Something is happening. These nightmares are too vivid to be ignored.

What I thought was just a normal night of listening to Buffy's abhorrent work-out noise actually transpired into a nightmare all itself. I was called in to the morgue earlier today to check a body. I did not fully expect who I might see laying there, after all I only know so few people in Sunnydale intimately, but when they pulled back the sheet . . . Philip Henry lay there. He was far older than the last time I have seen him. He had a beard. God, I remember how hard Philip had tried to grow facial hair. Ethan and I constantly teased him about his inability to grow a beard or a simple mustache. Twenty years later, and there he was . . . dead.

Why Philip came to see me, I couldn't have imagined . . . at first. But his timing coupled with the nightmares . . . it's too much of a coincidence. I need to—

Buffy just showed up. I completely forgot I was supposed to join her at the hospital tonight. God, she could have been hurt, who knows how many vampires might have shown for the blood transport? I should stop drinking . . . but my nerves are shot. I have to keep this from Buffy. I have to protect her from my foolish mistake. It's him. He's returned. I called everyone else—Thomas, Dierdre . . . all of them are dead. They died within the past two weeks. I don't know how it's done it . . . but it's back. God, he's going to kill us all.

It's over. Eyghon has been destroyed . . . and so has my relationship with Jenny, most likely.

It is clear to me now that I should record all for posterity. Buffy knows the worst of me, and she has accepted it. I never wanted to tell her. I was such a damned fool then. Will this put a fracture in the trust Buffy places in me, too? I wouldn't be surprised. So, let us have it out then.

When I was twenty-one, the stress and cynicism I felt towards the Council had reached a breaking point. Three years prior, I had witnessed the massacre of my classmates at the hands of a Lorophage Demon. It was a test. The Council fed us information, and together, we were to take out a vampire. It's a test given to all Watchers-in-Training. Well, the information was faulty. It was not a vampire at all but a Lorophage demon. I watched as classmate after classmate was forced to relive traumatic events and driven insane . . . and killed by the demon. It had started to feed on me, making me relive some of the horrors of my training prior, when I was saved by my father and other Watchers. I was the only one to survive. I understood then exactly what I was to the Council, what all of us were—cannon fodder. This loathing and apathy towards the Council festered over the years until I reached the age of twenty-one. Fed up with it all, I left and traveled to London.

I discovered a small pack of sorcerers—and one witch—practicing their magicks in an abandoned warehouse. I joined them and together we explored magic. Of the five of us, Ethan and I were the most talented. The others relied on us to anchor their own magic. We started small. Hypnotizing or putting people into trances to do what we liked with them. Drugs were a constant goal for us. It was the seventies, and whilst America was having its wave of flower power, we were out to destroy the world. I was angry. I wanted to see everything burn. There were fights. A lot of fights. Pub brawls and the like. I spent some time behind bars, though only for a night or so, as my friends would work a bit of magic to get me out.

We were quite full of ourselves, none more so than myself. I fancied myself some sort of King of London. We had a reputation in the underground. Gangs knew not to mess with us. I was called 'Ripper' for my rather violent nature. As I said, I was . . . very angry. A good fight allowed me a few moments of peace from that rage. As good as we had it, Ethan and I always wanted more. So, we researched . . . and discovered Eyghon. By all accounts that we read, Eyghon was quite the party demon. The rituals were clear, and we fancied ourselves bright and talented enough to pull it off without consequences. God, we were such damned fools.

Ethan volunteered as the first to sleep. We drugged him, so he didn't wake, and then with the others, I led the summoning of Eyghon. Through the Mark of Eyghon, which we had all tattooed on ourselves, we would be able to experience through a psychological link to Ethan the pleasures Ethan experienced. It was a wild success. Ethan was possessed by Eyghon, and we were thrown into a nirvana of oblivion and orgasmic delight. Naturally, we became addicted. Normal drugs paled in comparison to the high Eyghon gave us. We discovered a way to expand this experience around us and hosted quite a few orgies. We were the place to party, and no one knew the reason behind its success.

Then it happened. It was going to just be another night. Another summoning. But somehow Randall lost himself and Eyghon took him whole. Though Eyghon can only temporarily possess a dead body, should he possess a living body, it becomes permanent. He is born into the host. Randall was killed. We tried to exorcize the demon from him. But we were already all so drunk and high that we fumbled and botched, and it was too late. Our attempts killed Randall. Eyghon was forced back into whatever hell dimension he governs, and we strayed from such demonic possession again. The death of Randall is something I shall forever grieve. That blood is on my hands.

I left the group shortly after that. For a time, I joined a band and played with them. We called ourselves Wretched. I was content enough for awhile. The music allowed me to have an outlet to express my anger and misery. Perhaps it's just my ego, but I think we might have been rather big had I kept the band together. But I ran into my Grandmother Edna, and she encouraged my return to the Watcher Council. As one can imagine, I felt dirty and imperfect. How could I command the Slayer to destroy evil, when I had, myself, been so touched by evil? When I clearly carried the scars of evil in my heart and soul?

She told me, and I recount now word-for-word, "You were a young fool who felt immortal, did remarkably ill-advised things, and it cost people their lives, eh? You bloody idiot. That doesn't disqualify you from being a Watcher. It makes you perfectly suited to mentor a Slayer. They're young girls granted tremendous power. Who can relate to them better? A man like your father, who's done the right and proper thing his entire life? Or you?"

With her words, I returned to my training. Ripper was put to rest, and I was Rupert Giles reborn. I suppose only time itself will prove if her words are true or not. Buffy has faced my past, defeated my personal demons and come out triumphant. She even attempted to comfort me after Jenny . . . The Slayer now knows all about her sorry-excuse-for-a-Watcher. Since she hasn't contacted the Council about replacing me, I suppose that's a good sign. But a wise one? I am as of yet, unsure. I watch her now, training, and she seems fully concentrated on her work, as if her entry into my dark past has left her unscathed. But has it? Will she ever look at me with the same amount of respect or trust? Perhaps I shouldn't care what my Slayer's opinion of me is, provided she gets the job done . . . but I do. I want Buffy to think the best of me.

And now . . . Jenny. To prevent this entry becoming the wailings of a teenaged girl scored by love, I shall simply state that . . . I am distraught. Jenny has every right to be upset with me . . . to be afraid of me. Eyghon possessed her after moving on from Philip's body. I don't know how aware she was of the experience. If she knew that she had tried to kill me and the others. Some part of me hopes that she had been blocked out from everything, if only to make the traumatic experience that much smaller. Whereas Buffy appears to be unscathed by the experience, Jenny is clearly the opposite.

She couldn't even let me touch her, let alone speak to me for more than five minutes. I've fancied myself in love a few times in my life, but nothing quite like this. I had been terrified when she had been possessed, that I might lose her. The only way I knew of to destroy Eyghon would be to destroy Jenny's body, and I couldn't even fathom the thought. Much like when Buffy was given the Mark of Eyghon—and I felt the psychological link to her when it was done—I knew that I'd give my life for hers. Buffy, Jenny . . . those are women I'd die for. I was fully prepared to do so tonight, but Angel came and forced Eyghon to jump into him. The demon inside Angel destroyed Eyghon, and Jenny was freed.

The hills are not alive. That is what Jenny told me. She was so very distant . . . and I don't think I'll ever forget how she recoiled from me when I offered a comforting hand. She'll never forgive me. And in that, I don't think she'll ever be able to love me. We nearly had it. I nearly had it. We'd had our first kiss just days before, and oh how the hills had sung then. It's incredible, what a lump of hours can change.

I suppose all I can do is wait and give Jenny some time and space. Perhaps things will get better. I'm not exactly sure I can extinguish the torch I bear for her. But if she needs me to, I can try. I am, after all, very English. Silently suffering is something we excel at. Buffy seems to have picked up on this, for she was the one who offered a clever ruse to distract me from the pangs of my heart. I do hope she gets her Mark removed quickly though. This whole . . . sensing one another thing is quite odd. For example, I can clearly sense her distaste and growing irritation with my choice of music whilst she trains. I've a feeling my Bay City Rollers is going to be changed out for her nonsensical noise soon.

Ah well. I really ought to stop listening to "The Way I Feel Tonight" anyway. I can understand her growing irritation, now that I think about it.

I'll just listen to mopey music when I get home.

-Rupert Giles

1997