~Buffy~
The dreams had been getting worse. I hadn't had prophetic dreams in a long
time, so I guess I was sort of out of practice at it. And they weren't
specific, which annoyed the hell out of me. They were just horrifying. I
woke up with such a feeling of terror every morning that I couldn't describe
it if I wanted to.
I hadn't told Giles because I had been having them for about a month before
he called us all in to that meeting to explain what was going on again in
Sunnydale, and I thought they were just nightmares. Vague, chaotic
nightmares. With the sounds of screams and weeping and too-quick flashes of
light and dark.
I never slept really well, anyway.
So when Oz came in that morning making an expression-- one of the worst
expressions, I might add-- I wasn't even surprised. It all came with a sort
of frightening familiarity to me, that this was going to happen. So I pulled
on Oz's arm and asked him to take me where the woman had died. He didn't
look all that happy to go back, but he complied.
When we got there, before I even stepped inside the house, I could feel the
presence of death. Okay, so maybe I wasn't as far off my game as I thought I
was. Oz lifted his chin in the direction of the kitchen and I saw his
nostrils flare-- whether he was scenting or just disturbed I couldn't tell.
With a sigh I approached. And nearly gagged at what met my eyes.
I had seen a lot of grotesque things in my line of work, things that haunt my
dreams even now, but I had gotten out of the habit of expecting the worst and
actually getting it.
I tried not to look at the woman's broken, bloody body and instead studied
the blood message on the floor. Just as I had hoped. There was a streak
after the 'd' in 'hide' that could have been mistaken for an 'e.' I pointed
it out to Oz. "See that? I think she was trying to tell us that she hid the
cabinet."
"All right," he said slowly, "Which leaves us the relatively easy task of
finding the hidden cabinet. And of course I mean 'relatively easy' as in
'really really hard.'"
I nodded with a sigh. "Okay. Why don't you look through the bedrooms and
I'll check out the kitchen and living room?"
"Okay." As he moved into the back, I began wandering around the kitchen.
Even through the gore of death and the giant mess that whoever killed her had
created while looking for these books, I could see that her house was clean.
The parts of the counters that weren't covered with blood were polished to a
high shine. The carpet in the living room, though covered with books and
papers and clothes, had been freshly vacuumed. I wondered about what kind of
a person she was for a moment and then shook off the thought-- no matter how
bad I might feel about her death, I couldn't do anything about it right then
and should be focusing on finding the books anyway.
I took a cursory glance under the sink, in the drawers that had been torn out
and in the cupboards above the counter, but saw nothing but cleaning
supplies, silverware and dishes. Maybe she hadn't even hidden them here.
Maybe there was another place, somewhere far away, that she hadn't had the
chance to write about before she died.
I took a long glance out of the French doors that led outside to her peaceful
backyard, wishing that I could just walk around out there for a long time,
swing in her hammock, and forget the problems of the world-- literally-- for
a while. She had a beautiful garden, bright flower colors and rich, turned
soil.
I heard Oz rustling around in one of the bedrooms and snapped out of my
little reverie, feeling ashamed. Walking into the den, I checked through the
desk and on the shelves, even knocking on the walls to check for
hollow-sounding places, but found nothing.
After a while of this Oz returned, his eyes defeated. "Sorry."
"No, me too," I shrugged apologetically. "They might have already found it,
might've even been here when she wrote the message. Probably, as a matter of
fact. We should go, tell Giles. Maybe there's a spell or something that
Willow and he can do to find out where the books are."
"Probably a bunch of different types of locator spells," Oz agreed as he
followed me out, "But Giles would have probably thought of that if it was
possible before asking me to call around for the books. Unless he just
really wanted us all to work for our lives."
I let myself smile. "He does enjoy watching us research until we can't see
through the bored, sleepy tears in our eyes. I think he still has a little
bit of Ripper left."
"Oh, I'm sure of it." Oz smiled back at me, and for a moment everything felt
almost okay again. We were just two friends, joking with each other, on our
way to another friend's house. Everything that we had seen in that house
seemed almost like a bad dream, like something that never really happened.
Almost.
As we got into the van, I stopped for some reason, glancing behind me. Oz
looked at me. "What is it?"
"I don't know." The feeling was hard to describe. A hesitation in leaving,
a fear of what would happen once I did. "It's like when you go on vacation
and you know you've left something at home," I murmured. "Maybe you forgot
your toothbrush or left the iron on, but you just don't know. You know?"
"Hmm." He narrowed his eyes, looking back at the house. "I know what you
*mean*, but..."
"But you don't feel it?"
"Sorry."
"No, it's probably me just being paranoid." I shrugged and hopped in. Oz
started the engine and then turned it off as we heard a small ring. We
exchanged surprised looks for a minute and then laughed as Oz reached across
me to the glove box and pulled out a cell phone.
"I forget that I have it sometimes," he explained, switching it on. "Hello?
...Yeah, here she is." He handed the phone to me. "Giles."
"Hey. What's going on?"
"Well, I just ran across..." Giles paused, and I could hear papers rustling
in the background. "Have you found them yet?"
"No. We were just on our way back, we think they've been taken. What did
you run across?"
"Translated, I should say," he corrected himself. "I wasn't certain of the
language it was in before, but I figured it out this morning. Anyhow. It
says, about the scrolls, that death shall point the way. I thought that
might assist you in some way."
Something clicked in the back of my mind and I stepped back out of the van.
"Yeah. It does." Without further explanation-- I knew he wouldn't need it--
I ended the connection and walked back into the house, directly into the
kitchen. Oz joined me a moment later.
"Buffy? What is it?"
"I thought that there was something missing from this," I said, gesturing to
the body. "Giles said that death shall point the way."
He followed my gaze. "Do you mean literally?"
"It couldn't hurt to think so."
She had one remaining finger on her hands, and it pointed to the doors
leading outside. Slowly, working it out in my head, I explained my thoughts
to Oz. "I thought that there was... Notice how her hand is about two feet
from where she must've written the message?"
He lifted his head in acknowledgment. "So outside we go?"
I sighed. "Outside we go."
The dreams had been getting worse. I hadn't had prophetic dreams in a long
time, so I guess I was sort of out of practice at it. And they weren't
specific, which annoyed the hell out of me. They were just horrifying. I
woke up with such a feeling of terror every morning that I couldn't describe
it if I wanted to.
I hadn't told Giles because I had been having them for about a month before
he called us all in to that meeting to explain what was going on again in
Sunnydale, and I thought they were just nightmares. Vague, chaotic
nightmares. With the sounds of screams and weeping and too-quick flashes of
light and dark.
I never slept really well, anyway.
So when Oz came in that morning making an expression-- one of the worst
expressions, I might add-- I wasn't even surprised. It all came with a sort
of frightening familiarity to me, that this was going to happen. So I pulled
on Oz's arm and asked him to take me where the woman had died. He didn't
look all that happy to go back, but he complied.
When we got there, before I even stepped inside the house, I could feel the
presence of death. Okay, so maybe I wasn't as far off my game as I thought I
was. Oz lifted his chin in the direction of the kitchen and I saw his
nostrils flare-- whether he was scenting or just disturbed I couldn't tell.
With a sigh I approached. And nearly gagged at what met my eyes.
I had seen a lot of grotesque things in my line of work, things that haunt my
dreams even now, but I had gotten out of the habit of expecting the worst and
actually getting it.
I tried not to look at the woman's broken, bloody body and instead studied
the blood message on the floor. Just as I had hoped. There was a streak
after the 'd' in 'hide' that could have been mistaken for an 'e.' I pointed
it out to Oz. "See that? I think she was trying to tell us that she hid the
cabinet."
"All right," he said slowly, "Which leaves us the relatively easy task of
finding the hidden cabinet. And of course I mean 'relatively easy' as in
'really really hard.'"
I nodded with a sigh. "Okay. Why don't you look through the bedrooms and
I'll check out the kitchen and living room?"
"Okay." As he moved into the back, I began wandering around the kitchen.
Even through the gore of death and the giant mess that whoever killed her had
created while looking for these books, I could see that her house was clean.
The parts of the counters that weren't covered with blood were polished to a
high shine. The carpet in the living room, though covered with books and
papers and clothes, had been freshly vacuumed. I wondered about what kind of
a person she was for a moment and then shook off the thought-- no matter how
bad I might feel about her death, I couldn't do anything about it right then
and should be focusing on finding the books anyway.
I took a cursory glance under the sink, in the drawers that had been torn out
and in the cupboards above the counter, but saw nothing but cleaning
supplies, silverware and dishes. Maybe she hadn't even hidden them here.
Maybe there was another place, somewhere far away, that she hadn't had the
chance to write about before she died.
I took a long glance out of the French doors that led outside to her peaceful
backyard, wishing that I could just walk around out there for a long time,
swing in her hammock, and forget the problems of the world-- literally-- for
a while. She had a beautiful garden, bright flower colors and rich, turned
soil.
I heard Oz rustling around in one of the bedrooms and snapped out of my
little reverie, feeling ashamed. Walking into the den, I checked through the
desk and on the shelves, even knocking on the walls to check for
hollow-sounding places, but found nothing.
After a while of this Oz returned, his eyes defeated. "Sorry."
"No, me too," I shrugged apologetically. "They might have already found it,
might've even been here when she wrote the message. Probably, as a matter of
fact. We should go, tell Giles. Maybe there's a spell or something that
Willow and he can do to find out where the books are."
"Probably a bunch of different types of locator spells," Oz agreed as he
followed me out, "But Giles would have probably thought of that if it was
possible before asking me to call around for the books. Unless he just
really wanted us all to work for our lives."
I let myself smile. "He does enjoy watching us research until we can't see
through the bored, sleepy tears in our eyes. I think he still has a little
bit of Ripper left."
"Oh, I'm sure of it." Oz smiled back at me, and for a moment everything felt
almost okay again. We were just two friends, joking with each other, on our
way to another friend's house. Everything that we had seen in that house
seemed almost like a bad dream, like something that never really happened.
Almost.
As we got into the van, I stopped for some reason, glancing behind me. Oz
looked at me. "What is it?"
"I don't know." The feeling was hard to describe. A hesitation in leaving,
a fear of what would happen once I did. "It's like when you go on vacation
and you know you've left something at home," I murmured. "Maybe you forgot
your toothbrush or left the iron on, but you just don't know. You know?"
"Hmm." He narrowed his eyes, looking back at the house. "I know what you
*mean*, but..."
"But you don't feel it?"
"Sorry."
"No, it's probably me just being paranoid." I shrugged and hopped in. Oz
started the engine and then turned it off as we heard a small ring. We
exchanged surprised looks for a minute and then laughed as Oz reached across
me to the glove box and pulled out a cell phone.
"I forget that I have it sometimes," he explained, switching it on. "Hello?
...Yeah, here she is." He handed the phone to me. "Giles."
"Hey. What's going on?"
"Well, I just ran across..." Giles paused, and I could hear papers rustling
in the background. "Have you found them yet?"
"No. We were just on our way back, we think they've been taken. What did
you run across?"
"Translated, I should say," he corrected himself. "I wasn't certain of the
language it was in before, but I figured it out this morning. Anyhow. It
says, about the scrolls, that death shall point the way. I thought that
might assist you in some way."
Something clicked in the back of my mind and I stepped back out of the van.
"Yeah. It does." Without further explanation-- I knew he wouldn't need it--
I ended the connection and walked back into the house, directly into the
kitchen. Oz joined me a moment later.
"Buffy? What is it?"
"I thought that there was something missing from this," I said, gesturing to
the body. "Giles said that death shall point the way."
He followed my gaze. "Do you mean literally?"
"It couldn't hurt to think so."
She had one remaining finger on her hands, and it pointed to the doors
leading outside. Slowly, working it out in my head, I explained my thoughts
to Oz. "I thought that there was... Notice how her hand is about two feet
from where she must've written the message?"
He lifted his head in acknowledgment. "So outside we go?"
I sighed. "Outside we go."