Teaser
Manhattan, Kansas: July, 1972
We see street occupied by small late 1950's style ranch homes. The trees along the street are tall, generating a lot of shade. The air is still, which is unusual for northeastern Kansas. It appears to be the middle of the day, because the shade of the trees is directly under them, and the houses cast almost no shadows. Heat waves rise from the parts of the street which are not covered by the shade.
A black taxicab pulls into the driveway of a yellow bricked house, right behind a bright green VW Bug. Out of the taxicab steps a man in a three piece suit. He looks like a young Quentin Travers. He wordlessly pays the cab driver, and starts to walk up the driveway before the cab driver can say goodbye. We see the driver shrug and pull out. We then follow the progress of the man as he walks up the driveway, then the short pathway to the front door. He reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a white handkerchief, which he uses to mop his profusely sweating face. In the distance, we hear the rapid fire barking of firecrackers.
"Bloody colonials," the man mutters in a gruff voice that confirms that he is, in fact, a young Quentin Travers. His entire being, including facial expression, posture, and gait as he walks, communicates disapproval of where he is and who he is going to meet. However, as he reaches the front door, his entire affect changes. He smiles, he straightens up, and as he pushes the doorbell with his right hand, he takes a pair of spectacles out of his front pocket with his left hand. As he places the glasses on his face, his quick transformation from arrogant aristocrat to kindly scholar is complete.
"Just a minute!" we hear a voice say from behind the door. Then, a lovely young woman with long, light brown hair, tall, barefoot, dressed in blue jean shorts and a white blouse, opens the door. On her hip is an infant, perhaps eight months old, dressed in little pink jumper.
The woman smiles politely, but with a hint of caution.
"May I help you?" she asks.
"Hello, Mrs. Carter," the man says. "I'm Doctor Quentin Travers."
The woman responds with a flustered and somewhat embarrassed look.
"I'm so sorry, Doctor Travers," Mrs. Carter says. "I wasn't expecting you for another week."
"It is I who should apologize, Mrs. Carter," Travers replies. "I was just so excited when I saw your daughter's test scores that I just had to meet her as soon as possible. Being British, I of course had forgotten that this was a holiday week in your country."
Mrs. Carter smiles kindly as she opens the door wider to allow Travers to enter. She moves easily with her infant daughter on her hip. Travers, followed by Mrs. Carter, enters into a living room. Baby toys are scattered about, as well as various teen magazines depicting David Cassidy and the Monkees on their covers. The room has a well worn but inviting looking red couch, and an equally comfortable looking green vinyl chair. There is also a recliner chair, but it is covered in plastic. As is typical, the furniture is all arranged around a television, with both rabbit ear and round UHF antenna.
"I'm afraid the house is a mess," Mrs. Carter says with an apologetic sigh. "Lots of baby toys and Lyssa is a typically messy twelve year old. With young Misty here I haven't had the kind of time I need to properly clean up."
"Perhaps you can start to expect young Lyssa to help maintain the household," Travers replies in a tone of kindly suggestion.
"I should," Mrs. Carter says. "I really should, but sometimes getting her to clean up is more work than doing it myself. Can I get you something? Ice tea perhaps?"
Travers briefly makes a face when Mrs. Carter says "ice tea", but the expression vanishes before it is seen.
"I'll just take some water if you don't mind, ice is not necessary," Travers says.
"That's fine," Mrs. Carter says. "I'll get that for you and call Lyssa in from outside."
Mrs. Carter, still carrying the infant Misty, walks through a doorway in the back of the living room. We hear water running, a refrigerator door opening then hastily being closed again with a muttered "oh yeah". Then we hear a backdoor opening and Mrs. Carter yelling:
"Lyssa! Come in please!"
In the distance, we hear a young girl's voice yell back.
"Ma-om!" we hear. "I'm going to Carly's house to watch Dark Shadows, can't it wait?"
"No, it can't!" Mrs. Carter yells back. "You have a visitor."
"Well, can Carly and Heather come?"
"No, Lyssa," Mrs. Carter says. "They can't. It's not that kind of visitor."
We hear the backdoor close again, and then Mrs. Carter walks in with her infant daughter in one arm, and a glass of water in her other hand.
"I'm sorry," Mrs. Carter says as she hands Travers his glass of water. "My daughter is a huge fan of Dark Shadows, and she and the neighborhood kids organize their afternoons around it. It's a ridiculous soap opera with vampires, werewolves, and witches. The kids love it, though."
Travers smiles indulgently.
"I understand," he says. "I myself find vampires, werewolves, and witches to be fascinating topics."
We hear the back door slam open, and then see a pretty young girl, looking very much like her mother, walk from the back into the living room. She is darkly tanned, barefoot, and wearing blue jean shorts and a bright multi-colored tie dyed t-shirt. Her long brown hair is swept back on each side by hairclips with huge plastic pink daisies on them. The girl's expression is not friendly.
"Lyssa," Mrs. Carter says. "This is Doctor Quentin Travers, the man I told you about. He's come a little early."
Lyssa's expression softens a little, not exactly becoming friendly but certainly more polite. She extends her right hand. Travers shakes it.
"Nice to meet you," Lyssa says. "I thought you were coming next week, though."
"As I told your mother, I was so excited to meet you I forgot myself and arrived early," he says.
"So, uhm," Lyssa says, looking longingly at the television set. "What are we going to do?"
"Lyssa," Mrs. Carter says with an exasperated sigh. "Forget about that TV show for a day. Nothing much is going to happen on a single, mid-week episode of a daily soap opera!"
"Actually, Mrs. Carter," Travers says. "If you don't mind I would be delighted to watch this 'Dark Shadows' with Lyssa."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Travers," Mrs. Carter says. "We don't have cable here. Dark Shadows is on channel 9 from Kansas City."
"Oh, I see," Travers says, actually sounding a little disappointed. He turns to Lyssa. "Why don't you go to your friend's house and watch your program, then meet me here afterwards?"
"Really?" Lyssa exclaims. "Far out!"
"The only thing I will ask you to do when you come back is to tell me all about your program," Travers says.
"OK!" Lyssa says as she starts to edge her way to the front door. "Then what are we going to do?"
"Well, then, young Lyssa," Travers says. "Then I will tell you some stories of my own."
Nottingham, England: November, 2003
Giles is sitting in a hospital waiting room reading a magazine, but looking quite tense. An elevator door opens to reveal Lyssa Carter McGrath and her 12 year old daughter, Caitlyn. Upon exiting the elevator, Lyssa looks around, spots Giles, and runs up to him.
"Giles!" Lyssa says.
Giles stands up and embraces Lyssa. Lyssa raises her face and they briefly kiss. Caitlyn watches the kiss and turns away with an expression of disapproval.
"How is she?" Lyssa asks.
"She's not expected to live," Giles says, motioning to Lyssa and Caitlyn to sit.
"Of course, she was not expected to survive the gurney ride to the helicopter. Then, she was not expected to survive the helicopter ride to the hospital. Then, she was not expected to survive surgery or the blood transfusion. Then, she was not expected to survive the night. As a result of these sequential failures to meet expectations, I am not putting great stock in the not expected to live prognosis."
"She's what, a hundred and two years old?" Lyssa replies. "She's almost certainly extremely fragile. I hope you are prepared for the worse."
Giles shrugs.
"I'm not certain how I feel about the prospect of losing her, honestly," Giles says. "She just took me off of her disinherited list yesterday, and even those family members she didn't disinherit she hasn't exactly kept up with. I called Althea and she was frankly shocked that our grandmother was still alive, and didn't seem to care that she was at death's door."
Lyssa shrugs.
"Your cousin isn't exactly the friendliest person in the world, hon," she says.
"Althea's just gruff, Lyssa," Giles says. "She certainly came through for Willow when I needed her to. Mrs. Harkness and the others in the coven would not have accepted her if Althea had not intervened."
"Really?" Lyssa says. "What would have happened if the coven had not taken Willow in?"
Giles' expression turns very grim.
"They would have given Willow the fate she was expecting," Giles says.
"What was that?" Caitlyn asks, not too politely.
Giles turns towards Caitlyn.
"That is something you will have to ask Willow when you see her again," Giles says mildly, as if to avoid a tone of reproach. "But I would be careful with that, it's a very painful subject for her."
Caitlyn turns to her mother.
"Mom," Caitlyn asks. "Can you give me some money so I can go get something to eat?"
Lyssa nods and fishes some coins and a couple of pound notes out of her purse.
"Yes honey," Lyssa says. "But only to the vending machine down by the elevator downstairs, and you need to come back immediately or I will come looking for you."
"It's not like there are going to be any vampires here, Mom," Caitlyn says, all but rolling her eyes as she takes the money and starts to go back towards the elevator.
"Actually, Caitlyn, vampires tend to like hospitals," Lyssa says. "All the blood, remember?"
"And infant vampires occasionally awaken in the morgue," Giles says.
"I know all this, Mom," Caitlyn says. "It's not like I haven't killed baby vamps before!"
"Have Karyn and Dawn been taking you out on their slaying patrols again?" Lyssa says, her voice rising slightly in anger. "They should know better than that!"
"No Mom," Caitlyn says. "They've been good. 'Course, I should be going with them, since I'm a vampire slayer too, and Dawn's even my watcher!"
Giles looks around uncomfortably.
"It's OK, no one heard," Caitlyn turns and says to Giles.
"She's right, Giles," Lyssa says. "No one heard."
Giles' posture relaxes. Caitlyn stands up.
"I'll be right back, Mom," Caitlyn says, as she walks to the elevator.
As the elevator door closes behind Caitlyn, Lyssa turns towards Giles.
"I'm so sorry about her attitude lately," Lyssa says. "I don't know what is getting into her. Incipient teenagerism, I guess."
"Caitlyn is a delightful young lady," Giles says. "She is sweet and soft spoken and her attitude is perfectly natural given the circumstances. It's been less than a year since she lost her father. She can't be happy with our budding relationship"
"But Karyn…" Lyssa says.
"Karyn spends a lot of time with Dawn and Buffy, and they tend to be in the...(ahem!) as Willow would put it, 'yay Giles' camp. I don't have that sort of support among the slayers in Caitlyn's age group. "
"The next youngest slayer in Rome just turned 15, Giles," Lyssa says. "She's almost as isolated as I am when it comes to slayers in the same age group.
"Not that I consider it an excuse for the way she has been treating you lately."
"I'm not offended in any way whatsoever," Giles says with a gentle smile, laying his right hand gently on Lyssa's left hand. Lyssa takes his hand and holds it for a second, then she leans forward and briefly kisses Giles again.
"Yes, well," Giles says. "While Caitlyn is out acquiring snacks, I need to tell you the things that my grandmother told us. I'm afraid I have some very disturbing news about the original Watcher's Council, and your old watcher."
"Quentin?" Lyssa asks, her face concerned. "He's dead, what else could be wrong?"
Giles, his expression grim, says simply:
"Plenty."
Wolfram and Hart, London Offices
Our viewpoint follows a figure in a cloak as we enter the lobby. The London Wolfram and Hart lobby is identical in appearance to the lobby in Wolfram and Hart, Los Angeles, and it appears to be deserted, except for other cloaked figures milling about muttering to each other in front of an elevator. One of the other cloaked figures is at least 12 feet tall.
When the door to the elevator dings and opens, the cloaked figures crowd in like it's a Chinese fire drill. When our viewpoint enters the elevator, however, the interior is revealed to be the size of a large ballroom, and is occupied by over a hundred other cloaked figures. After the last of the mysterious figures enters the elevator, we see the 12 foot tall figure doff its cloak, to reveal a giant reptilian creature clad in a mockery of an old fashioned elevator operator outfit.
"Going down," the creature croaks as it opens a panel underneath the buttons and pushes a large square, glowing white button. Depicted in the middle of the button is the Circle of the Black Thorn. As the elevator door closes, we hear massive machinery activate as the elevator starts its downward trip. In the background, we hear a Muzak version of the "The Girl from Ipanema" play in the background. The cloaked figures all stand silently. No one speaks, or even clears his, her, or its throat.
Our viewpoint shifts to the display over the elevator door. It reads SB, then SSB, then SSSB, and so on until we see SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSB, followed by Nether Realm Level 1, Nether Realm Level 2, and so on until we reach Nether Realm Level 9. Then, the display reads Abandon All Hope: Welcome Circle members and have a nice day. The elevator dings, and the doors open.
On the other side of the doors are glowing, slimy red cave walls with natural columns consisting of grown together stalactites and stalagmites. Also on the other side of the door are uniformed demons, clearly of the Scourge type. Each one of the Scourge demons has a three headed, reptilian creature on a leash somewhat resembling three headed dogs. The creatures range in approximate size from Mastiff to horse.
One of the cloaked figures turns to another and says in a feminine voice with an Italian accent.
"I was so disappointed that these little creatures are the source of the Cerberus legend," the cloaked figure says as she removes her cloak to reveal a large breasted, attractive woman who appears to be in her mid forties. "Weren't you?"
The cloaked figure next to her removes his own cloak to reveal the three piece suit and familiar features of Quentin Travers.
"Actually, I find these creatures to be quite formidable appearing in their own right," Travers says in his gruff voice.
Fade to black, and the opening credits begin.