THIRTY-SIX

* * *

They came and went for many days, all like shadows, memories, pieces of a whole she could not fully picture. Mom and Dad, looking tired, worn, angry, helpless. Xander and Giles and Dawn and Tara, Dawn crying a lot and Xander less and Giles looking like he wanted to, and Tara just smiling at her in that lost way she always did, caressing her cheek kindly, her face too drawn in its own pain for tears, too empty in sadness. Cynthia and Mom, talking to her, trying to smile, trying to talk a little, as though she would answer.

But she didn't. Not for any of them.

They were shadows, unreal, distant.

There was no world. It was all a lie.

But it was all there was.

Almost.

Garrett.

Garrett came and when he was there the world was there, a room with a bed where they kept her arms and legs fastened down sometimes, where other shadows appeared and disappeared, too faint to even have names. But it was there, the world was, there and fixed because of him, solid and substantial whenever he came into the room.

What are you? she wanted to ask, but the words never came.

Other words did.

I am Buffy. I am. I am.

Stories. I am stories.

I was a cheerleader in junior high. I went to Emory High School. I went to Johnson High School. My best friend is Cynthia. I slay vampires and save the world. My sister Dawn is a key of glowing energy. My best friend was Willow, who is dead now because I couldn't protect her. My dad died in a car wreck and my mom is sad. My mom died and I found her on the sofa. My mom and dad are sad because I am crazy. Sometimes I hear voices. Did you know that vampires and demons are real?

Stories, over and over, making no sense, having no pattern. Just stories.

I am Buffy.

I am.

I am.