Chapter 1: Sensory Memory
“Don’t mess with Joan the vampire slayer!” the blonde warned, her voice brimming with excitement. She was high on power as she watched the vampire lying prone on the ground. Of course, she had put him there. The power trip, however, didn’t last, fear and instinct kicking in as she caught another vampire’s foot just inches from her face.
She lifted the vampire’s leg and ducked under it, flipping him to the ground as well.
Simultaneously, Randy rallied his strength, holding onto the arm of vampire behind him who had him in a choke hold and flipping said vampire over his head. He leaned over and plunged a stake into its heart.
“Joan!” he yelled, tossing the stake her way even before the vampire’s skeleton dissipated.
“Thanks!” Joan dropped to her knees, and with two quick, deep motions staked the vampires laying in the grass.
The literal loan shark one lawn away clacked his teeth together nervously. “You’re an odd duck, Mr. Spike,” Teeth began, trying to sound calm.
Joan and Randy exchanged, strangely, a knowing glance.
“I’ll aim high,” the bleach blonde said with a nod.
Teeth’s jagged maw fell agape. He turned and began running. “I don’t need the kittens!” he cried between pants.
The tweed-clad vampire leapt, catching the landshark by the shoulders and throwing him to the ground. Joan was on top of the crime lord in an instant, and she sank her stake through his rib cage with a sharp slush and crunch.
It was followed by wailing.
“Oh, sorry!” the young woman gasped, covering her mouth. She turned to her partner. “He’s not a vampire, so the stake won’t work.”
Pushing up onto his knees, Randy placed his hands on either side of the demon’s fishhead. “This will,” he assured her, and twisted sharply until he heard a snap.
Teeth gargled for just a second before going silent.
“Wow,” Joan said, not surprised, but definitely impressed. “For dressing like a complete dork, you have some great moves.”
Randy’s eyebrows narrowed. “Hey!” he yelled, while pointing. “I…”
He paused. Looked down. The anger faded to confusion. “Yeah, you know, I’m really surprised to be wearing this, too,” he admitted. He yanked the stiff jacket off his shoulders and threw it to the grass. He then fumbled with the bow tie, trying to get it off quickly, but unable to untie it. Frustrated suddenly, he gritted his teeth, tensed his neck and ripped it off, gasping from the exertion.
The stylishly-dressed Joan flinched, blinked, then said, “Guess you really didn’t like that outfit.”
“You know,” Randy said, brushing his knees off as they stood – neither of them giving a second thought to the corpse on the ground, “It would be just like my father to say I had to wear a bloody suit to work at his store. He probably even bought that monstrosity for me, just to embarrass me.”
Joan’s eye’s widened as he tossed the mangled bow tie down next to the shark. “You mean you remember?”
The vampire huffed, “No. But I’d be willing to bet I’m right.”
They sighed in unison, this time exchanging an unknowing glance.
Joan scratched her head. “I suppose we should get to the hospital.”
“Yeah.”
She looked to her left, then sharply to her right. She turned. “Uhm, Randy?”
“Yeah?”
“Which way to the hospital?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know.” But he started walking anyway. “Won’t find it standing still, though.”
“Point taken,” Joan agreed, and trailed after him.
They had passed lots of green lawns and white houses, and a few grave yards – there seemed to be an overabundance of them in the town – but nothing remotely resembling a hospital.
But that wasn’t the only scenery Joan had noticed. From behind she noted that Randy’s walk didn’t match his outfit. He sort of sauntered, and for some reason she thought he belonged in something with more presence. Like a cape or something, she imagined. But she couldn’t quite picture it, like she was staring into a familiar room in the pitch black of night. She knew what would be in the room, what should be in the room, but she couldn’t see it, and someone had rearranged the furniture.
She gave up trying after realizing she was giving herself a headache. So she tried to be proactive instead.
“Are we lost?” she wondered aloud from behind him.
“I think that would require us to know where we’re goin’ or where we are,” he quipped with a bit of venom. Randy was getting really pissed at the whole amnesia thing. Who doesn’t bloody know who they are? How the hell does that happen?
He thrust his hands into his pockets with need, not knowing what he was longing for. It’s downright frustrating is what it is. He pulled out a wad of cash and a heavy steel lighter. The cash he put back right away. The lighter he eyed quizzically while he walked, like it was key somehow. He flipped it open and flicked on the flame to see that it worked while he walked. Vaguely, he heard Joan say something as they walked, but he was too focused on the feeling he was missing something important. It was like the air itself was stale. He frowned, shut the lighter, and dropped it in his pocket. Then the urge to hit something bubbled up, and he thought that wouldn’t be good to show Joan because he’d already scared her once tonight.
“RANDY!”
His feet stopped. “What?!” he snapped, not knowing why he was so frustrated.
She came around to face him. “You’re ignoring me!” she snapped back, leaning in towards him, hands on her hips. “And we’re in someone’s yard!”
“Wha?” He pulled his eyes away from Joan’s indignant glare and looked around to see a covered porch, a tree that they were directly below, and then down to see a fresh carpet of grass below them… littered with dozens of cigarette butts. He tilted his head, intrigued.
Randy knelt down, picking up one of the cigarette corpses, and started having his own dark-room experience. On a whim, he licked it.
“Gross! What are you doing?!”
He ignored Joan as sensations washed over his tongue. He had a feeling they would, as he found he could hear and smell just about everything. And there was the story in order from strongest to weakest: dirt, grass, smoke, paper, cotton, saliva. He tasted his saliva.
“I smoke,” he realized, clinching his suspicions with the lighter. And then he understood the frustration. “I want a cigarette.”
Joan cringed. “I know your memory’s foggy, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to smoke the ones on the ground.”
“No,” he stood up, holding it out to her face. She backed away.
“I’m not licking it,” she said, holding out her hands in way that also said or touching it.
“It’s mine,” he explained, rolling his eyes. “They’re all mine.” He dropped the butt and pointed towards the house. “And this place…”
Joan jumped as he suddenly leaned in close to her, pushing his face against her neck, burying his nose in her blonde hair. It sounded sort of like the ocean, but more jarring, when he inhaled deeply right next to her ear.
And it was weirder still – when he froze.
The instant her perfume went up his nostrils it traveled straight to his brain and set up camp. Randy’s eyes widened and his body locked up. He gasped, loudly.
And Joan stepped back, her pupils tiny as her eyes went wide with fright. Her entire body tingled, and she clutched at her arms, nervously, to fight the chill that skipped up her spine despite her thick leather jacket.
Randy, on the other hand, looked overwhelmed. His face was blank, like he was suddenly blind, although his gaze was obviously locked onto Joan.
They both swallowed like they were choking down a whole jawbreaker.
His voice was helpless when he finally spoke. “Di-Did you…?”
“Did I…?” she found she could only echo.
He quickly looked back towards the house as he simultaneously coughed, reached into his pockets, and cursed his lack of cigarettes. He turned Joan’s attention back to the matter at hand with a nod of his head. “This house,” he finally continued, “has your scent all over it.”
“Oh!” she, shaking with excitement.
“You have keys in your pockets?” he asked, the thought of being helpful warming his smile.
The keyring jingled as she bounced up the stairs, and she could hardly hit the lock as she tried the first of four keys – with no success. She let out a little yip and giggle when the second slid right in, though, and she moreso danced across the threshold than walked as she entered her house.
Joan flicked on the lights and turned in front of the stairs.
“Honey, I’m home!” she joked giddily, grinning wide and unknowingly mimicking a 1950s sitcom. She had her hand on the rail in a similarly stylized way, the light glistening in her hair and making her white sweater seem to glow.
And that was when Randy realized beyond a doubt that he loved her.
Shell Presto can be reached at mangetsuDELETEME@email.com
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Note: This takes place in the season six episode, “Tabula Rasa.” The premise is simple, what if Xander had not stepped on that stone, and the gang’s memories were not restored at that moment? Also, I don’t own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joss Whedon does; but I do own this piece of fanfiction, which is meant solely to entertain.
Chapter End Notes:
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