SLAYER, SLEW, SLAIN
By Niels van Eekelen
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com
www.TelltaleProductions.tk
I had an uncomfortable feeling of having lied to Maria. Perhaps because I had. I had won our argument over the cops by arguing that we needed all our time to find Trick and his master, and here I was, doing nothing.
But I was doing nothing with my mother, and that made it worth it to me. The day after Duke's murder I met with my mother for the third time. Like the night before, we had agreed to meet each other late in the evening. I had a sneaking suspicion that mom was trying to keep my father from finding out that she was seeing me. It would explain why she kept wanting to meet so late. Not that I was complaining, or anything. If it was all the same, I'd rather not have to see dad anyway, and schedule-wise, it was perfect.
In synch with my usual luck, there was again a vampire nearby when I was with my mother. I almost excused myself to go looking for the thing of the night, because I could sense it was awfully close, but something stopped me. Anyway, I'd saved the life of a girl my age from two vampires--which I'd both dusted--on an early patrol, so I figured I'd boosted up my credit with the world enough to take an early break.
After our first two hours-long sessions, mom and I discovered, almost to our shock, that we'd run out of things we could tell each other. Fortunately, that didn't turn out to be such a bad thing as I was afraid of at first. The two of us just wandered through the city, enjoying the company. Somewhere, among all the nightmares and bad memories, I'd forgotten that Boston is actually a beautiful city. Having grown up there, I guess I'd stopped noticing the sights, until I started walking around with no particular goal in mind.
That night, time flew by quickly, and again, I had a marvellous time, but I also got a little uncomfortable. By now, everything that had happened to me during the past week or so had had a chance to sink in. Old hurts wormed their way back into my memory. I wanted just to be with my mother and not care, but after a while, I couldn't push out of my mind the memory of my mother sitting motionless on the couch, flicking in and out of my line of sight while my father held me down on the ground and he ... he did what he did. As I'm sure you can imagine, that memory is vivid--It doesn't matter how often it had happened to me. Some things just don't ever become routine. Even if you try to let it be.
After a while, my discomfort started rubbing off on mom, too. I didn't want to get her upset, so I firmly pushed the memories away, but couldn't stop the sick feeling in my stomach when I looked at her.
Looking for something to distract us both, I noticed that it was getting early, rather than late. If I wanted to get any sleep that night, I'd better get to the apartment. Which also brought me to the second reason why I was feeling uncomfortable. I still hadn't told Maria why I was coming home so late all the time. She knew something was up, but she respected my privacy, which made me only feel worse about not telling her. Still, there was no reason why I had to tell her anything--or so I told myself.
Yeah, I had plenty of excuses ready to rationalise an instinct I didn't want to acknowledge.
"Well," I said hesitantly. It was silent for a moment as we looked at each other. "I guess I'd better get to bed. I have things to do tomorrow."
"I guess so," mom replied. "Will I ..." she started, as hesitant as I, "will I see you again tomorrow?"
I nodded. "Of course. Same Bat-time, same Bat-place?"
"Great."
On impulse, I stepped forward and gave my mother a short hug. Then I trotted off, only turning back for a moment to wave, which she returned.
That day was again spent with Maria, on our futile search for Mr Trick. We couldn't make any sense of it. Trick had very boldly threatened to come after us, but since our meeting at the Council's mansion, there hadn't been a trace of him--and believe me when I say that we looked into every single incident that where was the slightest chance Trick was involved in. The entire vampire population of Boston seemed to have decided to take it easy for a couple of nights. Maria had spoken with the Council in England, and they told her that now that a Watcher had been killed, it was time to pull out all the stops. (Naturally they managed to stay very British, very Watchery in getting upset. They even paused to calmly invite Maria to a retreat in the Cotswolds--wherever that is--a month or so later. Maria was quite excited about that invitation for a minute, until she remembered what the actual topic was again.)
All in all, with the little sleep I'd been getting and the frustrating ineffectiveness of our daytime work, I wasn't at my best when I went out to meet with my mom again the next evening. For once, the patrol I had planned for before the meeting was as quiet as the night is supposed to be, and for once, I was actually grateful for it. I sat down on the bench where we'd met before. It was in the shade of a lone tree on the wide pavement of a shopping avenue, and, on a weekday night, quiet.
I must have been more tired than I'd thought, because not long after I sat down, the quiet got to me, and I decided to close my eyes, just for a moment. I dozed off.
My sleep was restless, and it was only half an hour before a nightmare started me awake. I jumped to my feet, half-expecting a vampire to be sneaking up on me, even though I didn't sense anything undead anywhere. The street was deserted. There were no vampires--and more disturbingly, no mom. I checked my watch and saw that I had been asleep for about half an hour.
Had my mother still not turned up? For a moment I thought she might not have wanted to wake me, but I knew that if that were so, she would never have left again. Not knowing about vampires is one thing, leaving your daughter asleep outdoors in a major city is quite something else. Slowly, as I shook off my sleep more completely, I grew more worried. The only reason I could think of why mom hadn't come yet was that something bad had happened. Hesitantly I started towards the neighbourhood that I had so strenuously avoided since returning to Boston. To the trailer that had used to be the closest thing I had had to home. The thought crossed my mind that vampires might have taken my mother--and with my rotten luck, that actually seemed pretty damn likely--but I suspected that it was something else this time. My father was still there, no matter how much I avoided thinking about him. I was suddenly sure that if there was trouble, he would be at the bottom of it, and the bottom would be very deep. The fact that my father hadn't touched my mom--had barely even looked at her--since a few years after impregnating her with me didn't even enter my consideration.
Before I knew it, I was running. Underway, I looked out for signs of a struggle, but I didn't expect to find any, and I didn't.
As I got closer to the trailer and started to recognise places from my childhood, I slowed to a walk again. I could take my father on easily with my Slayer power, I had no doubt of that, and if he hadhurt my mom, I didn't think Maria would hold it against me if I beat the living crap out of him if she was in her strictest British mood. I slowed again. Very few people, especially among the living, could still hurt me. That was a fact, as far as I was concerned. But another fact was that my father had hurt me, as often and as much as he liked. Whether it was sane or not, I just couldn't get they idea out of my head that if I went into the trailer, he migh plummet me as easily as he did when I was ten years old. I don't know if you've noticed, but when I can't settle something with brute force or simply shrug it off, I tend to turn and run. And don't think that was easy to admit just now.
...
Anyway, going into that trailer was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. The moment I did, I actually felt a stab of pride. You know all the things they say about hindsight? They all apply to this one, with a vengeance.
Deciding that if I was gonna go in, I was gonna go in my way, I kicked open the door. The main room was empty. It wasn't noticably different from the last time I had been in there. A shiver ran down my back. "Anybody home?" I asked, my resolve crumbling again. Maybe I should just go away. Mom and I could meet again tomorrow.
And a scream tore through the silence. Funny. I don't remember the scream at all. It could have been a scream of pain, or of terror, or of shock, or of anything. I don't think I ever really heard it. All I know is that I recognised my mother's voice. I thought that that was all I really needed to know. By then, I'd grown to care as much for my mother as I ever had for anyone, and added to that I was trained to respond instantly to people in distress, so I rushed to the source of the scream blindly. I stormed through a door, and I didn't realise until I was inside that it was the one leading to my old room. In the brief glimpse I got of the room, I saw that the few things I hadn't taken with me when I'd left were still there, though not necessarily intact. A large frame I'd hung on the wall with a picture of a tropical beach in it was cracked in more than one place.
My bed was still there, too, and my mother was sitting on it. I suddenly got a sick feeling in my stomach when I realised that something was wrong--something different than I was expecting. I guess the significance of the fact that my mother didn't seem distinctly upset got through my thick skull.
The next thing I knew, I was hitting the ground, a burning imprint of a fist marring the left side of my face. For a moment, my instincts took over while my mind caught up with what was going on, and that almost saved me. I rolled to my back and my muscles tensed, ready to flip me back to my feet. Then I suddenly recognised the figure who stood towering over me. "No ..." I heard myself whisper. I could have been on my feet that same instance, and either fight or run, but instead, I froze.
My father grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to my feet as easily as if I was still a ten-year-old. He slapped me across the face again, this time with an open hand. If he hadn't held me up, my legs would have folded on me again.
"You speak ..." he told me,
... and he hit me again ...
"... when spoken to!"
... and again.
Then he threw me aside. My legs hit the bed, and I fell down on it. "When are you going to remember that?" my father wondered. Every second after I'd recognised him, my terror and panic rose. I wasn't the Slayer anymore. I wasn't the Faith who faced things that would make world leaders and WWF wrestlers wet their pants and killed them of with a wisecrack. I was just the Faith who was good for nothing, and whose father had ... could do anything to her, and she was powerless to resist.
I tried to jump up, but before I even found my footing, a fist hit my stomack hard enough to knock me straight back to the bed. Then my father was sitting on top of me, pinning me down. Panicking, I tried to knock him aside, but he caught my hands and pinned them to the bed above my head. "Girl," the bastard said, a sadistic grin on his face, "it's been a while. We have quite some catching up to do." He'd always taken great pleasure out of watching--and feeling--me squirm, but I could never help it, and now was no exception. For an instant, my mind focussed, and I gathered my Slayer strength. I kicked my legs violently, sure that my father would fly halfway across the room before having an unpleasant encounter with the floor.
He barely even budged, and I got another blow to my face for my trouble. I tasted blood.
Maybe, just maybe I'd have been able to figure some things out then, but I barely had a second before I got the next shock. Past my father's lustful smile, over his shoulder, I saw my mother, and she was smiling too. "Mom!" I begged. "Please! Help me!" She had never lifted a finger to stop anything my father did before, but she had changed, hadn't she? Hadn't she? She just smiled.
Then, things got worse.
It seemed to happen in slow-motion. Maybe it did go slowly, or perhaps it was just my imagination. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. As my parents smiled, their already crooked rows of teeth distorted, and grew into flesh-tearing fangs. Their foreheads furrowed, and rough ridges formed. And their eyes ... you can tell a lot about someone by looking into their eyes, and there was nothing human to see in theirs.
If I hadn't cracked before, I did then. They laughed. I screamed.
My father let me scream ans thrash about in blind panic for a while, I can't sure how long. Then he beat me until I finally shut up. He still held me down firmly, and my mother took over the hold on my arms, so my father had his hands free for other things. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and tore away the fabric. Again I tried to break free. If I had had my wits about me, I know I could have broken loose. A Slayer isn't much use if two vampires as young as they must have been could hold her down so easily. But in my fear, I barely remembered which side was up, let alone how to fight. Tears ran down my cheeks. My father began to grope at my naked skin, hard, bruising touches. He knew what to do that it were the memories as much as the pain now that hurt.
Suddenly his hand reached into my pants and squeezed painfully. "I've missed this so much, my lovely," he said grinning broadly at me, "I'm afraid I'm going to rush through you ... The first time, at least."
And then he ...
And then he ...
He ...
Well. You get the fucking picture, OK? I ... I'm not going to spell it out for you.
I didn't wake up. Somehow, that surprised me. I mean, everything that had been in my nightmares, like, ever, was there. My father. Vampires I couldn't handle. What else could it be but a nightmare? Still, I lay there, hours later, numb, very aware that I was awake. My parents didn't bother to hold me down anymore. My father, the vampire who had been my father, just sat on my naked form. I don't believe I could have moved if I'd tried. The one thing that had always kept me moving, no matter how long a fight lasted, was pure adrenalin. Nothing kills adrenalin like giving up. In a corner of my mind--the only bit that was still working--I struggled to find something, anything, to work with, to focus on, so I could pull myself together. If I managed that, just for a fraction of a second, I knew I could hold on to it. But there was nothing.
I heard the door creak as it swung open, but I didn't have the energy to look up. Someone started clapping calmly. "Bravo, bravo," came a voice that sounded oddly familiar. "Quite the show." Apparently the speaker came closer, and he was something important, because my parents jumped to get out of his way. A hand grabbed me by the neck, and I was lifted of the bed. More by instinct than by any conscious act of resistance, my arms rose to clasp the arm holding me in the air. My eyes widened when I finally saw and recognised the owner of the voice. The dark skin. The little smile of amused arrogance. It was Mr Trick. "The master enjoyed your screams, Slayer," the vampire continued, "but he didn't want to be stuck in this dump all day--and who can blame him?--" Trick interrupted himself, looking around the room distastefully, "so he left shortly before sunrise." He chuckled. "You're a fool, Slayer. I told you that the master and I were going to take out everyone you cared about, few as there are. That Watcher was little more than a distraction. Now all that's left is your own Watcher, and with you safely out of the way and in our custody, we'll have her by tonight." Pause. "The master promised me a taste of your blood when he's done with you, Slayer. I can barely wait."
It was a mistake of Trick to think that just because I hadn't put up enough of a fight to resist a mouse for hours, he could handle me with one hand. That single corner of my mind was still fighting, and it had just found a ledge. I remembered Trick. Fighting him. I remembered the cold certainty that if our fight in the mall hadn't been interrupted, I would have creamed him. This wasn't a father who a little girl couldn't hurt. This was a vamp who was damn lucky to have got away from the Chosen One once.
My hands were still on Trick's arms, and I squeezed hard, until I heard a satisfying crack. Trick yelped in unexpected pain, and I dropped to the ground. Allowing my fighter's instincts to take over completely, I rolled away from him and back to my feet. I recognised the fact that I was in no condition to fight, and leapt for the window. The sole window in my room hadn't been opened since I was perhaps eight years old, and more recently, it had been painted over to keep the sun out. I crashed into it with my shoulder. And bounced right back. I fell down on the floor again.
The vampires behind me laughed. "Cute," Trick commented, though he was still hunched over, holding his broken arms close to his body. "Mr Mandorf, if you would be so kind as to restrain your daughter?"
My father approached me, and I knew exactly what would happen if he got his hands on me again. I screamed, and poured out all of my emotions into my fist. I punched clean through the window. Once cracked, the glass broke away easily, and I was blinded as sunlight shone in.
Behind me, my father screamed, and I heard his body combust in flames, until he imploded in a cloud of dust. Trick cursed and my mother gasped. I dove through the window.
The broken glass cut into my naked body, but I was bruised so badly, physically as well as mentally, that I barely noticed. I landed with a grunt in the tall grass outside, among the remains of the window. The grass was still wet with dew, and I shivered. When I had jumped out, I had somehow taken one of the curtains with me. I made a half-hearted attempt to wrap it around me and ran off.
I can only imagine what a sight I must have made, running through the streets of Boston. A girl, naked except for a worn curtain wrapped around her--and I couldn't tell you if the cloth even covered anything-- bruised and cut almost beyond recognition, just walking, running whenever I had a burst of energy or my fear overcame me. Being as charitable a lot as people in general are, no one did more than stare at me or get out of my way. I was beyond caring, beyond noticing, even. I just knew the general direction the apartment was in, and that I was going in that direction. There was safety there. A little, at least. Looking back, I doubt if I would ever have actually found Maria's apartment.
Frightened as I was, exhaustion was quickly overcoming me, and I still barely noticed as a car screeched to a halt next to me on the street.
"Faith!" I heard, and I tried to turn around. If a pair of arms hadn't caught me under my arms, I would have fallen. "My god, Faith," she whispered, shocked. It was Maria standing in front of me, but all I could make out was a blurr that was vaguely Maria-shaped.
"Muh-Maria?" I managed hoarsely when I finally recognised her. And then I threw myself into her embrace and started to sob.
Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions.
In a perfect world, I would own the series 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and 'Angel'. Alas, it is not, and I bow my head to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Ah, well. It's probably for the best, me not having a contract to put the show on the air and all.
A special thanks to Paul Leone and Teresa Owens, from whose story 'The Deliverer' I nicked the name of Faith's Watcher, though not the character.