Chapter eight – Triumph and betrayal
She knew now that she was surrounded by enemies. Especially at night, she could trust no-one.
In the last few months, Buffy's life had seemed to speed up, in various, often disagreeable, sometimes even frightening ways. The break between her parents, her increasing social concerns, and last but not least the appearance of the mysterious Englishman Merrick, had made her life both busier and more complicated than she had ever imagined it would be. She had always been aware that she was adopted, and that the distant and slightly forbidding figure of Jacob Carter was her real father; but until recently, she had never thought of questioning her status. The silence between Hank and Joyce had been growing worse for years, but compared with some of her school friends, her family was amazingly normal. But she had become increasingly conscious of the difference of how her parents behaved with friends and business partners, and her parents alone at home, and she now had found herself thinking how much better it would be if they were all the time as they were when they were dining with other families.
But that was before Rosario and her child. It had not taken Buffy much to understand exactly what was going on; after all, many of her friends had divorced or polyamorous parents, and half-brothers and sisters seemed to be the rule rather than the exception. But her own reaction surprised her. The more she thought about, the angrier she got. Maybe it was because of her mom's obvious hurt and humiliation, but she was growingly angry at her father and his – a word she had learned in English class and found very useful - "doxy".
And then Lothos and his gang had entered her life. People had started to die horribly. And she felt increasingly angry, frustrated, useless. On some deep level, she knew that if she could find these vampires, she could hurt them and she could kill them. Every dead person was a reproach to her personally.
And Lothos became aware of her, and, as master vampires would, went after her and what was part of her life. He became interested in her school and in her friends. And Buffy's shame and grief multiplied, as two boys she had known were killed and turned, and she had to wait by their graves and kill them again. But Lothos had not meant to stop with them; they were just their introduction. For as Buffy was walking out of the cemetery, with specks of vampire dust still coating her dress, a body was casually thrown in her path, like rubbish. It was Cassandra, Cassie, a girl from her own class, who had often been bullied by her cheerleader gang. Now nobody would ever bully her again. Buffy saw her throat, not just bitten but torn out; she saw her terrified, staring eyes, turn to her, and then become motionless and dead; she saw with rage and horror the last twitches of the girl's thin body, spattered and filthy with her own life-blood. And she raced after Lothos for miles, hearing his spiteful laughter ahead of her, and never managing to catch him. She did catch and kill two of his minions; literally ripping the head of the second off his neck, in her fury and frustration.
The morning did not make matters any better. She had to go back to school; and by special intercession of every devil in Hell, today was cheerleader practice, and she had to endure the immature patter of other fifteen-year-olds about the girl. When she tried to suggest that they should feel for her death, they treated it as a joke.
"Pfff! If you call that ilivin'/i, Buffy..." sneered Nicky as several of her friends openly laughed; and Venus added: "She'll be missed... by the dust in the library." "Is there a special section in the cemetery for fashion-disaster bookworms?" laughed a third girl.
Of course they had not seen the body; they had not experienced the impact of that shameful helplessness, of that total estrangement, of that total denial. And Buffy was not yet disposed to break with them; so she twisted her features in the semblance of an amused smile. But in her minds there was nothing except those wide, staring, helpless eyes. And she realized that what they expressed was more than just the last, defeated, helpless call for help. They said: "Please remember me. I lived. I existed. I counted for something."
That night, she went hunting with a fury she had never felt before. She opened herself to all her senses, and pursued, and staked, and killed. Four vampires would never live to see another night; and she only quit when the dawn was coming up. She was absolutely exhausted, but luckily she could sleep all day if she wanted. She had nothing to do at school – today was Prom day, and she was only a sophomore. She stretched herself luxuriously and lay down in the California sun.
…...
Meanwhile, in London, a small number of elderly and middle-aged people were discussing her and her destiny.
"I need you, Ripper. We need you. We have never been at such a low ebb."
"I can see that."
"So, will you come in?"
"I will. Though frankly I hope Merrick lives to be a hundred. But if he has to be retired for any reason, I'll take over."
…...
But while the adults discussed in London, in Los Angeles little Buffy Carter was staring into the eyes of a mass murderer.
Two hours earlier she had been asleep, sunning herself in her parents' garden and dreaming of prom dances. Only this prom was in Vienna, and she was with a young Peter O'Toole in beautiful Lawrence of Arabia clothes; and they were waltzing on tiptoe on the tips of many spears, as the music played, and -Suddenly she screamed. She jerked herself awake, and rushed into her house. She pressed a number on her cellphone, and started throwing clothes on while whispering "answer, answer, c'mon answer..." The phone rang, and she switched it on at once.
"Buffy? What is going on?"
"Merrick? Lothos is about to attack the school prom!"
"Are you sure?"
"I just dreamed of it. I'm going there to make sure. Meet me there." And, while she ran out and jumped on her motorbike – in fact, an old Ducati of her sister's, but working and fast – she was dialling Pike to give him the same message. But he could not be reached. That scared her even more, and she threw herself into the Los Angeles traffic. She had already broken half a dozen laws, including riding a motorbike while underage and without a licence; at that point she did not care any more. Getting there was all that mattered, and for the rest, Slayer reflexes took care of it. Anyone else in her place would have caused more than one accident; she made it to the highway and off the highway and to Hemery High without so much as grazing any car.
She made it to the school gym just in time – moments before the vampires did; and she drove her bike straight at the tall figure of Lothos, easily distinguished among his fawning minions. As the monster and the machine tangled, she jumped off and was thrown in the general direction of a female vampire who seemed to be about to assault a girl. Buffy came in as if flying and literally burst the vampire's skull with her two clenched fists, with all her weight and momentum behind them. The skull was smashed, with the same result as a decapitation: the vampire exploded into a cloud of filthy ashes, and Buffy flew right through it, twisting in the air to land on one hand and both feet, ready for the next move. She straightened herself up and drew her stake from her jacket.
This charge was to go down in legend. It was the first of her great deeds, what would make her a myth, the Golden Slayer, the greatest Slayer in history and one of the greatest heroes in an age of heroes. At the time, only two vampires who managed to escape her, and Merrick, who was near her and was badly injured, were able to see and understand what was happening. The students and the staff simply stood around, bewildered, and then started running for their lives. But Buffy Carter Summers was not running – except at the enemy. Small, incredibly fast and hard, ferociously committed, instinctively able to connect move to move into one long, flowing path of destruction, she went through vampire after vampire like a machine, as if those homicidal monsters were no better than targets. Lothos had come with ten followers, intending to turn Pike, whom he had captured, into the twelfth member of the band, and to use the students and teachers at the Prom as a colossal human sacrifice. The number twelve had great magical power, and a vampire band composed of twelve members and consecrated by sacrifice on such a scale would have been invincible. But he never had the opportunity to test his theory. His vampires went down like grass before the mower. He did not even have the opportunity to kill Spike altogether, let alone turn him into a vampire: before his fangs could do more than break a little of the boy's skin, a large stone flew into the side of his head. He dropped Pike, and a second later his enemy was upon him.
But Lothos had not earned the rank of master vampire by having a funny name. Before Buffy could stabilize herself, he reached out and snatched her stake from her, then broke it in pieces. He then dodged around a one-handed lunge by the Slayer and seized her by the neck. He straightened up, holding her at arm's length by the neck – a bad mistake, because that was a showy position, but not one in which he could easily inflict further harm, let alone kill her. She, on the other hand, could react, and did. Using his own arm as pivot, she swung her legs upwards, bending them, and rested both feet against his chest; then she kicked out with all her strength, forcing him backwards and breaking his hold. She capered in mid-air, managing to land on all fours, and looked around herself. Many people had dropped property as they fled. She saw a can of hairspray protruding from a girl's handbag, and a lighter; and as Lothos lunged towards her again, she pressed the spray button on the can, lit the lighter, and placed it before the spray. The hairspray turned into a flamethrower, and Lothos got the blast straight in the face. One last horrible yell and he was gone – but the hangings behind him had caught fire.
Buffy was the last to leave the gym as it burned. She was utterly exhausted and could not have mustered the strength to chew gum. From a distance, she saw both Merrick and Pike being loaded on stretchers and taken away in ambulances with flashing lights.
She did not have the strength to follow them. She just sat there watching the flames rising, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief and exhaustion. At that moment, she had forgotten the main point of Merrick's teaching – that the enemy was everywhere, and could be anyone. She had destroyed the most evil thing she had ever met; surely that was the end of it? Buffy, after all, was only fourteen. She had certainly been forced to mature faster than any of her contemporaries, but she was still little more than a child in many ways; which is why she let it escape that it was she who had burned the gym, and that she had done so because it was full of vampires. Soon she could have kicked herself for that.
At first nothing happened. The fireman who was taking her statement just smiled a little to himself and went away. But then things got worse – fast. As firemen, policemen and other people in uniform swarmed around the fire area, each with things to do and ignoring her, a nondescript man with no uniform appeared and started questioning her. If other adults had there been paying attention, they would certainly have found his approach to questioning... questionable would have found fault with his interrogation technique; although it was clear that there was nothing clumsy or fumbling about it. He knew what he wanted, and how to obtain. His subtly worded questions got her increasingly defensive and angry. Another man appeared with a notepad. The questions became worse, following a passive-aggressive pattern of grim suggestion, outright accusation, and occasional but telling insult. Within half an hour, the two adults had got the fourteen-year-old to say enough that they were able to draft a report stating that Buffy E.A. Carter Summers was delusional and violent, a danger both to the public and to herself, and urgently needed to be committed. The bewildered girl was placed in the back of an ambulance, and before she knew it she was in a small room in a clinic. It was only much later that someone informed her stepfather.
It took little for a horrified Hank Summers to surmise that this was a kind reminder from Paedophile Central. And it was. 's clinic was partly a legitimate psychiatric clinic, but it also had a confidential children's department that might best be described as a centre of study for scientific grooming. It released bulletins that had the form of peer-reviewed papers, but were only passed on to a closed circle of adult members and supporters. Its purpose was the normalization of paedophile relationships, and obviously addressed only people who were already mentally or morally perverted. Its managers had had their eye on Buffy Summers for a while, and did not intend to miss an opportunity such as this.
Evening came, and night. And nobody came to see her or speak with her. Someone brought in a meal – without realizing that it was inadequate for the Slayer. She remained hungry, and it affected her mood. She saw the sunlight fade, and the dark come on, but she could not even see any stars from her window; and she felt alone and without hope, as if the whole world had deserted her. She felt like what she had seen in Cassie's dying eyes.
Please remember me. I lived. I existed. I counted for something.
