Starting Over
Disclaimer: Oz does not belong to me. I am just borrowing him until the voices go away. The characters I made up are mine alone. I am making no profit from this in the monetary sense, although the satisfaction of completion is profit of a sort.
Feedback: this is always useful, particularly when constructive. But as a wise lady once warned – all flames will be returned with spelling and grammar corrected. You have been warned.
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Part 2
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- - - - -
Situated in a bustling San Francisco suburb, the Monico had once been a private theatre, small but proud and grandly decorated. And yet it had been quickly abandoned and left to rot, long years previously. Purchased recently by a newlywed couple from Los Angeles, the derelict site had been given a new lease of life and transformed into a trendy coffee bar, all leather armchairs and low tables, with candles in the window and mellow music playing. Serving light refreshment from lunchtime till late evening, it stood in an ideal location, and yet keeping it open and fully staffed proved difficult from day one
- - - - -
Having failed miserably to persuade his one remaining employee to stay on, David Gibson wandered back into the Monico with a hopeless expression on his face, and slumped down onto a stool in front of the bar. He was a tall, somewhat gangly young man in his mid-to-late twenties, with piercing blue eyes and close-cropped dark hair. He had ploughed every cent he owned, and a lot he didn't, into renovating the old theatre and getting it set up for its new life as a coffee bar-cum-diner, full of hopes and dreams of how it would be. But the weeks that followed had destroyed every illusion, and he was fast approaching the end of his tether.
"He wouldn't stay?" David's wife Emma asked, already aware of what the answer would be and depressed by it.
"Just kept freaking out about the place being haunted. Same as all the rest." David slammed his hands down onto the bar in frustration.
"I don't get it." The pretty young blonde was upset, seeing all their hopes and dreams going up in smoke and unable to understand why.
"Maybe we should call the police?" David suggested.
"And tell them what?" Emma asked in despair. "That our staff keep walking out? That they're all scared of ghosts?"
"About the sabotage."
"Because they were so much help last time." The lack of any real police support since their troubles began still rankled.
"Well, we have to do something! We can't afford to lose this place."
"The old guy next door keeps talking about ghosts, too." Emma found all the ghost talk unsettling.
"There's no such thing as ghosts," David insisted.
"Tell that to the people who keep walking out of here!" Emma sighed. "I should get back to the boutique. My break's over."
"I can't run this place on my own," he protested.
"You're going to have to," she told him, grimly. "We can't afford to lose my job with this place on its uppers. I'll be back to help with the evening shift."
She kissed him on the cheek and hurried out leaving David alone to wonder how much longer he could continue like this.
- - - - -
The latest bout of inexplicable sabotage had left kitchen supplies scattered all across the storeroom, as well as driving away the last remaining staff member. With no sign of any custom coming his way – negative word of mouth had a lot to answer for – David grimly set about sorting through the mess, determined that he wouldn't be driven out of business, regardless of who or what was responsible.
Trying without much success to get a dozen things done at once, he suddenly became aware of a voice calling from the bar.
"Hello? Anyone here?"
Feeling harassed, David rushed back to the bar, full of apologies. There he saw a young man in his early 20s standing looking around the deserted café in bemusement. Short and thin, his red hair cropped short and spiked on top, he looked tired, as though he had travelled a long way.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry," David hastily told him. "You haven't been waiting long, have you?"
"Just arrived," the stranger assured him.
David was relieved. "That's good, that's great. Okay," he rubbed his hands together, hoping he didn't look quite as frazzled as he felt. "What can I get for you?"
"Advice, primarily," the young man told him. "I'm looking for somewhere to stay. On the cheap side. I was hoping you might know a place: motel maybe?"
Having hoped for a customer who would actually stick around long enough to pay for something in spite of the necessarily poor service, David couldn't hide his disappointment. "Oh."
"I could stretch to a drink while I'm here," the red head added. "Maybe even hot food, if you're serving."
Of course, the problem with customers was that you really had to serve them. Remembering the lack of staff and current state of the kitchen, David grew worried. "Ah..."
"No hot food?"
"No, no. I can get something for you," David told him, hastily. "If you don't mind waiting." Seeing the questioning look in the young man's eyes, he found himself admitting, "The staff walked out and left me in the lurch, so I'm a little short-handed." All at once his frustration got the better of him, seeing his first paying customer of the day about to walk out the door again. "You don't want a job, do you?"
The question was asked in jest, almost, but David was brought up sharp when the other man casually replied: "Okay."
"Serious? You'll take it?" With too much to do and not enough hands to do it with, David was willing to hire almost anyone.
The young man looked almost amused. "Cash is low. How desperate are you?"
"Ever worked a bar or café before?" David told himself that this guy couldn't possibly be worse than the previous one, who had walked out at a moment's notice without any kind of reasonable explanation.
"Nope." He didn't sound as though he really cared, either way.
David decided he had nothing to lose. "You're hired."
- - - - -
David chose to regard it as a good omen that two minutes after hiring his new assistant a whole family of paying customers arrived. And stayed.
"Can you cook?" he asked after taking the meal order, unwilling to leave this new staff member alone with the cash register just yet.
"When necessary," was the measured reply.
"Excellent."
"You really are desperate, aren't you?" The newly appointed assistant looked mildly amused again, but obediently headed into the chaos that was the kitchen to see what he could rustle up. Having just that minute started work he could have no idea where anything was or how it all worked, but improvised impressively.
And, amazingly, for once nothing went wrong. The light meals ordered were easily provided for. The customers ate, drank and paid. They even seemed to have fun. Having managed nothing of the kind all week, even when he had supposedly competent staff, David was almost giddy with relief.
- - - - -
Walking straight into a job on his first day in town was more than Oz could have hoped for, and certainly more than he'd planned. All he'd come in for was something to eat and directions to the nearest motel, but since fixing the van had all but wiped him out, he wasn't going to say no to a few day's work. Besides, despite his best intentions of losing himself in a crowd and avoiding contact with other people as much as possible, he couldn't help liking the harassed young bar owner who had taken such a big chance on him. Or, looking at the state of the kitchen and storeroom, maybe it wasn't that big a chance after all.
He surprised himself by finding his way around both kitchen and café easily enough although there were one or two puzzling hiccups. But acclimatised as he was to the Sunnydale way of life, mysterious moving implements and falling food were all simply taken in his stride, although they raised some interesting questions about his new working environment. It certainly helped to explain where all the staff had gone.
Once the last of his orders was filled, Oz headed back into the main café. "So does the advice come with the job, or do I have to pay for that separately?" he asked.
"What advice?" his new boss enquired distantly, distracted by a blockage in the coffee maker.
"Still need the name of a cheap motel," Oz reminded him.
"Oh," the older man frowned slightly at the filter and then glanced up at him, "Really no place to stay?"
"Just hit town this afternoon."
The bar owner thought for a moment. "There's actually a few empty rooms upstairs," he offered, pushing a part back into place, and then smiled in delight at the once more functioning coffee maker. "Ha!"
Oz was amazed. "So, not only do you give a job to complete strangers who walk in off the street, you invite them to move in?" He shook his head, finding such naivety oddly refreshing. "That's a new approach."
"Hey, I'm desperate," he was reminded.
Just then, hearing the tinkling of the bell above the door, Oz glanced up to see a pretty blonde woman walking in. He was preparing to greet her in the true waiter fashion he'd adopted for the part when the suddenly excited manager got in first.
"Look! We have staff!"
Oz raised an eyebrow, realising that the two were connected, and altered his greeting to a casual, "Hey."
"Staff?" she queried.
"Well, I actually came in for directions and a drink, but the job will do," Oz told her.
She looked from him to the taller man in amazement. "You hired someone who walked in off the street?"
"Hey, it works for me," Oz remarked.
She regarded him with some suspicion. "Don't you already have a job?"
"Just got into town," he explained.
"Staying long?" his new employer wanted to know, apparently realising at last just how little he'd found out about this new staff member.
"Depends," was all Oz would commit himself to. He hadn't actually thought any further ahead than finding a bed for the night, as a change from sleeping in the van. Since leaving Sunnydale whenever he tried to look to the future it just seemed blank, empty. As long as he was paid for his day's work he was indifferent to whether they kept him on or not.
"Do you even know his name?" the blonde asked her partner, in frustration.
Amused again, Oz volunteered some information. "Oz."
She frowned slightly. "Wizard of?"
That was an old one. Seeing their bemused expressions at the nickname, he offered the rarely used fuller version. "Daniel Osbourne."
The blonde seemed to be thawing towards him at last. "Emma Gibson," she held out a hand in greeting. "And this idiot is my husband, David."
As they all shook hands in belated greeting, Oz felt secure enough to tease a little, "I have to say, though, the service here is not so hot. I ordered a drink and meal four hours ago, haven't seen either"
- - - - -
The remainder of the evening passed with little incident, other than one customer having a fit of screaming in the toilets and rushing out without stopping to explain what had happened. Seeing the alarmed look on David's face, Oz mentally filed the incident under 'curious' and got on with his work, not that they were exactly rushed off their feet. The continuation of such minor anomalies as he had similarly noted throughout the afternoon, such as utensils mysteriously moving while his back was turned and food apparently flinging itself to the floor, were likewise noted and puzzled over but not commented on. Not yet.
Later, a full and relatively successful afternoon and evening's work completed, he found himself again the subject of enquiry by his new employers as they shut up shop for the night.
"Why did you come here, anyway?" David wanted to know, as he cleaned out the coffee filters while Emma cashed up at the till.
Oz assumed he meant San Francisco in general, rather than the Monico in particular. "Just passing through on my way elsewhere."
"Yeah, but I mean why the wanderer routine?" David gave him an inquisitive look.
"Oh. Girl trouble," he replied vaguely as he wiped down the bar, deciding that including an explanation of the secret government agency wanting to experiment on or execute him if he crossed their path again probably wasn't a good idea. Not that the other half of his reason for wandering was any easier to talk about. He still found it painful to even think about Willow, never mind try to explain their relationship and its breakdown to someone. "Sorta personal."
"Ah," apparently no further explanation was needed. "Say no more. But, you're willing to stick around?"
"For now," Oz agreed. "Why not? Hey, is that room still available, because if not"
Emma looked surprised, and gave David a sharp look, but her husband was unabashed. "He's new in town with nowhere to stay."
"I can go," Oz offered. "Bound to be a motel around somewhere."
"No," Emma sounded resigned. "The room upstairs is empty, going to waste. It's all yours until you get settled."
"Thanks."
"No, thank you," David said. "We'd have been in big trouble today if you hadn't stepped in."
Oz gave them one of his rare smiles. "Serendipity."
"What?" David looked confused.
"Happy accident," Oz explained. "Worked out well for all of us."
- - - - -
With the café closed for the night, and David and Emma preparing an after-hours nightcap for the three of them, Oz's curiosity got the better of him at last. Too many peculiar things had happened during the day to rationalise away.
"Okay, so," he began, sitting down opposite the couple and regarding them thoughtfully. "If I promise not to run away, can I ask a question?"
David looked nervous, but nodded. "Shoot."
He decided on the direct approach. "I was wondering: what the hell is going on around here?"
There was a moment of absolute silence.
And then it was as if a dam had burst, as weeks of pent up frustration, anger and despair poured out of the troubled young couple. Oz put on his best listening face and leaned back in his chair while they talked, seeing no need to interrupt.
It was quite a tale. They talked and talked, all about their early hopes and dreams for the Monico, which had each been slowly dashed by sabotage, mysterious happenings and staff betrayal, not to mention the increasingly imminent threat of financial ruination.
Oz found his curiosity piqued on hearing that the fleeing staff had each complained that the old theatre was haunted, remembering the curious events he'd noted throughout the day. No longer knowing what to believe, David and Emma nevertheless seemed convinced that this could not be the case: that ghosts did not exist. They clung to that apparent 'fact' with ever increasing desperation, preferring to suspect an unknown human assailant of some kind. Oz, however, had seen too much weirdness in his life to dismiss the idea out of hand, but having no proof either way he preferred not to offer an opinion at this stage. The situation did, however, add an extra, unwelcome, dimension to his new employment and temporary abode, and he started to wonder if agreeing to stay the night had been wise.
It seemed rude to back out now.
As it began to grow late, Emma took Oz upstairs to the spare room David had offered him, and it was only then that the newcomer realised just what a labyrinth the old theatre was, with only a fraction of the space available being utilised for the café and the Gibsons own living quarters. There were certainly more than the 'few' empty rooms David had mentioned. As Emma cleared a few boxes off the bed and disappeared in search of clean sheets, Oz put the holdall he'd retrieved from the van down at the foot of the bed, and thought about on the odd situation he'd wandered into.
Having a bed to sleep in instead of bunking down in the van was a welcome change, and after the lengthy conversation downstairs, Oz realised for the first time just how much he had missed real human contact, having avoided such interactions for the past few weeks. He felt that, if it wasn't for the supernatural element, this could be a good place to stay for a while and earn some money while he tried to decide what to do next. The Gibsons seemed to be a genuinely nice couple, willing to give him a chance despite clearly being in trouble. That trouble could be a problem, however. They seemed to be deep in denial but Oz had seen the damage behind the scenes and the absence of staff spoke for itself. Precisely what was causing it all remained something of a mystery, but he had a pretty good idea after the curious events of the day. The fleeing staff screaming 'ghost' was, after all, a fairly large clue, no matter what David and Emma chose to believe.
His suspicions were confirmed all too soon, as he was woken at an unearthly hour by even more unearthly noises. Caught in that hazy place between sleep and wakefulness, he listened cautiously, and then dismissed the sounds as a stray dog exploring the yard outside. Hoping to drop back off, he rolled over – but abruptly came completely awake. There was someone, something standing beside his bed.
"Huh?" Oz sat bolt upright, and the shadowy figure vanished at once as he fumbled for the light switch. Looking round the room, he saw the contents of his holdall strewn across the floor and sighed. So it was going to be like that, was it? No peace for the bar staff, chase them all away.
"No such things as ghosts, huh?" he muttered to himself as he swung his legs out of bed, wondering what to do next. Reading between the lines of what he'd seen, and what David and Emma had told him, this ghost they were so determined not to believe in was both vengeful and destructive, not to mention reclusive and apparently resentful of having to share the premises. Not the most pleasant of housemates. This was not what he'd had in mind when he agreed to take the job. Agreeing to stay the night was definitely not one of his better decisions.
Just walk away, he told himself as he picked up his scattered belongings and stuffed them into the holdall again. Don't get involved. It isn't your problem. But his conscience needled away quietly, pointing out that: If you don't, who will? And then he thought of David and Emma, so blissfully ignorant of how dangerous the world could be, trying so hard to stay optimistic in the face of total ruin, and he knew he couldn't do it. Couldn't just walk away when they had been so generous toward him.
But what to do about it? You're on your own now, he reminded himself. No Scooby Gang to call for backup. If you don't help these people, no one else will. Then he smiled to himself as Giles' voice rang out in his memory: 'We begin, not surprisingly, with research.'
Fair enough, Oz decided, resigned to his fate. Research it is.
The ghost proved a highly unfriendly housemate, and after a night of broken sleep Oz rose early, wondering how the Gibsons could continue to deny its existence so fiercely. After all, it had already chased away every staff member, and they presumably hadn't been living here with it. As he checked in to see what time he should start work, David seemed surprised – pleased, but surprised – that after a day on the job and a night on the premises he was still willing to work; he wondered just how long any of his predecessors had lasted. Mulling it all over, he headed out in search of a library.
A morning spent researching at the local library proved quite revealing, and except for the aloneness felt almost like old times. A search of old newspapers and local histories made clear how impossible the site was to live or work on. It seemed nothing had ever been able to survive there longer than a few weeks. And every attempt told the same tale: sabotage, destruction, terrorised staff, and no adequate explanation given beyond rumours of ghosts and haunting.
Curiouser and curiouser, Oz thought, pushing one record aside to begin on another.
- - - - -
Returning to the Monico slightly later than he'd intended after an instructive morning pouring over these records, Oz found the place still closed and David staring around the café in dismay. Every armchair had been slashed open, and several tables were overturned, cutlery and broken crockery scattered all around.
Gazing at the damaged furniture, Oz quietly murmured, "Spirit's got serious issues."
Horrified at the damage, David was barely listening. "What?"
"Hey, so did you know your bar was built on top of an old graveyard?" Oz asked, opting once more for the direct approach.
In his distraction, David barely noticed. "It used to be a theatre," he replied, absently. "We got the freehold really cheap."
"I'm not surprised," Oz told him, but before he could continue a pair of police officers arrived, summoned by David when he came downstairs to find the damage.
Officers Hanson and Cordoba seemed thorough enough, examining the damaged furniture and asking all the right questions. Having arrived and seen the damage mere moments before, and only having started work the previous day, Oz could tell them very little. He answered what questions came his way as quickly as possible, and then headed back upstairs to the relative security of his borrowed room, their presence disturbing him more than the ghost's. It annoyed him that the presence of such officialdom bothered him so much, having believed his post-Initiative anxiety to be a thing of the past, and he was determined not to let it show.
Soon enough, a depressed David came upstairs and joined him. "No suspects, no fingerprints, no evidence. Nothing they can do," he moaned.
"No," Oz agreed. "The police are not what you need here."
"So what are we supposed to do then?" Emma put in, having arrived just in time to hear that remark.
"Admit defeat and shut up shop," David muttered.
"No," Emma put her arms around him for a sympathetic hug. "It won't come to that."
"Already has." He was wallowing in depression. "We can't open today, not with the place looking like this. The furniture is trashed, we can't afford to keep replacing it; we can't keep the staff"
"Hey, I'm still here," Oz interjected, but David carried on as if he hadn't heard.
"And if we can't open, we can't carry on."
"We'll figure it out," Emma told him, firmly.
"No." David didn't seem willing to be comforted. " Someone wants to put us out of business. I just wish I knew who!"
Oz regarded the couple thoughtfully, amazed that they could continue to deny what seemed so obvious to him. "You do know that the theatre is haunted, right?"
David looked exasperated. "That's what everyone keeps saying."
Oz just looked at him, wondering how many times he would have to hear the truth and see the evidence before it sank in.
"You're actually serious, aren't you?" Emma sounded amazed.
"Deadly serious," Oz confirmed. "Had an encounter of the ghostly variety last night."
They both stared at him in disbelief.
"I've been reading up," he continued. "This whole site has got majorly bad karma, going back for, like, decades. That's why the prices are so low, why the businesses here don't survive."
"But if there really is a ghost, why haven't David and I seen it?" Emma wanted to know.
"No idea," Oz shrugged. "Maybe it gets a kick out of scaring all your staff and customers away, seeing you struggle."
"Is that possible?" Emma sounded puzzled, but her expression remained disbelieving.
"Oh, in my experience, just about anything is possible," he told her seriously, remembering some of the incredible things he'd seen over the past few years.
David seemed to be resigning himself to the worst. "So, I guess this is where you head for the hills, then."
"Why would I do that?" Oz asked.
"It's what they all do," Emma explained, looking annoyed. "Start screaming about seeing a ghost, and then make a run for it."
"Actually, I kinda thought getting rid of it would be a better plan," Oz told the couple.
There was a long pause.
"Seriously?" David sounded amazed, and looked like he might actually be starting to believe what Oz was telling them. After all, the evidence was fairly compelling. "You can do that?"
"I've seen ghosts before," Oz told them. "Never pleasant, but they can be dealt with."
Emma still seemed a little sceptical. "So what, are you like a, a ghostbuster, or something?" she asked, sarcastically.
Oz was amused by the suggestion. "Really not. But I have seen this kind of thing before. Never tried to deal with it on my own, though."
"But you can deal with it?" That was all David cared about at this stage: solving the problem and saving his business.
"I can try."
"But why?" Emma sounded genuinely surprised. "I mean, everyone else"
"I'm not everyone else," Oz pointed out. "If I left, would you know how to even begin?"
"No," David admitted.
"That's why."
"Thank you," Emma murmured, quietly but sincerely.
Oz nodded.
"So, where do we begin?" David wanted to know.
Oz felt a smile pulling at the corners of his lips at that, remembering days gone by. "We begin, as always, with research."
The Gibsons looked blank.
Oz sighed, realising that he missed the Scooby Gang, who knew how to do this stuff and who had a Vampire Slayer to lead them and a trained Watcher to guide them. Having to be 'take charge guy' did not sit easily with him. "I hit the library this morning," he explained. "That source is all tapped out. Not the best selection for the occult. We'll need to find a place that has the resources we need for this. I'll make a call, get some advice." He surprised himself at how in control he sounded, and reflected on the way that having other people relying on them could force someone to take a positive lead. Even him, it seemed.
Emma certainly seemed impressed. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"I come from Sunnydale," he told her, simply. "Town's full of demons. I kinda thought San Francisco would be quieter."
Before they could discuss the matter any further, David let out a yell of warning. Glancing up, Oz flung himself to the side just in time as a heavy box came tumbling down from a shelf, catching him a glancing blow but narrowly missing his head. As he straightened, rubbing his bruised shoulder, he found David and Emma gaping in horrified amazement, and knew that they finally believed.
"I think discussing this here is probably not such a good idea," he suggested, cautiously looking around the room for other potential threats and reflecting on the incredible turn of fate that had taken him from the Hellmouth right to San Francisco's own house of horrors. Who'd have believed it? Sheer randomness had a lot to answer for.
Wide-eyed, Emma nodded in agreement and headed for the door, which promptly slammed shut in her face. Pale faced, she scurried back to David, who wrapped both arms around her, looking toward Oz in mute appeal.
Where were Buffy and the gang when he needed them? Oz tried the door carefully. The handle turned, but the door refused to budge. Starting to get seriously worried, Oz pulled harder, only for it to thump back into his face. As he stumbled backwards, tasting blood on his lip, the door slammed shut again. The ghost definitely did not want them to get out – not now they were planning to remove it permanently. This was not good.
Behind him, David was rattling at the window, which seemed likewise stuck solid, Emma anxiously clutching at his sleeve and peering worriedly around the room in case anything else happened.
Oz kept trying the door, hearing Emma's terrified scream followed by a yell from David as the assorted contents of the box that had fallen on him started to fly around the room in a dizzying display of aerial acrobatics. All three of them had to duck and dodge these flying objects, and both men renewed their efforts at opening up escape routes. David finally gave up on the window, which had probably not been opened since the place was built, and came to help Oz with the door, Emma lending her support also. At last, it came flying open under the weight of their combined effort, allowing the trio to make a run for it. They raced downstairs, pelted all the time by a wide assortment of items, through the café – narrowly avoiding injury as the broken crockery and strewn cutlery became instant weapons – and out into the street.
The café door slammed shut behind them, so hard the bell fell off and the glass cracked.
Oz, David and Emma stood in the street gasping for breath after their exertions, only now beginning to feel the numerous scratches and bruises each had been left with.
"I was just thrown out of my own café by a ghost!" David moaned in despair and disbelief. Still trembling with fear, Emma moved over to hug him, and the couple held one another close, each murmuring reassurances to the other. Oz gave them a moment before interrupting.
"We should find someplace safe to hole up."
"Like where?" David asked, as he and Emma turned to look at Oz.
"Anywhere," he told them, wearily. He'd been in town all of a day – how was he supposed to know? "We can take my van."
- - - - -
to be continued...
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© J. Browning, September 2004