“We really have everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language.” – Oscar Wilde (the real one)

Chapter 33

One week later – Elko, Nevada

The first orange streaks of sunrise played their fingers across the eastern sky.  Buffy watched through the window, her face expressionless.  When the white walls of her hotel room were coated with a peachy glow, she pulled the covers aside and slipped out of bed.

She stripped her nightgown off and pulled on the pair of trousers that she’d hung on the back of the chair.  This far west, the sight of a woman wearing pants might not have been typical, but it wasn't unheard of either.  Riding a horse was enough of a pain in the ass without throwing skirts into the mix too.

But that's not the real reason you insisted on trousers, is it? You stopped being skirt girl so that when you faced Dru, faced them, nothing would impede the slayer.

She pulled on a green shirt and buttoned it mindlessly, stretching her neck until it cracked.  Quietly, she eased her door open and stepped down to the adjacent room, delivering two quick taps to the door.

After a moment, Oscar responded, his voice thick with sleep. “Twenty minutes?”

“I'll be with the horses.” She returned to her room and tucked her small leather valise under her arm. She crept down the stairs as quietly as she was able, and let herself out into the cool morning air. As she padded to the stable, her feet kicked up puffs of dust in her wake.

The first two mornings she’d had to saddle a horse, she didn’t think she’d ever get it right, but it had quickly become routine and routines were a good thing.  They were comforting little rituals which kept your hands too busy to focus on your head and heart. 

A small grey mare greeted Buffy with a whinny, but she ignored Gertie and grabbed Florence’s saddle blanket from the shelf instead.  Oscar could be very fussy when saddling Florence.  With any luck, she could have both horses ready to go before he got to the stable.

As far as the watcher-slayer dynamic went, she had to admit that she and Oscar had settled into a somewhat backwards way of interacting.  He deferred to her lead in pretty much everything.  The council would have been mortified, and that was a small comfort to her. 

Buffy adjusted the blanket on the back of the chestnut mare, then went to the shelf and hoisted the saddle.  She settled it onto Florence’s back and fastened the collection of buckles in the correct order.

She heard Oscar approaching from behind, but she didn't turn around.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” she replied as she tightened the horse’s cinch.

“I assumed you would forego breakfast, again, and brought you something,” Oscar said.

She turned to see him holding a small cloth covered bundle.  He wore a salmon colored frock coat and a peach colored vest.

She ignored him and went over to collect Gertie’s blanket and saddle.  Oscar interrupted her with a hand on her shoulder. “We don't need to have the 'eating' talk again, do we?”

“Let me saddle Gertie first.”

She made quick work of fastening the various buckles and cinches while Oscar fussed around with his saddle bags.  She’d been right to beat him to the punch and saddle his horse for him.

When she turned around, Oscar was giving her a very patient look; he held a small loaf of bread out to her.  She accepted it and grudgingly took a bite.

“You look tired,” he said.

“And they say you're a smooth talker.”

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

“The same. We don't have to have the 'sleeping' talk again, do we, Oscar?”

He gave a little laugh and reached into his pocket.  He pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, which he unwrapped to unveil bits of dried apple.  After he placed the fruit in his palm, he held it out to Florence who chomped enthusiastically.  Oscar smiled, very self-satisfied.

Guiltily, she gave Gertie a belated greeting, patting her nose.  As much as she gave lip service to Oscar being an annoyance, the truth was that she would be lost without him. In the week since William had been taken, she’d been a hollowed-out shell of a human being.  Oscar was the one humanizing aspect of her life. He made sure she ate.  He could tell instinctively which restaurants would have the best meals.  He kept her tethered to this world.

For a moment, Buffy had a brief flash of Giles, that steady hand on her shoulder. What she would give to be able to reach through time and show Giles this moment of her and Oscar. What would he think?

She stuffed her cheek with the remainder of the loaf, and Oscar watched in horror.

“Do Americans not know the importance of mastication?”

“Good god, Oscar.  We’re not going to talk about that.  How did the English get the reputation for being prudes, anyway?”

Oscar gave her a dumbfounded expression.  “Before I met you, I thought women were mysterious creatures.  You, Buffy, put them all to shame.”

With one hand on the saddle horn, and a foot tucked into the stirrup, she pulled herself onto Gertie.  Her muscles didn’t protest as they had the first few days that she’d been ‘saddle broke.’ 

“East again?” Oscar asked, once he'd settled himself on the back of Florence.

“West. I think they're moving faster than I'd given them credit for.”

“Lead on, Bakguai.”  He’d taken to calling her that as often as he used her name.  He thought he was clever and subtle, but she knew why he did it.  He was reminding her she’d been a hero.  He was telling her she could do it again.

She flicked the reigns, guiding Gertie out of the stable.  They trotted down the street, away from the rising sun – the small, trousered woman and the large man wearing the bright colors of sunrise.

~*~

Buffy and Oscar came upon a small farm an hour after setting out.  She nearly didn't bother stopping. It seemed too close to town for the vampires to have risked it. Besides, the sweet little house looked too picture-perfect to disturb.

But as she scanned the silent yard, a strange feeling skated along her neckline, and she pulled Gertie to a halt. Dust settled around the horses hooves in a cloud.

There were no barking dogs or mooing cattle.  No clinking sounds from the barn or children’s voices.  Just unnatural silence.

Oscar gave her a puzzled look, but she ignored him. With one hand, she passed her reins to Oscar while she used the other to guide herself off Gertie’s back.

The front porch smelled of sunshine and lilacs as she hopped up the steps and approached the door.  A chain was looped around the porch rail, as though a dog had been tethered to the porch. 

So where is the dog?

She raised her fist to the door and knocked.  When no one responded, she knocked again – a little louder the second time around. 

With a deep breath, she ducked her head down to peer through a small window, shielding the glare with one hand.   The room seemed absolutely normal - a small living room with plain furnishings, a braided rug before the fireplace, a tidy row of books on a shelf.  Nothing seemed the least bit odd except for the unnatural stillness.

Buffy looked at Oscar, waiting patiently on his horse.  She held up her index finger in a 'just give me a minute' gesture.  Grateful once again for trousers, she leapt off the side of the porch and headed toward the back of the house.

Since there was no point in knocking, she went straight to the rear window.  Peering in, she saw a typical farm kitchen. Wide wooden table, water pump and freshly swept plank floor. She was just about to turn away when her eye caught something quite ordinary peeping out from beneath the table.  A shoe.  Except, it wasn’t placed on the floor in a natural way.  This shoe was parallel to the floor and slightly elevated – as though it was currently being worn.

Her heart thudded against her eardrums and adrenaline swamped her system.  She spun around and tore the door open, feeling a flash of surprise that it had been unlocked all along.

She ducked her head under the table – hoping she wasn’t about to find the body that she already knew was there. 

The farmer’s young wife lay still.  Her eyes were still open, staring lifelessly at the underside of the family table.  Buffy dropped to her knees immediately and swept her hand over the young woman’s face, closing her cold lids. In life, she’d probably had a sweet, honest face but the brutality of death had transformed her utterly. Her skin was an unearthly shade of pale; the wound on her neck was a savage bloom.

“You might take a moment to inform me what it is you're doing,” Oscar said, as he thudded into the room. “Not to presume that you'd bother to ...” When he saw what…who she was kneeling before, he stopped abruptly. “Dear god.”

Buffy blinked and pushed her emotions down into her core.  Feelings weren't useful, not now – and the only way she could get through now would be to concentrate on useful things, on doing the task at hand.

Oscar slumped against the counter.  His face took on a greenish tint, and he panted so rapidly that she feared he’d hyperventilate. 

This wasn’t the first time they’d been to a site that the vampires had visited, but this was the only time where they’d seen the bodies – where they’d arrived before the authorities. 

Buffy stepped over and touched Oscar’s arm in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.  “She won't be the only one.  You wait here, and I'll look in the bedrooms.”  She didn’t wait for him to respond.

It didn’t take long.  They were behind the second door she tried.  Two young boys, no more than seven years old, drained white and tucked up into a double bed.  Someone - some thing - had artfully arranged toys around their little blond heads.

Buffy couldn’t bear it.  Closed her eyes.  Fell out into the hall, gasping.

Don’t feel.  Push it back.  Push it away.

The little cold boys, with their frozen stares.

And you wonder - which ones did your William drain?  Whose life ebbed away thanks to William the Bloody?

She shoved herself away from the hallway and swept back into the kitchen.  Oscar was nowhere in sight.

Buffy kicked the door aside and stepped out into the yard.  It only took a moment to find him.  He was hunched over, vomiting next to the chicken coop.   She could, at least, let him have the grace of privacy, and she scurried to the front post where he’d tied up their horses.

When long moments later, Oscar walked over to her, she gave him a nod.  “Did you find the father?”

“He was in the pantry.  He’d put up a struggle, by the look of it.”

"There are … were … children.  Two boys.”

Oscar’s expression was utter bafflement.  As if he’d landed in a land in which everyone suddenly and inexplicably began speaking a foreign language.

“We need to get back to Elko.  We have to tell people.  Tell the Sheriff.”

Oscar nodded numbly, his brain still scrambling to play catch up.  He mounted his horse, and Buffy followed suit.  They urged their mounts to a gallop.

When they arrived back in town, Buffy stayed at the hitching post with Florence and Gertie while Oscar stepped into the Sherriff’s office.   By the time Oscar rejoined her, she was feeling antsy enough to burst.

“We have to try harder," she said.

“We’re trying pretty hard, Bakguai.”

“But it’s not good enough.   We still haven’t caught them.”

Oscar said nothing as he patted Florence’s flank.  She wondered if he was reassuring the horse or if it was the other way around.

“We need to send another telegram to the Council, too,” Buffy said.

“What could we say that we haven’t already said?”

“We need to tell them about the white demons.  You didn’t put anything about that in the last telegram, did you?”

Oscar shook his head.

“We should have mentioned it.  The Chinese in Rock Springs kept talking about white demons, and we should find out why.”

“Why would you think the demons relate to catching Dru and William?”

Buffy winced at the mention of his name; Oscar instantly looked apologetic.

“Any demonic activity is likely tied to the opening of the hellmouth.  The way we’re going, we might not catch up to them before California.  If we end up on top of the hellmouth with these things, I’d like to know what they are."

Oscar nodded in agreement.

"And tell them to send a reply to Reno, not Elko," she added.

"I don’t wish to correct you, Bakguai, but I believe that's several hundred miles away, near the California border.  It would take a week by horse."

"We'll take a train.  If it can't take our horses, we'll have to sell them."

Oscar gave Florence a worried glance.

"So far we've been just a little too late everywhere they've been.  It's time to be two jumps ahead of them instead of one jump behind."

~*~

One week later – Reno, Nevada

The boy in the telegraph office handed Oscar the sheet of paper nervously.  “Yes.  Addressed to Mr. Oscar Wilde.  Here it is.”

“And a well-weathered missive it is,” Oscar said.  The telegram had been folded and refolded multiple times and sported a large coffee stain on the back side.

“Western Union employees are told to maintain the strictest confidence, sir.  I assure you.”

“I’m sure you’re told a great many things.  The question is a matter of doing, not telling.  Still, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

The boy nodded unsteadily, clearly confused about what it was he was agreeing to.

Buffy tugged on Oscar’s arm.  “Do you always understand everything you say?”

“Yes, but I must listen attentively.”  Oscar tipped his hat to the lad before leading her onto the porch for a bit of privacy.

She snatched the telegram from Oscar and began to read.

TO: OSCAR WILDE, RENO NEV WU OFC

FROM:  WILFRED PENDERAST, WATCHERS COUNCIL, LONDON ENG

NO RELEVANT INFORMATION REGARDING WHITE DEMONS STOP HELLMOUTHS ARE SUSTAINED BY SUPERNATURAL MEANS BUT OPENED BY HUMAN ATTROCITIES STOP WATCHER GERARD BUNBURY IS IN TRANSIT STOP DESIST PURSUIT UNTIL HIS ARRIVAL APROX THREE WEEKS STOP

Buffy sighed.  "That was worse than a text message.  And what’s with caps lock?”

Oscar gave her a baffled expression.

"Can you be my English translator, Oscar?”

“I would dearly love to be.  Unfortunately, I’m only fluent in one of the required languages.”  He took the telegram and scanned it quickly.

"To put it briefly, they don't know anything about the white demons.  The hellmouth is opened by humans, apparently.  And they want us to stop trying to catch Dru and wait for the official Watcher to arrive."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen.  They’re as much help as ever.  Come on.  Let's get going.  We still have to check out that valley southeast of town."

~*~

Another long day of nothing.  After being forced into having a bit of soup by an insistent Oscar, Buffy slipped into her room and fell back onto her bed – exhausted.  Her room was first rate, with thanks again going to the Irishman.  He had an unerring eye when it came to knowing where the softest beds were.

She pulled a sheet over her, not even bothering to remove her clothes.

An insistent tapping in the dead of night woke her.  She jumped out of bed – instantly fully awake.  When she yanked open the door, an apologetic looking Oscar greeted her with a half-smile.

“What?”

“It may be absolutely nothing, Buffy.”

“Talk.”  She gestured for him to come in, and she shut the door behind him.

"I heard something just now, and I thought it might be worth pursuing.  I was at a drinking establishment, you see, and a regular came in with a tale that struck me as being worthy of our interest.”

“Oscar?  Can you please give it to me in a speedier version of English?  One with less words?”

“Yes.  Quite.  Well, this fellow had been camping out in one of abandoned mining camps on the Truckee River, and he spotted an odd trio headed up river.”

“Odd?”

“Two men and a woman.  The woman was a beauty – dark hair, wearing a gown and riding astride.”

"Did he describe the men at all?  Did he say anything about … William?"

"I pressured him for details, but between his drunken state and his speculations regarding the woman’s potential charms - he wasn't able to tell me very much, regretfully."

"You know where this is, right?"  She shoved her feet into her boots and gathered her hair to make a quick ponytail.

"The old mining camps, yes.  It should be as simple as following the Truckee River west, towards California."

“Great.  You wait here while I check this out.” 

She reached the door handle and stopped abruptly.  Turning, she faced Oscar, then reached her arms around him in a tight hug.  Since he was so tall, she only managed to squeeze his midsection tightly.

"Thank you, Oscar.  For everything."

His brows shot up and he chuckled.  "That was a very admirable effort, dear.  Charming, really."

"Effort at what?"

"At getting rid of me.  I’m sorry, but you cannot attempt to say goodbye just yet."

"I'm not attempting it, Oscar.  I'm doing it.  You're not coming with me.  It would be stupid to have both of us go."

"But I excel at stupid things, darling.  And I always do them from the noblest of motives.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder.  For the first time since she’d known him, he gave her a look that she could only describe as watcherly.  “Buffy, I’ve come this far, and I expect to see this through.  I know there are dangers.  I’ve always known.  But it’s my choice.  And we really don’t have time to waste in an argument in which I’m determined to be both tedious and convincing.”

“Fine,” she said, turning her back to Oscar so he wouldn’t see the tears filling her eyes.  “But if you get yourself killed, I’m going to make you so sorry.”

“Naturally, Bakguai.  Lead on.”

~*~

The moon was fat, and the sky was cloudless.  Buffy slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out William’s old watch.  Three am.  They had better find this trio soon.  Once the rising sun sent the vampires into hiding they’d be much harder to find.

It helped if she thought of who she was chasing as ‘the trio’ or ‘Dru and company.’  When she thought of him as William she felt unbalanced, and it was hard to breathe.

Gertie was having her own difficulties breathing.  They’d been riding hard for two hours, and she was clearly winded.  Buffy patted the horse’s neck.  “Good girl.  Hang in there,” she soothed.

Just outside of Reno, the river bank had been crowded with farm houses and old mining camps, but now that they were so far up river, dwellings were becoming scarce.  Though a few of the little houses were still lived in, the majority had been abandoned years ago – when the silver craze finished sweeping through the county.  As the river darted along the California border, the ground grew rougher and they’d run out of dwellings a few miles back.

She could see Oscar glancing over to her every few minutes, looking to see if she was ready to turn around.  She kept her face forward and urged Gertie on with another pat.

They came down a small gully and into a large clearing next to a bend in the river.  Perched above back atop a small hill was a little cabin.  There was no sign of life, no telltale trio of horses tied to the porch rail as she might expect.  There was something about it that stopped her, however, and she held a cautious hand up to Oscar and slid off Gertie’s back.

He nudged Florence over to where Buffy stood at the edge of the clearing and dismounted as well.

“Wait here,” she said, handing him Gertie’s reins.

She reached inside her saddle bag and pulled out a stake, then walked cautiously toward the darkened cabin.  The brush along the riverbank had grown thick and clawed at her as she worked her way along the river’s edge.  The river gurgled over the stones, splashing onto her boots.

The porch was in shadow, so it wasn’t until she reached the first step that she saw the body lying just before the front door.

Too late – again.  You’ll never catch them.

Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light on the porch, and she noticed that someone had tethered the poor creature, the way you’d tie up a dog.  One end was looped through the porch rail, and the other end was fastened around the victim’s throat.

She reached down and placed her hand on the back of the chained body.

It was still warm.

She carefully placed her hands under the man and shifted his weight.  He let out a soft groan as the collar dug into his throat.  She turned him, positioning his face toward the moonlight.

William.

A light beard now covered his shockingly thin cheeks.  His face was crisscrossed with wounds, and one eye was swollen completely shut.  He’d been beaten almost beyond recognition, but it was William. 

And he was alive.

--------------------------

Author’s notes:

TO: CONSTANT READER

FROM:  PUDDIN, WHO THINKS TELEGRAMS SHOULD HAVE ! AND ?

OMG WTF I THINK OPERATION SHITSHOW IS ABOUT TO START STOP  HOW DID DRUS TURNING OF WILLIAM FLOP STOP WHAT SURPRISE WILL SHE AND BILLY DROP STOP HOW CAREFULLY MUST OSCAR STEP STOP POOR BUFFY IS ABOUT TO POP STOP FOR ACTION THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE HARD TO TOP STOP NOW I REALLY NEED TO STOP STOP