Resurrection
Summary: Before she was the Slayer, before she was a cheerleader, before she was born, Elizabeth was a maid in a London family she came to love, and then lost.
Warning: Dark. Very dark. Also, it deals with possible rape.
Spoilers: This is a pre-Buffy, standalone fic, so I don't think there are any.
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all associated with it belongs to Mutant Enemy, Fox, Joss Whedon etc. I own squat.
A/N: I couldn't get this out of my head.
I ran.
It was all I could do, after all. Why, just looking into those golden eyes which flashed with a blue I kept close to my heart . . . how could I stay?
Their head, the one whose every word had kept everyone but him frozen to the spot, chased after me. But, to my surprise, he stopped him. I heard the sounds of a struggle through the still cemetery, but I didn't dare look back. I hear his voice, laced with clear pain, cry out but I didn't dare look back. I ran, knowing my feet would give in and collapse anytime now, not knowing where I was going, but I didn't dare look back.
When I stumbled into the main road, I hailed a hack. The driver must have either pitied me or mistaken me for a loon, but he let me climb on and I managed to rasp out an address. It was as he drove away that that I finally looked back.
There, far off in the distance, I could make out a fallen figure. One female crouched beside him, speaking in shrilly tones I could hear. Another female stood a bit far apart, and the male, the larger male . . . demon, he should be called, was standing at the gate I'd just crashed through. His eyes, golden eyes without any hint of colour in them, looked at me with rage and promise. I knew what he was saying. He'd come for me.
Swallowing through my dry throat, I hugged myself in the coach. The driver glanced over his shoulder and said, "Are you alright, missy?"
I wrapped my torn shawl around me so that neither my wounds nor the tear in the fabric was visible. "Yes, yes . . . I'm alright, thank you," I managed to stutter.
He gave me a smile what he must have thought was reassuring, but to me was just distant. Even though so much had changed in the last few weeks, this one fact remained the same. Everyone's smile except for my master's remained unfeeling.
Except, a voice I never knew existed in me said, he isn't your master anymore, now is he? He's become a servant now. To her, and to him.
I gulped, knowing this was right. Slowly, making sure the driver didn't notice, I raised my hand to my neck where the wound was. I gasped aloud at the pain, but thankfully it went unnoticed. When I brought my hand back down, in the dim light on the streetlamps, I saw it was crimson.
There would've been a time I would have fainted at the sight of this. But not anymore. I'd gone through so much, I'd seen so much in these past days that nothing in this world could surprise me now.
I cautiously hid the wound with my shawl. The street I was on was far away from the house. It wouldn't be a home after this, after all. It was just a house. The driver, sighting the oncoming traffic, slowed down and said, "Bundle up, missy. It's going to be a long ride."
I leaned back in my seat. The wind whipped my face, tears of discomfort mingling with tears of pain. I closed my eyes, and those closed eyes saw everything I had lost today with clarity.
They found me on the docks, Mr. Sullivan and his colleagues. I don't really remember how I got there, it was a nightmare, but I think I lost my mother when we were boarding the ship in Boston. Mr. Sullivan took me to his home, where he got me cleaned up, gave me new clothes and work to do.
Life with Mr. Sullivan was good because, being a bachelor and a captain of a ship, he was hardly at home. I remember how I was a seven-year old toy doll for Tina and Mary, the cooks who braided my hair in different ways every morning. There was little work and he kept the three of us as grandly as he would a wife.
But then he died. It happened on the rocks, and we didn't even get his body for a funeral. He hadn't even sailed. Mr. Sullivan's shipping business was handed to his first cousin. Mr. Sinclair, who had lived so far in Bath, now filled the Park Lane mansion with life. He was rich, just like the rest of the family, and so he brought with him a butler, three cooks, five chambermaids and two footmen. Tina, Mary and I began to fear that there wouldn't be any place left for us in the house, now.
But the Sinclairs were kind. They let us stay, and when Tina and Mary proved to be better cooks, they were promoted. I stayed, even though I hardly did anything now except tend to the gardens.
Apart from their arsenal of household help, the Sinclairs also brought what we had often pleaded with Mr. Sullivan for. A beautiful, talented wife and two children. Suddenly, the house seemed too small. The elder was Margot, of about eighteen, who was engaged and soon to be married.
Margot lived in that world where most lovestruck girls do, dreamily floating around the house and plucking flowers all day long. She only spoke to us to giggle about Robert, her fiancé, who she met almost everyday since they had moved to London, where had lived too. Margot was pleasant to be around, (and she braided hair quite stylishly) but as I grew up with the Sinclairs, my best friend became William.
William Sinclair was about eleven when I was seven. Even back then, his eyes captivated me and I always compared them either to forget-me-nots, or the sky, or the stream at the country house and even periwinkles. William was extraordinarily shy; and in a house full of women when his father was out, he had no companion, at least one close to his age, except me. He and I became good friends. When I gardened, he'd sit by me and read. When I cleaned, he'd follow me and help me out. Anne, his mother, shook her head at his attachment to me, but she never did anything to pull us apart.
Julian Sinclair, Will's father, took Will to the docks, often. Once, William insisted I come along. Mr. Sinclair smiled, saying he had no objection. That day, Will chased me all over the ship and Mr. Sinclair had to keep pausing to laugh in between his lesson. I learnt that day what the starboard side was, how you put up the main sail, etc. William remained uninterested in sailing and Mr. Sinclair, that day, told me how proud of me he was.
Time passed and Margot left for India, where Robert was posted. I was around nine this time. Will had stopped coming to the garden so often, rather he stayed in his room where all day long, he pored over books and scratched away at parchment with a pen. His sister's departure left him irritable and crabby to most of the staff and family. For a while, he even stopped talking to me.
But one day as I looked out the kitchen window at the snowy garden, he came to me, eyes red, and started apologising. He stuttered and stammered, and I made him hot chocolate to calm him down. Then he sat next to me and spoke all about how he missed Margot, how sorry he was for pushing me away and promised to never do that again. Then he hugged me with reassurance. That was one of the first hugs he gave me as an adolescent. We were a bit awkward after that, until his chocolate moustache made me laugh.
As we grew, William began to attend social parties and gatherings more often. But he did it only out of compulsion; whenever he came home, however late it was, he'd seek me out in the kitchen and talk to me all about his day, how boring he thought it was and why I should go with him the next time. I had to gently explain to him the different places in society the two of us had. Anne, I know, often listened secretly to these midnight conversations, but she never said anything to me about it. It was probably because she knew I was constantly reaffirming my place as a maid in Will's mind.
But whenever I said anything like that, William became frustrated. I had come to love Will dearly, most of everyone I knew in this new life of mine, and I hated to have him be angry with me, even the slightest bit. Our relationship over the last five, six years had been one of close friends, soul mates, confidants. Because of this, Anne and Julian often treated me like their younger daughter. But now as I grew, my feelings were changing. And I didn't know what else would change because of that. What I knew was that the whole staff sighed over William's eyes, or his hair, or his lips, or his cheekbones and his physique. They constantly giggled while he was around, making him pretty irritated. I had admired his eyes first, even as a seven year old. Today, when he was seventeen, to me he looked more beautiful than he ever had. But I never told him that, out of fear of Anne and, primarily, that he would be irritated with me, too.
Will had, over the years, become even quieter. He spoke with his head down on the rare occasions he did talk. Perhaps because of his elder sister's dominance when she had stayed with him, or because of his dissatisfaction with his future career prospects, I'm not sure. What's clear is that when he was with me, William lost his burden and forgot his troubles. When he was with me, he was eleven again, and eleven year old aren't that shy. And as long as it made him happy, I was happy.
William and I shared a deeper bond, too. It first happened when I had been cleaning his room as a replacement for Belinda, who had the flu. I found a pile of balled up paper under his desk and was amazed Belinda hadn't cleaned it out. But as I picked up the crushed paper, my curiosity rose and I smoothened one sheet of paper and read what it said.
It was a poem. A breathtakingly beautiful that made my eyes widen with wonder, even though I had just started reading before Will came and snatched it away from my hand.
"Wh-what are you doing here? Where's Beli-Belinda?" He said, face flushed with either disapproval or embarrassment.
I remember standing with the paper in my hands, looking sheepish. "Well, um, William sir, I . . . I think you write beautifully."
He swallowed. I knew he was too shy to chastise me, but I still waited with bated breath. Finally, one hand running through his brown hair like it always did when he was uncomfortable, he said, "Really? You think so?" He sounded uncaring, but right below it was disbelieving pleasure.
I smiled. "Would I lie to you?"
He proceeded to smile, too, and let me read the rest of his works as well. But I was sworn to secrecy; nobody could know he wrote. His father expected him to either do law or take over the shipping business. Writers, his father emphasized, had a long struggle. William was too submissive to disagree.
But even if he wasn't allowed to be a writer, William decided he could dream. And dream he did. At times I thought that was all he ever did. He dreamed and dreamed and sometimes, let me in on what he dreamed about. With his imagination always providing him with an alternative reality, it was hard to talk to William about down-to-earth matters. This infuriated his father, indulged his mother and made me wish he was a little stronger of mind.
But when William was passionate about something, he gave into it. For example, at the country house Will kept a few dogs. He loved them with all his heart and whenever we visited, he'd do everything for the beasts, from cleaning their dishes to giving them a bath. It was extremely funny to watch him chase the sheepdogs across the lawns, wet shirt clinging to his body and the sun bringing out the gold in his hair. To see that kind of passion in him was always a good, welcomed change for me from the meek lad who gave into his parents' every command, often going against his own wishes.
I had the fortune of having that passion aimed at me, twice. The first time wasn't directly, though. It happened one day when Will and his mother were going to the docks to see off his father, who had decided that he needed to see his daughter who'd just given birth to a little girl. In four years of marriage, Margot and Robert already had twin boys, one daughter and now another. Julian Sinclair wanted to see his granddaughters. Anne had planned on going, but her health thwarted her.
Now, this day, I was running a little behind schedule because of the long talk session with William the last night. So when I went out for gardening, I forgot to put on my bonnet. My long black hair, wet from my bath, clung to my back and shoulders as I watered the plants.
Suddenly, a firm hand planted itself on my waist and another dragged itself through my hair, breaking quite a bit of it. I cried out in pain and whipped about to see the new footman, Roger, looking down at me, smirking.
"I like the goods, darling," He whispered, leaning in close to my face, pulling my hair to expose my throat. He leaned in further, his lips a hair's breadth from my neck. "How much does it take to—"
The fist flew out of nowhere, and a loud crunching noise cracked the air. I suddenly saw empty air where Roger had stood, and Will stood right behind it. At the mixed expression of rage, fear and concern on his face, I finally realized what had been happening. I backed away, hitting the wall of ivy behind me, while Will turned his gaze disgustedly onto Roger.
For a moment, none of them spoke while Tina, who I hadn't noticed till now, rushed forwards and wiped tears I didn't know I was crying. Then, hardly able to speak for the anger, Will said through gritted teeth, "Get out. Leave, Roger, or I swear on your bloody death I will kill you. I don't want to see you here one more bloody time," Now he leaned down, grabbing Roger by the shirt and hissed, "Do you get it?"
Roger, frightened out of his life by the transformation of the sheep to the lion, could only nod. When William threw him down and approached me, Roger got up and ran out of their as though the dogs of hell were after him.
When Will came near, Tina pulled back as though an unspoken agreement passed between them. He looked at me with nothing but concern in his voice and ran his fingers down the side of my face. He touched my cheek, my nose, my forehead as though to make sure they were okay. When his hands ended up in my heavy black curls, in the gentlest way possible, I burst out crying again. He pulled me to him, sighing, "Oh, Elizabeth, luv . . . shh, it'll be alright."
The rest of the staff was given orders to keep Roger away from the house, but not given any reasons. The other two footmen, George and Anthony, who were to me like elder brothers, guessed what had happened and sought Roger out and gave him a good bashing. Anne and Julian, who left that evening for a year, were kept in the dark, and Tina didn't even tell Mary what had went on. But what Will did for me, and what he told me later that day ('I don't know, I just sensed something concerning you was wrong') was the final straw. My heart was mine no longer.
But then came the time for him to go to college. He'd be attending Cambridge, and with none of the family in London, Anne would return to Bath. I would leave with her. For the five years he'd be doing law, I wouldn't see Will.
The night before he left, I was in the kitchen making, as always, hot chocolate. It was late; I was alone in the room, my bonnet, apron, smock and shoes discarded. When I felt a light hand on my waist, I spun around but it was only Will.
"You scared me, sir" I whispered, suddenly conscious of my appearance.
Will looked serious. He looked at what I had been making and his eyes, just his eyes, smiled. He gave me a once over that made me shiver, then said, "Bring the chocolate to the study." And he promptly left.
When I brought him his favourite drink on a tray, he sat in front of the fire, his chin in his hands, eyes downcast. I put, with care, the cup to the table by him and had turned to go when he said, "Where are you going?"
I turned back and said, "To bed, sir?"
He looked at me with eyes that were deeply shadowed and said, "Talk to me for a while". He pulled a chair forwards, so it was right next to his, and patted it. "Sit."
I sat. And I waited for him to speak. I'd always been the listener.
"I leave tomorrow. To do law." He looked at me, now, his gaze opaque. I noticed a firmness in his voice that hadn't been there for a long time. "What do you think of that?"
Will had only ever been firm with me. He sort of thought he had a claim over me, and I was the only thing he was really sure of. I smiled reassuringly. "You'll do well, Will sir."
"Don't call me sir. You're going to Bath, Elizabeth. Away from your home, London." He tilted his head at me and asked, "Don't you want to stay here, at home?"
"My home isn't London, Will sir. This isn't my home." I ignored his frown. Propriety had to be maintained.
He blinked. "You mean . . . don't you consider this as your home? Have we been so bad, Elizabeth?"
"Oh, god, sir, of course not!" I hastened to assure him. "I meant that, well, this is my home and it's been for a long time, but, oh, god, I'm going to be happy wherever Lady Anne is. Honestly, sir."
He looked at me, unconvinced. There was too little of a gap between us, so I moved back a little. He looked into my fifteen year old eyes and said, "You're scared of me."
I blinked. This was strange. "No, no . . . no, sir, you aren't very scary."
"Then why did you pull back?"
I blushed. I quietly got up and was just leaving when something slipped out of my hair. My bonnet. I groaned, bending to pick it up, knowing I'd have to tie my entire bun again, but Will was quicker. Soon I was facing him as he twirled his bonnet in my hands, his eyes on my face. He reached out and cupper my face again, his fingers trembling, leaning to close any gap I had put. Resting his forehead against mine, Will gently caressed my cheek with his thumb, then whispered, "You're so beautiful." And then he leaned in and kissed me.
It was chaste, a brush of lips against lips, nothing more. But the heat that my body had yearned for flooded my every nerve, making me light-headed. I didn't pull away for a good five seconds, then when I did, it was only to kiss him on his cheek. It was his cooling breath on my lips that made me finally pull away.
He looked as shocked by this as I felt. I swallowed through my sudden awareness and whispered, "I'll miss you, Will." And left the room.
He left the next morning, but I didn't see him off. I lay in bed, pretending to have a migraine, until he left. Tina told me he'd asked around for me, and seemed disappointed when he hadn't found me. I didn't give into Tina's enquiries, though. I lay in bed for two days, until it was time to leave for Bath.
When the hack dropped me off, I paid the driver with what little I had and quietly entered the mansion. And, suddenly, it didn't feel like home.
Too many deaths; too many portraits of women who'd never frown upon my hair again, too many ships carved with the initials, JS. Too recent was the scent of spilled ink on the floor and parchment. I collapsed right there.
They couldn't get in, I knew that. Except for two, anyways. Not the devil of devils, the one whose promise still lingered in his mind.
I fell asleep, crying.
Julian Sinclair's death came as a shock. When in his place, a letter arrived, telling of his death in a storm off Madagascar, Anne went into shock. In London, Will left school to attend to business. We stayed on in Bath, tending to Anne.
She had to go for the memorial service, however. Mary went with her and Anne came back more frail and ill than she'd been when she left. The little shrewdness she had as a wife was gone, replaced by a helplessness, loneliness and pain you saw in a widow's eyes.
Will started taking care of business with the help of Mr. Avers, Julian Sinclair's business partner. Avers convinced Will to return to law school. And, because of a mistake of his simple, trusting nature, the family began to lose money, little by little.
But little turned huge when, in three years, all that was left was the Sinclair fortune was the London mansion. So, once again, the move was made to London where, this time, the house seemed conflictingly huge. William began to spend most of his time out, trying to save what little of his father's wealth was left. He came home rarely, that too at night, and according to the maids who loved him so at seventeen, he looked horrible at twenty-three.
I saw little of Will as, with Anne ill, I had a lot to do. Mary had died of pneumonia a year back and Tina was always at Anne's side. I was the cook, now, and the caretaker.
The first time I saw Will after moving back to London, saw him and talked to him, was around seven months after the move. I couldn't sleep and as I sat drinking (what else?) chocolate, he'd stumbled in, looking tired, two days of stubble showing through, his clothes ragged. When he saw me, sitting on the stool by the window like I had before, he smiled. And that smile took him back twelve years.
"You- You're exquisite." He said as I handed him his drink.
I looked at him, grave, and replied, "You've grown up."
We drank the rest in silence.
With age, Will had only increased in shyness. His horrible experiences at law school where they were taught to fight had somehow confused the balance he had inside him. His poems, now, were much different than they'd been before. He read them to me, though, and when he read them, they sounded . . . what's the word? Oh, yes. Exquisite.
Anne heard him once and soon, she too became an avid listener of her son's creativity. I always left at these mother-son moments, but Will often asked me not to, with his eyes. He hardly cared for his appearance, now, and his honey coloured hair was long and floppy, covering his ears and forehead. His glasses hid his eyes' colour, yet I somehow saw him beyond all that. To me, he was still the eighteen year old who had kissed me ever so hesitantly.
Late one evening, Tina asked me, in the kitchen, as I sat darning, "What do you feel for Will?"
I practically drove my needle into my finger, I was so shocked. "What?"
"You heard me, sweetie. What do you feel for Will?"
I concentrated on my work. "Well," I said, cautious, "it doesn't matter how I feel, now does it? I can't expect him to marry me."
"Yes, but what is it that you feel?"
"It's irrelevant."
"So you mean nothing?"
I swallowed, but didn't look up. "Yes, Tina. I feel nothing for him."
It was later that I realized that those words had gone back to William. The little we had started talking again was gone. Will immersed himself in work, again, finding time only for Anne.
This, I told myself, was good. He couldn't feel anything for you. Firstly, it was just because you were such great friends and secondly, you are a maid. You have no future, especially now in the middle of this crisis. It doesn't matter how you love him. No, this is good. It's alright.
But at times, when I'd send him his cup of chocolate in the morning through Amy, he'd give her his compliments for the chef. That was enough recognition for me.
Somehow, William managed to clear the air with Avers and settled for a lesser but steady income. With his troubles more or less gone, Will began to socialize a bit more, and this time, he didn't come to complain to me about how stuffy and boring the events were.
I soon found out why. Like I found out his earlier secret, this one too came to me in a fallen paper. But this time, it was the kitchen, where I found that paper. And it told me two things. One, he'd come looking for me last night after I'd gone to bed. Two, he was in love with one Cecily.
I sent the paper to him along with his morning breakfast and newspaper through Amy, and then silently left to go shopping for groceries. When I returned I was told he had left for a week or so. He hadn't asked about how Amy came by the paper, which meant that he'd either left it there intentionally, or he just didn't care anymore.
Somehow, life went on. Things changed; we weren't the grand family we'd been once, rather, we were frowned upon as though we didn't quite belong in Park Lane. One by one, the servants began to leave as the pay was a lot lesser than what it had been. William began to withdraw from everyone except Anne. He lost all interest in business and now, all he did all day was write.
William, what few girls who were left told me, was extremely shy in public. He had trouble expressing himself, stuttered and stammered, always kept looking down. He had no confidence, as everyone, it seemed, was constantly putting him and his efforts down.
Just as I was leaving the kitchen for bed one night, he came in and asked me to sit for a while. I did, but he stood, pacing the tiled floor, his frown deepening with each step he took. When he finally looked at me, he asked, timid, "What do you think of my writing?"
"Is that all, sir?"
"Well, yes . . . I need a lady's opinion."
"Well, sir, I'm flattered you think of me as a lady, but your mother, Lady Anne, will give you a better result."
"Well, actually," He paused, leaning against the counter, "I believe Mother is rather biased. Now, tell me. Is my poetry strong enough to . . . well, say, court a lady?"
I smiled reassuringly. "Your poetry can move mountains, sir." And for me, it could.
He, too, smiled; a relieved smile. "Thank you, Elizabeth." He straightened and said, "Now, it's rather late, so . . .?"
I got up and turned to go. "Good evening, sir." And left.
He was up early the next morning, pacing after breakfast again, and then he left after a quick dialogue with Anne. I didn't really think that was the last I would see of William, but that's what happened.
I never saw William again.
At least, not the Will I knew.
I got up sometime in the afternoon. I slowly, carefully, wandered the mansion with a walking stick firmly in my hand, but I didn't see anything harmful. Not that I had expected to, not during the day. My troubles would come when the sun was gone.
As I wandered the hallways, I found myself in front of Will's room. And suddenly, I couldn't stop crying.
I collapsed in the hallway, drawing my knees against me and buried my head between them. I don't know for how long I cried, but it was a long time. Every minute I spent in that house was a lifetime of memories that I'd rather forget. When I finally recovered, I looked at my hand.
My left hand, which he, that devil, had grabbed with cruelty and carved a sign I didn't understand into. The wound was fresh and red, and suddenly, I was filled with rage. Rage that I had never in my life felt for anyone before. I hated him more than anything in this world.
"You will suffer, Angelus," I found myself whispering in the hallway, "I will make sure of it. I will make you suffer, and because of you, one day, I will get my Will back."
"Well, now, that's delightful!" A voice startled me and I looked up, into the face of a woman whose features were contorted much like Angelus'. However, I knew she couldn't have gotten in without me asking her to so she was probably safe. Right? "I see a lot of promise in that!"
I stood, or tried, and asked her, trembling I might add, "Who are you? What do you want?"
She leaned against the door to Will's room – or, when it used to be – and said, "Two very important questions dear. But you got one thing wrong." She leaned forwards and her face melted into a human one. She was fine-looking, but something in her eyes made me untrusting of her. "It's what you want that matters. I'm Halfrek. Call me Hallie."
When Will didn't return that night, Anne was worried. She was afraid something had happened to him, much like every mother would have been. Her condition was getting worse and worse. The blood that at times came with her coughs was constant, now. When she fainted with exhaustion, nobody woke her up again, feeling she needed rest. And that's why when the news cam, she wasn't told.
It was just Anne, Tina, George and me in the house. Everyone else had left work except Amy, who was on holiday. George, who was a butler, a footman and many other things now, opened the door. When he entered the kitchen, pale faced with William's effects, I was certain something was wrong.
The news made Tina burst into horrified tears. George comforted her as she thought of how the mistress would face such news and how she would live through it. Nobody noticed me back away and enter my own room, where I drew myself a cold bath and entered in, fully clothed, certain that the cold would numb the pain that had suddenly overtaken my heart, mind, body and soul.
I didn't care when Tina made George haul me out of the tub. I was concentrating on nothing but the numbness that had automatically come with the cold. I held on to that numbness for two days, after which I lost it when Tina, George and I witnessed William's body being lowered into the ground.
I collapsed to the grass on the cemetery. The part where common men who died on the streets, urchins and peasants, were buried. The family didn't have enough money for a proper grave. Anne had been told William was missing. She didn't even know today was his funeral. I couldn't take any of it anymore; I broke. As I began to cry, began to feel something for the first time in three days, the sky opened up and it rained.
I caught pneumonia that evening, because I refused to move until George, once more, had to pick me up. Even then, he said as he tried cheering me up, I put up quite a struggle. But after that, for the rest of the week, I was still as I lay in bed, counting my fingers, sleeping and crying. Always crying, Tina said. Even in my sleep.
I don't know for how long I lay asleep, but one evening, Amy ran in when Tina was giving me tea and said she'd seen William. I sat up, knocking the tea all over me. Tina cried out but I was focused on what Amy was saying. She said she and George had seen Will in an alley not far away, dancing with a dark haired woman. When I asked George if this was true, he could only shrug. But his lack of words and ashen face made me feel that something was definitely wrong.
Tina sent me off to take a hot bath and change while she went to look at what Anne was doing. Just then, the bell rang and George went to get it. Amy followed Tina, and I went on my own way.
I have no idea what happened in the half an hour I was bathing. I know I heard voices, one vaguely familiar, and Anne spoke more than she had over a week. I ignored it all, concentrating on what Amy had said with detachedness you'd feel for something that had happened a decade back. As I thought for quite a while, and was still thinking when I felt a presence in my room, beyond the screen my bath was hidden with.
"Tina? Is that you?" But it wasn't, I knew. But who else could it be? Not who I wished it to; I had seen William's body being buried. But the silence was William's, the aura was different, but William's, and the footsteps that led out of my room also felt like William's. As I wondered if I was going mad, I heard a scream. And in a flash, I was out of my bath, my robe around me and I quickly fled my room. Just as I left, I felt the need to grab my cross for reasons I don't know, but I did. I followed the sounds and found myself in the drawing room, looking upon a bloody sight.
Tina lay, face upwards, just before me, the life draining out of her neck as two similar wounds there bled. Anne lay on the sofa, the same marks on her neck but not bleeding as much. The difference was that Anne was already dead. The similarity was I could do nothing to help either her, or Tina.
I crouched beside Tina, tears I thought had been used flowing down my cheeks in rivers. I grasped her hand and she turned her green eyes to mine with great difficulty. I held her hand to my chest and whispered against it, "Oh, Tina, don't worry, everything will be okay! Really, Tee, I promise you that—"
"Beth," Tina whispered, "Don't make false promises, dear." And suddenly, her hand was limp against me.
I couldn't stand staying in that room anymore. I looked for a way out, my eyes blurred with tears, and ran towards the foyer where my sobs intensified as I stumbled upon George's body. His kind brown eyes looked at me with horror, and I couldn't stand looking into them. Sobbing, weeping, crying beyond any control, I left the house and looked up and down Park Lane.
My sore eyes that still cried noticed something on the right. As I watched, two figures, one carrying a third, turned the corner and fled my sight. But for the one second they were illuminated by light, I saw it was William with his dark woman, carrying Amy.
"Halfrek."
She smiled. "Yes, dear. Halfrek. Now, tell me: what is it that you want?"
"I want to know what kind of creature are you and what you're doing here."
"Your first enquiry will answer your second." She sighed, and shook her head tiredly. "Same old thing with you stubborn girls. Don't you know your salvation when you see it?"
I looked at her critically. Smart clothes, perfect make up, fashionable coiffure and a snooty aura. I snorted, aware of how strange that was given my mood a few minutes ago. "You do not look like my salvation, if you forgive any offence."
"None taken. But that's what most people think. Before I tell them what I am."
I tilted my head like Will used to. In spite of our grim situation, I was amused. "And that you be . . ."
She grinned. "Ready for your world to rock?" She pretended to think about it, then shook her head. "Sorry. It's pretty messed up anyway right now, eh? Well, here's another shock: I'm a vengeance demon, dearie."
I nodded. "Vampires, vengeance demons, do I have to worry about Witches too?"
"Oh, yes," Halfrek nodded, looking around fearfully. "They're everywhere, you know. Anyone can be a witch. And if they lose control—"
"What is it that you want, Halfrek?" I tiredly rubbed my red eyes.
She smiled. "Like I said before, it's what you want, my dear."
Angelus to suffer. "What do you mean by that?" I was cautious.
Hallie shrugged. "I'm a vengeance demon, girl. I help women who have been wronged. To get revenge," she must have read my mind, "just like you want with Angelus."
I frowned. "How do you know that?"
She smiled, this time enigmatically. "There is little I don't know." Then she clapped her hands. "But enough of this talk. I heard you- you want Angelus to suffer forever? And, you want Will back in a way connected to Angelus?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes, that's what I said."
Halfrek grinned. "So much fun! I can see it now- mess up the Shanshu so it doesn't—" she noticed I was hanging onto every word, so she said, "But that's a surprise. And," she frowned as though she just remembered a fact, "it's only if you choose the slow torture." She looked at me. "What say you?"
"I don't quite understand everything that comes out of your mouth."
Halfrek elaborated. "You can pick- fast torture and he dies today; or slow, gradual, subtle suffering spreading over the years of his life, so much that finally, he feels he has to kill himself."
I swallowed. "What about Will?"
Halfrek thought. "Well, the slow one for you will be more rewarding. And should you choose the fast torment, then I'm sorry, but you won't last long enough to enjoy the boy, you, dear, are dying," she pointed at the sign on my left wrist.
I frowned. "What is it?"
For a second, I thought Hallie shuddered. "One of the few crafts Angelus knows. That sign lets him know your every heart beat, your every breath. He knows where you are."
I swallowed. "So?"
"SO?" Hallie sounded terrified herself. "He can chase you for eternity, if he wants. You'll have to keep running, and he'll always find you." She swallowed and continued, "A lion tires his kill before he kills it."
And in that moment, I knew what to do. I wasn't going to be Angelus' kill, not this once. To die at his hands would be the worst death possible for me, now. I'd rather die because of something I did. Somehow, I believed Halfrek so I asked her, "What do you need I return?"
"Nothing. This will be fun to watch play out."
I swallowed. "Alright, then."
Hallie brightened. "You agree? To what?"
"The slow one. But, I will be there to see it, right?"
She smiled slow. "Of course you will. So, just say it all, once."
"Okay." I steadied myself. "I want Angelus to see hell, and suffer in the worst, slowest way forever. I want him to hope for redemption, then be denied. I want him to give Will back to me." I looked at Halfrek. "Was that okay?"
Hallie was shaking her head. "You have to say, 'I wish it'. Say it."
I ran back into the house, ignoring the bodies around me and quickly dressed. As I sprung a cloak around myself, I realized that my tears, my sadness was gone. It was as though a part of me had known what was coming. Before I stepped out of the house again, I sprinkled holy water everywhere. I didn't know why, but I went with instinct.
Stopping only to kiss Tina and gently shut George's eyes, I left the house quickly and was soon in vicinity of the cemetery where I knew I would find them. At the gates, I said a quick prayer and then entered.
My feet knew exactly where William was, even though I had only been to the grave just once. I followed my intuition again and it led me to the stone that said 'William Sinclair, May his soul rest forever' and I wished we had the money for a better epitaph. As I approached the stone, I noticed that the earth around the grave was disturbed. Somehow, I had expected this.
I stood there, my senses searching for him, but my eyes suddenly locked with a pair of eyes that definitely weren't his. No, not so heartless, not so cruel. And as he stepped up to where I was standing, I found it wasn't Will either.
This man was much taller, much broader than my Will. His long hair was tied loosely and his smile, deceptively warm, made me shiver. But I held my own, looking into his eyes, never leaving them.
He came to a stop directly in front of me. I looked up to match his gaze. His mouth was curled into a smile that was making my heart sprint in a fearful fashion, my soul aware this man could easily bathe in my blood. When he spoke, I felt as though I was hearing Satan. "You're looking for William. Right, luv?"
The word 'luv' was stretched and it rang out, caressing my skin much like his finger which soon followed suit. I swallowed, hating his cool touch and said, "Yes, y-yes I am. Is he here?"
He smirked and pulled away. He backed away into the shadows and spoke with a voice that hit me form all directions, "You came too early, dear. He isn't here, yet."
I gulped. "Oh, alright, then," My voice sounded shrill, even to myself. I couldn't see him, so I didn't know where I should be facing as I spoke. "I'll come back later, then, I'll just be—"
"Going?" He was suddenly behind me, hands on my upper arms and his mouth on my shoulder where the cloak and loose gown had slipped. "So soon? But you just got here!"
"Yes," I tried pulling away, his touch invoking a sense of hate in me, "But I—"
"Oh, please don't say you have work!" His teeth grazed my shoulder, alternating between sharp and blunt awfully fast. In spite of myself, I felt a trill of pleasure. "Please, stay . . ."
"That's quite enough, Angelus," A sharp but cold voice broke the air. Angelus let go and turned to face whoever it was. He, thankfully, let go of me and walked over to her. . "I leave for a moment and you're slobbering all over that tramp, that whore . . ."
"Darla, my dove," He nuzzled against her and I found myself quite sickeningly fascinated. "I'm just welcoming a guest! Guess who she's here for?" Without waiting for an answer, he nipped at her earlobe and said, "William."
Darla smiled with pleasure and, I'm certain, craftiness he lacked. Arching a slim brow, she said, "Oh? A visitor for William? I'm sorry to have interrupted, then."
Angelus grinned. "That's my girl," he said, giving a quick graze of teeth against her neck and sidling up to me. "Oh, why look! You're shivering!"
"Ac-actually," I stammered, "I'm fi-fine."
"Nonsense," He tutted, coming closer every second. "Let me . . . warm you up."
And without warning, he shoved me to the ground and ripped my cloak away from my body. He pulled at the neck of my gown and leaned in. I was struggling all this while but when his cool lips hit my heated neck, I found myself unable to move. He kissed and licked my throat and I lay there, enjoying it, while Darla laughed in the background. I was so immersed in the feel of his lips against my flesh that I didn't even noticed his hand sidle under my dress and up my thigh. I only realized this when he caressed my inner thigh roughly, and the second I protested, his teeth turned sharp and he dived into my skin like a warm knife through butter.
I don't know how long I lay like that but suddenly, he was pulled off me and I found myself blinking up at the sky. When I looked a bit lower, William stood over me like he had that time with Roger, looking at Angelus with hate and fury. A sob escaped me, unbidden, as pain took over my body. The noise attracted Will's attention. He looked at me, his gaze golden, like Angelus', but also caring.
And then, I knew. I knew this was who Will had meant to be, who he was destined to be. Firm, passionate, and yet, human. In him was the last bit of humanity I'd see before I died the next day.
He helped me up. As I stood, he supported me with one arm and looked hatefully at Angelus. "What in the name of hell possessed you to hurt her?" His voice was amazingly low.
Angelus laughed, carefree. "Why, look Dru! Darla! He's actually yelling at me! Perhaps there's hope for you, after all, Will! Now, come on: we'll ravage her together and she'll make excellent snacks for you and Dru later. For now, let me just f—"
The punch that threw him to the grass surprised Angelus as much as it did me, or the other two women. But it was Will who threw it, and it was Will who whispered to me, "Run."
So, I ran.
I swallowed, watching Halfrek through hurting eyes. Then, my mind clear with the contrast between Will and Angelus' golden eyes, I said, clearly:
"I wish it."
A/N: If anyone's been bearing this so far, I'm so sorry for its length. I had to finish this thing to continue with 'The Road Home', the 12th chapter of which will be posted somewhere in June as I'm on vacation form tomorrow. So, so, so sorry! I promise I won't write anything stranger than this, or at least I'll try.