Home movies. I doubt they exist anymore. The technology has changed and so has just about everything else. Before, people wanted a way of remembering. Now everyone is trying desperately to forget. Not me. Can't forget what I don't really remember. And if I don't remember it then the memory isn't really mine. I have somebody's home movie. There's a girl in it that looks just like me. A bit younger and dressed as if she's going to church but the resemblance is uncanny. But something is still different. Her eyes. Her eyes make her look even younger than she actually is. They haven't seen anything yet, anything that'll change them and shock them and age them. When I look at myself in the mirror, look myself right in the eye, I look about ninety years old (which, in reality, isn't far off). So I'm watching something that belongs to someone else. I feel like a voyeur.

Eyes. It's funny really. I have eyes that are old. Spike has eyes that travel through time, split up realities, live different lives, hold different memories. Spike has the strangest eyes I've ever seen. I love his eyes. Scratch that. I loved them. Can't speak of him in the present tense anymore. Present tense. Hah. Tense present more like.

Lunkhead.

So I got a set of memories that don't really feel like mine and Spike went off and died. Hard to see who got the worst deal there. (Clue: not Lunkhead). He really is... sorry, was stupid.

Why'd you do it Spike?

Because of a hot piece of ass of course.

Julia. Okay, this is what pisses me off about Julia. Spike supposedly loved her. Wrong. He thought the love of a good woman was his get-out-of-jail- free card, his means of redemption. Well that's the biggest pile of shit I've ever heard of. She didn't right any of his wrongs. She was a piece of meat that Vicious and Spike scrapped over like starving dogs. He thought she was perfect, an angel. If I wasn't so malnourished I might retch at that one. What a stupid bastard.

So with all this insight I made my pathetic plea to his already-good-as- dead ass. Wish I had shot him myself. He was already dead inside I guess. Twice over. Because of Julia. I feel sorry for her most of all. Death by Lunkhead. What a shitty way to go. But mostly, what shitty timing on my part to decide I actually gave a damn. Like it ever would, could or did matter. Fuck him with his all-seeing dead eyes. Dead, dead, dead.

Now? Not much to say really. Jet let me stay. I made him really. So he cuts his bonsais and I pay the bills. Still bounty hunting of course. And I've become much more successful at it. My trick is to imagine each one of my targets is a lanky bastard with ridiculous hair. Never miss. Never again.

Oh, and I listen to Billie Holiday more often than is healthy. That woman can sing a broken heart like no other. She sings; I shoot.

***

"Shit."

She ran as fast as she could but she was losing ground. The bounty was too far in front, finally disappearing down some alley. When she finally reached the entrance she pressed her back against the wall, panting.

Three, two, one... let's jam!

Trusty Glock at the ready she peered round the corner.

"Ow!"

Out of nowhere a boot connected with her face. Her head reeled back only to meet a fist on the return journey. Recovering as quickly as she could, she managed to get a kick in to the groin, following it with a nice pistol whip across the face. Her gun was then kicked out of her hand and as her eyes followed its trajectory to the floor she received another blow to the face for her lapse in concentration.

Shit. This guy is good. Too good for a bounty of only 500,000.

Before he could get another punch in she managed to sweep her leg under his, bringing him to the floor. There then followed an ungraceful scramble as each reached for their weapons, finally ending with Faye and the bounty on their knees facing each other, guns cocked to each other's heads.

"Never heard the phrase 'Don't shoot the messenger'?"

"Well how about you give me the damn message or I shoot you?"

He bared his teeth in a creepy half smile, a serpent-like tongue darting out to lick his lips.

"Sorry love but it isn't for you."

His eyes flickered to the left and Faye suddenly got the feeling they were no longer alone. A voice from behind confirmed her worst fears.

"But please do give our regards to Spiegel."

Before the words could even register she was struck on the head, falling into unconsciousness and the blissful possibility that this had all been a dream.

***

"She's missing."

"She stayed?"

Jet sat on the couch facing him. The situation was overly familiar right down to the topic of conversation and he was almost struck with a sense of déjà vu. But then another thought overtook all others. You couldn't have conversations with dead people, right?

"Why now Spike? What the... I mean what the fuck is this? Now? I..."

"Jet, tell me what happened to Faye."

He instinctively stroked the patch of skin atop his head that reminded him he was no longer young. He'd seen way too many things.

"A whole god damn year. She's not the same anymore."

"She's not here."

"No."

"What happened?"

"A bounty. Only half a million. Piece of cake these days. It was a week ago."

"I don't know why I came back."

"What?"

"Like I said. The hospital I was in, there was a message. A message for me here. That's all I know."

"Now you're making less sense than me."

"At least I'm not calling you Jet-person... yet."

They both laughed and as the sound echoed throughout the empty ship it formed a reminder that something was missing.

***

He ruins my life in death. This shall be the legacy of Lunkhead. To cause me pain and grief with absolutely no effort at all.