Chapter 12
Prophecy Girl
You feel awake at a surreal level. Even as the day is grey and dismal, every raindrop seems pearlescent. The greenery screamingly vibrant. You can even feel the shape of your lungs when you breathe in the sweet, sharp, damp air.
Breathing feels like cheating. Eating too. You tear off the end of your breakfast burrito with your teeth. It's delicious, and you hate that.
The motel lies just off the 17 before you hit Eden Memorial Park. Funny how you navigate by graveyards these days. The diner next door served the best ribs in town. You remember them from the night you first Slew with Kennedy. It was so good to see another girl attack food with as much gusto as you.
Amy sits across from you in the diner booth, numbly stabbing at her meal. Third cup of coffee down. Giles and Jenny left an hour ago to alert the police. Sort out the mess.
A bell chimes as the diner doors open behind you. Amy drops her fork with a loud clatter and rushes into Oz's waiting arms. As she sobs into his chest, he looks to you with sad eyes and gives you a nod that speaks volumes. You nod back.
Dingoes are on tour. Oz is taking Amy with him to keep her safe.
You think of calling Buffy. Of rushing to her arms. But oh, of course that cascades into lies and defenses, wanting to pull her close, but also push her away and scream at her to run and keep running. The payphone catches your eye again. You do nothing.
The rain is still drizzling when you and Giles arrive back to his apartment. The note still tacked to the door. You rip it down and throw it as far as you can.
A sweep reveals nothing out place, no nasty surprises waiting.
Bitch.
April sits on the couch. Dead still. Eyes open, staring unfocused at the wall. It makes you feel all kinds ill. All kinds of angry.
Giles heads for the kitchen. You hear the sound of the kettle click on and cups being arranged on a tray. Then silence.
"Giles?"
Stake drawn, you cautiously edge towards the room.
"Giles?"
You creep closer to the doorway.
Giles is slumped against the kitchen table, his face red and quivering, a clenched fist pressed to his lip.
He roars and throws a cup against the wall.
You rush to him, kneeling at his side, holding him to you as he sobs, heavy, silent sobs that shake you.
"I went to make the tea." he whispers,when the sobbing subsides. "I made three sodding cups"
Kennedy's room is larger than yours. The sound of the rain on the roof, upon the window. Distant rumbles, gentle and quiet like merely the memory of thunder.
Her room is messy, but that is nothing new, her clothes strewn across the floor and dresser. A pale grey sports bra hangs from the handle of a spiked mace. The dartboard has a picture of principle Snyder pinned to it with shurikens. A small ceramic rabbit peeks out of the potted fern by the window. Her half sister's photo taped to her vanity mirror. The only hint she had any family at all.
You sit on the edge of the bed. The wall on your right and half of the wall behind you is filled with her drawings. Some from whimsy, many from her dreams. You can tell the dream ones as they are dated in thick black; the pencil darker where she frantically dug at the paper trying to seize the horrors she had seen before it bled away.
You no longer feel jealous of her gift.
Your eyes fall on the image of the pale woman rising elegantly from a well of blood.
Giles said the police seemed alarmingly casual about Kennedy's murder. Barely looked at her before chalking it up to "gang related: PCP". You hack in to get the report. Kennedy was long known to them as a troubled youth, rejected from her family for being gay, prone to violence, running with the wrong crowd. No one cared. Case closed.
You tap the last sequence into the laptop, check over your syntax. Satisfied, you hit compile and sit back, watching the rain against the window as you drink your coffee. The whiskey burns so good.
"Oh." April says, startling awake.
"Welcome back. Hope ya don't mind, but I switched out your dead battery with a power core. How do you feel?"
"I feel good. Really good. Strong." she says, observing her hands with curiousity as she lifts and turns them. "Thank-you Faith."
You unplug your laptop from her neck. The flesh closes seamlessly.
"But, I am confused." she says.
"How so?"
"I was looking for Warren. I distinctly remember that I spent a long time looking for Warren." she looks at you with perfect brown eyes. "It was vitally important to me that I find him."
"And now?".
"Now?" she furrows her perfect brow for a moment, before her perfect lips slowly stretch into an easy smile. She shrugs. "I don't give a shit about that pathetic little loser."
"Well…" you say with a grin "There's my girl."