Chapter 2
************************
The signal cut out, the sound died, leaving only a black screen as the group sat there in silence for a moment before Xander spoke.
'The address.....?' he growled.
'Xander, we..,' Oz tried to calm him.
It was like trying to stop a glacier with a campfire.
'You saw the mole. You saw it and you know what that means... you know who she is!! I made a promise. Damnit Oz, you KNOW that. I don't have a choice and you know why.'
'Xander, you need to ....'
'You saw it Oz, you know who it is, you know why she's there..'
'And you know as well. She may be too far gone. She may be dead. We lost the signal 2 days ago and haven't found it since - and you know we should have done.'
The logic was inescapable, and as fast as Xander's outburst has begun it was broken, as fast as his cold rage had risen it was stilled. For a second or two it even silenced him. But logic can only calm a rage - it can't end it entirely.
'You've never met her and the odds on her still living are tiny Xander. You know it and I know it.'
'You know it isn't just her Oz. You think she's the only one to suffer like that? You think I haven't...it doesn't matter, and you know it. You know what we have to do, what I have to do and you know why. It's why you called me here. You saw the same pictures, you saw the same things, and you know what I have to do..'
'Some say you don't care anymore Xander. That you don't save them anymore. There are rumors that...'
Oz didn't quite finish his response, his voice trailing off into silence, unwilling to voice the question. He knew almost everything about his long time companion, but there had always been lines that had never been crossed.
'Rumors? There have always been rumors Oz, there always will be. What particular rumor is this one?'
He'd wondered when the question would arise. It had been inevitable that Oz would ask it at some point, with his sources of information he was almost surprised that it had taken until now for it to be voiced.
'The rumors say that you've killed....'
'The rumors are true.'
That was it.
No explanations.
No excuses.
Voicing the terrible truth that he had done what once would have been impossible for him.
He'd killed a slayer.
*********************
Oz merely studied him in silence, regarding him through half-closed eyes, faint creases around them the only sign of the activity running through his mind.
'But you still have to save this one?'
Oz had heard the rumors.
But being Oz, he'd also heard the background behind those same rumors, had heard the details that would normally be ignored, lost in the shadows.
'This one is innocent'
That was all Xander had to say. He knew his reasons, and his were the only ones that mattered. Right or wrong, for good or bad. He had no doubts, no misgivings, knew he would do the same again.
Easy to tell himself in the light.
Harder to believe in the darkness.
That was all Oz had to hear though. This was not his business, and, beyond his debt to Xander, not his concern. He had his own issues, his own priorities, priorities more important than debating the grey areas of their lives. Sometimes repaying a debt is more important than being right.
Keeshan spoke up for the first time without being addressed, her inbuilt desire for knowledge, part of the reason she was here in the first place, overwhelming her natural reserve, overwhelming even her apprehension of the scarred figure beside her.
'I don't understand. Who is she? What did you mean about the mole? The Tamarish is right, she's probably dead already. You're...well...you. If you've never met her before, why do you care?,' she questioned, puzzlement showing in her tone, the images of the screen appearing to have no effect on her emotions.
'I don't care for her,' Xander replied. 'I care because that mole on her shoulder, the fact that she was still alive in that condition and the demons that showed in the clip can mean only one thing. That girl is a Slayer.'
He spoke the last sentence as if his words were enough, as if just saying it had answered all of Keeshan's questions, as if they had a layer of meaning that went beyond mere language.
To the man, to the werewolf, in the wheelchair, they did, but lacking the knowledge that Oz carried, lacking the familiarity needed to interpret the response, Keeshan could only ask again,
'But why do you need to do anything? And why does the Tamarish need to help you?'
Oz's eyes met Xander's, a sad twitch of his lips his only response to the question.
'I help because Xander has asked me to,' Oz replied.
'And you - why do you care, why do you help?,' she continued to the dark figure beside him.
Xander made eye contact with her for the first time, a deep sadness now emanating from his eyes, the rage that had flared only moments earlier now gone, an icy resolve beginning to take its place.
....
..
.
..
'I made a commitment. I can't break it, can't avoid it, can't forget it..
'I made a promise to a friend.'
****************************************************
It had taken almost a full day to reach the garage. Without a witch or mage in the area with the skill to prepare a transportation spell in the time available, he had been forced to fly, and even with a chartered jet at top speed, it had taken time.
Time they all knew the woman.....the girl....didn't have.
He had arrived at the outskirts of the city behind schedule, a victim of the increased security that seemed to pervade the city following the events of his last visit. The police presence on the streets had increased markedly, despite the decimation of their armed response units, and necessitated a number of detours to avoid the occasional random stop- points. He couldn't afford the risk that there were other agencies involved in the stops and crowds were no help - there were some agencies out there that would think nothing of taking him out without consideration for anyone else in the area.
Rolling his rental car into the garage already arranged for him, his phone had rung even as the shutters were rolling down behind him, as if Oz had tracked him all the way here.
Knowing Oz's sources, that wasn't beyond the realms of possibility.
The message Oz had to convey darkened even his black mood, sending an almost perceptible shadow across the room even as he cursed.
'What the hell do you mean they're not here?,' Xander growled down the line, holding his temper in check by a thread. 'I thought you could guarantee assistance for this one, Oz - we don't have the time to stake the place out for long before I go in and I need the extra firepower.'
The low response from his distant friend didn't serve to calm him down any further, although it did manage to cut short his mounting tirade.
'Dead? How can they be dead? You only spoke to them a few hours ago?'
'.......'
Again Oz's muffled response cut him short.
'What do you mean they got hit by a bus? They're werewolves, for hell's sake - how did a bus kill them?!'
'........'
'What do mean, it was what happened after they got hit by the bus?'
'........'
'A piano?'
'........'
'You're telling me that...never mind, we can deal with that later. I may know a couple who might help me out if I can find them. Did your pack manage to get the gear I needed before he got them?
'........'
'Pack, group, what's the difference...?'
'.......'
'All right then, I'm gone. If I make it out, I'll need somewhere to stash her, and this isn't my turf - make sure the healer is in place. If she's still alive, she'll need more than normal medical treatment and we can't use the private doctor after what happened last time.'
'........'
'No, he's still in a coma.'
'........'
'I've got to get moving - I'll let you know either way, later on...'
Cutting the phone off without waiting for a response, Xander stared at the display for a moment, the bizarreness of the conversation enough to give him pause for a moment before the reality of the situation kicked back in.
Slipping back out of the garage, this time on foot, he started out into the sunshine, slipping his shades on as he went, the almost visible threat emanating from him enough to send the nearby pedestrians scattering from his path.
I
*************************************************
Sara could feel them as she walked down the hallway, the sideways looks that followed her wherever she went, the furtive glances as people tried to avoid eye-contact while still watching her progress.
Not all of them were successful as she glared at everyone she passed, deliberately trying to meet their eyes as she went, daring them to face her, to have the courage to meet her on her own terms. Those who weren't fast enough to avert their eyes were quick to look down, preferring to stare foolishly at the floor than to risk being associated with her.
The whispers that followed her were enough to drive a sane person mad, conversations cutting short as she strode past small groups and pairs, sentences cut off in mid-word, only to resume after she had passed, this time in hushed tones.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were all whispering about. The stories that surrounded her and her new partner had only grown over the past few months, the rumors only growing more wild as time passed.
In truth even the wildest rumors couldn't come close to the truth. How can you tell strangers, never mind the people you work with, that half the city's SWAT teams were killed by demons ?
Her partner hadn't exactly helped her. They'd watched the adjacent building burn, witnessed the bodies of both their friends and the fiends who had killed them incinerated in the flames. Only when the building had collapsed in on itself, the roof crashing down in sheets of fire and waves of explosions, had they moved, slowly making their way down the building's fire escape, supporting each other as they went.
With their radios out and the collapse of the building they had entered only a short while before still ringing in their ears, their re-appearance had stunned everyone, from the survivors on the ground to the news-crews just breaking through the police barriers. A picture of them emerging from the smoke, covered in grime and dust, their faces plastered in the blood of each other and their friends, had headlined the story across the world.
For Travers though, the short time between watching his rescuer disappear from view and his arrival on the ground had been enough to fracture something in his control. The horror of what he had been forced to witness had rendered him almost comatose - by the time they had reached the surface, his already sparse conversation had petered out, and as the questions had flown at them from all sides, his mind had temporarily shut down, one last defense mechanism to save his sanity.
By the time he had recovered, it was as if a switch had been flicked inside his mind. The death of his fiancée, torn apart by the falling glass, had killed something inside him. He now appeared capable of only two emotions, depression and anger, and at all times he seemed only a step away from either suicide or going postal. He rarely spoke, the lies they had been forced to tell the investigators preventing him being able to discuss his issues with anyone other than herself, and he seemed unwilling to open up to anyone other than the smallest degree.
Sara knew that a part of what had kept her own sanity had been the effort of helping her friends, of helping the only other person who might understand what she had been through. She could understand why he had blocked it out, could understand why he tried to force himself to forget. She would like to be able to do so herself, might even have been able to, if it had not been for one thing..
.no matter how terrified she had been during that whole disaster, no matter how much death and pain she had witnessed, she could not remember being more scared than when she had seen his face at close range. The muzzle pressed against her eye, the broken ribs when he had beaten her, had still been less scary than his expression, and even after all these months, it was that expression that still featured in her nightmares.
So when she finally escaped from the public gaze of the rest of the department, making her way into the isolated offices that the pair of them had gradually been pressured into -
'it'll do the pair of you some good, take the pressure off you, allow you to get your heads straight'
- she was unimpressed to find her now partner with his back up against the wall, his hands clinging tightly to the padded arms of his steel framed chair, his feet scrabbling against the floor, trying to drive his chair even further backwards. The dent in the wall behind him showed the speed at which he had flung himself away from the doorway, the impact cracking the dirty plaster, marring its surface.
She was a moment away from cursing him out before she noticed the expression on his face.
Terror.
Not apprehension, nor fear - terror.
She had only once seen anything close to that expression on his face before, and that was.....
Even as her mouth formed the questions that his appearance generated, her mind locked on to something that her eyes had missed in the first instant of her entrance - he wasn't looking at her, in fact did not appear to have even noticed that she had come through the door. Even as she realized that his eyes were locked on something just a couple of feet to her right and behind her, she was turning, ripping her gun from its shoulder holster, flicking the safety off in one smooth motion.
The movement took less than a second - the long hours of practice clearly showing as she moved on instinct - but it did her no good. An iron hand wrapped itself around the barrel of her gun even as it was leaving the holster, and her spinning turn was ended with the sound of a pistol cocking millimeters from her ear.
She froze in mid-motion, releasing her grip on the pistol and allowing it to drop back into its holster. Even as she was preparing to speak, the reason for Travers's terror voiced itself, and in that voice, she once again was introduced to her own fears....
'Hello again, Sara .....'
************************
The signal cut out, the sound died, leaving only a black screen as the group sat there in silence for a moment before Xander spoke.
'The address.....?' he growled.
'Xander, we..,' Oz tried to calm him.
It was like trying to stop a glacier with a campfire.
'You saw the mole. You saw it and you know what that means... you know who she is!! I made a promise. Damnit Oz, you KNOW that. I don't have a choice and you know why.'
'Xander, you need to ....'
'You saw it Oz, you know who it is, you know why she's there..'
'And you know as well. She may be too far gone. She may be dead. We lost the signal 2 days ago and haven't found it since - and you know we should have done.'
The logic was inescapable, and as fast as Xander's outburst has begun it was broken, as fast as his cold rage had risen it was stilled. For a second or two it even silenced him. But logic can only calm a rage - it can't end it entirely.
'You've never met her and the odds on her still living are tiny Xander. You know it and I know it.'
'You know it isn't just her Oz. You think she's the only one to suffer like that? You think I haven't...it doesn't matter, and you know it. You know what we have to do, what I have to do and you know why. It's why you called me here. You saw the same pictures, you saw the same things, and you know what I have to do..'
'Some say you don't care anymore Xander. That you don't save them anymore. There are rumors that...'
Oz didn't quite finish his response, his voice trailing off into silence, unwilling to voice the question. He knew almost everything about his long time companion, but there had always been lines that had never been crossed.
'Rumors? There have always been rumors Oz, there always will be. What particular rumor is this one?'
He'd wondered when the question would arise. It had been inevitable that Oz would ask it at some point, with his sources of information he was almost surprised that it had taken until now for it to be voiced.
'The rumors say that you've killed....'
'The rumors are true.'
That was it.
No explanations.
No excuses.
Voicing the terrible truth that he had done what once would have been impossible for him.
He'd killed a slayer.
*********************
Oz merely studied him in silence, regarding him through half-closed eyes, faint creases around them the only sign of the activity running through his mind.
'But you still have to save this one?'
Oz had heard the rumors.
But being Oz, he'd also heard the background behind those same rumors, had heard the details that would normally be ignored, lost in the shadows.
'This one is innocent'
That was all Xander had to say. He knew his reasons, and his were the only ones that mattered. Right or wrong, for good or bad. He had no doubts, no misgivings, knew he would do the same again.
Easy to tell himself in the light.
Harder to believe in the darkness.
That was all Oz had to hear though. This was not his business, and, beyond his debt to Xander, not his concern. He had his own issues, his own priorities, priorities more important than debating the grey areas of their lives. Sometimes repaying a debt is more important than being right.
Keeshan spoke up for the first time without being addressed, her inbuilt desire for knowledge, part of the reason she was here in the first place, overwhelming her natural reserve, overwhelming even her apprehension of the scarred figure beside her.
'I don't understand. Who is she? What did you mean about the mole? The Tamarish is right, she's probably dead already. You're...well...you. If you've never met her before, why do you care?,' she questioned, puzzlement showing in her tone, the images of the screen appearing to have no effect on her emotions.
'I don't care for her,' Xander replied. 'I care because that mole on her shoulder, the fact that she was still alive in that condition and the demons that showed in the clip can mean only one thing. That girl is a Slayer.'
He spoke the last sentence as if his words were enough, as if just saying it had answered all of Keeshan's questions, as if they had a layer of meaning that went beyond mere language.
To the man, to the werewolf, in the wheelchair, they did, but lacking the knowledge that Oz carried, lacking the familiarity needed to interpret the response, Keeshan could only ask again,
'But why do you need to do anything? And why does the Tamarish need to help you?'
Oz's eyes met Xander's, a sad twitch of his lips his only response to the question.
'I help because Xander has asked me to,' Oz replied.
'And you - why do you care, why do you help?,' she continued to the dark figure beside him.
Xander made eye contact with her for the first time, a deep sadness now emanating from his eyes, the rage that had flared only moments earlier now gone, an icy resolve beginning to take its place.
....
..
.
..
'I made a commitment. I can't break it, can't avoid it, can't forget it..
'I made a promise to a friend.'
****************************************************
It had taken almost a full day to reach the garage. Without a witch or mage in the area with the skill to prepare a transportation spell in the time available, he had been forced to fly, and even with a chartered jet at top speed, it had taken time.
Time they all knew the woman.....the girl....didn't have.
He had arrived at the outskirts of the city behind schedule, a victim of the increased security that seemed to pervade the city following the events of his last visit. The police presence on the streets had increased markedly, despite the decimation of their armed response units, and necessitated a number of detours to avoid the occasional random stop- points. He couldn't afford the risk that there were other agencies involved in the stops and crowds were no help - there were some agencies out there that would think nothing of taking him out without consideration for anyone else in the area.
Rolling his rental car into the garage already arranged for him, his phone had rung even as the shutters were rolling down behind him, as if Oz had tracked him all the way here.
Knowing Oz's sources, that wasn't beyond the realms of possibility.
The message Oz had to convey darkened even his black mood, sending an almost perceptible shadow across the room even as he cursed.
'What the hell do you mean they're not here?,' Xander growled down the line, holding his temper in check by a thread. 'I thought you could guarantee assistance for this one, Oz - we don't have the time to stake the place out for long before I go in and I need the extra firepower.'
The low response from his distant friend didn't serve to calm him down any further, although it did manage to cut short his mounting tirade.
'Dead? How can they be dead? You only spoke to them a few hours ago?'
'.......'
Again Oz's muffled response cut him short.
'What do you mean they got hit by a bus? They're werewolves, for hell's sake - how did a bus kill them?!'
'........'
'What do mean, it was what happened after they got hit by the bus?'
'........'
'A piano?'
'........'
'You're telling me that...never mind, we can deal with that later. I may know a couple who might help me out if I can find them. Did your pack manage to get the gear I needed before he got them?
'........'
'Pack, group, what's the difference...?'
'.......'
'All right then, I'm gone. If I make it out, I'll need somewhere to stash her, and this isn't my turf - make sure the healer is in place. If she's still alive, she'll need more than normal medical treatment and we can't use the private doctor after what happened last time.'
'........'
'No, he's still in a coma.'
'........'
'I've got to get moving - I'll let you know either way, later on...'
Cutting the phone off without waiting for a response, Xander stared at the display for a moment, the bizarreness of the conversation enough to give him pause for a moment before the reality of the situation kicked back in.
Slipping back out of the garage, this time on foot, he started out into the sunshine, slipping his shades on as he went, the almost visible threat emanating from him enough to send the nearby pedestrians scattering from his path.
I
*************************************************
Sara could feel them as she walked down the hallway, the sideways looks that followed her wherever she went, the furtive glances as people tried to avoid eye-contact while still watching her progress.
Not all of them were successful as she glared at everyone she passed, deliberately trying to meet their eyes as she went, daring them to face her, to have the courage to meet her on her own terms. Those who weren't fast enough to avert their eyes were quick to look down, preferring to stare foolishly at the floor than to risk being associated with her.
The whispers that followed her were enough to drive a sane person mad, conversations cutting short as she strode past small groups and pairs, sentences cut off in mid-word, only to resume after she had passed, this time in hushed tones.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were all whispering about. The stories that surrounded her and her new partner had only grown over the past few months, the rumors only growing more wild as time passed.
In truth even the wildest rumors couldn't come close to the truth. How can you tell strangers, never mind the people you work with, that half the city's SWAT teams were killed by demons ?
Her partner hadn't exactly helped her. They'd watched the adjacent building burn, witnessed the bodies of both their friends and the fiends who had killed them incinerated in the flames. Only when the building had collapsed in on itself, the roof crashing down in sheets of fire and waves of explosions, had they moved, slowly making their way down the building's fire escape, supporting each other as they went.
With their radios out and the collapse of the building they had entered only a short while before still ringing in their ears, their re-appearance had stunned everyone, from the survivors on the ground to the news-crews just breaking through the police barriers. A picture of them emerging from the smoke, covered in grime and dust, their faces plastered in the blood of each other and their friends, had headlined the story across the world.
For Travers though, the short time between watching his rescuer disappear from view and his arrival on the ground had been enough to fracture something in his control. The horror of what he had been forced to witness had rendered him almost comatose - by the time they had reached the surface, his already sparse conversation had petered out, and as the questions had flown at them from all sides, his mind had temporarily shut down, one last defense mechanism to save his sanity.
By the time he had recovered, it was as if a switch had been flicked inside his mind. The death of his fiancée, torn apart by the falling glass, had killed something inside him. He now appeared capable of only two emotions, depression and anger, and at all times he seemed only a step away from either suicide or going postal. He rarely spoke, the lies they had been forced to tell the investigators preventing him being able to discuss his issues with anyone other than herself, and he seemed unwilling to open up to anyone other than the smallest degree.
Sara knew that a part of what had kept her own sanity had been the effort of helping her friends, of helping the only other person who might understand what she had been through. She could understand why he had blocked it out, could understand why he tried to force himself to forget. She would like to be able to do so herself, might even have been able to, if it had not been for one thing..
.no matter how terrified she had been during that whole disaster, no matter how much death and pain she had witnessed, she could not remember being more scared than when she had seen his face at close range. The muzzle pressed against her eye, the broken ribs when he had beaten her, had still been less scary than his expression, and even after all these months, it was that expression that still featured in her nightmares.
So when she finally escaped from the public gaze of the rest of the department, making her way into the isolated offices that the pair of them had gradually been pressured into -
'it'll do the pair of you some good, take the pressure off you, allow you to get your heads straight'
- she was unimpressed to find her now partner with his back up against the wall, his hands clinging tightly to the padded arms of his steel framed chair, his feet scrabbling against the floor, trying to drive his chair even further backwards. The dent in the wall behind him showed the speed at which he had flung himself away from the doorway, the impact cracking the dirty plaster, marring its surface.
She was a moment away from cursing him out before she noticed the expression on his face.
Terror.
Not apprehension, nor fear - terror.
She had only once seen anything close to that expression on his face before, and that was.....
Even as her mouth formed the questions that his appearance generated, her mind locked on to something that her eyes had missed in the first instant of her entrance - he wasn't looking at her, in fact did not appear to have even noticed that she had come through the door. Even as she realized that his eyes were locked on something just a couple of feet to her right and behind her, she was turning, ripping her gun from its shoulder holster, flicking the safety off in one smooth motion.
The movement took less than a second - the long hours of practice clearly showing as she moved on instinct - but it did her no good. An iron hand wrapped itself around the barrel of her gun even as it was leaving the holster, and her spinning turn was ended with the sound of a pistol cocking millimeters from her ear.
She froze in mid-motion, releasing her grip on the pistol and allowing it to drop back into its holster. Even as she was preparing to speak, the reason for Travers's terror voiced itself, and in that voice, she once again was introduced to her own fears....
'Hello again, Sara .....'