Chapter 1: Indian Island
"Buffy, heads up!"
One week earlier...
Buffy looked up to see the black bag hurled at her. She caught it deftly and scowled at Xander, who chuckled under his breath. She said nothing, though and stowed it onto the small boat as Dawn marched past her and sat, her earphones plugged in her ears.
"Dawn," she called. When Dawn didn't reply and just bobbed more to the tinny music flowing into her ears, Buffy reached over and pulled one of the earphones out and said, more loudly, "Dawn!"
"What?" answered Dawn, testily.
"Think you could help?" her sister added, sarcastically, waving at the bags she and Xander were loading onto the boat.
"I could, but I don't want to. In fact," Dawn stressed. "I don't want to be here. I could be in Sunnydale, enjoying my summer with my friends, but instead you drag me all the way here to *stupid* England for this *stupid* retreat," she grumbled, crossing her arms, defiantly.
Buffy sighed and looked back anxiously to see if Giles had heard. He was still talking to the boat driver. She turned to Dawn and said quietly, "Look, none of us want to be here, okay? But this is important to Giles, so suck it up and try to make the best of it, okay?"
Dawn scowled and pouted some more, but when she saw it was not getting any desirable reaction, she sighed loudly and grabbed the nearest bag to her and tossed it into the boat, without any regards for its contents. She would go, but no one could make her like it.
Buffy winced as the bag landed with an audible thunk and wondered if Willow had anything breakable in there. She looked over to where Willow was getting out of the red bus with Tara and smiled. She was glad the two had finally been able to work through their differences and get back together. Willow needed Tara now, more than ever.
Her smile faded as Spike sauntered out after them. He, on the other hand, was just what she didn't need.
She felt her stomach roll into the familiar waves of doubt and trepidation she had been plagued with since Giles announced this 'retreat' they were to all embark on.
Indian Island. If she squinted into the distance of the dark waters ahead of her, she could see a pinpoint of light. Giles had assured them that the house he managed to procure on the small island off the shore of Devon was just the place to spend a quality weekend, free from the nasties.
"Buffy, are you okay?" She turned to see Angel's worried expression.
"Um… yeah. Just day dreaming, I guess. I mean… night," she babbled, waving at the dark sky. "You know… just thinking," she added, grabbing the next bag, which Angel took from her.
"Why don't you go sit down? I'll finish up here," he said, just as Dawn threw another bag into the boat that elicited the small sound of smashing glass. He winced and said, "Take Dawn with you, okay?"
Buffy nodded, smiling, climbing out of the boat and grabbing Dawn by the collar, despite the protests of the younger Summers girl, just as Anya ran to her bag and opened it, to find two shattered bottles of lotion.
"Do you know how much this lotion cost?" she mourned, scowling at the retreating girl as she closed the bag again.
They sailed out into the dark, away from the shore, away from people and demons, away from life, to the small island and the small house that would be home for three days.
"Ah, here we are," announced Giles, unlocking the front door to usher them into the spacious front lobby. "Welcome to Indian Island."
The ten of them entered, under the weight of their collective baggage, and looked around.
"Wow… this is such a cool place," marveled Willow. "You can feel the energy everywhere…" she started, then quickly recovered, "…that is, if you were looking for that kind of thing… which I'm *so* am not… you know… because of the no magic thing…" Then she saw them all staring at her useless rambling and sighed weakly as Tara put a comforting arm around her shoulder.
"Yes, well… I imagine you feel the protective barrier, Willow," added Giles, clearing his throat. "I had a colleague of mine bind the island. No supernatural powers can be done on the island, thereby eliminating the dangers of demonic activity."
"Wait, so no demon has any powers?" asked Cordy. "Even me?"
"Um, yes, quite right. Although I'm still not sure exactly what your demonic capacity is at the moment," Giles pondered.
Cordelia shrugged and said, "Your guess is as good as mine. Wesley's still working on it and Lorne couldn't read a thing off me."
"What does that no power thing mean, Giles?" asked Buffy. "Does this mean we don't have our powers either? No Slayer powers?"
Giles nodded. "No Slayer powers, no magic, no vengeance," he looked pointedly at Anya, "…no vampiric strength or senses. You all are normal human beings. Well, I would refrain from going out into the sun," he told Angel and Spike. "You are still, technically, vampires."
"Hmm, I didn't notice it until now…" murmured Angel.
"What?" asked Buffy.
"Hear that? Listen."
"Huh?" Buffy strained to hear something, anything, but couldn't. "Angel, I don't hear anything."
Angel grinned. "Neither do I. No heartbeats, no general house sounds, none of the usual stuff I can pick up with my vampiric hearing."
"Can't smell anything, either," added Spike, nodding.
"But… isn't that dangerous?" asked Tara. "We won't be able to defend ourselves."
"Fear not. No demon can exact his own powers here. Besides, the island is completely uninhabited. The only way of getting on or off the island is by boat. Fred Narracott has assured me he will not transport anyone here until he comes to retrieve us on Monday."
"I don't know…" warned Angel. "Tara has a point. And we don't have any weapons," he noted, which had been left on the mainland as per Giles' instruction.
"Please," said Giles. "We are here to relax and to enjoy each other's company." He ignored the snort of sarcasm from Dawn and added, "This is instrumental for us to be able to strengthen our bonds together and work as a team. Now, I've taken great pains to ascertain that we are indeed safe here. All right?" He turned to the rest and said, "Now, then, your chambers are on the second floor. You may want to freshen up. We'll have a late supper in the dining room through there at say, seven. Is that all right?"
Xander nodded as he hefted his bag up the stairs, following a sullen Dawn that stomped her way up. The rest, likewise, took their bags and headed upstairs, choosing a room, and settling in.
Anya unfolded her clothes and put them in the dresser, tossing aside the bag with the broken bottles of lotion.
Darn, no vengeance powers… if only she could teach that spoiled brat a lesson taught her way…
Anya shrugged the thought off and continued to put her stuff away. As she turned towards the closet, she noticed the small, framed picture behind the door. Leaning closer, she noticed it was in fact a poem, with small pictures of Indians all around it. She read:
Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self, and then there were nine.
Nine Little Indian boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves then there were six.
Six Indian boys playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one then there were five.
Five Indian boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery then there were four.
Four Indian boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one then there were three.
Three Indian boys walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one then there were two.
Two Indian boys sitting in the sun;
One got all frizzled up then there was one.
One Indian boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there were none.
Hmm, interesting, she thought. The author must have been a vengeance demon, she thought. She hummed a soft tune as she set about unpacking, pausing every once in a while to read a verse and extrapolate it, to imagine the countless vengeance ideas she could commit when she returned.
Angel sat in the dark room, waiting for seven. His one bag had been unpacked an hour ago and despite the books he brought that were his favorites, he was in no mood to read. So, he brooded. It seemed like a relentless habit he always seemed to fall into when he was in the same vicinity as Buffy. It was hard, with their history, to be with her and not be with her.
Cordy would laugh right about now, if she came to find him there in his black corner. She probably would say that having one lightbulb on wouldn't make him poor, you know. She would exaggerate and say how after a hundred years, you'd think he would be able to learn how to use a light switch. She would come and joke and with just the right quip, she would make him feel guilty about being here, alone in the dark. She would make him feel… thousand times better.
He knew this was hard on her, too. He saw how the others treated her the last few days here in England. When Giles invited him to the retreat and he asked if Cordelia could come, he heard the pause in the old Englishman's voice that spelled volumes. They all still thought of her as she had been in Sunnydale. Queen Cordelia, the selfish, insulting, rich girl. They hadn't yet begun to see the radical change living in LA had forced upon the former cheerleader. But, Angel had only to look into her eyes to see how hurt she was. Angel had only to look to the tightening of her lips as Xander or Buffy or Willow said something to know she would never let that hurt show, preferring to cover it up with her famous Ice Queen routine before allowing them to see how much their words, unintentional or not, hurt. It saddened him to think that neither side would permit each other to expose their true interiors, thus preventing the true Cordelia he had grown to care for to shine.
A soft rapping on the door caused him to raise his head. "Yes?"
"Angel?" came the muffled answer. "Are you ready?" the brunette in question asked.
Angel glanced at the huge grandfather clock in his room beside the window. It was seven. As the clock began to chime, Angel rose and thumped the snout of the huge bear the clock was shaped in. Whoever decorated this house sure had extremely bad taste. Something he knew wouldn't get past Cordelia.
"Yeah, coming," he called, reaching for the light switch.
"You aren't brooding in the dark in there, are you?" Cordelia asked, just as his hand touched the switch. He dropped his hand, chuckling that she knew him so well, and then swung the door open to Cordelia's smile.
"Yes," he admitted, closing the door on the dark room. "Yes, I was."
Spike tugged the black T-shirt on and slipped into his boots, preparing to meet them all downstairs. Why had he come back? He knew England was no longer his home, yet Giles had insisted and…
Since when did Spike feel compelled to listen to a Watcher? No, he came because she had asked him. She wanted him there and like the stupid sheep that he was, he obeyed.
Spike walked over to the dresser, angrily. Picking up his rings, he noticed a small, open Bible to the side. Damn, last thing he needed was to accidentally touch it in the dark or something and burn himself. Spike grabbed a couple of shirts and came to lift the Bible, intending to toss it into the empty drawer, when he noticed a highlighted passage. Leaning over, he read:
The heathen are sunk down in the pit that they made: in the net which they hid is their own foot taken. The Lord is known by the judgment which He executeth: the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. The wicked shall be turned into hell.
These were words of inspiration? he thought sarcastically. He gently lifted the Bible and dumped it in the drawer, sparing it no second thought. Shutting the drawer, he left the room for the dining room downstairs.
Xander waited patiently by the door for Buffy to finish so they could go down to supper. Boy, did women take so long… Something he couldn't completely understand, even after living with Anya for so long.
She still wasn't speaking to him. He had tried to apologize time and time again for the whole wedding fiasco, but she wouldn't hear of it. He realized how much he hurt her, but he knew he would have hurt them both more if they had gone through with the wedding. And now, all he could feel was guilty now that he had found out that it caused her to return to her vengeance roots.
Xander turned when he heard the creak of a door and saw Spike leave his room. He looked at the blond vampire as their eyes met for a second, both sets filled with contempt for each other. Then Spike ambled down the stairs towards the dining room below.
Xander turned back, his face etched with irritation. Three days with not only one, but two vampires that drove him up the wall. Chip or no chip, he would never be able to trust Spike, no matter how much they all said he 'changed'. And as for Angel, he had seen Angel at his worst and wasn't about to forget the monster that lay under that innocent, brooding exterior. Vampires were for staking, is what Xander thought, not befriending. He often thought Buffy should learn that, but she was too trusting, too forgiving. He supposed that's what he adored about his best friend, except when it came to certain vampires.
Suddenly, Xander could think of ten great things he would love to do to those two, thinking of that sadistic poem in his room. Ten little Indian boys…
"Ready?" asked Buffy, coming out of her room, interrupting his train of thought.
"Huh? Uh, yeah, as always," he smiled. He offered her his arm with a gentlemanly bow and said, in a false British accent, "May I escort you to the dining room, my fair lady?"
Buffy smiled widely and took his arm, saying sincerely, "Why, yes, young man, I would be honored."
Dawn sat slumped in her chair, waiting for the others to come and join her, Giles, Willow and Tara at the table. Come on, she thought. The faster this is done, the faster I can go back to my room. Dawn didn't feel like spending a minute longer 'bonding'.
Tara chatted amiably with Giles about some of the things they had seen in London, the two going back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, bringing in the food. Willow, setting out the table, saw Dawn's frustration and understood what it was like to be deprived forcibly of her friends. But she was determined to cheer Dawn up by supplying inane jokes that only served to alienate Dawn more.
Sighing, Willow gave up after a few minutes, turning to Tara with a forlorn expression on her face. Tara tried to find some way of distracting Dawn and said brightly, "Hey, Dawnie, look!" She pointed to the centerpiece on the table with a bright smile. "Aren't they cute?"
Dawn looked at the centerpiece that was a wide multi-colored ceramic plate with ten small statues. She picked one up and examined it. "It's an Indian," Dawn said, dully.
"Yeah, but look… ten!" added Tara, picking up another.
"Ooh, what fun! Just like that poem in my room," Willow said, excitedly. "I have this framed picture with a little rhyme on my wall," she explained. "Ten little Indian boys…"
"…went out to dine…" chimed in Tara. "I have the same one in my room," she added. "Isn't it adorable how everything matches? The centerpiece, the poems, the island? Indian Island?"
Giles, who had come in to hear the last part, said, "Ah, yes, an old English nursery rhyme. I read the same in my room; I gather it is in all of them. I remember it from my youth…"
"Great, an old island, an old house and now, an old lullaby…" grouched Dawn.
Giles ignored her and added, "Seems rather fitting, considering the history of this island, the name and the décor, something I'm not too fond of myself."
"You and me both, Giles. The guy who picked those curtains had to be blind…" said Cordelia as she and Angel walked in the dining room.
"History? What history?" asked Tara.
Giles sat down, taking his handkerchief out to wipe his glasses as he said, "Well, about fifty years ago, a incident occurred here, one never fully explained. It seems ten individuals, strangers actually, were called here and then systematically murdered. The underlying suspicion was that one of them had been the murderer and then committed suicide but the evidence seemed to point otherwise. Somewhat of a mystery, actually."
"Hold on," said Dawn, straightening in her chair, her voice getting more high-pitched as she spoke. "You brought us to an isolated island, in a house where people were killed?"
"Calm down, Dawnie," said Willow, reaching out for the girl.
"Calm down?! How can I calm down?! People died here!" she cried, her voice reverberating through the room, bringing Spike, Buffy and Xander rushing through the door.
"What's going on?!" cried Buffy, hearing her sister's frantic outburst.
"Nothing," said Giles, trying to subdue the situation, but Dawn rose quickly from her chair and grabbed Buffy's arm.
"We are so leaving here. Now!"
Buffy looked confusedly from Dawn to the rest and back. "Dawn, what happened?"
"He," she pointed emphatically at Giles, "brought us to a house with dead people!"
Giles raised his hand at Buffy's startled look and added, "Dawn, those people died fifty years ago. Trust me, the place has been cleaned out…"
"Really?" she said, walking up to him, hand on her hip. "What about ghosts, huh? You didn't think that maybe their spirits are haunting this house, trying to avenge their murderer?" Then she turned, horrified, "What if they think we killed them? What if they come after us, like in that movie? What's it called, when those ghosts started killing the stupid people who locked themselves in?" Panicked, she turned to Buffy, "I'm leaving! No way you're going to make me stay here!"
"Dawn! Get a hold of yourself!" cried Buffy, holding her sister by the arms, stopping her from flying out the room.
"Yes, I did think of that, Dawn," Giles said, calmly. "Which is my colleague also did a spirit cleansing. Trust me, there are no ghosts here. We are perfectly safe."
Tara came up behind Dawn and hugged her, "Yeah, Dawnie, it's okay. Willow and I would have felt if there was any negative energy. It'll be all right."
Tara's words comforted Dawn slightly, enough for her to slump back into her seat. But she crossed her arms and pouted. "Stupid house in stupid England with stupid histories," she grumbled. "Couldn't we just have gone to DisneyWorld?"
They all took their seats just as Anya rushed into the room. "Hmm, I'm late. So, did I miss anything?"
Supper was relatively peaceful and enjoyable once the talk of ghosts and supernatural activity diminished.
They talked and ate and were full. They decided to retire to the adjoining sitting room for dessert and coffee. The clock chimed nine.