Title: Deadly Memories
Author: mahaliem
Rating: R
Summary: Prequel to "Xander Harris – Carpenter Extraordinaire" Future Xander, haunted by the past, must save the world.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy
Memories of actions taken, or not taken, are a special brand of torture. For the ones that had little or no consequences, there might be only a twinge of regret. For the slightly larger, 'Dad, I swear that parked car came out of nowhere' type, it's a small splinter, but embed in the skin so deeply it will never be extracted. Some of my memories are the big, burning hot poker twisting in the intestines kind. Others are worse.
– Life, Death, and Other Things I'm Not Very Good At
by A. L. Harris
Part 3
By the time Drusilla came back to the room, I'd managed to work myself into a frenzy of agitation. The fact that she immediately flew to my side and looked up at my face with a coy little smile didn't help. Gently, I gripped her arms and pushed her a few inches away.
"Drusilla, I appreciate the fact that you saved my life; really, I do. But I've got to go."
"Nooo. Mustn't go. Nasty things will happen. The knight must do battle. Save the people…even if a princess dies."
"And I'm the knight? Don't think so. I'm not saving anyone."
"But I saw it. The seer will see no more. Blood will be consumed - the murderous child, the virgin crone, and the hopeless man. Then the future, present, past is no more."
Exasperated, I glared at her.
"Don't you understand? I. Don't. Care. I'm not your 'kitten' and I'm not your 'knight', either. I'm just a guy who hasn't managed to die yet."
She backed away from me, her eyes hardening, her voice low, but filled with venom when she spoke.
"Go, then. Leave. Run from destiny."
"I will!"
I stomped to the door, making sure to slam it as I left. Within a few minutes, I was back, feeling a bit sheepish.
"Drusilla, would you mind showing me the way out?"
* * * * *
Back at my place, I showered and napped for a couple of hours. Somehow, being unconscious really isn't all that restful. When I woke back up, I dressed, fixed myself some coffee and toast, and turned on the television. It was good to be home. Even if home was a pit.
Uncle Rory had lived here for a few years, before dying and leaving all of his worldly possessions to his favorite and only nephew. Me. The house wasn't much - a bedroom, bath, and kitchen, but there was a huge room out front. Someone in the past had gotten the not-so-bright idea to knock down the walls between the living area and the attached garage. I don't know why they'd done it, but Uncle Rory had used that part of the house as his work area.
Now, I suppose I'm probably squeamish, but Uncle Rory had been a taxidermist, and the whole thought of the cleaning and stuffing dead animals only yards from where you slept gave me a serious case of the wiggins. As I sat at the kitchen table, the television flickering in front of me, I could see a few of his projects still littering the tables in the other room. Sometimes, I even imagined that the stuffed heads and animals watched me contemptuously as I wandered around my home.
My eyes lit on a longhaired black cat that someone had hired Rory to stuff, probably in a fit of grief, since grief can sometimes make you do the wacky. They'd obviously gotten over it pretty quickly, though, because they'd failed to return and pick it up. I should give it to Drusilla, I thought. With that whole kitten thing of hers, she'd probably love it. And Lord knows she couldn't be trusted with a live pet.
Damn. I had to stop thinking about her. Had to stop thinking about what she'd said. I wasn't a world savior. Except for that time with Willow and the yellow crayon, I never had been. I'd left the rough stuff to Buffy and the others. Maybe that's why I was still alive.
It was then I realized that I hadn't woken up screaming and sweating, pawing at the sheets from the nightmares that had snuck up on me while I slept, and taken over. This time, there'd been no images of blood that were burned into my mind, no sounds of screams ringing in my ears until I wished for deafness, no pain clawing at my insides, twisting my guts with the knowledge that I'd failed them all once more.
Standing, I went to a cabinet drawer and pulled it open. There lay the orange jar filled with pills they'd given me for my injuries. I'd saved them, hoarded them for a day when the pain of living might be too much for me to endure. I twisted open the lid and gazed at the rattling tickets to oblivion. After a few quiet moments, I did, as I'd always done so far. I put the lid back on, returned the container to the drawer, and closed it.
I wasn't paying too much attention to the television, so when the anime show ended and the news came on, I didn't switch channels. I was still staring into space, contemplating the twists, turns, and huge dips in the road my life seemed to be taking, when something the newscaster said caught my attention.
"A spokesperson for Juvenile Hall stated that the cause of death is still unknown. Unnamed sources, however, reported that the victim had multiple stab wounds and most likely died from loss of blood. There is a supposition that the killing of the thirteen-year old may have been in retaliation for the three gang members the victim was convicted of murdering last year."
Crap! What had Drusilla said? The blood from a murderous child? Looked like whoever was intent on ending the world had just checked item number one off of their list.
* * * * *
I stood at the back of St. Mary's Catholic Church on 5th Street and Cortez, and waited for the mass to end. You'd think that churches would make me feel safe, since it was a place that vampires and demons rarely ventured. Instead, they gave me the chills. All those saints looking down on me made me feel like I'd never be good enough for them. The crucifixion was worse, creating a horrible welling of guilt and resentment in me. He died for my sins? Did anyone ever hear me ask him to do that?
The congregation, which was almost entirely composed of elderly women with dark scarves covering their gray hair, was filing out, though many took the opportunity to chat with the priest, Father Murry, before leaving. Father Murry was the epitome of the stereotypical short, kind, grandfatherly priest…as long as that priest was on steroids.
Yeah, he was short, but his slightly stooped shoulders were broad, and despite the years, he didn't have much fat on him. Sort of the Jack La Lane of religion. The kind of priest that would go to his grave wrestling with the devil. While he was distracted, I took the liberty of filling up a couple of bottles full of holy water to go with the stakes I had in my pocket and hidden in my sleeve.
When we were pretty much the only two people left, I approached him, still clutching the newspaper obituary column in my hand. He eyed me with suspicion. Weren't priests supposed to trust other people? Wasn't there a rule about that?
"Good evening, my son. I haven't seen you here before."
"Nope. First time."
"Hopefully, it won't be your last."
I simply shrugged in reply, in a hurry to get the information I needed.
"I saw in the newspaper that Margaret Catherine Wilson was a member of your congregation before she died."
Lowering his voice and his eyes in sorrow, Father Murry nodded.
"She attended services regularly, health permitting. Such a tragedy. One would think that after living to see one hundred and five, the end would be peaceful. To die so violently…how horrible for her."
"Yeah. It sucks. But you were her confessor, right? The one who knew her best?"
Again, the priest nodded.
"All of her relatives had died off, or moved away. She never had any children of her own."
"So, since you knew her so well…you'd know if she was a virgin or not."
The fist came out of nowhere, knocking me to the marble-tiled floor. Father Murry stood over me, shaking in what he probably considered to be righteous rage.
"Get out of my church!"
"Jesus Christ! You hit me!"
"Blasphemer! Get out now, or as God is my witness in this holy place of his, I'll hit you again!"
I scrambled to my feet.
"Fine. You can keep hitting me all you want. I can take it. But I still need to know if she was a virgin."
The priest swung his fist again, but this time I was ready, and managed to block it. When he threw another punch, I grabbed his arm and yanked it hard, causing him to lose his balance and tumble to the floor.
"Damn it! Tell me! Was she a virgin? I'm trying to save the world here!"
"Save the world? You?" he asked in amazement, his anger fading.
"That was my reaction, too. Not a Slayer or a Watcher, and definitely not a champion. No magical powers whatsoever, but I'm the one picked to do the deed."
Father Murry stared at me for a moment, assessing me, before wearily rising to his feet, and I felt a little guilty. He was an old man, after all. But I shook off the feeling…he'd started it first, and my jaw still ached. He didn't look like he was readying to attack again, but I took a couple of steps back, just in case he changed his mind. His eyebrow arched as he studied me in my t-shirt that had seen better days and my paint-spotted sweats.
"You know of Slayers and Watchers?"
"Intimately. Well, really only intimately with one of them…though I was friends with a Slayer and Watcher for years and years. How do you know about them?"
Sighing, he moved to a pew and sat, easing his body down.
"My cousin was a Watcher. He died several years ago, along with the young girl he was training. Some of the things he used to tell me… He opened my eyes to certain realities of this world that others prefer not to see."
"Oh." I paused for a moment, before continuing. "Then you'll help me?"
His eyes flickered back over me, and then he turned to study the altar in front of him, avoiding my gaze.
"Margaret Wilson was a fine lady. She was raised in another era, one much more restrictive than what we live in now. When she was young, she was engaged, but I believe her fiancé died from influenza a few weeks before the marriage was to take place."
Turning to face me, I could tell he was doing his best not to violate the sanctity of the confessional while aiding me.
"I cannot tell you what you need to know. I don't know the truth myself."
"But she probably was?"
Reluctantly, he nodded. Okay. Now the bad guy had two out of three. The third was a man without hope. That wouldn't be much of a hurdle. You can find one of those in alleys, shelters, and under bridges in any major city these days. I was going to have to go see Drusilla to find out if she knew of any way to stop this. I started to leave, but Father Murry reached out and grabbed my hand.
"Who are you?"
"No one special. Just a carpenter."
Father Murry smiled, then. The warmth spread, and his eyes softened and became kind before I turned away. In a voice just a little above a whisper, he called to me as I walked towards the exit.
"Let me know if you ever need my help. I have a special fondness for carpenters."
* * * * *
I returned to the bar where Drusilla lived. It was called The King of Cups and was definitely in the sleazier part of town. There was a parking lot in front of it, but it was pretty much empty. I guess most demons and vampires weren't big on cars.
When I walked in, Marvin and Leon were standing next to the bar. They didn't move when they saw me, so I went over to them.
"Xander, you shouldn't be here," said Marvin, through clenched teeth.
"Yeah, you might give this place a bad reputation," added Leon.
"I need to talk to Drusilla."
Marvin moved so that he was just inches away. I was forced to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
"You can't see her."
"Who's going to stop me? You, Marvin?"
"Hey," interjected Leon. "She's not here. We don't know where she is."
"She's not here?"
Oh, crap. The 'seer will see no more' bit. That must have meant Drusilla. I was starting to panic. When I panic, it's not pretty. I flail about, my voice gets high and screechy, and I usually end up doing something stupid. This time was no exception.
"Well, you can find her, right?" I squeaked. "Track her down by her scent or something?"
"And why should I do that, boy?"
Okay, here was where the doing something stupid part began. I don't know if it was the way Marvin was looking down on me; I don't know if it was the thought of impending doom, and I don't know if this had just been a bad twenty-four hours - a real Jack Bauer kind of a day. But, I lost it.
"Don't call me 'boy'!"
Putting my hands on Marvin's chest, I shoved him as hard as I could, causing him to stumble back a few steps. When he straightened up, he looked furious, but I didn't care.
"I've fought alongside the Scourge of Europe, was roommate to William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, was, for a brief period, Dracula's butt monkey, and recently, as I'm sure you're aware of, had a fling with Drusilla. I was there when the Slayer smashed the Master's bones. I was there when the Slayer defeated a hell god. And I was there when the Mayor ascended and screwed up graduation day, which I'm still pissed about because I worked my ass off to pass those stupid classes. I've faced down a witch bent on ending the world, jilted a vengeance demon at the altar, and hosted my parents' twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party. I may be a hell of a lot of things, but I am not a boy!"
Whoa, talk about calling attention to yourself. Every eye in the bar was on me. I took a deep breath, and lowered my voice to a tense harshness.
"Now, are you going to help me find Drusilla or not?"
"No."
I swung my fist at him. He must have thought I was going to hit him, because he just stood there with a big smirk on his face. When I slipped the stake hidden in my sleeve into my hand, that smirk disappeared into a big cloud of dust.
"The boss! You killed him!" cried Leon.
"Guess what…you've just been promoted," I snarled.
The smarmy vampire just stared at me, mouth agape. I turned my attention on him fully, and he took a couple of steps back.
"Here's the $64,000 question, Leon. Are you going to help me find Dru?"
"Sure, sure, whatever you say."
The bar was as still and silent as a tomb when Leon and I left, letting the door close behind us with a bang.
TBC