Part 3 – The Happy Sunnydale Hospital
They'd gone to Giles' from the bus station, to be met by six men, all senior members of the Watchers Council. They all looked the same, suits and sour expressions, sweating in the heat, uncomfortable and clearly wary of her. Still. Faith had found it difficult to understand them, their accents ranging all over the place, but she'd understood what they told her. When they confirmed what Giles had said.
The leader had taken great relish in telling her she was going away for a very, very long time, and they were waiting for a place for her – at the local psychiatric hospital. He'd smiled grimly as he told her, but she could tell that it was more personal for him than the others. He'd been one of the ones that she'd – Buffy'd – beaten up to escape, when they'd switched. He still had bruises, even after the time that had passed. But till the placement came up, someone was with her or nearby all the time. Watching her breathe, eat, sleep. The only privacy she had was when she bathed and even then someone was outside the door.
Buffy had argued with them in vain. She'd heard the raised voices, sometimes, when they thought she was asleep. Buffy, begging them to understand, to trust. She'd loved Buffy for trying, even though she knew that this was something that had to happen. She had to pay for her crimes, and if that meant being locked up and never seeing daylight again, then so be it. She knew Buffy had told them about the dreams, the thing that was coming for them. Then the placement had come up, and now here she was.
She lay now on her bed, hair almost black against the white pyjamas that were the uniform, in this place. Visiting time soon. Buffy had come alone at first, but now Willow had started to come with her, was even being friendly. She sighed, moving her head slightly on the hard pillow. She could hear the sounds of other inmates – someone cursing, someone else screaming and chanting. The ceaseless babble of insanity, all around her. Unstoppable. Faith sometimes wondered if she'd slipped into insanity somewhere in the cupboard under the stairs as a child. But she'd dismissed that, knowing she was normal (now) and sane, when she saw some of the other poor souls in this place.
The room was bare, its only furnishings fixed and immovable, walls painted grubby magnolia, wooden floor bare and dull, pitted from the many feet that had trodden it over the years. A chair, bolted to the floor, with a robe hanging limply over it. No belt to pull it closed round her body. Who knew what an inmate could do with a length of cloth? The bed, frame made of metal, with a thin mattress. A small bedside table, fixed to the wall, with a plastic jug of water and foam cup standing on it. Nothing breakable, or usable – just in case. Who could tell what the inmates would think they saw? They'd made sure it had only the tiniest of barred windows too, up by the ceiling. Even she, a Slayer, couldn't jump high enough to reach it and it was too small to climb out of (she could have bent the bars with ease), but it still let in a reasonable amount of light.
She wondered if the Council had asked for that, smiled briefly at the thought. Her hands were crossed behind her head and she stared idly at the ceiling, watching the fan there revolve, throwing shadows behind it, humming gently. Round and round and round and round and round. Her eyes followed it, mesmerised, lulled by the steady drone of the motor, and slowly, gently she slipped into sleep.
i…She looks round the room, seeing the shadows growing longer in the corners, thickening slowly. The only light is an overhead, sited near the fan, programmed to come on at dusk. The room will be dark long before then, of course. The shadows crowd ever more thickly, and now she thinks she sees movement as well. Sly, crawling movement. She sits up on the bed, drawing her knees up to her chin, looking now, peering hard into the corner. Relaxing slightly – nothing there after all. But now a sound, sly and stealthy at the edge of hearing, standing out amidst the babble of the other poor souls in this place. She gasps and scoots back slightly on the bed, jammed up against the wall now, staring round wildly. A familiar feeling. The way she felt as a child, in the dark space beneath the stairs, that odd damp, mouldy smell filling her nostrils.
She feels something. Something watching. Looking at her. Then a touch, something sliding along her arm, along her warm, smooth skin. Its touch is cold and moist and she yanks herself away from it in disgust…../i
Faith jerked awake with a strangled yelp, breathing hard, eyes wide as she found herself looking into the face of one of the orderlies. He jerked back with a startled exclamation, hand to his chest, mouth half open in surprise. His face reddened as he looked at her.
"What – what do you want?" she asked, eyes narrowing as she looked at him.
"It's visiting time," he answered, staring at her, leering at the slim outline of her body in the thin white pyjamas. He licked his lips slowly. Faith winced in disgust and drew further back from him. "Better shift yourself, crazy. They ain't gonna wait all day for you." He jerked his head towards the partly open doorway, where a trolley stood, blocking the opening. "And your room needs cleaned. Come on, move your ass. He'll be here to take you down in a minute."