~~~Chapter 15 ~ 40 Year-old Scotch
It was nearly seven and Giles was thinking of packing up and heading home. MacGregor hadn’t shown and neither had Spike. He made it quite clear what time he expected to leave. It surprised him that MacGregor, who seemed to think what he had to say was so important and Spike, who named himself his bodyguard failed to be present.
Then he heard movement in the outer office and gathered it was MacGregor. He stood to get the door when Spike stood up and said, “You really think that’s wise, Watcher?”
Giles jumped at least six inches and let out what came devilishly close to a girly scream. Raising his voice considerably more than he wanted, he said, “Where the bloody hell did you come from?”
Spike’s face was nearly angelic in its innocence as he answered, “Been here since around sixish. Saw you were busy with your paper shufflin’ and figured I’d sit and be quiet.”
His face red and his breath coming hard and fast, Giles said, “You might give a chap some warning, you nearly killed me. How did you get in anyway?”
Spike only smiled. “I walked in. Vampire……stealthy!” he said, wiggling his fingers to demonstrate how spooky he could be, “Is this your guest comin’ now?”
“I expect. Now will you please return to your seat and let me conduct my business.” Giles said as he opened the door. “Please come in Mr. MacGregor.”
“As I said last night, sir, just MacGregor will be fine,” he said as he entered the office, “Good evenin’ to you.”
“Please take a seat, Mr….ah…I’m sorry…MacGregor.” Giles indicated a chair across the desk as he took his own seat.
“Thank you, if you don’t mind I’d like to get right down to it, sir,” he said as he settled into his chair. “I have something important to report to you.”
In his most stern, official voice, Giles began, “Well! MacGregor, I’ve got something to …..”
Spike interrupted, “Why not let him have his say, Giles.” At the sound of Spike’s voice MacGregor screamed (like a girl) and jumped out of the chair knocking it over.
“Wha…who….where the hell did you come from?” MacGregor was yelling, now, “Jesus Christ, man, you scared me to death!” He was visibly shaken and was grasping his arms around himself in a protective posture.
Giles looked puzzled at Spike’s comment until MacGregor’s hysterical outburst.
Spike offered his hand to MacGregor, “William Sanger, people call me Spike.”
MacGregor took his hand, paused for a moment, meeting Spike’s gaze and said simply, “MacGregor.”
The situation back in control, Giles said to Spike, “Let him have his say?”
“Yeah, I’m sure whatever he’s got to tell us will be ….. interesting…you know? Informative.”
“Yes, uh…yes, Spike…of course…I defer to your instincts.” Giles pointed to the chair MacGregor previously occupied.
MacGregor nodded and took the seat. “Yes. What I’ve got to say is quite shocking. Terrifying, in fact.”
Jointly, Spike and Giles said, “Well, get on with it then!”
Startled, MacGregor jumped a little and then spoke, “You’re probably not going to believe me, but I swear it’s true,” he paused, turning his head to look each man in the eye, “Vampires have access to your campus!” He sat straight up and waited for the hailstorm of comments that were sure to come.
Only silence.
Giles and Spike glanced at each other and then again at MacGregor. Spike said, “That’s it?”
Dumbfounded, he said, “Well, yes. Isn’t that enough?”
“Look mate, I don’t know what your game is, but we know you’re a vamp,” Spike said. “Wot?…are you turning yourself in?” He looked at Giles and said, “Are you as confused as I am?”
Before Giles could answer, MacGregor insisted, “Vampires, real vampires…..” and then stopped, “Wait…you know I’m a vampire?”
They both looked somewhat bored as they nodded in unison.
“Not me,” MacGregor whined, “other vampires….a whole group of them…and I think they’ve got plans to….um….” his face contorted, “… your girls.”
Spike began, “You really are THE dumbest vampire I’ve ever come across, mate.”
MacGregor stood suddenly, Spike…even quicker, grabbed him by the lapels and was about to slam him across the room when MacGregor shouted, “I BEG your pardon, unhand me….now!” as he shifted into game face.
Spike never released his hold, “Oooooh, lookie here, watcher, he’s a vampire!” as he shifted into game face.
MacGregor’s eyes grew round as saucers just before they rolled back in his head and he passed out cold.
“What the bloody hell?….Did you see that?” Spike said to Giles who looked every bit as astounded as he as he plopped the vampire back in his chair. Giles poured a small glass of water from the pitcher always ready on his desk and splashed some water on MacGregor’s face.
“Are you sure he’s a vampire? ….He fainted! What sort of vampire faints?”
“Check his pulse…or lack of…” Spike shouted in disgust. “I told you there was somethin’ odd about him. Vampires instinctively recognize one another…the demons sense their place and defer to their betters. Only the newest fledge wouldn’t recognize a master vampire and this fellow is no fledge…but he acts like one. I don’t get it. ………and why am I telling you this? You’re a bleedin’ Watcher. You’re supposed to know this stuff.”
MacGregor started to come around….he sputtered, opened his eyes, saw Spike and recoiled in recognition. “Oh God, I’d never seen one before….not in person.”
“This is bollocks! Let me dust him, please let me dust him….he’s an embarrassment to our kind.”
Giles raised his hand, “NO!…where’s your curiosity Spike? Even if whatever he has to tell us IS bollocks, don’t you want to know about HIM? He’s an enigma!”
“Yeah, enigma…right.” Spike grabbed him again and said, “Fess up! What’s yer story?”
“Will you PUT HIM DOWN!….” Giles said, but Spike hesitated, and so he added, “NOW!”
Spike dropped him back in the chair like a stuffed bear, “Argh…..” turned his back and receded to a chair in the corner.
“Now then, Mr. MacGregor….”Giles began while removing his glasses and polishing them. Spike was surprised it took him this long.
“Just MacGregor, sir.”
“Yes, yes….MacGregor. Would you like a drink?”
Spike piped in, “Well I bloody well would , ta ever so,“ and got up to pour drinks around. When he stood, MacGregor flinched. “So, Enigma, what’s your story? Did I hear you right? You’ve never seen a vampire?”
“Well…” MacGregor answered slightly embarrassed, “no.” He glanced at both men and understood that his secret life was over and told them a condensed version of his life story. He extended his glass for a refill indicating he reached the end of his tale.
The room echoed with the sound of silence. Both Spike and Giles were speechless, their minds reeling with questions and no idea where to start.
MacGregor seized the moment, “Now will you let me tell you what I came here to say?”
Torn from his thoughts and questions, Giles nodded while pulling off his glasses.
“Vampires have designs on your campus. They mean to feed on your girls.”
“Yes, so you said, but what you don’t understand is that this is a campus of vampire slayers.
In your studies you’ve no doubt come across the lineage of the slayers. I’m certain that you have not had access to the most current events in the history of the Watcher’s Council and therefore are unaware that many hundreds of girls have been empowered as slayers. In fact, this school and two others exist to acquaint the girls with their legacy. New girls are being identified every day and brought to the schools and there are plans in the works to open more schools to accommodate them. So, you see, even if what you say is true, there’s not reason for concern as our girls are trained to handle the situation…not to mention our twenty-four hour guards.” Giles really did try not to sound condescending, but he failed miserably.
MacGregor sat back and assumed a smug smile. “Your twenty-four hour guards are vampires.”
“What?” Giles dropped his glasses and Spike spilled his drink. Completely flustered, the two set about cleaning up the mess and grabbing Giles’ glasses before Spike stepped on them.
MacGregor knew he had their attention now. “Binnemon is the master.”
Giles turned on Spike, seething, “Why didn’t you tell me that Binne was a vampire? I thought you said you recognize one another.”
“Hold on there, Capt’n…I never met the man. The only guard I ever laid eyes on was that Enfield chap and I told you there was something odd about him, but he wasn’t a vampire.”
“He’s right, Mr. Giles. Enfield is my ….helper. Look, I haven’t been around here all that long, so I can’t give you all the details, but what I’ve been able to gather is that his specialty is hypnotism….thrall. He’s teaching his fledges. Mesmerize the victims and then drink. They’re under strict orders not to turn anyone….and not to kill anyone. The victims have no recollection of the encounter and the vamps revisit their victims once every couple of weeks. Basically, they turn their victims into cows.” He looked to Spike, “That’s the right term, isn’t it?”
Spike only nodded, quite literally speechless.
Giles shoulders sagged. “Our girls?”
“No sir, not yet. The neighboring towns though. Have ye not seen the articles in the papers about the increase in the frequency of anemia? The local doctors and hospitals have seen a spike in their statistics. There’s no panic or anything. Just a few short articles hidden on the inner pages. Most people never read beyond the headlines anyway.”
“But surely the marks are distinctive….someone should be suspicious.” Giles observed.
The Scot shook his head, “Only me, and he’s teaching them to bite the brachial artery and to lick the wounds clean when they’re finished. They don’t need to bury their fangs near as deep to draw blood and the cleaning helps seal the wound so they’ll heal faster and a bite on the inner arm is a lot less visible than one on the neck.”
“Is this true, Spike? Could this work?”
“It’s bloody brilliant is what it is,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief…and awe.
“So, MacGregor, if he’s got you on the team why are you here? This sounds like a pretty sweet deal for you too, according to Spike.”
“I am a decent man, Mr. Giles, caught in indecent circumstances. I have coped for forty years and have never bitten a human. The very idea repels me. I am an educator and have lived one lifetime already in my field. It is impossible for me to get another job. Believe me, I’ve tried. My credentials don’t match my appearance. The schools to which I’ve applied assume that they are forgeries.”
Spike had been pacing, considering MacGregor’s story and interrupted, “There’s a flaw in your story, mate. Vampires aren’t only about blood, now are we? We crave a bit of violence from time to time. The demon needs the exhilaration of a kill. How does your pal deal with that aspect?”
“I honestly don’t know, perhaps the same way I do. I am a hunter. I hunt big game bare handed…um…what’s the phrase?…Fists and fangs? It gives me the thrill of the chase although the blood is disgusting.”
Giles wiped his forehead with his hanky and returned his overly polished glasses to his face, “Do I understand then that you are looking for a teaching position?”
“Exactly.”
Spike snickered, “I’ve gotta give you this, mate, you’ve got balls of pure brass.”
“Actually, MacGregor, your proposal has some merit but I’ll need some time to think it over. How may I get in touch with you?
Spike jumped, “You can’t be serious! Bloody hell!”
“Quite serious. The idea is worth consideration at least. Now, how can I reach you?”
“Your friend here knows where I’m staying, he helped himself to several bags of blood from my place today.”
~~~
By the time Buffy got out of the tub her fingers were puckered, but Giles was right again. The bath was just what she needed. She felt fresh and pampered in her little country cottage as she padded out to the kitchen to get the plate of fruit and cheese. She poured a glass of the red wine and sipped …mmmm …not too dry….guess I haven’t grown up that much…I still like things sweetish. The bread was fresh and crisp. It was still pretty warm like just out of the oven….nah….couldn’t be…unless Giles was resorting to magic…or elves.
The only napkins she found were fine pressed linen…Such luxury. She gathered everything onto a tray and carried it into the parlor and set it on the small table in front of the couch.
The radio was tuned to a classical station…no surprise there. She moved to change it…and then pulled her hand back. No….classical music it is. It was beautiful…. slow and quiet and …sad….strings….it suited her mood. She knew she should call Dawn to let her know that she arrived but she was enjoying this quiet time too much. She would call tomorrow sometime.
The fruit was sumptuous. Juicy strawberries, slices of melon, peach sections, red and green grapes…and the creamiest mild cheddar she’d ever tasted. This was perfect….except it wasn’t ….and it never, ever would be again.
She wondered if all it took was one glass of wine to make her morose as she refilled her glass. She smiled as she remembered what Spike said. He told her she was in love with death. He was right….not so much then….but now….yes. She’d be twenty-five in January. She’d already lived longer than any slayer.
She was changing. She felt it. She knew it….She wasn’t as fast as she once was….and she wasn’t as strong. There was no need to tell Giles. It would only alarm him. Nope! It’s just the natural order of things….if there is any such thing where a slayer is concerned.
She wasn’t worried and she wasn’t afraid and she wasn’t going to be careless. It wasn’t that she wanted to die, exactly….she just wanted to be with him. She was never more certain of anything….they would be together one day. It was the only thing that kept her going. Not her friends, not Giles, not even her sister….they would all get along fine without her….after all, they’d done it before. She giggled as the juice ran down her chin and she quickly grabbed a napkin to catch it.
The last of the small bottle of wine gone, she rested her head back and closed her eyes and let the music enter her soul. In moments, she was asleep.
~~~
As a youth, MacGregor was a man so intent on his future as he imagined it, he spent every moment making it happen. His plan never included a woman. He liked them well enough, but he never felt drawn to them and an involvement might interfere with his future. Instead he concentrated on studying English Literature at University. He fancied himself a Richard Burton type, big, burly, and… sexy. He was a fine fit figure of a man with a slender waist and broad shoulders. He had black hair and ice blue eyes and he was just 6 foot tall. He had the Scotch trait of full eyebrows but at least he had two and they were only a little bushy. He could quote Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets as easily as others could recite nursery rhymes but he had a Scottish accent that was so thick people did not understand him. It was an embarrassment. He tried to change the accent. God knew he tried, but despite study with linguists and coaches, his burr was a thick as ever.
The hurt that occurred when he spoke was always the same. People expected a Scot and that he was, in spades. All those positives and it didn’t mean a thing. At auditions he was repeatedly told, “Come back when you lose the accent!”
He wasn’t a quitter. Never a quitter. He became an expert in reinventing himself. If Fate denied him a future as an actor, he would use his education to help others achieve their dream and live vicariously through the. So, he went back to University and took courses in Education. As with every other endeavor he ever undertook, he excelled and was always at the head of his class. After obtaining his doctorate he was offered a position at the University at Edinburgh. Characteristically, he immediately threw himself into his work, teaching English Literature and one drama course. Though it was only one course at least he had a foot in the door of the Drama Department.
He was content. Things were going well, until mid-year when he was called into the Provost’s office. It seems, there were complaints. His students were not doing well, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by him, but he just felt that since his courses were taught to mostly second year students they were falling into the familiar slump that so often happens second year. After completing one year of study, students tend to be know-it-alls and study be damned.
No, the Provost said. The complaints came from the parents. They said their sons and daughters were struggling with the classes because the professor was so difficult to understand. What? He was a Scot teaching at University in Scotland, for God’s sake! Ef ye canna be oond’rstud by yer oown cauntrymen, then what’re ye todo?
Well … as colleagues, they were sympathetic to his dilemma. After all, he was a brilliant scholar and an asset to the University in every other way, so they offered him a position in Administration. It was unprecedented for a first year teacher, doctorate, or no, to be allowed a position in Administration. For all but the most informed, it looked very much like a promotion. Another dream bashed, MacGregor held himself together long enough to tell his superior that he was most grateful for the offer and he would need a few days to consider it.
The Provost said that he understood and would expect to hear from him by the end of the following week. He was certain he would accept. What else could he do?
He remembered standing outside that office barely able to catch his breath. Trying desperately to hide his pain, no…his shame, from the eyes of those in the hallway, he gathered his dignity and left the building as quick as he could, sure the very walls would suffocate him if he remained a moment longer.
His mind was racing and he was shaking all over. He actually thought he might be having a heart attack. He wanted to run….but felt frozen in place. He wanted to cry….but he was a man and men don’t cry. He wanted to hurt something, someone …. He wanted to scream.
As the sun left the sky and evening approached, he realized had been sitting in his room in the same position for hours. He never went back to his classes not wanting to face his students. He wanted to hide. He wanted to die. Taking off his robes, he changed into a sports jacket, checked his pockets for money and left. MacGregor wanted to get drunk, numb. He drove five miles. He figured he could walk five miles if he had to and parked the car and started walking, looking for a pub. He was never a drinker. He was too focused for that sort of thing. In his bitterness, he considered that he would have all the time in the world now. Tonight he would learn about the lure of demon rum…he expected it was the only way to ease the pain.
Everything about him screamed civilized man, he looked every bit the professor he was. The first bartender was a gentle fellow and was able to read his customers very well. This fellow needed a drink but lacked experience. He suggested a nice sherry, on the rocks. It was sweet and warm and smelled of nuts. Very nice indeed, but he wasn’t in the mood for sweet at all. He wanted to burn. He asked about the draught beers. The bartender, amused, obliged. All right he thought, bitter…better than sweet and so…he had a few…and a few more. Feeling more buzz than pain, he thanked the fellow behind the bar and left. He wondered as he walked to the next pub if he should have left a tip. Is it proper to tip a bartender? He resolved to go a little slower at the next place and observe the others to see what was proper.
The night saw him warm barstools and booths alike in every pub within walking distance of his rooms on campus. There was not enough alcohol in Scotland to drown his pain. Over the course of the evening he rarely spoke to anyone but the bartender. He was wallowing in his misery and found solace in the drink. Never one for self-pity, with every disappointment he braced himself and stood tall and faced his troubles head on and was the better man for it but now, he reached the end of his tether.
As the night was coming to a close, he took a seat next to a man who looked like he might be a fellow academic. By this time, MacGregor moved on to hard liquor and discovered he liked the smoky sweet taste of bourbon. He struck up a conversation with the man and even in his inebriation he saw there was something sinister about this fellow. The man conducted himself with undue familiarity. He kept touching him, but the more he drank, the less he cared.
~~~
Malcolm MacGregor will never recall what happened the rest of that night, or the next night, or the night after that. His first recollection was opening his eyes and seeing nothing. His mind was reeling, trying to gain his bearings. It reeked. He reeked. Was it night? Was he still drunk? What in hell had happened? His mouth was thick and dry. He tried to move his hand to his mouth and found he was unable. He could hear…. everything…a cacophony of sound….sirens…a baby crying…no…make that babies crying….crunching….tires….pounding…make that heartbeats….WHAT THE HELL WAS HAPPENING! He moved his fingers so there was no paralysis. As he pushed the rubble fell away…it lifted…parted like the Red Sea. As he gained his footing and looked around he saw the sign…COUNTY WASTE FACILITY. Buried in trash. He had been buried in trash, garbage, waste. The rubble pushed away was dirty diapers and empty tomato tins, cereal boxes by the ton and despite this disgusting environment, he was hungry, ravenously hungry?
As fate would have it, what happened to MacGregor that night was just a mistake. By the time the vampire drained him, he was so intoxicated himself he never realized that as his victim was taking his last breaths his lips fell to the nasty laceration the vampire sustained in their scuffle and he drank. The unknown sire passed out along side his victim. As dawn approached he awoke to the sound of the garbage truck dumping a full load of the trash into the dump and burying the body of his victim. All he thought about was getting out of there before the sun rose over the mountain. MacGregor’s body would have simply decomposed and then combusted as the sun rose had he not been “buried.” He would have been just one more poor sod who fell into bad company on a drunk and had been mugged and left for dead. his remains discovered by some poor bloke on his own way home from a drunk, but his body covered with tons of trash constituted a burial albeit anything but a Christian burial. What is trash afterall but compost in it’s earliest stage.
The first he realized he was dealing with something different than the mother of all hangovers was when he went back to his quarters and showered. After stepping out of the shower he stood before the sink and wiped the mirror to shave. There was nothing there. He laughed…this must be madness, he thought, but instinctively went to the marks on his neck. It was supposed to be an epiphany moment…and it was …more or less. In that instant, he knew the truth but it would be a bit before he believed it.
He was thunderstruck. His senses were sharper than ever. Over the years he watched the odd horror film, he read Dracula before seeing the movie. Vampires are a myth, an invention of a storyteller. Still, he was moved to check his pulse. None. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, he was never any good at finding his pulse anyway. He felt his forehead. He must be feverish…not only was he not feverish, his skin was cold…his forehead and the dresser he was leaning against were the same temperature. There was no fever, there was nothing. He remembered the times he was lying in bed and couldn’t fall asleep because he could hear his heartbeat and feared he would hear it stop. He lay down on his bed and made himself still, listening for the regular rhythm that unsettled him as a boy. Only silence. So this was where his life was going…it was insane. He knew he must be insane…so he called on inner reserves. Skills that had gotten him through life’s trials.
His panic was short-lived. Allowing his resourceful mind to study this new situation, a plan germinated. He would accept the position in the Administration Department. Why not? It would give him access to the Medical School and all the whole blood he would need. (How much blood would he need?…he didn’t know…he needed to know.) New plan…He would accept the position in the Administration Department and he would spend all his spare time researching the Occult, most particularly, Vampires. Cook always said she learned to cook by reading cook books….he would adapt to his new life through study as he had every new challenge.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A long chapter