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Chapter 9

The sun had fallen below the horizon, the air had gone cold but thirteen year old William wasn’t wearing a jacket. Buffy stared down at the fresh heap of dirt through his eyes, knew he felt the chill but didn’t give a damn. His eyes were fixed on his mother’s grave. The muscles of his legs were strained and cramping and she knew he must have been standing there since the service. The world around him had hurried on but he’d been left behind.

Now he was truly invisible.

I’m the only one left, he thought.

His mother had been so compassionate, so kind, a much better and stronger person that he could ever hope to be. She’d always told him she would be there. But she wasn’t here now, was she? Now all that was left was just dirt, a slab of stone and flowers that would wither away in a day or two.

It was as if she’d never lived at all. As if she hadn’t woken up every morning to brew a fresh pot of coffee, hadn’t put her hair up into an elegant coif. As if she hadn’t smiled and cried and loved. God, she’d had so much love, and bestowed it so freely on everyone around her. The sparkle of it had always been present in her light blue eyes even when he and Eline… William’s hands clenched into fists.

Never been strong enough to handle it when the going got tough, had he?

He let out a shuddering breath, little puffs of it condensing in the night air. He’d refused to see his mother before… before they closed the lid on the brown shiny coffin and put her in the earth. Everything in him had recoiled at the thought of seeing her stiff waxy skin so utterly devoid of life. Those closed eyes deceivingly telling him she was merely asleep.

William, wake up and get dressed. It’s your first day of school!

Tears fell down his cheeks as William stood there, refusing to think that a stranger had touched his mother’s body when they were getting her dressed. Like she was just a mannequin, just someone’s job.

He was really alone, wasn’t he?

When he was six, him, Eline and Mum had all been at a mall and he’d stayed behind to admire a collection of trains behind the window of a toy store. Then he’d glanced up and his mother hadn’t been there. Everyone around had been so tall, rushing past him, the crowd swallowing him. The fear of never seeing his family again had made him dizzy. But then she was suddenly there, arms wrapping around him and ending his panic.

Her embrace had smelled like jasmine and home.

You’ll be missed, read the message on a funeral wreath.

Missed. Was that what they called it when someone ripped out a part of your heart?

People said that when someone you loved died, they would always be with you. Wasn’t that a load of bollocks? He didn’t want to have just memories of her. He wanted to hug her, kiss her on the cheek, hear her laugh. All those things he’d taken for granted.

Mum, stop kissing me in front of school. Everyone will think I’m a nancyboy.

Was it selfish of him to be terrified for what would happen to him now? Would someone just melt out of the darkness and take him away?

Suddenly, he needed to move. The quicksand of grief and fear was sucking him in and he was clutching a straw, desperate to keep his head above the surface. The grass was still slippery from afternoon rain and he faltered a few times as he ran past the cemetery gate.

There was one last person that could keep him from drowning, that may care. The only lifeline he had left.

Soon he was standing in front of a two story house, wiping sweat and tears off his face. He was a mess, knew he must look a fright so he stayed partially hidden by shadows as he bent down to pick up a handful of pebbles. His heart in his throat, William threw a couple of small stones at a window pane upstairs. They rebounded with a small clank.

After a few beats of choking silence, the light went on and Buffy could hear the window latch being undone. The round, plain face of a girl with curly hair appeared.

“Who is it?” The girl patted her poodle like hair.

“It’s me. William.”

“Oh.” She had a pinched look about her mouth that Buffy didn’t like. “What are you doing here? It’s two am! If my dad finds you here, I’m going to get in trouble,” she whispered loudly, with annoyance that William didn’t notice. Or perhaps, didn’t want to.

“I’m sorry, Cecily. I just… I had to see you.” He ducked his head, pushing his frozen hands into the front pockets of his pants.

After a while, Cecily asked, “You’ve been to school today, haven’t you?”

“I haven’t been to school for three days,” William said, hurt that she hadn’t noticed his absence.

He’d had the biggest crush on her for over a year. The poems he’d written for her had become an instrument of public humiliation and her friends called him William the Bloody Awful Poet. But he didn’t care because she never made fun of him for it. She even talked to him, acted like they were friends. Like they could be more.

“I wanted to ask you something,” she said with an excited grin. Hope ignited in his chest. It felt so foreign.

“Oh my God, Todd asked me for a date! Can you believe it?” The squeal in her voice broke Buffy’s heart, made the hope in William’s heart shrivel up and die. “Anyway, we’ve got that stupid math assignment, so I’m going to copy yours. I need time to prepare for the date, not to do the stupid homework.”

“Of course,” he whispered, letting the tears fall.

“You’re a babe, Will. Is there anything you wanted or are you going to go now?” she said in a way that told Buffy Cecily had gotten what she wanted and had no more use for William.

“N-no, there’s nothing…”

“Cool. See you tomorrow then.” Cecily closed the window without waiting for him to wave back at her.

The room plunged into darkness, and just like that the lifeline was yanked from William’s hands. He could feel himself sinking.

*******

Light was just beginning to suffuse the sky when Buffy woke up. Her pillow was soaked through as if she’d been crying all night. Or drooling all over it. She wasn’t sure which option would be less disturbing. Not only that, but the chain of her necklace was strangling her and it took her a few minutes to untangle it.

She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to take the locket off before going to bed. Again. She absentmindedly rubbed the green gem etched into its center.

Also, she really had to go pee.

“That’s what I get for drinking three glasses of water before going to bed.” She threw the damp pillow to the floor. “I get all leaky.”

To go pee or to not go pee. Now that was the question. She was still so sleepy but the idea of waking up to peeing in her bed at the age of seventeen was a good enough incentive to send her crawling out of the warm blankets.

When she entered the bathroom, her gaze darted to the small window. The weather was turning all autumn-y and getting steadily colder, by Californiastandards anyway. She wondered what it was like to sleep at a supposedly haunted house that lacked electricity and heating.

Not that she cared!

“I am so not thinking of that asshole.” Buffy glared at the toilet as though it had insulted her. “And I’m definitely stopping talking to myself right now.”

Oh yeah, she was a poster child for sanity.

*******

This sucked. Majorly.

Buffy couldn’t believe Spike was still in town. She’d seen him from distance near the suburban area, lurking about like a big… lurky thing. A week after she’d lost her senses and offered him help when he looked like death warmed over sitting on the sidewalk. All she’d gotten in return had been snark. Go figure.

Was he moving into the old mansion permanently? And no. She wasn’t all pissed just because it was him. What irked her the most was that she’d lost the only place in this godforsaken town she liked. The fact he was the one living there now, and that he coincidentally irritated the hell out of her to the point it made her skin itch, was just a Buffy Summers bonus. Not.

“Are you going to be here all day?” her father asked as he replaced the sold out items on the shelves. “I thought you’d be going out to draw.”

“I can’t,” she muttered angrily, which made her dad give her a perplexed look.

“Well, don’t bite my nose off for asking.”

“Sorry,” she said with a pout that she knew was hardly mature but she just couldn’t care less. “Everything just sucks.”

“It always does when you’re a teenager.” Dad pointed out and bent down to sort through a box of canned fruits.

“Way to stereotype me, Hank. It’s got nothing to do with my supposed increased hormone level.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” he answered with a badly hidden grin.

Well, that just pissed her off even more. “This is serious! You don’t understand!” Buffy frowned. “I can’t believe I just sounded so teenager-y.”

Dad chuckled and walked over to where she was sitting on top of the counter. “So wanna tell me what’s troubling you then?” He went from teasing to a concerned parent in two seconds flat, squinting at her. “It’s not PMS, is it?”

“Eww! Gross!” She rolled her eyes. “Men. You know, not everything is connected to a girl’s period.”

“Let’s not say that word again, please.” He shuddered.

“You mean period? Why not? You said PMS first. Why get all squeamish now?”

“Believe me I’m now officially regretting saying that.” With a shake of his head, he headed to the back room to pick up another box. Probably to avoid further talk about feminine biological processes as well.

“Well, the point is that I can’t go to my place anymore. That new guy moved into the house there and he told me I was trespassing.” Buffy drummed her heels against the counter, assuaged by letting her aggression out through the noise.

“Would you please stop that racket, Buffy?” He dragged out a few boxes and started opening them up with his pocket knife. “Did you ask him nicely if you could be there? I mean, if he’s living there now he probably doesn’t want kids running about on his property.”

Buffy let out an exasperated breath. “I’m not a kid.”

“You’re my kid, therefore, you will always be a kid in my eyes. Besides, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She resumed her pouting.

Dad looked up from the boxes. “So did you? Ask nicely? And I stress the word nicely.”

“I can be nice!” She hadn’t been mean to Spike, had she? Nope, he was definitely the poophead in the scenario. “It’s not like I was bothering him! I just wanted to sit in my tree and draw but he had to go and be a jerk.”

Dad stopped his unpacking and glanced over at her. “Who is it anyway? Do you mean that man that made you stutter?”

“I did not stutter!”

Hank raised one eyebrow, the teasing glint in his eye telling her he was deliberately making her uncomfortable.

“Okay fine. It’s him,” she finally said and hopped off the counter to escape Dad’s silent—but very obvious—amusement. The bell in the front jingled to announce a new customer.

“You know, he’s been in the store a few times. I could have a word with him. Ask on your behalf.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t you dare!” Oh god, that would be embarrassing. She’d have to start living in the woods and eat insects just so she’d never have to face people—or him— again. “I can speak for myself.”

“Not very well, apparently,” Dad mumbled.

“Hey! I can totally be diplomatic. And nice. Just not to him. He… rubs me the wrong way.”

The back of her neck tingled right before she felt a presence behind her. It felt as though she stood a foot away from an electric fence. A high voltage one.

“You wouldn’t happen to be talking about me, would you?”

Crap.

TBC





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