Thanksgiving, 1997
Thanksgiving, that's a joke. What have I got to give
thanks for? Certainly not for the wonderful meal or the warm family atmosphere.
Some stupid do-gooder college kids came to the Home to cook dinner for us poor
disadvantaged children. Just their way of giving something back to the
community. They were all smiles and sympathetic glances. I bet it made them
feel so good when they went back to their nice little houses in the suburbs,
with Mom, Dad, little 'bro and a pet dog called Buster. I could se it behind
their eyes – all the time they were thinking 'Aren't we lucky not to have to
live like this? Aren't we just so Goddamn fortunate?'.
Some girl said she liked my leather jacket and where did
I get it from. I told her I stole it off a corpse and you should have seen the
look on her face. It was hilarious. After that she avoided me for the whole of
the rest of the afternoon. Stupid bint. How gullible can you get? Like I'd wear
anything that had been anywhere near a dead person. Totally gross. I got it on
a shopping trip with Susie. Five-finger discount. It wouldn't have gone with
the bint's Laura Ashley patterned dress, anyway.
But how's this for a surprise? One of the preppy college
kids actually asked me out. Guess he wants to see the wild side of life, huh?
Well, I'll certainly show it to him. We're meeting in a bar near to the college
campus, then we're gonna cruise around town in the jeep that Mommy and Daddy
bought him. Corruption of the innocent – I'm up for a bit of that.
7th
December 1997
Stupid,
fucking idiot, Faith. Why do I let these things happen to me? I hate my life
and I hate everybody in it. I'm not gonna cry. I'm not gonna let them get to
me. They're not worth it. Screw them all. Fuck the lot of them.
8th
December 1997
I went
out on that date with preppy-boy last night and boy was I wrong about him. He
brought along three of his little buddies, all pimply faced and wide-eyed.
Anyone would think they'd never tasted beer before. Probably hadn't. I took
them to a club on Denver Street and they'd barely had two drinks each before
they were falling over drunk. Stupid fuckers were pawing all over me and
treating me like some hooker they picked up in a bar. I suppose that's exactly
what I was to them. Some nobody to be used and abused. But I let them pay for
my drinks all night, anyway.
Then at the end of the evening when preppy was totally
smashed, he cornered me in the alley behind the club. Said that he'd taken me
out and shown me a good time (like hell, he had), now I owed him something in
return. I told him to go fuck himself, but he was too drunk to listen. He just
forced me up against the wall and started pulling at my clothes. I yelled for
help, but nobody came. This one guy just walked past and laughed. It was awful.
I told myself I wouldn't cry, but tears were streaming down my face.
Eventually, I managed to kick the guy in the balls and he loosened his hold on
me long enough for me to escape. I just ran and ran until I couldn't breathe
anymore, then I puked.
I had to
walk back to the Home then, right across town. A total of six winos asked me
for money and two guys in fancy cars tried to pick me up. At that precise
moment, if I'd been able to kill that fucking preppy boy, then I would have.
That's it. From now on, nobody is ever going to make me feel that bad again.
It's use or be used. And I know which one I'm gonna be doing from now on.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn shut the diary with a black expression on his face.
He had known that Faith's past hadn't exactly been easy for her, but he'd had
no idea it was that bad. She'd never wanted to talk about it, always saying
that it was the present and the future that mattered not what came before. Gunn
hadn't had a particularly rosy childhood himself, so he understood that
philosophy completely. What he also appreciated now, though, was that Faith's
youth was simply too painful for her to remember, so she just didn't.
It just made the whole situation seem even less fair.
Faith had just got her life together, for the first time she actually had a
shot at happiness, then it was all snatched away from her. Gunn looked out at
the people milling around the bus station, each going about their daily
business, completely oblivious to the horrors that existed in the world. But
Gunn knew more than most. He knew that not only were there supernatural dangers
out there, but there were also human ones. People could be just as bad as the
worst demons and circumstances the general public regarded as totally
commonplace, could destroy souls as effectively as any Hellmouth.
He strode across to the ticket counter, his destination
now decided. He would go to Boston. He would walk the streets that Faith walked
ten years ago with such heavy footsteps for one so young. He would try to track
down some of the people she knew then and hopefully he would lay some of her
ghosts to rest.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
16th
December 1997
I have another date again, my first since preppy-boy and
the alley. Susie says I've now learnt one of the most important lessons in
life. Men aren't to be trusted. They're just out for one thing. Sex. They don't
care about you or want to be with you. They just want to screw. And if you're a
nice girl – you know, the type who gets straight A's, or are on the swim team,
or wear their hair in French braids – then the guys will treat you nice in the
hope you'll put out. And be respectful so that they don't get in trouble with
your parents or older brother. But if you're one of Us, one of the Unwanted,
who nobody cares about, then they don't bother with the flowers, or the candy,
or the dinner dates. They just take what they want and drop you in the gutter.
So, Susie says you have to get in first. After all you've got the power. You've
got what that guy wants and if you want it too then just grab it and then cast him
to the kerb. And if you don't want it then either stay away from the guy or see
what he can give you in return.
Susie
says that we don't have many things in life. We don't have money, or good
grades, or families who love us. But sex is an asset we do possess and we can
use. I still haven't stooped as low as selling myself on the streets for money,
but it's starting to look more attractive. And I don't exactly have many other
career options. Use or be abused, remember?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn arrived in Boston and checked into a cheap hotel in
one of the less touristy areas of the city. It was pretty run-down, and he had
to share his room with several cockroaches, but he'd stayed in worse places. As
he casually flipped through the pages of the diary, he pondered his next course
of action. He wanted to find out more about what Faith's life as a teenager had
been like and that meant speaking to people who had known her. There had been
lots of references to a girl called Susie, who Gunn assumed to be Faith's best
friend at the time, so he decided that she would be as good a place to start as
any.
He set out on the streets at nightfall, a stake secreted
in one pocket and a knife in the other. He liked to be able to defend himself
against every kind of creature that walked the night – human or demon. He'd
spent most of his young life either living on or walking the streets of Los
Angeles, so he knew a lot about the communities and people you were likely to
find there and he assumed the arrangement would be similar in Boston. According
to Faith's diary, ten years ago Susie had been working as a prostitute in order
to earn some extra cash. Chances were that when she left the children's home,
she had taken up prostitution full time. Now there were no guarantees that she
would still be around, ten years was a long time and a lot of things could have
happened to her, but there was bound to be someone who remembered her and knew
how to contact her. You just had to ask the right people the right questions.
As Gunn strode into the red light district, he noticed he
was being directed threatening looks from gangs of youths that hung around on every
corner. He studiously ignored them, he was here for Faith, to lay some of her
history to rest, not to get into some petty fight with the locals. He wrapped
his fingers around the handle of the knife in his pocket, anyway, just in case.
After a short while he found what he was looking for, a
young girl standing nervously on the edge of the sidewalk, obviously hooking.
He'd wanted to talk to someone younger, because they were more likely to
surrender information to him, whereas the older women would just tell him where
to go. The girl must have been all of about fifteen years old and Gunn's heart
went out to her. Nobody that young should be put in that kind of situation – it
just wasn't fair. She should be out enjoying her adolescence with her friends,
instead of selling herself on a street corner. He wanted to do something to
help, but there was nothing he could do. He was here for a purpose and he
couldn't let himself be distracted from that. You can't save everybody,
he told himself, feeling an acute pang of loss as he remembered the sight of
Faith's body.
He quickly pushed away the images and focused on the task
in hand. He swaggered up to the girl, casually projecting an air of streetwise
confidence. She gave him a nervous glance, understanding immediately that he
was not here for her services. Gunn suppressed the reassuring smile that was
beginning to rise unbidden to his lips, and concentrated on maintaining his
'tough guy' persona.
"I need some information." He came straight out with his
request.
"Then I can't help you, man." The girl replied anxiously.
"I don't know nothing."
"You just work here, right?" Gunn joked, but kept the
hard edge to his voice.
The hooker shot him a strange look, but said nothing.
"I want to know who runs the girls in this part of town."
Gunn demanded.
"You a cop?" The prostitute asked. "Because, I'm just
waiting here for my friend,"
"Yeah, and then you're going to bible study together."
Added Gunn sarcastically. "I'm not looking for any trouble." He continued. "I'm
new in town and I wanted to introduce myself. Didn't want to step on any toes,
that's all. But if you want to make enemies for your boss then that's fine with
me." He turned to walk away and the girl hesitated before calling him back.
"Wait. You want Johnny Wright." She spoke hurriedly, as
if wanting to get the information out before she could change her mind. "You'll
find him in the club on 56th Street, in the back room. Just ask to
speak to Johnny and someone will point you in the right direction. But don't
tell him I told you, OK? We never spoke."
Gunn finally allowed himself to smile. "Fine." He pulled
out his wallet and extracted a couple of bills then handed them over to the
young hooker. "Here, keep these for yourself, alright?"
Before the girl could answer, he had already turned away
and was heading in the direction of 56th Street.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn walked out of the bar sporting a piece of paper containing
a scribbled address and a blackened eye. He had been lucky to escape with his
life and he felt an idiot of epic proportions. Everything had gone smoothly at
first. He had asked at the bar to see Johnny and after a short wait, was
granted admittance. He spent ten minutes persuading the pimp that his reasons
were legitimate and he wanted to track down a former and possibly current
working girl by the name of Susie and that he'd hear Johnny was the man in the
know in these parts. Wright had initially been very suspicious, until Gunn had
produced his private investigators license, which upped his credibility
somewhat.
Once satisfied that Gunn was neither a cop, nor was he
trying to take over some of Johnny's territory, the pimp had given Gunn the address
that he needed. However, when Gunn had been returning the wallet to his pocket,
one of Wright's men had noticed a gleam of steel sticking out of the side of
his coat. He had been immediately slammed against the wall and relieved of the
knife. Gunn cursed himself for bringing it in the first place – gangsters
carried knifes, not private eyes from the west coast. And it was never a good
idea to bring a weapon into the safe haven of a Gang Lord; just having the
knife was considered an unspoken threat to the organisation.
Johnny
had immediately become suspicious of Gunn's motives and called for his
remaining pockets to be searched. The stakes and crosses he carried about his
person had caused much amusement, but the pistol he kept in an ankle holster
had nearly gotten him killed. The same lackey who'd had him pinned to the wall,
a 300lb black guy, with a knife scar bisecting his left cheek, had slammed his
head against Johnny's desk, while the pimp himself demanded to know Gunn's true
motives. There was really nothing Gunn could say in reply to this, as he had
told the truth all along.
Just
as he was beginning to curse his honesty and stupidity and began to doubt the
likelihood of ever getting out of the situation alive, there had been shouts of
alarm from the front of the club. Fifteen assorted police officers and federal
agents all armed with assault rifles, burst into the back office on a drugs
raid. In the ensuing confusion Gunn managed to slip out the back door, along
with a few other very lucky individuals. He quickly tended to his wounds then
headed off to the address he had managed to hang on to. He didn't have much
time now that the local criminal element were familiar with him. He was
probably suspected to be an undercover fed after his visit had coincided with
that of the authorities, therefore, he would have to finish his business in
this area pretty quickly if he wanted to escape with injuries no more severe
than a bruised face.
Gunn
could handle himself fairly well, certainly better than your average gang
member, but he didn't exactly rate his chances against the whole of the South
Boston drugs scene. It wasn't auspicious start to his quest he had been hoping
for, but it made the whole thing a little more challenging and that he liked.
This feeling of adrenaline coursing though his system after playing Russian
roulette with his life like that, was one that he had been missing for a while.
He enjoyed the danger, the thrill, the triumph after escaping so narrowly. This
was a position he had been in before – he didn't care whether he lived or died,
the only things that made his existence worthwhile were the moments of
excitement. When he stared death in the face and won. It helped him forget.
Throwing all his energies into just surviving through each risky situation
pushed all thoughts of Faith out of his mind. It gave him the same high that
loving her had used to.
Only
these highs had soul-destroying lows between them, which he was increasingly
desperate to banish. Adrenaline was like a drug to him and he was quickly
becoming addicted. He could see the immediate future mapped out clearly before
him and yet he didn't care what it held. He saw himself taking greater and
greater risks just for the hell of it and there was no way he could stop now.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
22nd
December 1997
Whoopee-do,
they've found me a foster home for the holidays, so I won't have to pine away
in some institution over Christmas. Aren't the authorities just so considerate?
More like they didn't want to stretch to an extra for Christmas dinner, or
gifts. Now that's always a laugh, seeing the TV crews and newspapers come
around and pick out the orphan Annie look-a-likes to pose for the cameras,
whilst the latest candidate for office shows his sterling generosity by distributing
presents to the poor, disadvantaged kids. Strange how it's only the photogenic
kids that get the computers, or the hi-fis, or the toys. The only thing I've
ever gotten is a campaign button and the chance to star in some amateur
pornography. Needless to say I turned down both, they weren't gonna pay me for
the porn so what was the point?
Anyway, on to my Big News. I am now a temporary resident
of the Taylor household. It is a worse Hellhole than my last foster home even.
I don't know where they find these places, but then I suppose they're scraping
the barrel for me. Everywhere else has had me already and thrown me out. That's
my own little claim to fame – the most unwanted person in the whole of Boston.
Maybe I should move to another city, see if I can piss off a few people off
there. But for now the Taylor family seem quite happy with me. I'm their new
little toy to play with. Mrs Taylor is about as meek as your average lamb. She
scurries around me all the time making sure I've got everything I need and that
her husband is kept in a steady supply of beers. Mr Taylor on the other hand,
is a lazy drunk, which I totally respect. Why bust your ass working all day
when you can just sit around and let other people wait on you hand and foot?
Very cool.
The
Taylors also have two sons, twin boys aged fourteen. They're quite good looking
and it's a shame they're so young, otherwise I'd have a fun time corrupting
them. Twins as well – the possibilities are endless. They annoy me though,
they're really quiet and sneaky. They never just come out and say what they're
thinking, they always talk behind your back. And they're always plotting
something. Yesterday I caught them hanging about the door to my room and I
swear they were planning to go through my stuff. Not that's there's anything I
could do about it if they did. I'm not even allowed a lock on my door.
Apparently there are 'no secrets in this house'. Yeah right, that's what they
all say, but there're skeletons in every closet. Even I know that much. But anywhere's
better than the Home at Christmas, so I can't really complain.
1st January
1998
OK a new year, a new reason why my life sucks. The
Taylors gave me a curfew for New Year's Eve. A curfew of half past midnight, would
you believe it? They said that what applied to their boys also had to apply to
me. Never mind the fact that I'm older than their darling boys and have had a
hell of a lot more life experience. Plus the fact I'm not their daughter and
I'll stay out as long as I fucking well like. I told them that, plus a few
other choice phrases and then stormed out. Or at least I tried to storm out. Mr
Taylor suddenly proved that he's not all that lazy after all. He was out of his
chair and gripping my arm like an iron vice before I even managed to get out of
the door. I could smell his whiskey laced breath on my face and I had a
flashback to that night in the alley with preppy boy and my own personal
humiliation. I screamed that he was hurting me, that he wasn't allowed to do
this. I'd tell the police and the social services and they'd take his sons
away.
He didn't listen to a word I said. He just ranted on
drunkenly. How dare I abuse his hospitality? How dare I speak to his wife like
that? He said I was filthy and disgusting then he marched me into the kitchen
and squirted liquid soap into my mouth. He told me that I'd said such dirty
things my mouth needed washing out. I spat the soap out in his face, but that
only made him angrier. He threw me down on the floor and I banged my head on
the tile. All the while Mrs Taylor was just standing by, her face drawn and her
eyes wide. I hate her for not helping me and I hate myself for not fighting
back or running away after he hit me. I just dashed upstairs and curled up on my
bed crying. I promised myself I wouldn't cry, so why do I have to keep breaking
that promise?
4th January
1998
I went to
see one of the social workers at the Home today, about Mr Taylor. I told them he
hit me, showed them the bruise on my arm and the bump on the back of my head.
The guy just laughed. He said that I was making trouble again, like the last
time, when I stole that money. I told him that wasn't true either, but he
didn't believe me. Nobody ever believes anything I say, or if they do they just
don't care. To them I'm just another statistic to add to their records and now
they've gotten rid of me, what does it matter how I'm feeling?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn quickly tracked down the address – a very
dilapidated apartment building, with boarded over windows and graffiti scrawled
across its façade. There was no security to speak of protecting the apartments,
and Gunn just walked straight in off the street and up the narrow stairwell
that was littered with rubbish and smelled strongly of stale urine. He located
number 36B and knocked lightly on the door. There was no response, so he banged
more firmly, punctuating his knocking with a yell.
"Hello! Susie? Is anybody home?"
He caught the sound of a crying child from inside the
apartment and after a moment's indecision, broke down the door with a shove of
his shoulder. The hinges were weak and the wood gave easily underneath him, and
Gunn virtually toppled into the small room, cursing under his breath. He was
shocked into silence, however, when he saw the interior of the apartment and
its occupants.
A woman, obviously Susie – whom he knew to be in her
mid-twenties but who looked much older – lay sprawled out on the couch, her
eyes glazed over and staring into space, a strange smile in her face. In the
corner of the room huddled a small child all of about three years old and a
wrapped in stained blankets in a broken lay a small baby, from whom the crying
was emanating. Gunn felt ill at the sight. The staring eyes and the vacant
expression of the woman reminded him all too clearly of Faith's appearance that
last time Gunn had seen her, only Susie was still alive and breathing
shallowly. He leant over her and checked her radial pulse, it was still strong,
but as he measured it he noticed the track marks on her arms. He dropped her
wrist in disgust – she wasn't ill, she was high on drugs.
He carefully removed the syringe that lay discarded next
to her and threw it away before one of the children could injure themselves on
it. Next he shook Susie viciously and slapped her across the face, in order to
rouse her. She just giggled, so he picked her up, registering as he did so how
light and frail she was, and carried her into the tiny bathroom. He dumped her,
fully clothed, into the cracked and watermarked bathtub and turned the cold
shower on her. A few minutes later she was spluttering back into awareness.
"Who the fuck are you?" She swore loudly.
"A friend of a friend." Gunn muttered bitterly, throwing
a towel at Susie. "Now get dried and changed, while you try and sober up."
She
glared at him, but climbed slowly out of the tub and began to comply with his
request, anyway.
Meanwhile,
Gunn headed back into the main room and went to check on the baby, whose crying
had receded to a low whimper. He picked it up and rocked it in his arms, the
situation evoking potent and painful memories of Hope, as well as a stab of
guilt for leaving her like he did. But he quickly pushed these thoughts out of his
head and concentrated, as he always did, on the situation in hand. He was not
like Angel, he didn't brood endlessly about his problems, he just tried to
forget them and get on with life.
Once
the baby had quietened down completely he put it (he had as yet been unable to
determine the sex of the child) back down and began to hunt in the kitchen for
a clean bottle and some formula. Practice of feeding Hope taught him what to do
and he boiled some water on the stove, used it to rinse out the bottle then tipped
in the mixed and warmed formula. The baby guzzled down the liquid gratefully
and Gunn was just tucking her back into the crib, when a dried and dressed
Susie re-entered the room.
"OK,
I'll ask again." She said angrily. "Who the fuck are you and what are you doing
near my children?"
"My
names Charles Gunn." He answered. "And somebody had to look after your kids
when you were passed out on drugs."
She
ignored that comment, instead beckoning to the little girl still crouched in the
corner of the room. "Come here, sweetie. Did the strange man, say or do
anything to you?"
The
girl shook her head and ran into her mother's embrace, clinging to Susie
wordlessly. The woman fixed Gunn with a suspicious stare, the last vestiges of
heroin beginning to leave her bloodstream and her thoughts clearing once more.
"So, you're not the cops or the social services, and you're not one of Johnny's
men, otherwise I'd be beaten black and blue by now. So, who exactly are you
Charles Gunn and what are you doing here?"
Gunn
sighed, reluctant now to reveal his motives for coming here, because that would
mean admitting that Faith really was dead. And once he said it out loud he
couldn't take it back, he couldn't change it and he couldn't pretend it wasn't
true, anymore.
"I've
come about a mutual friend." He said.
"Who?"
"Faith."
He replied. "You probably remember her from when you were teenagers together."
Susie's
eyes misted over with memories. "Yeah, I remember Faith. She's not exactly the
kind of person you forget."
Gunn
nodded and smiled in response to that comment, he agreed with it
wholeheartedly.
"What
happened to her?" Susie asked. "Last I heard she was heading off to the west
coast. She seemed real excited about the move, said suddenly the whole world
was hers for the taking, said that finally she was going to be somebody
special, that she had a decent future at last."
Gunn
felt a wave of sadness flood though him upon hearing about the hopes and dreams
of the young Faith. How quickly things had gone sour for her, he thought. And
even when she had straightened her life out, she didn't get to live the bright
future she had always wished for. "She, she died." He said painfully.
Susie's
mouth formed into a shocked 'O', then she nodded sadly. "You know," she told
Gunn quietly. "I'd always thought that if anyone could have survived what life
had to throw at her, it would have been Faith. She was tough. Tougher than me."
Susie added with a rueful smile. "What happened?"
"It's
a long story." Gunn said simply, the details still too raw and painful to go
into. "But she did turn out to be someone special, you know." He continued in a
strained voice. "Someone very special."
"She
always was special." Susie answered quietly. "It was only Faith who didn't
realise it."
Gunn
nodded, suddenly unable to speak as grief had stolen his voice and choked up
his throat.
"So,
what brought you here, sweetie?" Susie asked. "Why did you want to come see
little old me?"
Gunn
shrugged, he didn't even know exactly why himself. As a way to be close to
Faith, he supposed. When he'd seen her diary he'd realised that there were all
these things he didn't know about her, all these questions about her past that
she would now never be able to answer for him. And he couldn't bare that. He
couldn't stand the thought that the love of his life and mother of his child
had died before he'd ever even go to know her properly, so he wanted to find
the answers to all those questions himself. He wanted to know about her
childhood, her friends, her family and he wanted to be able to tell Hope all
this stuff as well, when she was older. Now that Faith was gone the best way to
remember her was to be around those who had loved her too and that was all he
was doing.
"I
guess I just wanted to be around somebody else who missed her." He replied.
"What
makes you think I miss her?" Susie twisted her mouth up in a slight smile.
"Just
a hunch." Gunn matched her smile.
"Well,
you got good instincts." She said tiredly. "I never forgot Faith and I don't
think I ever will either. Now you gonna pay for that door you smashed in?" She
gestured towards the pile of plywood in the corner of the room that had once
passed for a door.
Gunn
shook his head. "Not if my money's just going to go on more drugs."
Susie
gaped up at him. "You've not no right to judge me, Charles. You got no
idea what it's like. I'm trying to bring up two kids on my own here – sometimes
I just need a little lift."
"That's
crap." Gunn responded. "You're a junkie. I could drive an express train up the
track marks on your arm."
"Fuck
you." Was all she could find to say in reply.
"And
you're not exactly doing a very good job looking after your kids are you?" Gunn
continued, trying to ignore the nagging memory of his own abandonment of Hope.
"When was the last time either of them had a bath or some new clothes."
"Get
the Hell out of my house." Susie yelled angrily. "Before I call the police."
"What
and let them find you stoned whilst looking after two children? I don't think
you will somehow."
Susie
was silent for a while after this. "What do you want?" She asked finally.
"I
want you to sort yourself out." Gunn said.
"Why
do you care?"
"I
don't." He told her. "I just thought Faith might."
Susie
thought about this for a long time, then turned up at him with tears in her
eyes. "I can't do it." She muttered. "It's too hard. I can't quit the stuff –
I'm hooked."
"Check
yourself into a rehab programme then." Gunn suggested. "It's been done before."
She
laughed harshly. "Yeah, where I am going to get the money for rehab from. And
whose going to look after my kids when I'm in there. And how am I going to
avoid getting hooked again when I come out."
"I
never said it would be simple. But don't you owe it to them," he waved a hand
in the direction of Susie's two children, "to give it a go."
"You
don't know nothing about my life." She rallied against him one last time. "My
kids are fine. They're fed, they got a roof over their heads. They got clothes
and toys. I don't care if you did know Faith, just butt out of my business."
"And
when you accidentally overdose one day, or some john beats you to death, or
when the dope's cut with something nasty and you end up dead. Then what are
your kids gonna do?" Gunn asked harshly. "End up in the hands of the child
protection services like you? Get stuck in the same endless cycle? Do you
really want that for them?"
Susie
began to cry. "I can't…" she sniffed between sobs. "I just can't…"
"Pack
a bag." Gunn instructed her. "And one for the kids too."
Twelve
hours later Gunn returned to his hotel room and collapsed on to the bed,
exhausted. He had taken Susie to the nearest ER department and had her checked
over for any lasting damage due to her drug habit. He had paid for her
methadone prescription with his own money then argued with the doctors until
they agreed to admit Susie into their drug rehabilitation programme. It was not
a total happy ending, however, as the hospital officials had insisted upon
getting child and family services involved. They had taken the two children
into care, much to Susie's distress. She would be able to get them back, of
course, but only after a long fight and if she managed to get herself clean and
stay that way.
Gunn
peeled the clothes he was wearing off his tired body and crawled under the
covers. He didn't want to live another night like that for a long time. Susie's
screamed protests as they had taken her children away, still echoed in his
ears. He shut his eyes and tried to make his mind go blank, before slipping
away into sleep and dreams of Faith.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
25th
February 1998
I've been getting these dreams recently, really weird
dreams involving these strange creatures that I have to fight and kill.
Somehow, I know they're vampires. And I realise how totally insane that sounds,
that I've been slaying vampires in my sleep (shit, even I think it's stupid –
coz vampires don't exist, right? They're just something that you see in bad
horror movies), but it's true. And I've been getting them every night, really
vivid, bright dreams. They're kinda cool, actually. Coz I always beat the
vampires. I've got, like, super strength or something and I shove a stake
through their hearts and they turn to dust. I didn't even know they did that –
explode into dust, that is. I guess my mind invented it or something, either
that or cutting class every day to sneak into 'R' rated movies has had sorta
warped my mind or whatever.
I wish my life were more like those dreams. I want to be
that strong and powerful in real life, not just when I'm asleep. I want to be
able to win for once and not be stuck at the bottom of the pile. When Mr Taylor
hits me I want to be able to slug him back, instead of cowering in the corner
of the kitchen begging for him to stop. The first time he slapped me in the
face for insulting one of his sons, I threw back a torrent of abuse at him.
That just got my hair grabbed and my face slammed down on the kitchen table. He
leaned his mouth close to my ear and told me what he'd do to me if I ever
opened my mouth to say such foul things ever again. And his suggestions weren't
exactly pretty, I can tell you.
All
the time I was stuck there with my cheek pressed against the rough wooden
tabletop and Mr Taylor's beery breath on the back of my neck, I watched Mrs
Taylor just stand there and let him do it. Afterwards I asked her why she
didn't help me, didn't even tell him to stop. She just said that her husband
was a good man, he was just a stickler for discipline and that I'd learn soon
enough how to keep him happy. But I didn't want to. Why on earth would anyone
want to learn how to be helpless and pathetic?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn unconsciously clenched and unclenched his fists as
he read of the abuse suffered by Faith at the hands of her stepfather. A man
who was supposed to be trusted with her care, who was meant to look after and
support her, to provide a safe-haven for her to run to, a home. Instead he had
taken advantage of his position mistreating a young girl who was in no position
to hit back. Gunn had heard stories about Faith's behaviour in Sunnydale, her
breakdown and her betrayal of her friends, and before he had never quite
understood what drove her to it. He had listened to other people's reasoning
about her unstable personality and how having that much power as a slayer had
corrupted her, but that had never quite seemed a good enough reason to Gunn.
He
knew what something about Faith that other people failed to realise. She was
strong. And not just physically as well, she was strong in spirit, resilient,
tough – that was how she had managed to make the transition back from being
evil to doing good again. She'd taken her punishment – the prison sentence and
the loss of all the people she had once called friends – stoically and then
when it was over, she had continued to try and make things right. She built
bridges with those she had alienated, undertook the difficult task of
apologising for her behaviour and humbling herself before them. And then she
dedicated her life to doing good, helping other people in order to make up for
all the pain and suffering she had caused. This was the Faith Gunn knew and
loved, this was the mother of his child, not the out-of-control girl she once
was.
So,
Gunn had always realised that there was something else to Faith, some other
dimension of her life that she hadn't shared with anyone, that finally pushed
her over the edge. Or at least put her in a position where she could be pushed.
And finally he was beginning to understand what exactly it was, what had
motivated Faith and what hurts had scarred her soul. Faith had been brought up
a frightened little girl, who hid beneath a veneer of toughness. Everyone she
had ever trusted had turned on her. She believed that nobody actually loved her
or cared for who she actually was. In her life there were only two sets of
people who ever had anything to do with her: those who were forced to by law or
association (her foster family, or people at the children's home) and those who
wanted something from her (mainly the men whom she dated). She'd only ever had
one true friend – Susie – and she had spent her own childhood learning the same
lessons as Faith, so could never have provided any of the comfort or
reassurance her friend needed.
In
her words he could track the beginnings of her breakdown easily and hardly
blamed her for it. Her life had been a roller coaster of ups and downs – mainly
downs. With every small bit of comfort in life being ripped away from her and
cruel lessons being taught far too early. He wished he had known her then, that
he'd been there to show her that some people were different. That life didn't
have to be miserable and bleak all the time, that not everyone was against her.
But on reflection, ten years ago he had been in pretty much the same situation
as Faith, so he couldn't exactly have helped her much. But eventually they had
both changed and they had found each other and begun to learn to trust and to love.
They had at least shown each other some happiness in their otherwise desolate
lives, so maybe that offered some kind of a happy ending. At least she had died
knowing people cared about her.
Gunn read and reread the final pages of the diary. It was
weird, even though Faith had written these entries nearly ten years ago, he
felt as though it were they (rather than the perfunctory conversation they had
exchanged a week earlier), which were her last words to him. He wondered why
she's stopped writing back then – the journal was half empty. Maybe it was
because she had nothing more to say.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
14th April
1998
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy
birthday dear Faith… And for your extra special birthday present you get an insane
stalker and a broken cheekbone. Whoopee do! Just what I always wanted. I'm
sitting in hospital now and it's not that bad. They've given me painkillers and
the doctors say that my cheek is healing incredibly well, they've never seen
anything like it. The swelling's gone down almost completely already. And at
least the one good thing to come out of all this is that I won't have to go
back to that house. Finally, someone's realised that I can actually tell
the truth and the man who's supposed to be entrusted with my care is actually a
drunken wife and child-beater. Shame it had to take me being knocked
unconscious and carted off in an ambulance to prove it. I still can't believe
what happened, it just seems like an absolute blur. Like none of it make sense,
and I suppose it doesn't.
On my birthday, which was yesterday (yes, I was born on
the thirteenth, how's that for an omen?) this strange man was waiting for me
outside the school gates. He had this la-di-da, 'anyone for a game of cricket',
Union Jack shoved up his ass accent and he knew my name. It was majorly scary,
having some guy you've never met before just grab hold of your arm and start
calling your name. He looked straight at me and said "You've been having the
dreams haven't you, Faith". And I can tell you I freaked out right there and
then. What the hell does some perverted middle-aged man know about my dreams? I
know what he thinks he knows, but that's all crap and I won't be a part of it.
So, I told him to get the fuck away from me, to stop
touching my arm or I'd get my 6ft5", bouncer boyfriend to beat him to a bloody
pulp. He paled slightly at that, I can tell you. Then he apologised, said he
never meant to scare me, that I was 'the Chosen One', or some other crap like
that, and that I had to listen to him. Obviously, he was a crazy type and I
told him I didn't care what line he used on me I wasn't going to have sex with
him. He just laughed at that and said of course he didn't want to sleep with
me, I was far too young for him. Then he started talking about this thing
called the Slayer and how I was fated to be the next one (the one girl in all
the world who has the strength to kill vampires) and that was why I had been
having the dreams, they were, and I quote, 'portents of my destiny'. Well,
that's just bullshit, there are no such things as vampires and I don't have a
destiny, I don't even have a future. And what the fucking hell are portents,
anyway??
But he kept on talking, telling me I had a sacred duty to
protect mankind and that eventually I would help save the world from ending. He
said that I would be 'called' soon, that the changes had already started to
begin. I was getting stronger more agile, my senses were becoming tuned into
the darker side of life. I pulled away from him, heading off in the opposite
direction. He told me I couldn't just walk away from this like that, that I
couldn't ignore my fate. It really scared me, I can tell you. What was this nut-job,
this foreign nut-job, doing getting inside my head, knowing my name and
my dreams and why couldn't he just leave me alone?
When I got home I was still shaking from my encounter. I
know Boston is full of crazies, but it's not everyday you get some guy telling you
that vampires and demons are real and that you are fated to slay them. There
was nobody in the house and I was pissed off at being alone on my birthday, the
whole day had been a total bust so far and I just needed something to liven it
up. So, I called Susie and invited her over. She offered me some of the stuff
she had, said it would cheer me up. I didn't even need to inject it she said, I
could just heat some up on a piece of foil and inhale the fumes. I thought
about it for a long time and then said no. Susie's my best friend, but she's
rail thin with has dark circles underneath her eyes, her hands shake and I can
tell she's dying for a fix. I don't want that to happen to me. Instead I raided
Mr Taylor's liquor cabinet, going for the slightly more conventional high. I
found a half full bottle of whiskey and we drank it together, giggling like the
schoolgirls we actually are.
This is how the Taylors found us, sitting in the corner,
laughing and screaming drunkenly, the empty bottle abandoned nearby. I don't
remember much after that, except shouting and Susie running out and me finding
it all hysterically funny, until the first blow hit me. That was to the
stomach. He likes to hit you where it doesn't show, the first couple of times,
then he can pretend that he's the dutiful husband and good citizen who doesn't
really beat up innocent women. But when he gets really angry, or really drunk,
he stops caring about appearances, instead he just lashes out, like he did last
night, raining blows down on me. I held my hands up to protect my face, but it
didn't work – he still caught me straight in the side of the cheek with his
balled up fist and I went sprawling backwards, hitting my head against the wall
and knocking myself out. And that's the last thing I remember before waking up
in the hospital with an aching face and a splitting headache.
Wonder what I'll get next year?
15th April
1998
I was discharged from hospital today, my face has healed
completely and the doctors were absolutely amazed. They kept asking me how I
was feeling and prodding and poking at my cheek. In the end I told them I felt
great and just walked out. I was getting sick of the whole business and just
wanted to put it all behind me. But that weird English guy was waiting outside
the hospital to pick me up. He said he had documents or something to let him
take me home. I said I wasn't going anywhere with him, but he wouldn't go away.
He followed me down the street, then he grabbed hold of my arm, real tight, and
I just saw red. Nobody's gonna push me around like that Mr Taylor. I shook the
guy off and lashed out with my fist. He ended up on the ground, blood pouring
out of his nose and he got this light in his eyes and just whispered up to me.
"It's happening, Faith. You know it's happening to you."
I got up close to him and grabbed him by the throat.
"What's happening?" I asked, because I knew he was telling the truth. There was
something different about my body recently. I felt stronger and more powerful
or something. And I was beginning to lie awake nights, unable to sleep, just
feeling restless. And he looked me straight in the eyes and said: "You're
becoming her – the Slayer. And there's nothing you can do to stop it." I threw
him back down on the sidewalk and told him he was spewing crap, but a part of
me knew he wasn't, a part me believed every word he said, because it was true.
In the end I went home with him, even met his wife – she
seemed really nice. Made me feel like I was an important visitor and that she
really wanted me there, she wasn't just putting up with me. We sat down to
dinner together, in the dining room, eating a three-course meal off their best
china and all the time they were asking questions about me. What kind of stuff
did I like? How was school going? What did I do for fun? And then they really
listened to the answers, like they actually cared about what I thought. It made
me feel kinda special. But I never forgot why I was there and after dinner I
asked Callum – that was the guy's name – for the explanation he promised. He
started showing me all these books about vampires and demons and said I was
destined to help rid the world of these creatures. I laughed at first, but he
persisted telling me how important I was and how the future of the earth might
depend on me. It actually made me feel worthwhile for the first time in my
life, that somebody wanted me and my whole existence wasn't a mistake.
He told me about this ritual I would have to go through –
the Calling. And after that I would be a full-blown Slayer. I would have powers
and abilities I'd never even dreamed of, and I'd finally actually become
someone, rather than just being another statistic. Oh and I'd be able to quit
school, to take up Slaying full-time, which was also a major bonus.
11th May
1998
This Slaying gig is the coolest thing ever! I've never
had it so great in my whole life. Last night I dusted ten vamps, it was
incredible – you just have to put a stake through their heart and they
disintegrate right before your eyes. And another one saw me and ran away,
frightened! Imagine that, evil creatures of the night frightened of lil' ole
Faith. I always knew I was dangerous. And I feel so strong, so powerful, I can
do anything I want. A guy tried to take my purse the other night and I just
kicked him in the head, served him fucking right. I'm the one in charge here.
I'm the special one, he was just nothing.
Last week I went back to the Taylors and finally taught
the guy a lesson. He had no idea who he was messing with, so I showed him. I
returned every blow he had ever given me and then some. I made him beg
for mercy. It was amazing the adrenaline rush I got from it, from seeing his
blood pooling on the same kitchen floor he used to make me cower on. He can't
hurt me now, nobody can.
7th June 1998
Victoria, Callum's wife, announced today she was having a
baby. I got worried for a minute that once they have the kid, I won't be able
to stay with them anymore. Living with them is the only time I've ever felt
like I have a real home, a real family and I didn't want to lose that. But
Callum said he's my Watcher, which means he'll always be there when I need him
and I can live with them however long I like. After that I was cool with it
all. I'm glad they're happy, I hope they don't expect me to baby-sit, though!
1st July
1998
Callum says we're gonna move to California, some little
town called Sunnydale. Apparently it's got major demon problems, something
about the mouth of Hell. Whatever, I don't care – as long as the vamps keep
coming, I'll keep slaying them. And the weather should be pretty cool in
California. Basically, I can't wait to leave Boston behind. It's such a god
awful city and I've always been unhappy here. New start in a new place? Sounds
great to me. All we have to do first is take out the last major nest of vamps
and then we're done. Sunnydale, here we come!
3rd July
1998
THE FUCKING BASTARDS. I CAN'T BELIEVE I LET IT HAPPEN.
SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!! GOD, IT'S SO UNFAIR. I HATE IT. I HATE EVERYTHING. WHY????
FUCK THEM ALL! THE WORLD CAN GO TO HELL, FOR ALL I CARE! SHIT. IT'S NOT
FAIR!
4th July
1998
I watched the fireworks alone tonight. And I didn't get
their point. Who even gives a fucking damn about Independence Day? I know I don't.
I still can't believe Callum's dead. I'm not crying, I'm not going to cry. I'm
just going to finish off the vamps that killed him. They deserve to die
horribly. I'm going to make them pay for what they did. I'm going to make them
all pay. Victoria asked me to leave, she said it was too painful to have me
around, so I'm going to go to Sunnydale, like we planned. Victoria gave me the
money and I'm leaving and never coming back. I hate this town and all the
people in it. The sooner I can get out of here the better. Good-fucking-bye
Boston.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn prepared to say his own goodbye to Boston, faintly
amused by the irony that it was a diary that had brought him here and a diary
that was sending him back. He held in his hand the journal of Faith's Watcher,
Callum Forrester. He hadn't brought himself to read it yet – he was still too
overwhelmed by the information he had learnt from Faith's own writings – but he
would get around to it soon. The temptation to know was just too great.
He'd been to see Victoria Forrester, the wife of Faith's
first Watcher. She'd been living in the same house as when Faith had stayed
there. Didn't want to leave behind all the memories she had told him. When he's
explained the purpose of his visit she'd cried and led him out into her small,
shaded garden. In the middle of the lawn a child played, a young girl with a
waterfall of fiery red hair cascading down her back. Victoria introduced the
girl as her daughter – Faith. Gunn had cried then too, despite himself. He
hadn't cried since he found the body and he hadn't intended to again. In his
book crying was a sign of weakness, whimpering about her death wouldn't bring
Faith back, so what was the point?
But sitting in Victoria's warm, homely kitchen, her hand
tightly coiled in his, he sobbed until his lungs burst with the effort. He wept
for himself and the woman he had lost, for all the chances Faith had missed out
on and all the hardships she had been forced to endure. He wept for Hope who
would have to grow up without a mother and for the little girl with the flaming
red hair who was missing a father. But most of all he cried for all the people
who would never meet Faith, who would never know her strength and her vitality
and would never have their lives enriched by her presence. It was them he felt
the most sorry for, because at least he'd had her for a while. At least he'd
been fortunate to receive to of the greatest gifts she ever gave – her love and
her baby daughter.
Gunn knew then that he hadn't lost Faith, because she was
still alive in his heart and in the heats of everyone who'd ever met her. That
a scarred and cynical junkie could still remember Faith with tears in her eyes,
or that a woman who only knew Faith for a couple of months would name her only
child after her, was proof enough of that. And Faith would live on in Hope, in
her spirit and in her soul. Gunn would see to that if nothing else.
When he had finished crying he felt much better. His
grief and not eased any, but he felt more honest with himself at least. He felt
as though he had finally acknowledged the fact that Faith was dead and not
coming back, whereas before he had just been trying to deny it. And yet more
than that he realised it was OK that he missed her. It was all right that his
life was falling apart without her, because that's what happened when you lost
someone you loved. And once he'd finally accepted his pain he could begin
dealing with it, working through it, instead of bottling it up inside and
letting it destroy him.
At the end of a long afternoon of talking through his
problems with Victoria, Gunn stood up to leave, thanking her profusely for all
the help she had been. She just smiled back at him and said he had been as much
a help to her as she was to him. It was not often she got the chance to
remember her dead husband and still now she needed someone to share the pain
with. Plus the fact she was gratified to learn that Faith had finally found
such an excellent man to share her life with, even if their time together had
been short. Gunn was touched to hear this, and thought at the time how right
Faith had been in her initial judgement of Victoria – she really was one of the
nicest people he'd ever met.
Before Gunn left, she'd disappeared upstairs and come
back down with the journal. Gunn should have it she said. It contained some
important facts about Faith and her history that he should know. Gunn thanked
her for the volume and left, promising that he would keep in touch. She had
smiled sadly in response to this, knowing that it was a promise he wouldn't
keep. His need for comfort had been particular to this afternoon and she had
been glad to help, but somehow she realised that her presence was not something
he would be seeking out ever again. Gunn bid her farewell, the diary clutched
tightly to his chest, grateful that even for a short while Faith's life had
been enriched by this woman and her husband. He prepared to set off back to
Sunnydale, finally ready to begin rebuilding his life without Faith.
THE END
A/N ~ Sorry if the end was a little pathetic, but I just
kind of ran out of steam! Thanks for reading, anyway!
