You only live forever in the lights you make.
- MCR
Chapter 16
William tore the door open and looked frantically down the hall. The screams were coming from the lounge. As he instinctively ran toward the sound, he nearly tripped on a champagne bottle which was inexplicably rolling along the passageway next to his door.
It was simply too bizarre. Champagne and screams? For a brief instant hope swelled inside his chest that this was a dream before his thudding heart drowned out the thought, and he continued his mad scramble toward the lounge. Dread and fear fought for dominance, and he only hoped it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
And that he could tend to whatever it was before Buffy came into the fray.
He rounded the corner of the lounge just as he spied a porter running down the hall towards him. As he entered the room, he immediately recognized the screaming woman and her husband. It was the Lowells, or was it the Lovells? Whatever their surname, it was the American honeymooners, Elizabeth I and her spouse.
Elizabeth I had fallen to the ground and was scrambling toward the door, propelled by her kicking legs. Her husband was also backing towards the door wearing an expression of absolute puzzlement. Both of them stared into the far corner of the room.
Fighting his rising terror, William looked too.
A young man lay slumped on the floor, clearly dead. His skin shone unnaturally white in the lamplight, forcing William’s eyes to the bright red bloom on the victim’s torn throat. Beneath a mop of dark black hair, the boy’s brown eyes stared lifelessly at a spot on the wall.
George.
Oh, merciful Christ. Not George. Please, not George.
William felt the world spin on its side and closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness.
When he opened them again, the room was still there. George was still there. William, however, was not. He felt as if he were a kite, hovering far above the scene. As if he were viewing a play, detached from it all. Even the sounds - Elizabeth I’s screaming, the urgent shouts from the porter who had just entered the room - echoed up from a distance far below.
Mr. Lowell/Lovell was yelling something to the porter, and in order to understand the conversation William forced himself to listen carefully, as if he were working out a translation from a foreign language.
“… not human, but it looked human. Wearing a woman’s dress. It ran that way the moment my wife startled it!”
The chubby, blond porter stepped into the room. His face immediately took on a horrified expression.
“Is George …?” The porter looked at William.
“He’s dead,” William heard himself say.
“The creature …!” Lowell/Lovell shouted. “Running in that direction. Shouldn’t someone …?”
William’s legs ran towards the door, for which he was grateful. His mind was disengaged, and it was no small mercy that the rest of him was alert enough to act. He elbowed past the men at the door and ran toward the portside deck.
He thought he was running as fast as he could, but when he heard the sound of a man shouting just ahead of him, he managed to push himself just a little bit harder. Bursting onto the deck, he saw a crewman rushing to the deck rail.
“Man overboard! All hands! All hands!” The large sailor leaned over the side of the ship.
Though his legs were trembling powerfully, William still felt as if he were watching the action from far above. He ran to the rail and peered over the edge. Down below in the inky waters of the Atlantic he could make out a figure, a woman with long black hair, wearing a white dress and swimming away from the ship at an impossibly fast speed.
Dru.
“How can she …? How can …? What is that thing?” the sailor mumbled, before turning around and shouting again. “All hands! Man overboard!”
The moonlight provided enough light for only the briefest glimpse of Dru, and then she was gone.
A light from the wheelhouse blinked several times, and the ship began to shudder as the helmsman struggled to bring the great vessel to a halt. A few more crew members appeared topside, spilling noisily up from the aft passageway.
Suddenly, from amidst the din on the deck, William could make out one voice in particular echoing up from the hallway. It was Buffy, and it was just one word. “William!” The desperation contained within sent William scrambling back toward the lounge, shaking legs be damned.
“Do not attempt to rescue that … thing. It’s not what it appears to be,” William shouted over his shoulder at the small crowd gathering at the deck rail.
“I should think not. She … it … is faster than The Adriatic herself.” The stunned sailor shook his head.
William tore down the hall. In that brief time a crowd had begun to gather near the lounge’s door. There were at least a dozen people milling around. Elizabeth I had been joined on the floor by her husband, who lay supine, clutching his jaw. Buffy stood over him, wrapped in her dressing gown and cradling her fist, looking every bit like a boxer who had just taken out her opponent in the first round.
“William!” Relief flooded her expression when she saw him. “Is it … Dru?”
“It was,” William nodded hastily, “She’s gone. Off the ship and swimming for shore. She won’t be back.” Looking down at the American lying at her feet, his gaze flickered back to Elizabeth. “Are you alright?”
“He grabbed me, tried to make me stay here,” she replied. Though she held her right hand gingerly, she looked at him with a fighter’s resolve. “Did Dru hurt anyone?”
Oh, god.
“Come, Buffy, let’s return to our room.”
But she sensed it. She could read it in his eyes, could feel it in the stuttering pulse of the gathering crowd. She knew.
Buffy turned, facing the blond porter determinedly blocking the lounge’s entrance. One glance from her, and the boy stepped aside, granting her a full view of the gruesome scene in the corner. Even in the dim light, she immediately saw what Dru had wrought. Her steps faltered, just for a moment, before she continued toward George’s side where she fell to her knees.
“George …” The heartbreak in her voice made it impossible for William to breathe.
With a trembling hand she reached out and touched George’s tousled hair with her fingertips, smoothing it gently, a mother comforting her child. Wearing a look of abject sorrow, tears splashed unashamedly down her cheeks while her eyes remained fixed upon the gaping wound on his neck.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, George.” Her voice was a whisper between sobs.
For the first time since he’d met her, bursting into his life as Bessie the maid, she looked … weak.
William stepped carefully around George’s body to kneel beside her, placing his hand upon her shoulder.
She looked at William numbly, as though she didn’t quite recognize him. “It’s my fault. I knew, and I didn’t protect him.”
William wrapped an arm about her waist. “Come with me, please. There’s nothing for you here.”
Her only response was continued weeping. Her shoulders convulsed with sorrow and shame. Her hand, which had been smoothing George’s hair, shook so violently that she had to simply let it drop to the boy’s chest.
The engorged crowd buzzed and shifted slightly, parting long enough to allow Dr. Crowdner entry. He wore his profession confidently, and William was shocked at the relief he felt upon seeing the man.
The doctor looked at George briefly, his expression solemn. “Is the perpetrator still afoot?” he asked William urgently.
William shook his head. “It’s gone. Off the ship and swimming for shore.”
“It?” Dr. Crowdner asked, but he didn’t pause for a reply. He knelt down on the far side of George’s body, reaching out to William’s wife. “Mrs. Pratt? Elizabeth?”
She didn’t acknowledge the doctor. She simply continued to stare down where her hand lay in the center of George’s chest, near the place where his heart used to beat.
“Buffy?” The doctor’s tone was gentle, and he reached for her hand.
Startled from her reverie, she looked up at the doctor. “My fault,” was all she said.
“I would think not, dear,” Dr. Crowdner assured. “There is nothing you can do for the boy now. Buffy, you need to return to your cabin.”
She ignored him completely.
The doctor reached up to George’s face, sweeping his hand down in a tender gesture to close his eyes. He stood and stepped around the boy’s body to stand beside Buffy. Laying his hand on her back, he urged, “Please return to your room with William. George is gone now.”
William found his own voice then. “He wouldn’t want this for you, Buffy. Wouldn’t want you to see him like this. He’d want you safe in your cabin, wouldn’t he?”
Buffy nodded slowly.
Though the men on either side of her attempted to help her to her feet, she rose on her own accord and began to move toward the doorway. Her steps were small, cautious, a woman walking on glass shards. She kept her eyes dead ahead, not looking at the people milling all around her, but seeing though them.
William walked beside her while the doctor stepped ahead of them, effectively parting the crowd with a look.
As William reached the door, he cast a final glance at the small figure crumpled in the corner of the room - so vibrant in life, so pale in death – an abandoned toy thrown carelessly in the corner of the room. Then the crowd shifted, swallowing George up whole.
~*~
Dru’s arms dove through the cool water rhythmically. (Steady strokes like a beating heart.)
“Turn a little further South, Mummy,” Miss Edith burbled from where she lay beneath the waves, strapped to Dru’s chest – a macabre figurehead on the undead H.M.S. Drusilla. “We want to make land in Maine, not Nova Scotia.”
Dru changed course imperceptibly and without question. (Shining angel, guiding her mummy.) Her darling baby had told her about the topside doors they’d used to lower cargo into the hold and how those doors had been left unsecured. (Short-sighted humans looking for the wrong sorts of beasties.) Her child had shown her the way to the shore and a vision of the lovely dark barn that awaited them on land.
Her ever-thoughtful Miss Edith had even gifted her with dinner. She’d shown her the boy, standing nervously outside William’s door. He’d been holding a bottle of champagne, so uncertain. It was though he’d been sent just for Mummy (a chocolate on a tray).
The compliant little calf had been too startled to make a peep as she dragged him to the lounge to dine. She’d looked deeply into his eyes just before sinking her teeth in his delicious, pulsing throat. It was such a pleasure to see his lovely lights before she trimmed the wick (hopes and plans dancing about behind his deep brown eyes). She’d even glimpsed his thoughts regarding William and Buffy, which had only made the blood taste that much sweeter.
Though Miss Edith had been very talkative in the hold, now that they were in the water she’d spoken little, except for the intermittent directional commands. Dru missed her darling’s voice. In the hold Miss Edith had been so very comforting as Dru had said goodbye to the rest of her dollies. And when Dru began to fret over the Shining Man’s reaction, Miss Edith assured her that he’d no longer trouble them unless Dru wished it.
“And why would I ever want to see the Shining Man again?” Dru pondered aloud between strokes.
“You wouldn’t,” Miss Edith gurgled gleefully. “All you need is me, Mummy.”
“And William, soon,” Dru added. (Dancing beneath the western sky.)
“Yes, and William,” Miss Edith confirmed, patiently.
“Tell me again. Say the words.” (Such lovely words, they sparkle and dance.)
“Certainly, Mummy,” Miss Edith complied. “Together, you and your Prince William will kill a slayer, forever changing the destiny of the Hellmouth.”
As the words flashed before her Dru picked up her pace. (What’s a Hellmouth? It sounds divine.) Untiringly, she stroked steadily on toward the unseen shore, her dark destiny, and her William.
~*~
Safe inside their cabin, William could hear the tumult just outside their door. Senior crewmen had arrived, issuing orders and attempting to disperse the crowd.
Buffy remained where he’d guided her – seated at the small table, wearing a blank expression and cradling her injured hand. When she’d sat sobbing by George’s side, he’d have given anything to be able to quiet her, but now that he was faced with this unsettling silence, he found himself bitterly regretting the sentiment.
Two quick knocks sounded, and Dr. Crowdner let himself into the cabin. He nodded to William before setting his attentions upon Buffy.
“I see you’ve injured your hand. May I examine it?”
Buffy looked at him blankly and complied, holding her right hand out at arms length.
In the chaos, William hadn’t gotten a good look at it and was shocked by what he saw. Her right hand was swelling rapidly, and dark purple marks were already blossoming on her knuckles.
“Oh, dear,” Dr. Crowdner said, gently placing her hand upon the table top. “Severe trauma to the metacarpals. I’m going to need to wrap this and give you something for the pain.”
Buffy met his gaze, neither agreeing nor arguing with him.
The doctor reached into his bag and retrieved a long length of white cloth which he wound loosely around Buffy’s injured hand. Once he’d tied her bandage off with a knot, he retrieved a small bottle of laudanum and a dosing spoon.
Since William had cared for his mother, he was quite aware of the strength of the medication The amount the doctor was giving Buffy was substantial. It wasn’t dangerous, but it was enough to put her into a deep sleep for hours. The doctor looked up to William inquiringly, but William put the question to his wife instead.
“Darling, the doctor would like to give you something for the pain and to help you sleep. Would that be alright?”
Buffy opened her mouth like an obedient child.
“Darling,” William repeated. He knelt in front of her and, placing his hand gently upon her cheek, looked into her eyes. “Dr. Crowdner is going to give you laudanum now. It will ease your pain but also place you into a sleep for a time. Do you wish to take the medication?”
Recognition flickered behind her eyes, relaxing her doll-like expression. “I’d like something for the pain, yes. And to sleep.” Her voice was clear, and she was Buffy again, if just for that moment.
She opened her mouth again, and Dr. Crowdner fed her the laudanum.
Though it was a gesture she’d normally balk at, William took a chance and gently grasped her uninjured arm. She acquiesced without a word, stood and allowed him to guide her into bed. She climbed up and faced the wall, curling into a tight ball. William lifted the bed covering and tucked it around her small frame as well as he could.
Dr. Crowdner leaned over and asked him, very quietly, “May I have a word with you in the hallway?”
Unable to leave her alone, William pulled Dr. Crowdner toward the doorway. “May we speak here instead?”
“Certainly,” the doctor agreed. “She should sleep deeply through the night. I shall be back to check on her first thing in the morning.” He paused awkwardly before continuing. “I need to tend to Mr. Lovell now. I’m not entirely certain your wife didn’t break his jaw.”
William nodded.
“The first mate has also requested that I ask you to report to the bridge as soon as you’re able.”
William looked at him numbly.
“I shall inform them that you are disposed.” He patted William’s arm reassuringly. “We won’t leave your Elizabeth alone. Their inquiries about the incident shall simply have to wait. They can speak with you in the morning. Jane and I shall stop in and sit with your wife.”
William nodded. Strange that. Once Buffy had gone to bed, it seemed that his voice had abandoned him.
“Goodnight, William,” the doctor said, his hand extended. William looked at the proffered hand in confusion for a moment, before his distant mind realized that he was supposed to shake the thing. Obediently, William shook the doctor’s hand.
“Are you quite certain you are all right, William?” The doctor looked at him quizzically - professionalism laced with kindness.
“Yes, I’m fine.” His voice returned to him at last and he nodded to Dr. Crowdner in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. The doctor gave William a weary smile and let himself out into the hall.
Once the door latched, he heard himself repeat the word “fine” to the silent room. He took a few short steps to where Buffy lay curled in a fetal knot in the center of their bed.
He longed to touch her hair, pat her shoulder soothingly. Hell, he longed to wrap his arms about tightly around her. But he wouldn’t disturb her for the world just now.
He slumped into the chair at the small table. Distantly, he heard the ship’s bell ring eleven o’clock.
One hour ago he’d been in bed with his wife. One hour ago George had been alive and Dru wasn’t loose in the world. How could one short hour bring such a hurricane of change?
He closed his eyes. He knew the answers wouldn’t come any easier than sleep, but he welcomed the darkness all the same.
------------------------
A note from a hardcore dork:
I questioned the wisdom of writing anything about this chapter. The stern voice of my subconscious urged me to just let the chapter speak for itself. Then something else grabbed ahold. You’ve come this far with me – and I feel I owe you just a little bit of something here.
Before he first stepped on the Liverpool dock, George was always destined to die. While plotting I raged like hell against his destiny, twisting and turning to find a way around it. In fact, the more I got to know him, the more charmed I was, allowing him more and more page space. I even prolonged his life for three chapters. But I knew it had to be and, yep, when I wrote it, I wept.
Did he die because that is the Joss way? I don’t think so. George was dear and deserved a better life, like so many do. He died, in part, because that’s how life comes at you – at times terribly brutal and unfair. It’s what we do in the aftermath of those awful moments that define who we are. It’s those decisions we make and those careful steps we take that change the fabric of us.
George’s life was short, but his light will shine upon Buffy and William’s path for the rest of the tale.
George Alexander Lewis -1863-1880 - Adored Son, Beloved Brother, Dedicated Employee, Adventurer. Blushing boy with a lion’s heart. Rest peacefully, George.
/dork
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to the Gang of Four: DK, Lutamira, Science and Capella. Though they probably fantasize about beating me to death with a large comma, they refrain. Also, they're awesome. Thanks to Amy for the banner. I would love to hear what you think about this chapter - especially this chapter. And ... there is a footnote at the end of this - just so ya know.