours I just sort of - floated - above where the newsroom used to be.  I watched the firefighters do their best to battle the blaze.  I saw the curiosity of the passers-by as they stopped to watch and then I saw the horror on the faces of the news team as they began to arrive.

I saw my own body burning in amongst the fallen beams and it terrified me.  And then I was furious at myself for having given in so easily and I vowed that I wouldn't be trapped by death and my time on Earth couldn't be over so soon.

But that isn't what kept me here.  I was beginning to float away when I saw you.

You drove up that street like a maniac, tyres squealing as you braked so hard I thought they would catch on fire along with the building.  You jumped out of the car and didn't bother to close the door, you just ran as fast as you could to the newsroom and didn't stop until the firefighters physically restrained you.

Then I saw your face.  It was grey; there was a sense of horror and dread upon it.  And as you were told that no one was coming out of there alive, a part of you died inside.  I saw it.  The light went out of your eyes and the fear, the terrible, terrible fear in you was realised.  You went cold.  Because you knew I was in there and you knew I was dead.

That didn't stop you racing to a phone and calling every single person you could think of to find out if I was there.  You returned to the smouldering base and shouted that there was no body, I couldn't be dead unless they had proof!  Julie and Tiddler wrapped their arms around you but you shook them off, not wanting their comfort while you were so desperately trying to believe it wasn't true.

I felt your desperation.  I knew you wouldn't survive if I was gone...just like that.  After everything we had been through, and I don't need to tell you our history, it had seemed like we'd finally reached an end-point where I loved you and you loved me and not America, my pride, your Zoe, or my paper, could come between us.  One stupid little fight destroyed that, one that was my fault but you would blame yourself forever.

I couldn't let that happen.  I felt your longing, your need to believe that I was alive.  I slowly became aware of other things too.  Without me the Junior Gazette was also dead.  Everything I had fought for so long would become obsolete.  The careers of my news team - also gone, for who would hire mere reporters of a juvenile newspaper?

There was too much depending on me for me to just go.  So I didn't.

It sounds simple, doesn't it?  Just decide to stick around for a while after your death, no problem.  But I couldn't hold on by myself, I needed something to anchor myself to.  That something was you, you pulled me in a surely as I pulled myself.  Our connection is what kept me here.

It's no coincidence that I first showed up in your room.  I was surprised that I had a physical form and also a little peeved that I looked like I'd just been yanked out of a fire.  It was hours since the building burnt down and if I had miraculously escaped, and been uninjured, surely I would have had plenty of time to go home and get cleaned up?

I decided not to question fate.  Instead, we had that unforgettable conversation.  My heart (and yes, I still think in physical terms) stopped as you leaned in to kiss me and at that stage I truly believed I was still a ghost who would disappear just like that.

And then your lips met mine and it felt like heaven.  A part of me knew that this was to be our last kiss and that I had only been granted a short reprieve from death.  I put everything into that kiss and I will treasure it for eternity.  The sweet touch of your lips on mine, the emotion, the love....

We talked for hours that night.  About the past, the present, and both the future of the newsroom and your future.  But never mine.  The only future I could anticipate was rising from Hell in front of Colin, something I'd invented to tell you where I'd been and the idea was sounding better every minute.

During the next few days we spent much time together as I focussed on rebuilding the newsroom.  I threw myself into the task, working as quickly as possible because I knew I didn't belong in your world any more and the sooner I severed the ties, the better.  You could go on living the wonderful life you deserve.

So the newsroom was rebuilt and everyone returned to their old jobs - except me.  I shut myself away in my office on purpose.  I needed you to get on without me and it was also good for me to be away from the newsroom.  Without it physically around me I didn't yearn for it so much.

Time passed.  You and I still dated, but with our huge workload we were often so tired and spent evenings more as friends who shared chaste kisses and nothing more.  You began to forget the passion you once held for me and I was no longer your lifeline.

Through that, my hold on Earth was detached.  I began to experience missing time - hours would pass and then I would return, realising that I had phased out of existence for a while.  It frightened me at first but I have grown to accept it.  The one thing these experiences have shown me is that the news team does not need me any more.  And neither do you.

I encouraged you to apply for jobs elsewhere, telling you that I had done the same thing.  When you were hired at LC News I supported you all the way yet all you ever heard from me was a mild, "Congratulations".  I had to cut you off no matter how much it hurt.

With Julie eyeing my position as others moved on and a new news team began to take hold,  I realised that my time was nearly up.  No one needed me any more.  I was free to go.  And I was scared.

I am scared, Spike.  I'm scared because it's almost over and I don't want to leave.  I'm scared because you've left me and even though it's what I wanted, I still love you more than anything and I wish you could be here at the end.

So I decided to write you this letter and leave it with my mother.  I think she knows what happened, she never quite believed that I survived the fire.  Said it was a mother's intuition and I was only a fleeting angel.  She's right.

I wrote this to feel closer to you.  But mostly, I wrote it because I wanted you to know.

Had it been my choice, I would have married you, Spike Thomson.  But that's in the past.  I want you to live for the future and sometimes, if you can manage it, think of me.

All my love,
Lynda Day."
 

And that was it.  His hands trembling, Spike rested the pages of the letter on his lap and wiped away one lone tear which had escaped his eye.  It was true, all of it, every single word which she had written.

It hurt so much to finally have the answers.  What made it even sadder was the knowledge that there was nothing Spike could have done.  It was the past, unchangeable, yet forever regrettable.

Spike looked at the white flowers, smelt the sweet fragrance in the air and closed his eyes.  He remembered Lynda Day.  And he missed her, for she was gone.

---

END.
 

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