Chapter Two: Maggie's Tale
I sit in my wheelchair, legs hanging uselessly (I'm sorry honey, you'll never walk again). The conversation has switched from memories of Theresa to more enjoyable topics. They won't bring up the second casualty, the one that happened so soon after Theresa. As long as I sit here, they will not mourn for me.
A little girl at the table near us stares at me. I turn to look at her and she shrinks away. I guess she saw my scars. I am particularly fond of the faint one on my cheek, the barely visible lines making out a child's rendition of a butterfly. My parents offered to remove that one, but oddly enough it doesn't bother me. That one wasn't from HIM, the betrayer, the monster.
Three days after Theresa...disappeared...I had yet to learn the truth. And like her, that was my undoing.
I was walking home from the library. I had gone there in an effort to do something, anything, to take my mind of the fact Theresa was dead. And the body was missing.
It was dark, but a nice night. It was the last time I walked when the sun did not shine without fear.
"Hey, you're Buffy's friend, aren't you? Could you give her a message for me?"
"Y'know, Angel, I'm not her best bud, but if there's something you want me to tell her, go ahead."
"That's exactly the kind of answer I was looking for."
Then something happened. His face CHANGED.
"Well, you see, the last message I sent to her, I don't think it packed the right punch. Theresa, well, she seems to have not given it the right bite... or maybe too much bite... I'd rather use Willow this time, I admit, but you'll do."
I stared the demon in the face, feeling the fear rush through me, paralyzing, as this monster drew closer.
"You'll do very nicely."
I woke up in a dark room, a crazy eyed brunette standing over me.
"Ooooh, Daddy brought someone home to play with!"
"Yeah, Dru, I figured that after a few of our games, she'll be able to give the Slayer the right kind of message. Nothing works better than the broken body of a friend, right?"
"Playing games with the Slayer like you did with me?"
"Exactly."
I was barely conscious for most of their "games". The pain - to recall what happened is fragmented, bits and pieces strung together, like scenes from a horror movie.
They fed from me. Later on, I learned that's what it was. My neck, my wrists ... nothing was left unbitten. Then the knives came out.
Angel (what happened? who is this creature?) started with cuts all over, intricate designs. Then he said he was bored, and gave the knife to Crazy Eyes.
"I'll paint you face like they do at the fair! Little girls should have flowers and butterflies on their cheeks and sing to the fairies."
I cried and I sobbed, but that just made them laugh. THEY LAUGHED.
HE bent down, having moved on to playing with matches, and whispered, "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. I want you to tell Buffy that Angel sends his love. Repeat after me, Angel sends his love."
I whimper, my tongue bleeding and lips swollen, grabbing onto this chance to survive.
"Angel sends his love."
But the agony continues. And then it stops. Crazy Eyes is hungry and drags HIM away to eat, saying "I like this toy, can we get another?"
What happened later echoes through my mind, even now. With them gone, I somehow find the strength to stand - survival instincts and adrenaline saying Now's you're chance, you can escape.
A blond man in a wheelchair sits near the door. He had joined in for some parts, I think, but then he says to himself, "Angelus would be awfully upset if the girl escapes." He pushes it open.
I stagger my way to freedom, only to crash into my tormentors halfway down the street.
"It's not nice to run before the race has started," Crazy Eyes speaks, "Angelus, make her stop racing! She's being very bad and should sit on the sidelines, like cheaters should."
HE grabs me. Something snaps. And then it is dark.
I awoke in a hospital, raving over and over "Angel sends his love."
Or so I'm told. It was about two months before I really remember anything. Apparently, after I blacked out the last time, HE and Crazy Eyes had to leave me there, since sun rise was hitting the street by then. I had been missing for thirty six hours.
I didn't leave the hospital completely until after senior year. All the authorities proclaimed my ravings the result of intensive trauma. It's really hard to be counseled about vampire attacks when your therapist doesn't believe in vampires.
After I learned the complete truth, from Linda and Yvonne and Sharon, who got it from Willow, I almost lost what little grip I had left.
HE was AMUSING HIMSELF with my torture as a means to GET BACK at his GIRLFRIEND, Buffy. I was a passing moment in a scheme for revenge.
I felt better after Willow said HE got sent to hell. Of course, that nice feeling ended when HE returned, with a shiny soul giving HIM special FORGIVENESS from Buffy, whose job it was to deal with creatures like HIM, to PROTECT INNOCENTS from MONSTERS like HIM.
I live on my own, in an apartment for assisted living, seeing as how I'm paralyzed from the waist down - the final present from HIM. My rooms are filled with crosses, with big windows to let the sunlight in. The number of new people invited into my home is non existent. I carry a water gun filled with holy water. I exist in a state of perpetual fear, because of HIM.
I sit in my wheelchair, legs hanging uselessly (I'm sorry honey, you'll never walk again). The conversation has switched from memories of Theresa to more enjoyable topics. They won't bring up the second casualty, the one that happened so soon after Theresa. As long as I sit here, they will not mourn for me.
A little girl at the table near us stares at me. I turn to look at her and she shrinks away. I guess she saw my scars. I am particularly fond of the faint one on my cheek, the barely visible lines making out a child's rendition of a butterfly. My parents offered to remove that one, but oddly enough it doesn't bother me. That one wasn't from HIM, the betrayer, the monster.
Three days after Theresa...disappeared...I had yet to learn the truth. And like her, that was my undoing.
I was walking home from the library. I had gone there in an effort to do something, anything, to take my mind of the fact Theresa was dead. And the body was missing.
It was dark, but a nice night. It was the last time I walked when the sun did not shine without fear.
"Hey, you're Buffy's friend, aren't you? Could you give her a message for me?"
"Y'know, Angel, I'm not her best bud, but if there's something you want me to tell her, go ahead."
"That's exactly the kind of answer I was looking for."
Then something happened. His face CHANGED.
"Well, you see, the last message I sent to her, I don't think it packed the right punch. Theresa, well, she seems to have not given it the right bite... or maybe too much bite... I'd rather use Willow this time, I admit, but you'll do."
I stared the demon in the face, feeling the fear rush through me, paralyzing, as this monster drew closer.
"You'll do very nicely."
I woke up in a dark room, a crazy eyed brunette standing over me.
"Ooooh, Daddy brought someone home to play with!"
"Yeah, Dru, I figured that after a few of our games, she'll be able to give the Slayer the right kind of message. Nothing works better than the broken body of a friend, right?"
"Playing games with the Slayer like you did with me?"
"Exactly."
I was barely conscious for most of their "games". The pain - to recall what happened is fragmented, bits and pieces strung together, like scenes from a horror movie.
They fed from me. Later on, I learned that's what it was. My neck, my wrists ... nothing was left unbitten. Then the knives came out.
Angel (what happened? who is this creature?) started with cuts all over, intricate designs. Then he said he was bored, and gave the knife to Crazy Eyes.
"I'll paint you face like they do at the fair! Little girls should have flowers and butterflies on their cheeks and sing to the fairies."
I cried and I sobbed, but that just made them laugh. THEY LAUGHED.
HE bent down, having moved on to playing with matches, and whispered, "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. I want you to tell Buffy that Angel sends his love. Repeat after me, Angel sends his love."
I whimper, my tongue bleeding and lips swollen, grabbing onto this chance to survive.
"Angel sends his love."
But the agony continues. And then it stops. Crazy Eyes is hungry and drags HIM away to eat, saying "I like this toy, can we get another?"
What happened later echoes through my mind, even now. With them gone, I somehow find the strength to stand - survival instincts and adrenaline saying Now's you're chance, you can escape.
A blond man in a wheelchair sits near the door. He had joined in for some parts, I think, but then he says to himself, "Angelus would be awfully upset if the girl escapes." He pushes it open.
I stagger my way to freedom, only to crash into my tormentors halfway down the street.
"It's not nice to run before the race has started," Crazy Eyes speaks, "Angelus, make her stop racing! She's being very bad and should sit on the sidelines, like cheaters should."
HE grabs me. Something snaps. And then it is dark.
I awoke in a hospital, raving over and over "Angel sends his love."
Or so I'm told. It was about two months before I really remember anything. Apparently, after I blacked out the last time, HE and Crazy Eyes had to leave me there, since sun rise was hitting the street by then. I had been missing for thirty six hours.
I didn't leave the hospital completely until after senior year. All the authorities proclaimed my ravings the result of intensive trauma. It's really hard to be counseled about vampire attacks when your therapist doesn't believe in vampires.
After I learned the complete truth, from Linda and Yvonne and Sharon, who got it from Willow, I almost lost what little grip I had left.
HE was AMUSING HIMSELF with my torture as a means to GET BACK at his GIRLFRIEND, Buffy. I was a passing moment in a scheme for revenge.
I felt better after Willow said HE got sent to hell. Of course, that nice feeling ended when HE returned, with a shiny soul giving HIM special FORGIVENESS from Buffy, whose job it was to deal with creatures like HIM, to PROTECT INNOCENTS from MONSTERS like HIM.
I live on my own, in an apartment for assisted living, seeing as how I'm paralyzed from the waist down - the final present from HIM. My rooms are filled with crosses, with big windows to let the sunlight in. The number of new people invited into my home is non existent. I carry a water gun filled with holy water. I exist in a state of perpetual fear, because of HIM.