TITLE: From Dust Till Dawn
SERIES: The Watchers
AUTHOR: Diurnal Lee
EMAIL: diurnal@diurnalsbeacon.ca
MY SITE: Three Little Wiggins (www.diurnalsbeacon.ca/btvs/)
FEEDBACK: The good, the bad, and the ugly, please.
RATING: PG-15 for violence and language
DISTRIBUTION: My site. Anybody else, ask me first, please.
TIMELINE: Post-Season 3
SPOILERS: none
CONTENT: Original characters
SUMMARY: An unattached Watcher gets a late-night phone call.
DISCLAIMER: The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, and a lot of other parties that aren't me. I don't own the puddle; I just can't resist playing in Joss' mud, for fun rather than profit.
* * *
She was running the vacuum cleaner when the phone rang.
Jess ignored it. Just one more pass, and . . . there. The darkly patterned hallway carpet was as good as new. She jerked machine and cord back into the apartment, closed the door, and shot the deadbolt home with a trembling hand.
She stared at the hand for a moment, perplexed. The first fingernail, unpainted, was torn past the quick, and a large bead of blood had gathered and dried there. A bright blue bruise was swelling across the outside of hand and wrist. She could almost see it developing: magic, like a new Polaroid print. And, yes, the whole hand was shaking.
Shaking? But what . . . ? Ah. Of course. Delayed shock.
The shrilling of the phone finally penetrated, and she turned, dully, to search for it. The ringing seemed to have no direction, or to come from all directions; it was disorienting. It took two more rings before she finally located it, on the wall of the kitchen where it always hung.
She reached for the receiver with her good hand, but found it already occupied by the sharpened wooden stake. Oh. Right. She didn't need it anymore; still, she wasn't quite ready to give it up yet. She answered with the left, instead. It hurt, distantly, like the memory of an ache.
"Hello." Her voice was level, smoothed of the highs and lows it normally held.
"Jessica Hastings, what the devil have you been up to? I've been waiting for five minutes! This is unacceptable. If you don't intend to answer yourself, at least have the common courtesy . . ." The voice was deep, strident, very British, and very familiar. It cleared away the comfortable, muffling fog almost instantly, and Jess was temporarily preoccupied as every recently abused portion of her body started screaming for her attention.
When she'd acknowledged and dismissed the bulk of the complaints, she determined that the hand was the worst of them.
". . . sica, answer me. At once, g'el!"
"I'm sorry, Father, I was a bit distracted. What did you say?"
"I said . . . Never mind now; we haven't the time. I have other calls to place this morning." He paused for a deep breath, and Jess took the opportunity to tuck the receiver between face and shoulder, cradling the injured hand against her chest. To distract herself, she pulled the vacuum around the partition and tried, one-handed, to open the catch that released the small dustbin.
When Greg Hastings continued, the disapproval in his voice had, if possible, redoubled. "That horrible Sweeney chit rang the London House at a most inappropriate hour this morning. Claims to have had a vision, and that one of our potentials is in danger: a dark-haired child. I wouldn't have bothered with it myself -- the g'el is too flighty by half --"
Jess clenched her jaw around the automatic retort. Her father knew that she and Nuala were close; he was deliberately baiting her. She braced the vacuum against the wall with her body, to get better leverage on the jammed catch.
"-- but the Council decided to ere on the side of caution and alert those Watchers whose, erm, charges might be at risk. Then Mrs. Collins insisted that we contact all active Watchers. Terrible waste of time, in my opinion."
Jess was too accustomed to Greg's narrow-minded outlook to be appalled, but she felt she had to try to get through to him. Her tone was pleasant and reasonable when she started, "Father, if both Nuala Sweeney and Deirdre Collins have had premonitions about this, I think we should heed them. Their family's talent is well-documented, and --"
"Yes, yes. I've heard all about it." With a small grinding sound, the catch swung all the way across, and the little container, kidney-shaped in cross-section, fell into her hand. Jess fumed silently as her father continued, "That's the trouble with today's youth -- far too ready to believe the supernatural explanation. See a demon behind every shrub, you do. I must ring off, young lady, but we'll soon be discussing your lack of attention to duty."
The click sounded emphatically loud, and Jess was left listening to the dial tone and wondering why she was always so ineffective in the face of Greg's verbal abuse. Placing the bin on the counter, she called a cab, and hung up the phone. Then she opened a low cupboard, exposing the garbage can under the sink. She took up the vacuum's container, tilted it carefully, and watched the soft grey dust stream into the trash can.
Duste of Vampyre. She giggled. One nice thing about vamps: one way or another, they gave good closure.
* * *
The Emergency Room at the Ottawa Civic was crowded with the grisly results of late-night Canada Day festivities, so she had plenty of time to reflect on the evening's events.
The vampire must have been waiting somewhere in the hallway. He'd almost had her, but some instinct had made her turn at the last instant, and the momentum of his rush had slammed her into the wall. Her memory of the next few moments was a little jerky. Ducking out of the way and fumbling frantically inside her purse. Being yanked around by her hair. A sudden close-up view of yellow eyes, heavily ridged brow and nose, and gaping fanged mouth. The reassuring feeling of solid, smooth, dry wood at her finger tips. Dropping to one knee, almost her entire body weight hanging from her scalp, then coming up stake first, under the sternum, into the heart.
She reached to check the stake now, where it was tucked into the waistband at the back of her walking shorts, beneath the light spring jacket. Before leaving the house, she'd dumped all the junk out of her purse. There was nothing in there now except wallet, back-up stake, and a large wooden cross. She'd slung a second cross around her neck. It was stainless steel, a little larger than her palm, and hung on its chain almost to her waist. A remnant of her Goth phase, it really didn't match her current outfit, but it made her feel a little safer, which was all that really mattered.
Careless. She'd almost died tonight, her only weapon buried in the clutter at the bottom of her purse. Only two years since she'd returned from Oxford, from her Council training, from her last attempt to reconcile with her father. Just two years, less, to lose all those good habits to complacency. In England it had been automatic to carry stake and cross ready to hand, on any foray into the night. Since she'd been back, however, she'd neither seen nor heard sign of vampires in the area, and she'd allowed herself to relax her guard. Careless.
Jess drifted in a sort of fog made up of a combination of exhaustion and the apathy inherent in waiting rooms everywhere. She saw one nurse for triage, and a second to take her vitals; each sent her back to the chairs to wait for an indefinite period.
Finally, she passed into the protected inner region of the cubicles, where an actual doctor examined her briefly and sent her off to Radiology. More waiting, then absolute torture, as the technician twisted her hand this way and that for the x-rays. She let them give her an analgesic after that, and sat waiting again in the ER for the films to arrive, for the doctor to see them, and decide that the breaks should be handled by an orthopaedic surgeon.
That exalted personage had just appeared and was looking at her x-rays when a sudden boil of activity erupted in the hall outside her cubicle. A gurney rushed past, surrounded by a knot of people in an assortment of uniforms. Her surgeon was sucked into the turbulence in the wake of its passing.
A nurse in a brightly flowered uniform blouse stuck her head in through the door. "I'm sorry, Ms. Hastings, but Dr. Mendes had to go to the O.R. for emergency surgery. It will be awhile before she can get back to you." She glanced behind herself briefly, and turned back with a slightly harried expression. "Could you wait out in the chairs here? There's been a big accident, and we'll need this cubicle to treat the victims."
Jess nodded and silently gathered up purse and umbrella. In the doorway, she passed another nurse in an icy blue top, carrying a small child wrapped in a bright orange blanket. Jess fell into a chair just outside the door, the nearest in a line of eight that stretched along the wall and faced the central E.R. desk. Two of the chairs were occupied; she recognized one other person from the waiting room, a freckled teen who'd taken a sparkler to the eye.
More and more nurses, orderlies, and doctors seemed to appear from nowhere. She watched with interest as they scurried about, moving from quiet, late-night operation into high-gear emergency mode. The short, east-indian doctor who'd first examined her approached, talking to a young blond man whose uniform Jess somehow associated with ambulances. They stopped practically on top of her.
". . . to the Children's Hospital?" Dr. Siddhartha asked.
The blond shook his head. "She doesn't seem to be injured, aside from a few scrapes and bruises; she was the only one in the mess who came through it okay. A whole pile of the serious casualties are headed for the Children's. They'll be swamped as it is. Besides, she wouldn't leave her mother." He leaned in closer to the doctor, dropping his voice. "Witnesses at the scene said she peeled open the side of the bus and dragged the woman out of the wreckage herself."
At these words, Jess felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She stopped breathing; her heart may have stopped as well. The entire focus of her attention swung around to aim itself at the men before her.
Siddhartha looked almost as startled as she felt. "That tiny little girl?"
"Yeah," the blond answered, more like he was agreeing with the surprise than answering the question. "That's how we got them here so fast; they were still prying the others out when we left. The mother didn't have any I.D. on her, but then, they were on the bus. It'll take a while to sort through all the bags and stuff. Girl's name is maybe Katy. I don't know for sure; she went a little shocky once we had them in the rig."
The doctor headed into the cubicle, and Jess was suddenly standing in the door, breathing again, and staring at the girl who would change her life. She was about four years old, with black hair cut short and shaved close to her neck. She wore shorts beneath the blanket, and a white Senators t-shirt. Her skin was dark with more than just summer tan, and her high, wide cheekbones and strong nose declared her native heritage to all the world.
Her large, dark eyes stared at Jess while the doctor examined her, murmuring quietly all the while. The Watcher found the gaze a little unnerving, but was unable to look away for long minutes. Behind Jess, the noise level had increased significantly, and there was an impression of rushing back and forth.
Finally, something Siddhartha was saying caught the girl's attention, and she turned her eyes to look at him. "My name is Katy Napartuk." The doctor had triggered that automated recording that parents impressed on small children. Her voice was clear and high, if a bit overloud. "I live at twenty-three Bell Street, apartment seven oh three," she continued, "and my phone number is 232-7570."
This declaration sent the icy blue nurse gliding toward Jess; when she ducked out of the way, the other woman headed directly toward the main desk and a telephone. Meanwhile, the doctor thanked the young girl for the information. "Well it looks to me like you're in tip-top shape, Katy. Some other doctors are taking care of your mother right now," he said, while helping her down from the tall examining table, "and they'll want to know where to find you when she's better." Jess moved aside again, as the two came toward her, this time taking her seat. "So I want you to wait right here, okay?" And he hoisted her up on the chair next to Jess'.
Katy nodded carefully, and watched, expressionless, as Icy-Blue approached. "You keep an eye out for Nancy here," he instructed, gesturing at the nurse, who gave the girl a somewhat sickly smile. "If you need anything, she's the one to ask, alright?"
Again she nodded, and settled back to wait, feet sticking straight off the chair.
As if the girl were no longer there, the two began walking away, while Nancy reported, "No answer at the number, and it's listed to a Trudy Napartuk. The police couldn't help; a lot of stuff at the site was destroyed by the fire. I called up to the O.R. The mother is critical, she probably won't --" The rest was lost in the chaos that had become the hallway. An ambulance crew and several hospital staff wheeled a new gurney into the recently vacated cubicle. The victim's face above the cervical collar was completely covered in blood.
When Jess turned back to the girl, she found her staring again. This time it was too much. She jumped up to pace the hallway.
That poor little girl. Jess wondered at the strength of her reaction; she'd had the training, learned the history. It was a well-known fact that, one way or another, Slayers tended to lose their families at an early age. She knew it, accepted it, expected it. But to be faced with the girl in question, while the loss was happening --
Up ahead she saw the waiting area with its bank of payphones, and suddenly had an idea. To her right, the ambulance bay doors slid open to admit a brown-haired woman in an all-pink nurse's uniform. The woman glanced at Jess, flinched visibly, and stepped back out of her way, while Jess, energized by her new, if small purpose, headed straight for the phones.
John was not happy to be awakened, and when Jess glanced at the time display on the phone, she sympathised. 4:20 am. She suddenly felt twice as tired, but she worked anyway to convince John that it was important. Finally, he agreed, "Okay, okay, Jess; I'll do it. But if I have to drag my ass out of bed before dawn, haul down to work on my day off, and try to argue my way into the building before it opens, you are gonna owe me one helluva favour."
She hung up, pleased. John Taggerty worked for the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, and had access to their database. If little Katy Napartuk was as pure-blooded as she looked, then she might be registered, and so would her relatives. John would contact the ER directly if he found something.
The next call was easier: Lauren was accustomed to being awakened in the middle of the night.
"Lauren, I need you to arrange emergency foster placement of a child with me."
"What? Jess, you're already on our list --"
"No, a specific child. Katherine Napartuk. I'm with her at the Civic right now. She and her mother were in an accident, and the mother's in bad shape. I don't know if they've called you guys yet. They're still trying to track down a next of kin, but if they don't --"
"If they don't, you want to take the kid? Look, Jess, do you know these people?"
"No, I was already at Emerg when they came -- in." Oops. Spilled the beans there, Jess.
Lauren's voice dropped half an octave, and took on the patient tone she used for dealing with unruly children. "And what were you doing at the hospital?"
Jess sighed. Might as well come clean with it now; otherwise, Lauren would badger her until she gave in. "I was mugged on the way back from the party, alright? I broke a couple of bones in my hand, nothing major."
"Holy shit, Jess. Did you talk to the police yet?"
"Come on, Lauren, what for? The guy didn't get my purse, and he disappeared as soon as I started hitting back." Disappeared -- turned to dust: tomayto -- tomahto. She avoided lying to Lauren whenever possible, even though the truth sometimes got her into trouble. This was probably one of those times, and since her next call would have to be to the Council, she decided to settle in for the complete lecture. She turned, leaning more comfortably against the edge of the Plexiglass wing that sheltered her phone from the next.
An unexpected solid thunk sounded, and she glanced down to see that her big silvery cross had swung out on its chain and struck the plastic partition. Lauren was saying something about the perils of overconfidence. Jess suddenly flashed on the nurse in pink: looking, flinching, stepping back.
"Shit!"
The adrenalin kicked in so fast that she was halfway down the hall before her conscious mind knew that she was moving. Then it wasted time congratulating itself on blowing the extra money for really good sport sandals. In the meantime, her right hand took out the stake and held it at waist level, hidden in a fold of jacket. The left hand stayed in her purse, clutching the long arm of the wooden cross.
She came around the edge of the desk. The first chair was empty; the second -- also empty. She stopped and looked wildly around. No little girl, no woman in pink, no sign of --
A flash of icy blue. Nancy.
She confronted the woman, who was doing something with an IV bag on a tall metal post. "Where is she? Where's Katy?"
Nancy stared at her stupidly. "Who?"
Jess fought not to threaten the woman with her stake. "Katy! The little girl?"
"Oh. She was tired. A relief nurse took her to the supply room to lie down," she said, then gave Jess her back.
Jess jumped in front of the nearest uniform. A man in dark purple, carrying a double armload of small boxes -- an orderly? "The supply room. Where?"
He pointed at a doorway across from the cubicles. Jess didn't wait to thank him.
The door opened to reveal the back of a woman in pink, leaning over a long cot. Small dark legs in little running shoes peaked out from behind her. Jess worried briefly that she was wrong, that this really was a person. But she was already swinging for the back blow when the vampire's head whipped around. Glowing yellow eyes, bloody fangs. The stake slid between ribs, as it was meant to do, and she was suddenly off-balance when the flesh before her blasted into dust.
Katy, the side of her neck a bloody mess, followed Jess with those dark staring eyes as she approached. The Watcher dropped stake and cross into her bag, then sat down on the edge of the cot. She held out her arms, face serious.
Careless. Careless and more than careless. She'd been living in a nice fuzzy fantasy world where coincidences could happen. A world where a Watcher could be attacked at her own home, be warned of impending danger to a dark-haired potential, and find just such a child, all in one night, but feel no need to try to connect these events. A world where a pre-Slayer was a weapon to be honed rather than a child to be protected.
Careless indeed, to live in such a world, when the reality around her was so much more dangerous. Jess had left that world, now. And as she held the trembling little girl in her arms, she made a promise to herself that she would never go back there again.
End
SERIES: The Watchers
AUTHOR: Diurnal Lee
EMAIL: diurnal@diurnalsbeacon.ca
MY SITE: Three Little Wiggins (www.diurnalsbeacon.ca/btvs/)
FEEDBACK: The good, the bad, and the ugly, please.
RATING: PG-15 for violence and language
DISTRIBUTION: My site. Anybody else, ask me first, please.
TIMELINE: Post-Season 3
SPOILERS: none
CONTENT: Original characters
SUMMARY: An unattached Watcher gets a late-night phone call.
DISCLAIMER: The Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, and a lot of other parties that aren't me. I don't own the puddle; I just can't resist playing in Joss' mud, for fun rather than profit.
* * *
She was running the vacuum cleaner when the phone rang.
Jess ignored it. Just one more pass, and . . . there. The darkly patterned hallway carpet was as good as new. She jerked machine and cord back into the apartment, closed the door, and shot the deadbolt home with a trembling hand.
She stared at the hand for a moment, perplexed. The first fingernail, unpainted, was torn past the quick, and a large bead of blood had gathered and dried there. A bright blue bruise was swelling across the outside of hand and wrist. She could almost see it developing: magic, like a new Polaroid print. And, yes, the whole hand was shaking.
Shaking? But what . . . ? Ah. Of course. Delayed shock.
The shrilling of the phone finally penetrated, and she turned, dully, to search for it. The ringing seemed to have no direction, or to come from all directions; it was disorienting. It took two more rings before she finally located it, on the wall of the kitchen where it always hung.
She reached for the receiver with her good hand, but found it already occupied by the sharpened wooden stake. Oh. Right. She didn't need it anymore; still, she wasn't quite ready to give it up yet. She answered with the left, instead. It hurt, distantly, like the memory of an ache.
"Hello." Her voice was level, smoothed of the highs and lows it normally held.
"Jessica Hastings, what the devil have you been up to? I've been waiting for five minutes! This is unacceptable. If you don't intend to answer yourself, at least have the common courtesy . . ." The voice was deep, strident, very British, and very familiar. It cleared away the comfortable, muffling fog almost instantly, and Jess was temporarily preoccupied as every recently abused portion of her body started screaming for her attention.
When she'd acknowledged and dismissed the bulk of the complaints, she determined that the hand was the worst of them.
". . . sica, answer me. At once, g'el!"
"I'm sorry, Father, I was a bit distracted. What did you say?"
"I said . . . Never mind now; we haven't the time. I have other calls to place this morning." He paused for a deep breath, and Jess took the opportunity to tuck the receiver between face and shoulder, cradling the injured hand against her chest. To distract herself, she pulled the vacuum around the partition and tried, one-handed, to open the catch that released the small dustbin.
When Greg Hastings continued, the disapproval in his voice had, if possible, redoubled. "That horrible Sweeney chit rang the London House at a most inappropriate hour this morning. Claims to have had a vision, and that one of our potentials is in danger: a dark-haired child. I wouldn't have bothered with it myself -- the g'el is too flighty by half --"
Jess clenched her jaw around the automatic retort. Her father knew that she and Nuala were close; he was deliberately baiting her. She braced the vacuum against the wall with her body, to get better leverage on the jammed catch.
"-- but the Council decided to ere on the side of caution and alert those Watchers whose, erm, charges might be at risk. Then Mrs. Collins insisted that we contact all active Watchers. Terrible waste of time, in my opinion."
Jess was too accustomed to Greg's narrow-minded outlook to be appalled, but she felt she had to try to get through to him. Her tone was pleasant and reasonable when she started, "Father, if both Nuala Sweeney and Deirdre Collins have had premonitions about this, I think we should heed them. Their family's talent is well-documented, and --"
"Yes, yes. I've heard all about it." With a small grinding sound, the catch swung all the way across, and the little container, kidney-shaped in cross-section, fell into her hand. Jess fumed silently as her father continued, "That's the trouble with today's youth -- far too ready to believe the supernatural explanation. See a demon behind every shrub, you do. I must ring off, young lady, but we'll soon be discussing your lack of attention to duty."
The click sounded emphatically loud, and Jess was left listening to the dial tone and wondering why she was always so ineffective in the face of Greg's verbal abuse. Placing the bin on the counter, she called a cab, and hung up the phone. Then she opened a low cupboard, exposing the garbage can under the sink. She took up the vacuum's container, tilted it carefully, and watched the soft grey dust stream into the trash can.
Duste of Vampyre. She giggled. One nice thing about vamps: one way or another, they gave good closure.
* * *
The Emergency Room at the Ottawa Civic was crowded with the grisly results of late-night Canada Day festivities, so she had plenty of time to reflect on the evening's events.
The vampire must have been waiting somewhere in the hallway. He'd almost had her, but some instinct had made her turn at the last instant, and the momentum of his rush had slammed her into the wall. Her memory of the next few moments was a little jerky. Ducking out of the way and fumbling frantically inside her purse. Being yanked around by her hair. A sudden close-up view of yellow eyes, heavily ridged brow and nose, and gaping fanged mouth. The reassuring feeling of solid, smooth, dry wood at her finger tips. Dropping to one knee, almost her entire body weight hanging from her scalp, then coming up stake first, under the sternum, into the heart.
She reached to check the stake now, where it was tucked into the waistband at the back of her walking shorts, beneath the light spring jacket. Before leaving the house, she'd dumped all the junk out of her purse. There was nothing in there now except wallet, back-up stake, and a large wooden cross. She'd slung a second cross around her neck. It was stainless steel, a little larger than her palm, and hung on its chain almost to her waist. A remnant of her Goth phase, it really didn't match her current outfit, but it made her feel a little safer, which was all that really mattered.
Careless. She'd almost died tonight, her only weapon buried in the clutter at the bottom of her purse. Only two years since she'd returned from Oxford, from her Council training, from her last attempt to reconcile with her father. Just two years, less, to lose all those good habits to complacency. In England it had been automatic to carry stake and cross ready to hand, on any foray into the night. Since she'd been back, however, she'd neither seen nor heard sign of vampires in the area, and she'd allowed herself to relax her guard. Careless.
Jess drifted in a sort of fog made up of a combination of exhaustion and the apathy inherent in waiting rooms everywhere. She saw one nurse for triage, and a second to take her vitals; each sent her back to the chairs to wait for an indefinite period.
Finally, she passed into the protected inner region of the cubicles, where an actual doctor examined her briefly and sent her off to Radiology. More waiting, then absolute torture, as the technician twisted her hand this way and that for the x-rays. She let them give her an analgesic after that, and sat waiting again in the ER for the films to arrive, for the doctor to see them, and decide that the breaks should be handled by an orthopaedic surgeon.
That exalted personage had just appeared and was looking at her x-rays when a sudden boil of activity erupted in the hall outside her cubicle. A gurney rushed past, surrounded by a knot of people in an assortment of uniforms. Her surgeon was sucked into the turbulence in the wake of its passing.
A nurse in a brightly flowered uniform blouse stuck her head in through the door. "I'm sorry, Ms. Hastings, but Dr. Mendes had to go to the O.R. for emergency surgery. It will be awhile before she can get back to you." She glanced behind herself briefly, and turned back with a slightly harried expression. "Could you wait out in the chairs here? There's been a big accident, and we'll need this cubicle to treat the victims."
Jess nodded and silently gathered up purse and umbrella. In the doorway, she passed another nurse in an icy blue top, carrying a small child wrapped in a bright orange blanket. Jess fell into a chair just outside the door, the nearest in a line of eight that stretched along the wall and faced the central E.R. desk. Two of the chairs were occupied; she recognized one other person from the waiting room, a freckled teen who'd taken a sparkler to the eye.
More and more nurses, orderlies, and doctors seemed to appear from nowhere. She watched with interest as they scurried about, moving from quiet, late-night operation into high-gear emergency mode. The short, east-indian doctor who'd first examined her approached, talking to a young blond man whose uniform Jess somehow associated with ambulances. They stopped practically on top of her.
". . . to the Children's Hospital?" Dr. Siddhartha asked.
The blond shook his head. "She doesn't seem to be injured, aside from a few scrapes and bruises; she was the only one in the mess who came through it okay. A whole pile of the serious casualties are headed for the Children's. They'll be swamped as it is. Besides, she wouldn't leave her mother." He leaned in closer to the doctor, dropping his voice. "Witnesses at the scene said she peeled open the side of the bus and dragged the woman out of the wreckage herself."
At these words, Jess felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She stopped breathing; her heart may have stopped as well. The entire focus of her attention swung around to aim itself at the men before her.
Siddhartha looked almost as startled as she felt. "That tiny little girl?"
"Yeah," the blond answered, more like he was agreeing with the surprise than answering the question. "That's how we got them here so fast; they were still prying the others out when we left. The mother didn't have any I.D. on her, but then, they were on the bus. It'll take a while to sort through all the bags and stuff. Girl's name is maybe Katy. I don't know for sure; she went a little shocky once we had them in the rig."
The doctor headed into the cubicle, and Jess was suddenly standing in the door, breathing again, and staring at the girl who would change her life. She was about four years old, with black hair cut short and shaved close to her neck. She wore shorts beneath the blanket, and a white Senators t-shirt. Her skin was dark with more than just summer tan, and her high, wide cheekbones and strong nose declared her native heritage to all the world.
Her large, dark eyes stared at Jess while the doctor examined her, murmuring quietly all the while. The Watcher found the gaze a little unnerving, but was unable to look away for long minutes. Behind Jess, the noise level had increased significantly, and there was an impression of rushing back and forth.
Finally, something Siddhartha was saying caught the girl's attention, and she turned her eyes to look at him. "My name is Katy Napartuk." The doctor had triggered that automated recording that parents impressed on small children. Her voice was clear and high, if a bit overloud. "I live at twenty-three Bell Street, apartment seven oh three," she continued, "and my phone number is 232-7570."
This declaration sent the icy blue nurse gliding toward Jess; when she ducked out of the way, the other woman headed directly toward the main desk and a telephone. Meanwhile, the doctor thanked the young girl for the information. "Well it looks to me like you're in tip-top shape, Katy. Some other doctors are taking care of your mother right now," he said, while helping her down from the tall examining table, "and they'll want to know where to find you when she's better." Jess moved aside again, as the two came toward her, this time taking her seat. "So I want you to wait right here, okay?" And he hoisted her up on the chair next to Jess'.
Katy nodded carefully, and watched, expressionless, as Icy-Blue approached. "You keep an eye out for Nancy here," he instructed, gesturing at the nurse, who gave the girl a somewhat sickly smile. "If you need anything, she's the one to ask, alright?"
Again she nodded, and settled back to wait, feet sticking straight off the chair.
As if the girl were no longer there, the two began walking away, while Nancy reported, "No answer at the number, and it's listed to a Trudy Napartuk. The police couldn't help; a lot of stuff at the site was destroyed by the fire. I called up to the O.R. The mother is critical, she probably won't --" The rest was lost in the chaos that had become the hallway. An ambulance crew and several hospital staff wheeled a new gurney into the recently vacated cubicle. The victim's face above the cervical collar was completely covered in blood.
When Jess turned back to the girl, she found her staring again. This time it was too much. She jumped up to pace the hallway.
That poor little girl. Jess wondered at the strength of her reaction; she'd had the training, learned the history. It was a well-known fact that, one way or another, Slayers tended to lose their families at an early age. She knew it, accepted it, expected it. But to be faced with the girl in question, while the loss was happening --
Up ahead she saw the waiting area with its bank of payphones, and suddenly had an idea. To her right, the ambulance bay doors slid open to admit a brown-haired woman in an all-pink nurse's uniform. The woman glanced at Jess, flinched visibly, and stepped back out of her way, while Jess, energized by her new, if small purpose, headed straight for the phones.
John was not happy to be awakened, and when Jess glanced at the time display on the phone, she sympathised. 4:20 am. She suddenly felt twice as tired, but she worked anyway to convince John that it was important. Finally, he agreed, "Okay, okay, Jess; I'll do it. But if I have to drag my ass out of bed before dawn, haul down to work on my day off, and try to argue my way into the building before it opens, you are gonna owe me one helluva favour."
She hung up, pleased. John Taggerty worked for the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs, and had access to their database. If little Katy Napartuk was as pure-blooded as she looked, then she might be registered, and so would her relatives. John would contact the ER directly if he found something.
The next call was easier: Lauren was accustomed to being awakened in the middle of the night.
"Lauren, I need you to arrange emergency foster placement of a child with me."
"What? Jess, you're already on our list --"
"No, a specific child. Katherine Napartuk. I'm with her at the Civic right now. She and her mother were in an accident, and the mother's in bad shape. I don't know if they've called you guys yet. They're still trying to track down a next of kin, but if they don't --"
"If they don't, you want to take the kid? Look, Jess, do you know these people?"
"No, I was already at Emerg when they came -- in." Oops. Spilled the beans there, Jess.
Lauren's voice dropped half an octave, and took on the patient tone she used for dealing with unruly children. "And what were you doing at the hospital?"
Jess sighed. Might as well come clean with it now; otherwise, Lauren would badger her until she gave in. "I was mugged on the way back from the party, alright? I broke a couple of bones in my hand, nothing major."
"Holy shit, Jess. Did you talk to the police yet?"
"Come on, Lauren, what for? The guy didn't get my purse, and he disappeared as soon as I started hitting back." Disappeared -- turned to dust: tomayto -- tomahto. She avoided lying to Lauren whenever possible, even though the truth sometimes got her into trouble. This was probably one of those times, and since her next call would have to be to the Council, she decided to settle in for the complete lecture. She turned, leaning more comfortably against the edge of the Plexiglass wing that sheltered her phone from the next.
An unexpected solid thunk sounded, and she glanced down to see that her big silvery cross had swung out on its chain and struck the plastic partition. Lauren was saying something about the perils of overconfidence. Jess suddenly flashed on the nurse in pink: looking, flinching, stepping back.
"Shit!"
The adrenalin kicked in so fast that she was halfway down the hall before her conscious mind knew that she was moving. Then it wasted time congratulating itself on blowing the extra money for really good sport sandals. In the meantime, her right hand took out the stake and held it at waist level, hidden in a fold of jacket. The left hand stayed in her purse, clutching the long arm of the wooden cross.
She came around the edge of the desk. The first chair was empty; the second -- also empty. She stopped and looked wildly around. No little girl, no woman in pink, no sign of --
A flash of icy blue. Nancy.
She confronted the woman, who was doing something with an IV bag on a tall metal post. "Where is she? Where's Katy?"
Nancy stared at her stupidly. "Who?"
Jess fought not to threaten the woman with her stake. "Katy! The little girl?"
"Oh. She was tired. A relief nurse took her to the supply room to lie down," she said, then gave Jess her back.
Jess jumped in front of the nearest uniform. A man in dark purple, carrying a double armload of small boxes -- an orderly? "The supply room. Where?"
He pointed at a doorway across from the cubicles. Jess didn't wait to thank him.
The door opened to reveal the back of a woman in pink, leaning over a long cot. Small dark legs in little running shoes peaked out from behind her. Jess worried briefly that she was wrong, that this really was a person. But she was already swinging for the back blow when the vampire's head whipped around. Glowing yellow eyes, bloody fangs. The stake slid between ribs, as it was meant to do, and she was suddenly off-balance when the flesh before her blasted into dust.
Katy, the side of her neck a bloody mess, followed Jess with those dark staring eyes as she approached. The Watcher dropped stake and cross into her bag, then sat down on the edge of the cot. She held out her arms, face serious.
Careless. Careless and more than careless. She'd been living in a nice fuzzy fantasy world where coincidences could happen. A world where a Watcher could be attacked at her own home, be warned of impending danger to a dark-haired potential, and find just such a child, all in one night, but feel no need to try to connect these events. A world where a pre-Slayer was a weapon to be honed rather than a child to be protected.
Careless indeed, to live in such a world, when the reality around her was so much more dangerous. Jess had left that world, now. And as she held the trembling little girl in her arms, she made a promise to herself that she would never go back there again.
End