Chapter 38

Husk

The broken standing lamp flickers light across the scene of destruction. Shelves collapsed, books and toys scattered where they fell. A chair now little more than so many future stakes. In my kitchen, I wearily nudge closed the refrigerator door, noting the huge dent in it. Knives and plates litter the floor.

I am too bone tired to care right now, or to process, I just need a shower and sleep.

The bathroom is thankfully untouched and as pristine-ish as I left it. So, maybe my pristine may vary from yours; but don't judge me, I am not in the mood.

I run the shower and then peel off my clothing and dump it into the hamper. I recall a truck stop bathroom some distant time ago, perhaps my new sense of smell will make all bathrooms smell that bad. No wonder Buffy was always pristine with just a subtle hint of fragrance. It wasn't restrained taste, it was necessity. And, I remember, that truckstop was the first night I saw my new face; the first night I saw Lexi, or at least, the girl that was to become her. I look up at my reflection.

The girl looking back isn't as ripped as I feel, no muscles like steel cables, no new bulges, just soft, feminine flesh over toned muscle from manual labor and my training with Giles. I remind myself this isn't some bite from a radioactive spider, a Slayer is supposed to look like a victim, supposed to be attractive to those that would feed on us.

Her face, if anything, has changed. A hardened stare, reddened slightly from being on the verge of grief and terror, but hardened nonetheless.

I am naked before myself, and its strange, I don't feel a pinch of alienation about my body now for it's sex. No, all the alienation is coming from something darker and bigger than me.

And as I watch, I feel something moving inside me, behind my eyes like a crouched shadow. Something raw, something savage, something that urges me look away.

Who the hell am I now? What the hell am I now? I glance back into the ruined apartment and sigh. Alone. I am alone now. And I am starting to understand the weight of the sentence "one girl in all the world."

The water tumbles down over my body like liquid mercy. I press my forehead to the ceramic and make a deal with myself that I can cry now. But naturally, no tears come. Perhaps they all drained down into the pit of my stomach, who can say? But regardless I wait for emotions and hormones to take me and come up dry. Well, wet, but you get the point.

Radioactive spider or no, something isn't sitting well with me, and I feel a strange nagging sensation that builds until I cannot ignore it. I shut off the faucet.

The refrigerator door has swung open again, slowly rocking back and forth on its damaged hinges. I approach and close it, running my fingers across the damage. It isn't a boot mark. It's too high, wide and angled down. The door is folded slightly, and as I push it shut, I can see it isn't from the blow bending against the frame. It's like something pushed it too hard open, and it impacted something. I look down and notice the droplets of blood among the debris. The chefs knife is on the floor, but the block isn't.

What kind of tantrum does this?

I screw back in lamp light, wincing briefly at its brightness on my new eyes. The shelves have snapped in the middle, but only the lower two. Everything else is perfect. Why stop there? Why not bring down all of my possessions and stomp on them of she hated me so much? I would. I mean, Little Boba Fett is sitting calmly watching me from the third shelf next to my signed Clash of The Titans annual.

I step back and survey the room, trying to ease the chill sensation in my veins. On the kitchen table is a small stack of green bills fixed with a paper band. Crisp. Unused. Christ, there must be a thousand dollars here. That makes no sense.

I find her message on the whiteboard, laying on the debris. It says:

4 the medicine.

The 'c' and second 'e' are reversed. During our silent days, I noticed when Faith wrote, some of her letters would start to flip. I figured it was dyslexia. Regardless this message was definitely from her.

None of this felt right. And I ran through several scenarios in my mind, looking around the scene. This wasn't rage. This was a fight.

I look down at the box on the floor, its contents spilling out from the taped down lid. And when I see the Playstation my heart sinks.


Giles opens the door to my hammering, his eyes bleary, his dressing gown inside out. But he doesn't chastise me for the savagely early visit, he ushers me in silently, a look of concern on his face.

I hurriedly explain as he, bless him, prepares the ridiculously but necessarily strong coffee situations like these demand. He listens carefully, and nods as I run through the evidence for my conclusion.

"Faith has been abducted." I say, "my guess is the masked soldiers or the FBI. They left a card in my door, saying they want to talk about Lowell House. Which, by the way, is now a big smoldering pile of ashes."

"Dear lord."

"It was a cover up. It was packed with a serious amount of incendiary bombs Giles."

"And you know this how?"

"Same way I knew how to get the bazooka for The Judge- my soldier days, courtesy of Ethan Rayne. Instant Private Benjamin. It has all the hallmarks of a bombing, trust me."

Giles sits in sober thought for a moment, then taps his finger on the table. He says "there is a third possible situation, and that is The Watcher's Council somehow tracked Faith down."

"Why would they torch Lowell House?"

"I suspect that was the other party. But you are missing the terrifying aspect of The Council being involved. What of they find out Buffy is in a coma?" He says.

"They will kill her." I gasp. "To see if she will spawn a new Slayer."

"This is a terrible risk to all of you, Lexi. Faith, Buffy and yourself are at great risk if they find out that stopping a Slayer's heart regardless of if they are the last triggers a calling."

"They will want to build an army." I say, slumping back into my chair. "And they may already have Faith."