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Chapter 22
Ste. Anne ConventAnne stood nervously outside the closed door of the reception room for visitors. Mother Marie-Claire had said that friends were waiting to see her. Anne bit her lip. She wished Will were here with her. How strange to think that she would be meeting people who knew much more about her than she did.
She was frightened—what if she found out something awful about herself? What if . . .
Anne took a deep breath. These people weren't going away. They had flown in from England specifically to see her—might as well get it over with.
Anne slowly and quietly turned the knob, inching the door open. She was hoping to get a look at them before they saw her. She peeked in. Directly in her line of sight was a nice-looking middle-aged man. Tall, well-built, wearing glasses—could he be her father?
No, not her father—Mother Marie-Claire hadn't said anything about a father. He looked kind. He was polishing his glasses. Maybe he was nervous, too. They had identified themselves as friends—but she would have thought he was kind of old to hang out with. Maybe he was a friend of her family?
She opened the door another few inches. Two women, about her own age. Okay, she could believe that they were her friends. They all looked to be as nervous as she felt. It would be okay. She could do this.
Anne took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Three pairs of eyes focused on her at once. The red-haired woman impetuously jumped up and threw her arms around Anne, hugging her tightly.
“Oh, Buffy! It's so good to see you! We were so worried!”
Buffy? The redhead called her 'buffy'. Were they involved? Was she gay? She didn't feel gay and she was definitely attracted to Will . . .
“Are we . . . gay?”
“What?”
“You and I . . . are we gay?”
“No! Well, yes, I'm gay, but you've never shown any interest . . . No. We're just good friends. Best friends. You really don't remember me at all?” she asked, disappointment evident in her voice.
Anne looked at her carefully. “Well, you do look sort of familiar—you and that man over there.” She was trying to be kind. “But, if we're not involved, why did you call me 'buffy'?”
“Uh. 'Cause that's your name? Buffy Anne Summers. I know you're using 'Anne' now, but I've always known you as 'Buffy', and when you went by Anne before, it was while you were in LA and we weren't around, so . . .”
Anne started to laugh. “Buffy. My name is Buffy . . .” She laughed harder and the others found themselves joining in. The laughter served to break the tension, even if they didn't understand the source of the mirth.
“I thought it meant 'honey' or 'sweetie', because Will called me 'Buffy'—wait! Will called me 'Buffy'! Why would he do that if he didn't know who I was?”
“I'm sorry . . . I don't understand what you mean,” Willow said, a look of puzzlement on her face.
“Will's . . . oh, it would take too long to explain. It's sort of creepy that you apparently know things about me that I don't even know. Things like . . . do I have any family? Do I go to school? Do I have a job? And it doesn't involve a hat with a cow, does it?”
**********
Drusilla gently brushed the hair back from Will's face. She straightened his body on the couch. She would have to lay him out as best as she could. It was only respectful to do so. Pity, the ground was all frozen and hard; she would have liked to give him a proper burial, like she had done for her daughter . . . Even if she wasn't a real daughter a'tall. She was still Grandmama, in spite of everything. Dru sighed.
Dru drifted into the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water. She carefully washed the blood from his face. “There you are, my beautiful Spike.” She reached out a forefinger and traced the line of his cheekbone.
“My brave knight. I knew you'd come back to me. I heard the whispers in the falling snow. I so wanted to visit the talking dollies in Niagara Falls, but I couldn't find them. I found you, though. P'rhaps we'll go to Paris when you wake up—Paris is lovely in the spring.” Dru sighed. “Remember that beautiful sad poet, Spike? He would have been the perfect brother for you—a young lion—he tasted like cinnamon and moonlight and storms and bourbon . . . lots and lots of bourbon. I drank my fill and he was delicious, but he wouldn't wake up. I tried to make him drink, but he slipped under the water and went away. You were very cross with me that the lizard ran away.”
She folded his arms across his chest. She wished she had a posey to put in his hands. Dru wandered around the cabin, but there were no flowers to be found. With a cry of delight, she noticed the aloe vera plant on the kitchen windowsill. She broke off a sprig of aloe and placed it between his hands. She bent to kiss him.
“Mummy will be back to check on you tonight. Don't worry, my darling, things were all topsy-turvey, but they'll soon be back the way they should be! We'll slash and crash and bash and dash . . . and I'll fix your hair. Princess will put her Spike all back together again and we'll have good games.”
She waggled her finger in a scolding gesture. “But no nasty slayers, this time! They really aren't good for you a'tall!”
Dru pressed her lips to his forehead and glided to the door. She looked back at him one final time, her eyes filled with longing, and then slipped away into the night.
**********
Buffy's eyes widened. “You're witches? Real witches? Can you fly?”
“Well, no. I don't think so. Actually, I've never tried . . . Giles, do you think I could fly? 'Cause that would be pretty cool—”
“Willow!”
“Sorry. No, we're not that kind of witches. We do spells to help you in your work—your real work, not that job at the Doublemeat Palace, and you always did hate that hat with the cow! But this really isn't a spell—it's kind of a mind meld. We've done it before. When Glory snatched Dawn and you went all catatonic, I merged with your mind and brought you back. This is the same principle. I'm not going to invent memories for you, like the monks did for all of us so we'd think we remembered Dawn—your memories are locked away somewhere in your mind. I'm just going to try and make you aware of them.”
“Are you all insane? Witches and slayers and vampires and inventing memories . . . and you're telling me this was my life? I believed in all this stuff? I think you're crazy!”
Giles attempted to explain. “It is quite a bit to take in, when you don't have the background with which to reference things, and we aren't doing a stellar job of explaining, but the point is . . . you are the slayer, whether you remember or not. And vampires and demons will recognize that and be coming for you . . .”
Buffy jumped to her feet and began to pace. “I need to see Will . . . I need to talk to him about this . . . he'll help me figure out what I should do.”
“Who's Will?” Willow asked curiously. Buffy had mentioned him before.
“He's . . . he's my . . . everything. He's my boyfriend, my 'buffy' . . . possibly my fiancé, although I think I was teasing when I asked him to marry me. He's good and kind and loving and he's a successful writer and he . . . knows things. I thought he was playing me at first, but after getting to know him, I think he's just kinda psychic and doesn't know it. There seems to be a lot of that going around—the not knowing things about yourself. I need to talk to Will before I make any kind of decision about this mind meld thingy. Stay here. I'll be back.”
Giles removed his glasses and began polishing them. “Perhaps it would be better if we accompanied you to see your . . . er . . . Will.”
Buffy put her hands on her hips. “I was perfectly capable of getting around on my own before you people showed up! You say you're my best friends . . . you care about me . . . I believe you, but I don't feel it. You may know all about who I was but you don't know anything about who I am now. I need to do this on my own. I'll be back.”
Buffy turned on her heel and quickly left the room.
Willow looked at Giles with pain in her eyes. “Oh, shit. I think we screwed this up big time. What do we do now?”
“We wait. That's really all we can do.”
**********
Buffy carefully shut the gate and began walking rapidly to Will's cottage. She wished she had thought to borrow his skis this afternoon. It was much quicker to cut across the fields, but she'd just flounder through the deep snow of the short-cut on foot.
Her mind was in turmoil. She had initially panicked when she discovered her memories were gone, but she had gradually adjusted; as she began to make new ones, she decided starting out with a clean slate wasn't such a bad thing.
Now, all the fear and anxiety was back. She had the chance to recover her memories, but did she really want them back? She liked her present life—would all the baggage of her past change things for her now? On the other hand, could she really stand to live in ignorance of all the experiences that made her Anne . . . or Buffy. Whatever.
She had a sister! A younger sister named Dawn—and she didn't even know what Dawn looked like! Did Dawn look like her? Did they like the same things? Did they get along or did they fight all the time?
Those people—her friends—hadn't mentioned parents, so her feelings of being alone were probably right . . . they must be dead. She'd forgotten to even ask what their names were. Well, she'd had a lot on her mind. But, apparently, not half as much as she would have if Willow did her hocus pocus and gave her back her memories. Ha!
Will would help her figure out what to do. Will would—
Buffy froze, her senses tingling. There was someone here. Someone watching her from the shadows. Her heart began beating erratically and trickles of perspiration crept down her sides, even though the night was cold. There would probably be more snow; a cloud cover blotted out the light that should have been reflecting from the snow. She hadn't realized how very dark it was.
What if there was a vampire or a demon or a chainsaw-wielding mad rapist serial killer stalking her? Willow and Giles said she fought demons and vampires all the time, but no one had mentioned chainsaw-wielding serial killers! And Pilar—Pilar hadn't said much of anything. Did she even know Pilar?
Buffy began slowly turning, opening her senses, searching each patch of shadow for a darker shadow within. There was definitely something there Maybe it was a wild animal? That would be bad. Well, duh! Of course it would be bad! But would it be badder to face a demon or a mad rapist serial killer or a . . . grizzly bear?
None of them were attractive options. Let's have more options! Or, maybe not. Each additional possibility she thought of was worse than the last. She needed a good option! Okay, it was mid-March . . . maybe it was a leprechaun, come to lead her to a pot of gold. Riiiiiight.
There! Did she see something move there? There was definitely something watching her. She had to do something before her nerve completely broke and she turned into a whimpering, gibbering puddle of goo . . .
“I know you're there,” she called. “Come out, now!”
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