Cat was spread out on her back across the battered old sofa in the staff room of the hospital she worked at (one of many in the city), the only occupant in the room at that moment. Fluorescent strip lights hummed overhead, bathing the room in their much too bright white glow, giving the plastic chairs and formica topped tables sharp, unreal edges. The standard issue white plastic wall clock across the room ticked loudly, announcing, despite Cat's disbelief, that yes, time actually was passing. Albeit suspiciously slowly. She gave a wide jaw-popping yawn and swung her legs over the edge of the faded yellow sofa, boots hitting the threadbare carpet before she actually hauled herself upright, keeping her thumb between the pages of the book she had been reading. It was 2am and her break was over. She placed her bookmark between the pages she had read to and snapped her book shut, stuffed it back into her rucksack and kicked the bag out of the way beside the sofa as she stood up and arched her spine until it cracked loudly. With a sigh of contentment she smoothed out her shirt and made her way out of the room and into a corridor that smelled of disinfectant, starched sheets and the various chemicals and…other things that made up the uncomfortable scent she had come to name 'hospital smell'. More harsh lightning and bland colours (dark green floor, white painted plaster walls) gave her surroundings that unreal insomnia quality. And it was quiet. Save for the thud and squeak of her rubber soles against the floor.
She strolled back towards the reception area of the minor injuries unit she worked security for and smiled at the bleary eyed woman behind the desk. The receptionist was sorting through sheaves of paper and folders, placing them into a stack of trays beside her computer ready to be picked up and taken to the appropriate wards and offices.
The room was filled with muffled conversation and the soft metallic clink of someone feeding coins to the vending machine in the corner. Across the room the heavy glass doors leading out into the car park showed a pitch black night sky.
"Where's Frank gone?" Cat's partner in crime for the graveyard shift.
"Uh…Out for a smoke." The receptionist replied distantly, glancing over a print out. Cat nodded and leaned against the desk, surveying the almost empty waiting room. It was a quiet night, just a few bumps and cuts and one incident involving super glue and a lamp. The weekend was when Cat felt actually needed, when the angry drunks and punch up injuries walked (or hobbled) through their doors.
Frank would have gone around the side of their block to smoke, out of sight of any potential patients or family members turning up. Maybe even further along to accident and emergency to smoke with the security guys over there. There was no telling how long he would be.
"Slow night, eh?"
The receptionist raised her eyes to Cat's and opened her mouth to agree. Instead she glanced behind the reaper and immediately leaped to her feet. Cat frowned at the woman and turned to follow her gaze. Behind the double set of automatic doors that opened out into the car park she could see three people tripping up the concrete ramp to the doors. A man and a woman struggling to hold up a sagging and barely conscious twenty-odd year old guy as they frantically ran. Cat saw blood, and a lot of it. She darted forwards as the doors slid open and heard the receptionist behind her snatch up her phone and punch in the numbers to call for assistance.
"HELP! We need help!" The woman cried shrilly. She had run bare foot across the freezing tarmac, a pair of stilettos clasped in one hand. She and the man who Cat assumed must be her partner were dressed up smart for partying or clubbing. He had blood staining what had been a pale blue shirt. The man they were helping was early twenties and wore just a hoody and jeans, a canvas messenger bag slung across his chest. Cat had no clue what he had been up to but his green hoody was spattered with mud and blood, deep scores across his chest and face. She saw a thin satin scarf had been tied around his left forearm, but it was doing nothing to stop what must have been a deep wound to judge from the red sprinkling over the linoleum floor.
"What happened?!" Cat demanded, standing between the injured man and the rest of the waiting room who were already gawping and talking loudly, their own injuries and ailments seemingly forgotten.
"Monster!" Yelped the victim, lunging for Cat as she moved forwards to help the couple support him, and desperately gripping her upper arms, leaving bloody handprints on the cotton sleeves of her shirt. He was pale and sweating, eyes wide and frantic, delirious. "It was a monster!" He stared at her a moment, willing her to believe, before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed. Cat and his rescuers grabbed a hold of him before he could hit the floor, just as the double doors at the end of the corridor crashed open and a team of hospital staff charged towards them wheeling a bed at high speed.
"He was attacked in the street." The woman explained to no one in particular, pushing her blonde hair back from her face with trembling hands. Cat turned to look to her. "We didn't see it but we heard…"
Heard what exactly, Cat was pretty sure she already knew.
"I've called the police." The receptionist announced, looking through the crowd of doctors and nurses to Cat, who nodded and turned back to the couple.
"You'll need to stay here for questioning." She told them, glancing away after the mauled man on his bed already being wheeled off to some ward or operating theatre or whatever. He would need to be questioned too. By the police, yes, and by her.
The rest of Cat's shift passed by without incident. The passage of time however seemed to slow to a crawl. She had ushered the injured man's rescuers into an empty office and waited with them until the police showed up, where she left them to their questions and hung around in the waiting room again, watching the clock continuously. She was eager to get away, to find that injured man and ask her own questions. On their way out the police had pulled her aside to ask her questions, and scribble down her answers in their little spiral bound notepads. They thanked her for her time and left the hospital, both of them. So the injured man was alone in recovery, just the odd nurse and doctor checking up on him. Cat would be free to find him and speak with him. Providing he was conscious of course.
Finally her shift was over and she dashed to the staff room to collect her jacket and rucksack, calling her goodbyes over one shoulder. She had discovered the man had been put in a room of his own on the other side of the building she was in. A little hard to explain why she was there if asked but she had mastered the art of walking with purpose to avoid questions. She clipped her ID badge onto the waistband of her trousers and left the staff room, striding down corridors towards her goal.
She pushed through double doors onto the dimly lit ward, a long corridor with a desk tucked into an alcove at one end, single rooms on either side. The doors behind her swooshed shut and she made her way silently along the corridor, peering into darkened rooms until she found the right one. He had the light on still. Usually a nurse would have turned it off.
Cat lightly tapped her knuckles on the wooden door, peering in through the glass. The man's head snapped round to look towards the noise nervously. She waved and inched the door open, slipping inside and closing it behind her.
"Hi." She said, pausing where she stood. He watched her from the bed, clearly confused. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"
"Are you police?" He asked. "No, no, you're the security lady, aren't you?" Cat nodded, stepping closer to the bed. He wore a hospital gown and what could be seen of his arms were swathed in bandages and gauze. "I remember." He mumbled, looking away into the opposite corner of the room.
"I just wanted to speak with you about what happened?" Cat pressed.
"Why?"
"Um. Well, it's hard to explain. But I think it might have something to do with a thing I'm currently…investigating. Which helps the police." She slid the rucksack from her shoulder onto the floor, dragging over the chair from the corner of the room and leaving it beside the bed. The man was now watching her suspiciously.
"That sounds unofficial." He told her.
"Okay, why don't we start with names?" She offered, sitting down. "I'm Cat."
"Clarke." He replied after a moment.
"Like Superman?" Cat grinned. He simply looked at her. She cleared her throat awkwardly. This was why they really needed to get Tara 'interviewing' people during their 'investigations'. "Could you tell me what happened to you, Clarke?"
"I was attacked." He said simply.
"By what?"
He shook his head, looking away from her again, closing up. She noticed his hands shaking faintly above the blanket.
"You wouldn't believe me." He said. "They didn't."
"You'd be surprised." Cat said, in a tone she hoped invited confidence.
"The doctors told me it was a hallucination or something brought on by stress." He took a deep breath and looked at her. "But what happened was… Or what I think happened was this…thing just jumped me in the street, out of no where, like a monster or something. I don't know. I mean it looked like a monster. Like nothing I've ever seen before. But, I mean, I watch a lot of horror movies and my imagination sometimes goes a bit-"
"I believe you." Cat interrupted him. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Can you tell me what it looked like?"
Clarke licked his lips nervously, staring up at the ceiling panels as though they held the answers to all his questions.
"I understand if it's too difficult." Cat said gently. Clarke remained silent, though she could see he was tentatively gathering his thoughts. Trying to recollect enough information while remaining a safe distance from his memories. "Maybe I could start." The reaper suggested. "It's an unnaturally tall and spindly thing that moves blindingly fast."
Clarke turned his head to look at her in surprise.
"With long claws and eyes that-"
"Glow silver." He interrupted her. "How did you know…?"
"I've seen it too." Clarke stared at her in surprise. "And I'm going to stop it. Me and my friends. So you don't need to worry, okay? It'll be gone soon. I promise."
"Okay." Clarke said, sensing there was more to this young woman than bad jokes and a cocky attitude.
"Rest up." Cat said, picking up her rucksack and climbing to her feet. Knowing he had been attacked by the demon they were after was enough, she didn't need to agitate him further. "And, um…Get well soon." She pulled one of the straps up over one shoulder. Clarke pulled a face and looked down at his arms.
"Sure…"
"Bye, then." Cat said awkwardly and left the room. The door clicked softly behind her and she stood in the corridor with her eyes screwed shut. "Bye, then." She mimicked herself. "What a dork." She muttered, stalking off down the corridor towards the nearest exit.
Tara definitely needed to be recruited as their official Scooby interviewer. Still, she had managed to find out what she needed.
Outside the air was cold and crisp and stung her bare hands and face. The sun was just rising across the city, the light hard and grey and mostly blocked by the heavy rainclouds looming on the horizon, hanging low in the sky. Even as Cat crossed the hospital car park cold fat drops of water fell at intervals from the heavens, threatening a torrential downpour at any moment.
Home would have to wait a while yet. She wanted to get to the Summers/Rosenberg/Maclay residence first to set up the bat signal and organise a Scooby meeting for that evening. She turned up the collar of her coat, ducked her head against the rain drops that were gradually falling faster and harder, and ran out onto the street and across the road to the bus stop. There was no shelter and so she huddled under the signpost for ten minutes while the rain continued to fall until the bus finally turned up.
Her stop was just five minutes' walk from Buffy's home. However, even sprinting she arrived soaked through. She stood under the welcome shelter of the front porch and pushed her short fringe out of her eyes. Water dripped from her coat onto the concrete slabs of the front step. She sighed and knocked on the glass panel set in the centre of the door, knowing the doorbell would wake Dawn up. The others should be awake by now, getting ready for work. Sure enough she only had to wait a minute before she heard movement from inside the house. Shortly after that a pink shape swam into view, distorted by the glass. The door opened a crack and Buffy peeped round.
"Cat? Hi!" The slayer said in confusion, opening the door wider to reveal she was still in her pajamas, with a pink fluffy dressing gown over the top.
"Hi." Cat replied grimly. "We need to talk."