Disclaimer
~ If I did own them
then I’d be at a party harassing David Boreanaz right now, instead of writing
this.
Notes ~ This is rated ‘R’ for themes of sex,
violence and abuse. It also contains strong language. You have been warned!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn sat on the hard plastic bench at the bus station wondering
what his next move was supposed to be. His first instinct after finding Faith’s
body had been to get as far away from her – it – as quickly as possible.
He simply couldn’t face being in the same room, in the same city, the same
state even, as the cold, dead corpse with the staring eyes. His Faith was so
full of energy, life, vibrancy – that wasn’t her. It couldn’t possibly be her.
But it was.
The longer he had looked at the
lifeless body the more he had felt his own self starting to slowly die inside.
He wanted to remember Faith filled with passion and fire, not dead in the very
bed they had used to share. He wanted it all to be a dream, a horrible
nightmare. If he could have turned back the clock and never met Angel, never
fallen in love with Faith, then he would have. Anything would have been better
than setting off on that path that brought him here, to this room, this moment,
those eyes.
He had come in that evening annoyed.
Cordelia had been bugging him with some tale of a surprise party for Buffy and
Angel. Apparently he and Faith had to be there. He had said no, Faith would
never have agreed to come, not even just to Buffy and Angel’s. She never went
anywhere anymore. All aspects of her life outside their apartment had gradually
eroded away and Gunn’s life was beginning to crumble too. So, he had been
angry. He had wanted to shake her, yell at her to get on with her life and stop
wallowing. He had marched into the bedroom, a tirade of insults ready on his
lips but they all died when he saw her lying there, as white as the sheets she
rested on, eyes open and staring. He saw her and everything died.
Then he had shaken her. He had
shaken her and he had shouted. Almost as if his voice could carry beyond death
and she would hear him, if only he tried hard enough to get through. But there
had been no response. Her body had dropped back on to the bed, like that of a
rag doll. His brain scrambled for rational thought, what did you normally do
when someone wasn’t breathing? What would bring her back? In his desperation he
tried to revive her, attempting CPR. But the instant he touched her icy lips he
knew that he was too late. This was not his Faith. His Faith was gone. This was
just a corpse that wore her face. A corpse with dark brown eyes that once had
shone and now wore a dull, milky sheen. It always came back to those eyes that
fixed him with their empty stare. Those eyes that would haunt his every waking
moment from now on.
Emotions had begun to hit him them,
as he knelt over the body of his dead lover. It felt like being pummelled by a
baseball bat or being swept away by the rush of water from a burst dam. Grief,
anger, resentment, shock, horror, nausea, sorrow, the raw pain of loss, they
all hit him at once. Somebody had ripped out his heart and crushed it in a
vice. He would never see Faith’s smile again, or hear her voice, or make love
to her, or a million other things that had defined Faith and that he had always
taken so much for granted. Like the way she would scoff when you complimented
her, like she didn’t quite believe she deserved it. Or the way she always
fought tooth and nail for the people she cared about.
God, he would give anything just to
have her jump off that bed right now and yell at him for being late home, or
flirting with another woman, or getting drunk. He would face her wrath a
thousand times over if it meant he could see her face alive and animated, her
eyes flashing with fury instead of blank and vacant. He wanted one last opportunity,
where instead of shouting back, or walking out, he would ignore her anger. He
would take her in his arms and tell her he loved her instead. And she would
push him away, give him a strange look between a frown and a smile and tell him
he was talking crazy. Then they’d go out to a bar or kill a few vamps and
everything would be great again. Everything would be the complete polar
opposite to the black hole of despair he felt at this moment.
Suddenly he realised he was sobbing
and clinging desperately to the hand of his dead lover. He dropped it as if it
had burnt him and sprang away from the bed, filled with revulsion. That hadn’t
been Faith he was touching, it had been dead flesh, no better than that found
on the meat counter. He felt physically sick and the only way he could stop
himself from vomiting right then and there was to turn away from the body and
make his way out of the apartment as quickly as possible.
Being careful to keep his eyes
averted from the corpse on the bed, Gunn crossed over to the dresser on the
other side of the room. He pulled open the top drawer and began randomly
shoving items of clothing into a holdall. It didn’t matter what he took, as
long as he had a couple of clean shirts and a fresh pair of jockeys, then he would
be fine. Packing was just a formality really; a way of acknowledging that he
was leaving this place and never returning. As he delved deeper into the drawer
his hand contacted with a solid item, a book, with a blank front cover.
Unthinkingly, he simply shoved it into the bag with all the rest of his stuff.
He would look at it later, now he could think of nothing beyond just getting
out of there.
Zipping up the bag he dashed quickly
out of the room, steadfastly refusing to look back. On his way out of the
apartment he passed Hope’s crib. He went and stared at the baby for a long
time. She was his daughter, he loved her with all of his heart and he wanted
more than anything to protect her. That was why he had to leave her behind now.
He couldn’t take her with him, when he didn’t even know where he was going. And
he wasn’t sure he could even look after himself properly in the state he was
in, let alone care for a young baby. Faith had always dealt with Hope and Gunn
didn’t even have a clue where to begin.
And now when he looked at Hope all
he could see was Faith. Her bright eyes taunted him in their daughter’s face
and he couldn’t carry around with him such an acute reminder of the woman he
had once loved with all his heart and who was now lost to him forever. No, Hope
would be much better of if he just left her there. Buffy and Angel were her
godparents, they had agreed to take care of her in case something ever
happened, and this heartbreaking trauma definitely counted in the ‘something’
category. Gunn quickly located an old envelope and scribbled a note on the
back. He dropped it in Hope’s crib and, after taking one last lingering look at
his daughter, gathered up his things and exited the apartment.
With the last vestiges of rational
thought he possessed, he knocked on the door of the apartment opposite and
informed his neighbour, an elderly woman who had a tendency to be a little on
the interfering side, that he was leaving town for a couple of days. He
mentioned that Faith hadn’t been well and asked if Mrs Goldstein could just
drop in and check on her and Hope occasionally. The neighbour agreed
enthusiastically – any excuse to poke her nose into someone else’s business –
and Gunn headed straight off to the bus station.
Unsure of where he was headed or
what his next move should be, Gunn sat down and held his head in his hands. The
only thing he was certain of was his overwhelming desire to put as much
distance between himself and the experience of finding his lover’s body as
possible. He didn’t want to be around to face falsely sympathetic friends or
acquaintances who would mutter their condolences then go back to living their
own happy lives, thanking God they weren’t in his situation. He didn’t want to
cope with funeral arrangements or dealing with a motherless young baby. He just
wanted to be left alone to grieve in his own way.
He exhaled a long breath, steeling
his nerves against the difficult future he now faced. He knew it was weak to
run away, but he couldn’t help it. Faith was the only woman he’d ever loved
(save his sister) and now that she was dead, didn’t he have a right to be a
little self-indulgent? He needed this time, otherwise he’d breakdown
completely. The question was, though, where was he going to go? He’d lived in
LA all his life and had few contacts in other cities, so the choice would be
totally random. He glanced up at the timetable above him. No more buses left
for at least half an hour, so he had that long to decide. Suddenly he
remembered the book he had shoved into his bag with the rest of his stuff and
was curious to see what it was.
He reached down to the holdall at
his feet and routed around in it for a few seconds until he unearthed the book.
It was old and battered and wore a plain blue cover. Opening it he was surprised
to find it was a diary. Faith’s diary. The world seemed to melt away around him
as he turned over the first page and began to read.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
October
17th 1997
God my life is a nightmare. I’m
back in the Children’s Home again after yet another foster ‘family’ threw me
out. The woman (who was like 300lb overweight) claimed I’d been stealing from
her purse. Like I would even want to take their Goddamn money. It was her
stupid whore of a daughter, all the time, but everybody blames me as usual. Mrs
Obesity practically dragged me into the police station by my hair, then when I
said I didn’t do it nobody believed me. Well, of course they didn’t - who’d
believe me right? I’m just a stupid little slut that her parents didn’t even
want. I told them I wished I had stolen her fucking money, because then at
least I’d have got something out of it. Then I ran away.
I didn’t get very far, as usual,
only to the bar on the corner of 28th and Vine. I like it in there,
it’s dark so people can’t recognise you and nobody knows who you are. And they
don’t mind if you don’t have ID either. Sometimes I sit up at the bar and men
buy me drinks. It makes me feel special, like at least I’m good enough to get
their attention. I was just getting pleasantly hammered when Andy, one of the
counsellors from the Home, came in and ordered me out of there. The guy I was
drinking with had a big argument with him, saying it was my choice to be there
and I should be allowed to stay. They nearly got in a fistfight until Andy
threatened to call the cops. It was really funny and it made me feel grown up
that the guy should come to my defence like that. It was my choice to be there
and I’m old enough to make my own decisions now. I hate Andy. I hate everybody at
the Home.
9th
November 1997
School sucks and I mean, majorly
sucks. I don’t know why I have to go, I’m gonna fail all my classes anyway. All
the teachers think I’m stupid and they don’t even give me a chance to get
things right. I had this mega blow-up with Pervert Pearson my calc teacher the
other day. I accused him of looking down my top and he went all red in the
face, it was so cool. I’ve got detention for a week now, but I’ll just skip it.
I couldn’t give a fuck about school, anyway. It’s all so pointless, stupid
maths equations and old poems, what possible relevance does it have to the real
world? I can’t wait till I can leave, but at the Home they make you go. They
drive you in everyday in a big yellow bus that says Boston Community Services on
the side and everybody knows where you’re from and that you’re one of Unwanted.
I cut most classes and I go hang out with some other kids
from the Home in an old building or in a bar. My friend Susie turns tricks over
lunch hour. She says I should too. It’s a great way to make some extra cash and
she’s only been picked up by the cops once. Apparently most of the guys she
meets are really nice, they’re not perverse old men at all. It sounds quite
good, but I’m not sure. Wouldn’t it be a bit demeaning? And you can catch all
sorts of diseases. Susie says it helps if you get high, but I’m not sure about
that either. This guy I used to know, Jason, he got addicted to H then he
overdosed and died. I don’t want that to happen to me, and I don’t want it to
happen to Susie either.
Thanksgiving, that’s a joke. What
have I got to give thanks for? Certainly not for the wonderful meal or the warm
family atmosphere. Some stupid do-gooder college kids came to the Home to cook
dinner for us poor disadvantaged children. Just their way of giving something
back to the community. They were all smiles and sympathetic glances. I bet it
made them feel so good when they went back to their nice little houses in the
suburbs, with Mom, Dad, little ‘bro and a pet dog called Buster. I could se it
behind their eyes – all the time they were thinking ‘Aren’t we lucky not to
have to live like this? Aren’t we just so Goddamn fortunate?’.
Some girl said she liked my leather
jacket and where did I get it from. I told her I stole it off a corpse and you
should have seen the look on her face. It was hilarious. After that she avoided
me for the whole of the rest of the afternoon. Stupid bint. How gullible can
you get? Like I’d wear anything that had been anywhere near a dead person.
Totally gross. I got it on a shopping trip with Susie. Five-finger discount. It
wouldn’t have gone with the bint’s Laura Ashley patterned dress, anyway.
But how’s this for a surprise? One
of the preppy college kids actually asked me out. Guess he wants to see the
wild side of life, huh? Well, I’ll certainly show it to him. We’re meeting in a
bar near to the college campus, then we’re gonna cruise around town in the jeep
that Mommy and Daddy bought him. Corruption of the innocent – I’m up for a bit
of that.
7th
December 1997
Stupid, fucking idiot, Faith. Why do I let these things
happen to me? I hate my life and I hate everybody in it. I’m not gonna cry. I’m
not gonna let them get to me. They’re not worth it. Screw them all. Fuck the
lot of them.
8th
December 1997
I went out on that date with preppy-boy last night and
boy was I wrong about him. He brought along three of his little buddies, all
pimply faced and wide-eyed. Anyone would think they’d never tasted beer before.
Probably hadn’t. I took them to a club on Denver Street and they’d barely had
two drinks each before they were falling over drunk. Stupid fuckers were pawing
all over me and treating me like some hooker they picked up in a bar. I suppose
that’s exactly what I was to them. Some nobody to be used and abused. But I let
them pay for my drinks all night, anyway.
Then at the end of the evening when
preppy was totally smashed, he cornered me in the alley behind the club. Said
that he’d taken me out and shown me a good time (like hell, he had), now I owed
him something in return. I told him to go fuck himself, but he was too drunk to
listen. He just forced me up against the wall and started pulling at my
clothes. I yelled for help, but nobody came. This one guy just walked past and laughed.
It was awful. I told myself I wouldn’t cry, but tears were streaming down my
face. Eventually, I managed to kick the guy in the balls and he loosened his
hold on me long enough for me to escape. I just ran and ran until I couldn’t
breathe anymore, then I puked.
I had to walk back to the Home then, right across town. A
total of six winos asked me for money and two guys in fancy cars tried to pick
me up. At that precise moment, if I’d been able to kill that fucking preppy
boy, then I would have. That’s it. From now on, nobody is ever going to make me
feel that bad again. It’s use or be used. And I know which one I’m gonna be
doing from now on.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn shut the diary with a black
expression on his face. He had known that Faith’s past hadn’t exactly been easy
for her, but he’d had no idea it was that bad. She’d never wanted to talk about
it, always saying that it was the present and the future that mattered not what
came before. Gunn hadn’t had a particularly rosy childhood himself, so he
understood that philosophy completely. What he also appreciated now, though,
was that Faith’s youth was simply too painful for her to remember, so she just
didn’t.
It just made the whole situation
seem even less fair. Faith had just got her life together, for the first time
she actually had a shot at happiness, then it was all snatched away from her.
Gunn looked out at the people milling around the bus station, each going about
their daily business, completely oblivious to the horrors that existed in the
world. But Gunn knew more than most. He knew that not only were there
supernatural dangers out there, but there were also human ones. People could be
just as bad as the worst demons and circumstances the general public regarded
as totally commonplace, could destroy souls as effectively as any Hellmouth.
He strode across to the ticket
counter, his destination now decided. He would go to Boston. He would walk the
streets that Faith walked ten years ago with such heavy footsteps for one so
young. He would try to track down some of the people she knew then and
hopefully he would lay some of her ghosts to rest.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
16th
December 1997
I have another date again, my first
since preppy-boy and the alley. Susie says I’ve now learnt one of the most
important lessons in life. Men aren’t to be trusted. They’re just out for one
thing. Sex. They don’t care about you or want to be with you. They just want to
screw. And if you’re a nice girl – you know, the type who gets straight A’s, or
are on the swim team, or wear their hair in French braids – then the guys will
treat you nice in the hope you’ll put out. And be respectful so that they don’t
get in trouble with your parents or older brother. But if you’re one of Us, one
of the Unwanted, who nobody cares about, then they don’t bother with the
flowers, or the candy, or the dinner dates. They just take what they want and
drop you in the gutter. So, Susie says you have to get in first. After all
you’ve got the power. You’ve got what that guy wants and if you want it too
then just grab it and then cast him to the kerb. And if you don’t want
it then either stay away from the guy or see what he can give you in return.
Susie says that we don’t have many things in life. We don’t
have money, or good grades, or families who love us. But sex is an asset we do
possess and we can use. I still haven’t stooped as low as selling myself on the
streets for money, but it’s starting to look more attractive. And I don’t
exactly have many other career options. Use or be abused, remember?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn arrived in Boston and checked
into a cheap hotel in one of the less touristy areas of the city. It was pretty
run-down, and he had to share his room with several cockroaches, but he’d
stayed in worse places. As he casually flipped through the pages of the diary,
he pondered his next course of action. He wanted to find out more about what
Faith’s life as a teenager had been like and that meant speaking to people who
had known her. There had been lots of references to a girl called Susie, who
Gunn assumed to be Faith’s best friend at the time, so he decided that she
would be as good a place to start as any.
He set out on the streets at
nightfall, a stake secreted in one pocket and a knife in the other. He liked to
be able to defend himself against every kind of creature that walked the night
– human or demon. He’d spent most of his young life either living on or walking
the streets of Los Angeles, so he knew a lot about the communities and people
you were likely to find there and he assumed the arrangement would be similar
in Boston. According to Faith’s diary, ten years ago Susie had been working as
a prostitute in order to earn some extra cash. Chances were that when she left
the children’s home, she had taken up prostitution full time. Now there were no
guarantees that she would still be around, ten years was a long time and a lot
of things could have happened to her, but there was bound to be someone who
remembered her and knew how to contact her. You just had to ask the right
people the right questions.
As Gunn strode into the red light
district, he noticed he was being directed threatening looks from gangs of
youths that hung around on every corner. He studiously ignored them, he was
here for Faith, to lay some of her history to rest, not to get into some petty
fight with the locals. He wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife in
his pocket, anyway, just in case.
After a short while he found what he
was looking for, a young girl standing nervously on the edge of the sidewalk,
obviously hooking. He’d wanted to talk to someone younger, because they were
more likely to surrender information to him, whereas the older women would just
tell him where to go. The girl must have been all of about fifteen years old
and Gunn’s heart went out to her. Nobody that young should be put in that kind
of situation – it just wasn’t fair. She should be out enjoying her adolescence
with her friends, instead of selling herself on a street corner. He wanted to
do something to help, but there was nothing he could do. He was here for a
purpose and he couldn’t let himself be distracted from that. You can’t save
everybody, he told himself, feeling an acute pang of loss as he remembered
the sight of Faith’s body.
He quickly pushed away the images
and focused on the task in hand. He swaggered up to the girl, casually
projecting an air of streetwise confidence. She gave him a nervous glance,
understanding immediately that he was not here for her services. Gunn
suppressed the reassuring smile that was beginning to rise unbidden to his
lips, and concentrated on maintaining his ‘tough guy’ persona.
“I need some information.” He came
straight out with his request.
“Then I can’t help you, man.” The
girl replied anxiously. “I don’t know nothing.”
“You just work here, right?” Gunn
joked, but kept the hard edge to his voice.
The hooker shot him a strange look,
but said nothing.
“I want to know who runs the girls in
this part of town.” Gunn demanded.
“You a cop?” The prostitute asked.
“Because, I’m just waiting here for my friend,”
“Yeah, and then you’re going to
bible study together.” Added Gunn sarcastically. “I’m not looking for any
trouble.” He continued. “I’m new in town and I wanted to introduce myself.
Didn’t want to step on any toes, that’s all. But if you want to make enemies
for your boss then that’s fine with me.” He turned to walk away and the girl
hesitated before calling him back.
“Wait. You want Johnny Wright.” She
spoke hurriedly, as if wanting to get the information out before she could
change her mind. “You’ll find him in the club on 56th Street, in the
back room. Just ask to speak to Johnny and someone will point you in the right
direction. But don’t tell him I told you, OK? We never spoke.”
Gunn finally allowed himself to
smile. “Fine.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a couple of bills then
handed them over to the young hooker. “Here, keep these for yourself, alright?”
Before the girl could answer, he had
already turned away and was heading in the direction of 56th Street.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn walked out of the bar sporting
a piece of paper containing a scribbled address and a blackened eye. He had
been lucky to escape with his life and he felt an idiot of epic proportions.
Everything had gone smoothly at first. He had asked at the bar to see Johnny
and after a short wait, was granted admittance. He spent ten minutes persuading
the pimp that his reasons were legitimate and he wanted to track down a former
and possibly current working girl by the name of Susie and that he’d hear
Johnny was the man in the know in these parts. Wright had initially been very
suspicious, until Gunn had produced his private investigators license, which
upped his credibility somewhat.
Once satisfied that Gunn was neither
a cop, nor was he trying to take over some of Johnny’s territory, the pimp had
given Gunn the address that he needed. However, when Gunn had been returning
the wallet to his pocket, one of Wright’s men had noticed a gleam of steel
sticking out of the side of his coat. He had been immediately slammed against
the wall and relieved of the knife. Gunn cursed himself for bringing it in the
first place – gangsters carried knifes, not private eyes from the west coast.
And it was never a good idea to bring a weapon into the safe haven of a Gang
Lord; just having the knife was considered an unspoken threat to the
organisation.
Johnny had immediately become suspicious of Gunn’s motives and called
for his remaining pockets to be searched. The stakes and crosses he carried
about his person had caused much amusement, but the pistol he kept in an ankle
holster had nearly gotten him killed. The same lackey who’d had him pinned to
the wall, a 300lb black guy, with a knife scar bisecting his left cheek, had
slammed his head against Johnny’s desk, while the pimp himself demanded to know
Gunn’s true motives. There was really nothing Gunn could say in reply to this,
as he had told the truth all along.
Just as he was beginning to curse his honesty and stupidity and
began to doubt the likelihood of ever getting out of the situation alive, there
had been shouts of alarm from the front of the club. Fifteen assorted police
officers and federal agents all armed with assault rifles, burst into the back
office on a drugs raid. In the ensuing confusion Gunn managed to slip out the
back door, along with a few other very lucky individuals. He quickly tended to
his wounds then headed off to the address he had managed to hang on to. He
didn’t have much time now that the local criminal element were familiar with
him. He was probably suspected to be an undercover fed after his visit had
coincided with that of the authorities, therefore, he would have to finish his
business in this area pretty quickly if he wanted to escape with injuries no
more severe than a bruised face.
Gunn could handle himself fairly well, certainly better than
your average gang member, but he didn’t exactly rate his chances against the
whole of the South Boston drugs scene. It wasn’t auspicious start to his quest
he had been hoping for, but it made the whole thing a little more challenging
and that he liked. This feeling of adrenaline coursing though his system after
playing Russian roulette with his life like that, was one that he had been
missing for a while. He enjoyed the danger, the thrill, the triumph after
escaping so narrowly. This was a position he had been in before – he didn’t
care whether he lived or died, the only things that made his existence
worthwhile were the moments of excitement. When he stared death in the face and
won. It helped him forget. Throwing all his energies into just surviving
through each risky situation pushed all thoughts of Faith out of his mind. It
gave him the same high that loving her had used to.
Only these highs had soul-destroying lows between them, which he
was increasingly desperate to banish. Adrenaline was like a drug to him and he
was quickly becoming addicted. He could see the immediate future mapped out
clearly before him and yet he didn’t care what it held. He saw himself taking
greater and greater risks just for the hell of it and there was no way he could
stop now.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
22nd
December 1997
Whoopee-do, they’ve found me a foster home for the
holidays, so I won’t have to pine away in some institution over Christmas.
Aren’t the authorities just so considerate? More like they didn’t want to
stretch to an extra for Christmas dinner, or gifts. Now that’s always a laugh,
seeing the TV crews and newspapers come around and pick out the orphan Annie
look-a-likes to pose for the cameras, whilst the latest candidate for office
shows his sterling generosity by distributing presents to the poor,
disadvantaged kids. Strange how it’s only the photogenic kids that get the
computers, or the hi-fis, or the toys. The only thing I’ve ever gotten is a
campaign button and the chance to star in some amateur pornography. Needless to
say I turned down both, they weren’t gonna pay me for the porn so what was the
point?
Anyway, on to my Big News. I am now
a temporary resident of the Taylor household. It is a worse Hellhole than my
last foster home even. I don’t know where they find these places, but then I
suppose they’re scraping the barrel for me. Everywhere else has had me already
and thrown me out. That’s my own little claim to fame – the most unwanted
person in the whole of Boston. Maybe I should move to another city, see if I
can piss off a few people off there. But for now the Taylor family seem quite
happy with me. I’m their new little toy to play with. Mrs Taylor is about as
meek as your average lamb. She scurries around me all the time making sure I’ve
got everything I need and that her husband is kept in a steady supply of beers.
Mr Taylor on the other hand, is a lazy drunk, which I totally respect. Why bust
your ass working all day when you can just sit around and let other people wait
on you hand and foot? Very cool.
The Taylors also have two sons, twin boys aged fourteen. They’re
quite good looking and it’s a shame they’re so young, otherwise I’d have a fun
time corrupting them. Twins as well – the possibilities are endless. They annoy
me though, they’re really quiet and sneaky. They never just come out and say
what they’re thinking, they always talk behind your back. And they’re always
plotting something. Yesterday I caught them hanging about the door to my room
and I swear they were planning to go through my stuff. Not that’s there’s
anything I could do about it if they did. I’m not even allowed a lock on my
door. Apparently there are ‘no secrets in this house’. Yeah right, that’s what
they all say, but there’re skeletons in every closet. Even I know that much.
But anywhere’s better than the Home at Christmas, so I can’t really complain.
1st
January 1998
OK a new year, a new reason why my
life sucks. The Taylors gave me a curfew for New Year’s Eve. A curfew of half
past midnight, would you believe it? They said that what applied to their boys
also had to apply to me. Never mind the fact that I’m older than their darling
boys and have had a hell of a lot more life experience. Plus the fact I’m not
their daughter and I’ll stay out as long as I fucking well like. I told them
that, plus a few other choice phrases and then stormed out. Or at least I tried
to storm out. Mr Taylor suddenly proved that he’s not all that lazy after all.
He was out of his chair and gripping my arm like an iron vice before I even
managed to get out of the door. I could smell his whiskey laced breath on my
face and I had a flashback to that night in the alley with preppy boy and my
own personal humiliation. I screamed that he was hurting me, that he wasn’t
allowed to do this. I’d tell the police and the social services and they’d take
his sons away.
He didn’t listen to a word I said.
He just ranted on drunkenly. How dare I abuse his hospitality? How dare I speak
to his wife like that? He said I was filthy and disgusting then he marched me
into the kitchen and squirted liquid soap into my mouth. He told me that I’d
said such dirty things my mouth needed washing out. I spat the soap out in his
face, but that only made him angrier. He threw me down on the floor and I
banged my head on the tile. All the while Mrs Taylor was just standing by, her
face drawn and her eyes wide. I hate her for not helping me and I hate myself
for not fighting back or running away after he hit me. I just dashed upstairs
and curled up on my bed crying. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, so why do I
have to keep breaking that promise?
4th
January 1998
I went to see one of the social workers at the Home
today, about Mr Taylor. I told them he hit me, showed them the bruise on my arm
and the bump on the back of my head. The guy just laughed. He said that I was
making trouble again, like the last time, when I stole that money. I told him
that wasn’t true either, but he didn’t believe me. Nobody ever believes
anything I say, or if they do they just don’t care. To them I’m just another
statistic to add to their records and now they’ve gotten rid of me, what does
it matter how I’m feeling?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn quickly tracked down the
address – a very dilapidated apartment building, with boarded over windows and
graffiti scrawled across its façade. There was no security to speak of
protecting the apartments, and Gunn just walked straight in off the street and
up the narrow stairwell that was littered with rubbish and smelled strongly of
stale urine. He located number 36B and knocked lightly on the door. There was
no response, so he banged more firmly, punctuating his knocking with a yell.
“Hello! Susie? Is anybody home?”
He caught the sound of a crying
child from inside the apartment and after a moment’s indecision, broke down the
door with a shove of his shoulder. The hinges were weak and the wood gave
easily underneath him, and Gunn virtually toppled into the small room, cursing
under his breath. He was shocked into silence, however, when he saw the
interior of the apartment and its occupants.
A woman, obviously Susie – whom he
knew to be in her mid-twenties but who looked much older – lay sprawled out on
the couch, her eyes glazed over and staring into space, a strange smile in her
face. In the corner of the room huddled a small child all of about three years
old and a wrapped in stained blankets in a broken lay a small baby, from whom
the crying was emanating. Gunn felt ill at the sight. The staring eyes and the
vacant expression of the woman reminded him all too clearly of Faith’s
appearance that last time Gunn had seen her, only Susie was still alive and
breathing shallowly. He leant over her and checked her radial pulse, it was
still strong, but as he measured it he noticed the track marks on her arms. He
dropped her wrist in disgust – she wasn’t ill, she was high on drugs.
He carefully removed the syringe
that lay discarded next to her and threw it away before one of the children
could injure themselves on it. Next he shook Susie viciously and slapped her
across the face, in order to rouse her. She just giggled, so he picked her up,
registering as he did so how light and frail she was, and carried her into the
tiny bathroom. He dumped her, fully clothed, into the cracked and watermarked
bathtub and turned the cold shower on her. A few minutes later she was
spluttering back into awareness.
“Who the fuck are you?” She swore
loudly.
“A friend of a friend.” Gunn
muttered bitterly, throwing a towel at Susie. “Now get dried and changed, while
you try and sober up.”
She glared at him, but climbed slowly out of the tub and began
to comply with his request, anyway.
Meanwhile, Gunn headed back into the main room and went to check
on the baby, whose crying had receded to a low whimper. He picked it up and
rocked it in his arms, the situation evoking potent and painful memories of
Hope, as well as a stab of guilt for leaving her like he did. But he quickly
pushed these thoughts out of his head and concentrated, as he always did, on
the situation in hand. He was not like Angel, he didn’t brood endlessly about
his problems, he just tried to forget them and get on with life.
Once the baby had quietened down completely he put it (he had as
yet been unable to determine the sex of the child) back down and began to hunt
in the kitchen for a clean bottle and some formula. Practice of feeding Hope
taught him what to do and he boiled some water on the stove, used it to rinse
out the bottle then tipped in the mixed and warmed formula. The baby guzzled
down the liquid gratefully and Gunn was just tucking her back into the crib,
when a dried and dressed Susie re-entered the room.
“OK, I’ll ask again.” She said angrily. “Who the fuck are you
and what are you doing near my children?”
“My names Charles Gunn.” He answered. “And somebody had to look
after your kids when you were passed out on drugs.”
She ignored that comment, instead beckoning to the little girl
still crouched in the corner of the room. “Come here, sweetie. Did the strange
man, say or do anything to you?”
The girl shook her head and ran into her mother’s embrace,
clinging to Susie wordlessly. The woman fixed Gunn with a suspicious stare, the
last vestiges of heroin beginning to leave her bloodstream and her thoughts
clearing once more. “So, you’re not the cops or the social services, and you’re
not one of Johnny’s men, otherwise I’d be beaten black and blue by now. So, who
exactly are you Charles Gunn and what are you doing here?”
Gunn sighed, reluctant now to reveal his motives for coming
here, because that would mean admitting that Faith really was dead. And once he
said it out loud he couldn’t take it back, he couldn’t change it and he
couldn’t pretend it wasn’t true, anymore.
“I’ve come about a mutual friend.” He said.
“Who?”
“Faith.” He replied. “You probably remember her from when you
were teenagers together.”
Susie’s eyes misted over with memories. “Yeah, I remember Faith.
She’s not exactly the kind of person you forget.”
Gunn nodded and smiled in response to that comment, he agreed
with it wholeheartedly.
“What happened to her?” Susie asked. “Last I heard she was
heading off to the west coast. She seemed real excited about the move, said
suddenly the whole world was hers for the taking, said that finally she was
going to be somebody special, that she had a decent future at last.”
Gunn felt a wave of sadness flood though him upon hearing about
the hopes and dreams of the young Faith. How quickly things had gone sour for
her, he thought. And even when she had straightened her life out, she didn’t
get to live the bright future she had always wished for. “She, she died.” He
said painfully.
Susie’s mouth formed into a shocked ‘O’, then she nodded sadly.
“You know,” she told Gunn quietly. “I’d always thought that if anyone could
have survived what life had to throw at her, it would have been Faith. She was
tough. Tougher than me.” Susie added with a rueful smile. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story.” Gunn said simply, the details still too raw
and painful to go into. “But she did turn out to be someone special, you know.”
He continued in a strained voice. “Someone very special.”
“She always was special.” Susie answered quietly. “It was only
Faith who didn’t realise it.”
Gunn nodded, suddenly unable to speak as grief had stolen his voice
and choked up his throat.
“So, what brought you here, sweetie?” Susie asked. “Why did you
want to come see little old me?”
Gunn shrugged, he didn’t even know exactly why himself. As a way
to be close to Faith, he supposed. When he’d seen her diary he’d realised that
there were all these things he didn’t know about her, all these questions about
her past that she would now never be able to answer for him. And he couldn’t
bare that. He couldn’t stand the thought that the love of his life and mother
of his child had died before he’d ever even go to know her properly, so he
wanted to find the answers to all those questions himself. He wanted to know
about her childhood, her friends, her family and he wanted to be able to tell
Hope all this stuff as well, when she was older. Now that Faith was gone the
best way to remember her was to be around those who had loved her too and that
was all he was doing.
“I guess I just wanted to be around somebody else who missed
her.” He replied.
“What makes you think I miss her?” Susie twisted her mouth up in
a slight smile.
“Just a hunch.” Gunn matched her smile.
“Well, you got good instincts.” She said tiredly. “I never
forgot Faith and I don’t think I ever will either. Now you gonna pay for that
door you smashed in?” She gestured towards the pile of plywood in the corner of
the room that had once passed for a door.
Gunn shook his head. “Not if my money’s just going to go on more
drugs.”
Susie gaped up at him. “You’ve not no right to judge me, Charles.
You got no idea what it’s like. I’m trying to bring up two kids on my own here
– sometimes I just need a little lift.”
“That’s crap.” Gunn responded. “You’re a junkie. I could drive
an express train up the track marks on your arm.”
“Fuck you.” Was all she could find to say in reply.
“And you’re not exactly doing a very good job looking after your
kids are you?” Gunn continued, trying to ignore the nagging memory of his own
abandonment of Hope. “When was the last time either of them had a bath or some
new clothes.”
“Get the Hell out of my house.” Susie yelled angrily. “Before I
call the police.”
“What and let them find you stoned whilst looking after two
children? I don’t think you will somehow.”
Susie was silent for a while after this. “What do you want?” She
asked finally.
“I want you to sort yourself out.” Gunn said.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” He told her. “I just thought Faith might.”
Susie thought about this for a long time, then turned up at him
with tears in her eyes. “I can’t do it.” She muttered. “It’s too hard. I can’t
quit the stuff – I’m hooked.”
“Check yourself into a rehab programme then.” Gunn suggested.
“It’s been done before.”
She laughed harshly. “Yeah, where I am going to get the money
for rehab from. And whose going to look after my kids when I’m in there. And
how am I going to avoid getting hooked again when I come out.”
“I never said it would be simple. But don’t you owe it to them,”
he waved a hand in the direction of Susie’s two children, “to give it a go.”
“You don’t know nothing about my life.” She rallied against him
one last time. “My kids are fine. They’re fed, they got a roof over their
heads. They got clothes and toys. I don’t care if you did know Faith, just butt
out of my business.”
“And when you accidentally overdose one day, or some john beats
you to death, or when the dope’s cut with something nasty and you end up dead.
Then what are your kids gonna do?” Gunn asked harshly. “End up in the hands of
the child protection services like you? Get stuck in the same endless cycle? Do
you really want that for them?”
Susie began to cry. “I can’t…” she sniffed between sobs. “I just
can’t…”
“Pack a bag.” Gunn instructed her. “And one for the kids too.”
Twelve hours later Gunn returned to his hotel room and collapsed
on to the bed, exhausted. He had taken Susie to the nearest ER department and
had her checked over for any lasting damage due to her drug habit. He had paid
for her methadone prescription with his own money then argued with the doctors
until they agreed to admit Susie into their drug rehabilitation programme. It
was not a total happy ending, however, as the hospital officials had insisted
upon getting child and family services involved. They had taken the two
children into care, much to Susie’s distress. She would be able to get them
back, of course, but only after a long fight and if she managed to get herself
clean and stay that way.
Gunn peeled the clothes he was wearing off his tired body and
crawled under the covers. He didn’t want to live another night like that for a
long time. Susie’s screamed protests as they had taken her children away, still
echoed in his ears. He shut his eyes and tried to make his mind go blank,
before slipping away into sleep and dreams of Faith.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
25th
February 1998
I’ve been getting these dreams
recently, really weird dreams involving these strange creatures that I have to
fight and kill. Somehow, I know they’re vampires. And I realise how totally
insane that sounds, that I’ve been slaying vampires in my sleep (shit, even I
think it’s stupid – coz vampires don’t exist, right? They’re just something
that you see in bad horror movies), but it’s true. And I’ve been getting them
every night, really vivid, bright dreams. They’re kinda cool, actually. Coz I
always beat the vampires. I’ve got, like, super strength or something and I
shove a stake through their hearts and they turn to dust. I didn’t even know
they did that – explode into dust, that is. I guess my mind invented it or
something, either that or cutting class every day to sneak into ‘R’ rated
movies has had sorta warped my mind or whatever.
I wish my life were more like those
dreams. I want to be that strong and powerful in real life, not just when I’m
asleep. I want to be able to win for once and not be stuck at the bottom of the
pile. When Mr Taylor hits me I want to be able to slug him back, instead of
cowering in the corner of the kitchen begging for him to stop. The first time
he slapped me in the face for insulting one of his sons, I threw back a torrent
of abuse at him. That just got my hair grabbed and my face slammed down on the
kitchen table. He leaned his mouth close to my ear and told me what he’d do to
me if I ever opened my mouth to say such foul things ever again. And his
suggestions weren’t exactly pretty, I can tell you.
All the time I was stuck there with my cheek pressed against the
rough wooden tabletop and Mr Taylor’s beery breath on the back of my neck, I watched
Mrs Taylor just stand there and let him do it. Afterwards I asked her why she
didn’t help me, didn’t even tell him to stop. She just said that her husband
was a good man, he was just a stickler for discipline and that I’d learn soon
enough how to keep him happy. But I didn’t want to. Why on earth would anyone
want to learn how to be helpless and pathetic?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn unconsciously clenched and
unclenched his fists as he read of the abuse suffered by Faith at the hands of
her stepfather. A man who was supposed to be trusted with her care, who was
meant to look after and support her, to provide a safe-haven for her to run to,
a home. Instead he had taken advantage of his position mistreating a young girl
who was in no position to hit back. Gunn had heard stories about Faith’s
behaviour in Sunnydale, her breakdown and her betrayal of her friends, and
before he had never quite understood what drove her to it. He had listened to
other people’s reasoning about her unstable personality and how having that
much power as a slayer had corrupted her, but that had never quite seemed a
good enough reason to Gunn.
He knew what something about Faith that other people failed to
realise. She was strong. And not just physically as well, she was strong in
spirit, resilient, tough – that was how she had managed to make the transition
back from being evil to doing good again. She’d taken her punishment – the
prison sentence and the loss of all the people she had once called friends –
stoically and then when it was over, she had continued to try and make things
right. She built bridges with those she had alienated, undertook the difficult
task of apologising for her behaviour and humbling herself before them. And
then she dedicated her life to doing good, helping other people in order to
make up for all the pain and suffering she had caused. This was the Faith Gunn
knew and loved, this was the mother of his child, not the out-of-control girl
she once was.
So, Gunn had always realised that there was something else to
Faith, some other dimension of her life that she hadn’t shared with anyone,
that finally pushed her over the edge. Or at least put her in a position where
she could be pushed. And finally he was beginning to understand what exactly it
was, what had motivated Faith and what hurts had scarred her soul. Faith had
been brought up a frightened little girl, who hid beneath a veneer of
toughness. Everyone she had ever trusted had turned on her. She believed that
nobody actually loved her or cared for who she actually was. In her life there
were only two sets of people who ever had anything to do with her: those who
were forced to by law or association (her foster family, or people at the
children’s home) and those who wanted something from her (mainly the men whom
she dated). She’d only ever had one true friend – Susie – and she had spent her
own childhood learning the same lessons as Faith, so could never have provided
any of the comfort or reassurance her friend needed.
In her words he could track the beginnings of her breakdown
easily and hardly blamed her for it. Her life had been a roller coaster of ups
and downs – mainly downs. With every small bit of comfort in life being ripped
away from her and cruel lessons being taught far too early. He wished he had
known her then, that he’d been there to show her that some people were
different. That life didn’t have to be miserable and bleak all the time, that
not everyone was against her. But on reflection, ten years ago he had been in
pretty much the same situation as Faith, so he couldn’t exactly have helped her
much. But eventually they had both changed and they had found each other and
begun to learn to trust and to love. They had at least shown each other some
happiness in their otherwise desolate lives, so maybe that offered some kind of
a happy ending. At least she had died knowing people cared about her.
Gunn read and reread the final pages
of the diary. It was weird, even though Faith had written these entries nearly
ten years ago, he felt as though it were they (rather than the perfunctory
conversation they had exchanged a week earlier), which were her last words to
him. He wondered why she’s stopped writing back then – the journal was half empty.
Maybe it was because she had nothing more to say.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
14th
April 1998
Happy birthday to you, happy
birthday to you, happy birthday dear Faith… And for your extra special birthday
present you get an insane stalker and a broken cheekbone. Whoopee do! Just what
I always wanted. I’m sitting in hospital now and it’s not that bad. They’ve
given me painkillers and the doctors say that my cheek is healing incredibly
well, they’ve never seen anything like it. The swelling’s gone down almost
completely already. And at least the one good thing to come out of all this is
that I won’t have to go back to that house. Finally, someone’s realised
that I can actually tell the truth and the man who’s supposed to be entrusted
with my care is actually a drunken wife and child-beater. Shame it had to take
me being knocked unconscious and carted off in an ambulance to prove it. I
still can’t believe what happened, it just seems like an absolute blur. Like
none of it make sense, and I suppose it doesn’t.
On my birthday, which was yesterday
(yes, I was born on the thirteenth, how’s that for an omen?) this strange man
was waiting for me outside the school gates. He had this la-di-da, ‘anyone for
a game of cricket’, Union Jack shoved up his ass accent and he knew my name. It
was majorly scary, having some guy you’ve never met before just grab hold of
your arm and start calling your name. He looked straight at me and said “You’ve
been having the dreams haven’t you, Faith”. And I can tell you I freaked out
right there and then. What the hell does some perverted middle-aged man know
about my dreams? I know what he thinks he knows, but that’s all crap and I
won’t be a part of it.
So, I told him to get the fuck away
from me, to stop touching my arm or I’d get my 6ft5”, bouncer boyfriend to beat
him to a bloody pulp. He paled slightly at that, I can tell you. Then he
apologised, said he never meant to scare me, that I was ‘the Chosen One’, or
some other crap like that, and that I had to listen to him. Obviously, he was a
crazy type and I told him I didn’t care what line he used on me I wasn’t going
to have sex with him. He just laughed at that and said of course he didn’t want
to sleep with me, I was far too young for him. Then he started talking about
this thing called the Slayer and how I was fated to be the next one (the one
girl in all the world who has the strength to kill vampires) and that was why I
had been having the dreams, they were, and I quote, ‘portents of my destiny’.
Well, that’s just bullshit, there are no such things as vampires and I don’t
have a destiny, I don’t even have a future. And what the fucking hell are
portents, anyway??
But he kept on talking, telling me I
had a sacred duty to protect mankind and that eventually I would help save the
world from ending. He said that I would be ‘called’ soon, that the changes had
already started to begin. I was getting stronger more agile, my senses were
becoming tuned into the darker side of life. I pulled away from him, heading
off in the opposite direction. He told me I couldn’t just walk away from this
like that, that I couldn’t ignore my fate. It really scared me, I can tell you.
What was this nut-job, this foreign nut-job, doing getting inside my
head, knowing my name and my dreams and why couldn’t he just leave me alone?
When I got home I was still shaking
from my encounter. I know Boston is full of crazies, but it’s not everyday you
get some guy telling you that vampires and demons are real and that you are
fated to slay them. There was nobody in the house and I was pissed off at being
alone on my birthday, the whole day had been a total bust so far and I just
needed something to liven it up. So, I called Susie and invited her over. She
offered me some of the stuff she had, said it would cheer me up. I didn’t even
need to inject it she said, I could just heat some up on a piece of foil and
inhale the fumes. I thought about it for a long time and then said no. Susie’s
my best friend, but she’s rail thin with has dark circles underneath her eyes,
her hands shake and I can tell she’s dying for a fix. I don’t want that to
happen to me. Instead I raided Mr Taylor’s liquor cabinet, going for the
slightly more conventional high. I found a half full bottle of whiskey and we
drank it together, giggling like the schoolgirls we actually are.
This is how the Taylors found us,
sitting in the corner, laughing and screaming drunkenly, the empty bottle
abandoned nearby. I don’t remember much after that, except shouting and Susie
running out and me finding it all hysterically funny, until the first blow hit
me. That was to the stomach. He likes to hit you where it doesn’t show, the
first couple of times, then he can pretend that he’s the dutiful husband and
good citizen who doesn’t really beat up innocent women. But when he gets really
angry, or really drunk, he stops caring about appearances, instead he just
lashes out, like he did last night, raining blows down on me. I held my hands
up to protect my face, but it didn’t work – he still caught me straight in the
side of the cheek with his balled up fist and I went sprawling backwards,
hitting my head against the wall and knocking myself out. And that’s the last
thing I remember before waking up in the hospital with an aching face and a
splitting headache.
Wonder what I’ll get next year?
15th
April 1998
I was discharged from hospital
today, my face has healed completely and the doctors were absolutely amazed.
They kept asking me how I was feeling and prodding and poking at my cheek. In
the end I told them I felt great and just walked out. I was getting sick of the
whole business and just wanted to put it all behind me. But that weird English
guy was waiting outside the hospital to pick me up. He said he had documents or
something to let him take me home. I said I wasn’t going anywhere with him, but
he wouldn’t go away. He followed me down the street, then he grabbed hold of my
arm, real tight, and I just saw red. Nobody’s gonna push me around like that Mr
Taylor. I shook the guy off and lashed out with my fist. He ended up on the
ground, blood pouring out of his nose and he got this light in his eyes and
just whispered up to me. “It’s happening, Faith. You know it’s happening to
you.”
I got up close to him and grabbed
him by the throat. “What’s happening?” I asked, because I knew he was telling
the truth. There was something different about my body recently. I felt
stronger and more powerful or something. And I was beginning to lie awake
nights, unable to sleep, just feeling restless. And he looked me straight in
the eyes and said: “You’re becoming her – the Slayer. And there’s nothing you
can do to stop it.” I threw him back down on the sidewalk and told him he was
spewing crap, but a part of me knew he wasn’t, a part me believed every word he
said, because it was true.
In the end I went home with him,
even met his wife – she seemed really nice. Made me feel like I was an
important visitor and that she really wanted me there, she wasn’t just putting
up with me. We sat down to dinner together, in the dining room, eating a
three-course meal off their best china and all the time they were asking
questions about me. What kind of stuff did I like? How was school going? What
did I do for fun? And then they really listened to the answers, like they
actually cared about what I thought. It made me feel kinda special. But I never
forgot why I was there and after dinner I asked Callum – that was the guy’s
name – for the explanation he promised. He started showing me all these books
about vampires and demons and said I was destined to help rid the world of
these creatures. I laughed at first, but he persisted telling me how important
I was and how the future of the earth might depend on me. It actually made me
feel worthwhile for the first time in my life, that somebody wanted me and my
whole existence wasn’t a mistake.
He told me about this ritual I would
have to go through – the Calling. And after that I would be a full-blown
Slayer. I would have powers and abilities I’d never even dreamed of, and I’d
finally actually become someone, rather than just being another statistic. Oh
and I’d be able to quit school, to take up Slaying full-time, which was also a
major bonus.
11th
May 1998
This Slaying gig is the coolest
thing ever! I’ve never had it so great in my whole life. Last night I dusted
ten vamps, it was incredible – you just have to put a stake through their heart
and they disintegrate right before your eyes. And another one saw me and ran
away, frightened! Imagine that, evil creatures of the night frightened of lil’
ole Faith. I always knew I was dangerous. And I feel so strong, so powerful, I
can do anything I want. A guy tried to take my purse the other night and I just
kicked him in the head, served him fucking right. I’m the one in charge here.
I’m the special one, he was just nothing.
Last week I went back to the Taylors
and finally taught the guy a lesson. He had no idea who he was messing with, so
I showed him. I returned every blow he had ever given me and then some. I made him
beg for mercy. It was amazing the adrenaline rush I got from it, from seeing
his blood pooling on the same kitchen floor he used to make me cower on. He
can’t hurt me now, nobody can.
7th
June 1998
Victoria, Callum’s wife, announced
today she was having a baby. I got worried for a minute that once they have the
kid, I won’t be able to stay with them anymore. Living with them is the only
time I’ve ever felt like I have a real home, a real family and I didn’t want to
lose that. But Callum said he’s my Watcher, which means he’ll always be there
when I need him and I can live with them however long I like. After that I was
cool with it all. I’m glad they’re happy, I hope they don’t expect me to
baby-sit, though!
1st
July 1998
Callum says we’re gonna move to
California, some little town called Sunnydale. Apparently it’s got major demon
problems, something about the mouth of Hell. Whatever, I don’t care – as long
as the vamps keep coming, I’ll keep slaying them. And the weather should be
pretty cool in California. Basically, I can’t wait to leave Boston behind. It’s
such a god awful city and I’ve always been unhappy here. New start in a new
place? Sounds great to me. All we have to do first is take out the last major
nest of vamps and then we’re done. Sunnydale, here we come!
3rd
July 1998
THE FUCKING BASTARDS. I CAN’T
BELIEVE I LET IT HAPPEN. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!! GOD, IT’S SO UNFAIR. I HATE IT. I
HATE EVERYTHING. WHY???? FUCK THEM ALL! THE WORLD CAN GO TO HELL, FOR ALL I
CARE! SHIT. IT’S NOT FAIR!
4th
July 1998
I watched the fireworks alone
tonight. And I didn’t get their point. Who even gives a fucking damn about
Independence Day? I know I don’t. I still can’t believe Callum’s dead. I’m not
crying, I’m not going to cry. I’m just going to finish off the vamps that killed
him. They deserve to die horribly. I’m going to make them pay for what they
did. I’m going to make them all pay. Victoria asked me to leave, she said it
was too painful to have me around, so I’m going to go to Sunnydale, like we
planned. Victoria gave me the money and I’m leaving and never coming back. I
hate this town and all the people in it. The sooner I can get out of here the
better. Good-fucking-bye Boston.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gunn prepared to say his own goodbye
to Boston, faintly amused by the irony that it was a diary that had brought him
here and a diary that was sending him back. He held in his hand the journal of
Faith’s Watcher, Callum Forrester. He hadn’t brought himself to read it yet –
he was still too overwhelmed by the information he had learnt from Faith’s own
writings – but he would get around to it soon. The temptation to know was just
too great.
He’d been to see Victoria Forrester,
the wife of Faith’s first Watcher. She’d been living in the same house as when
Faith had stayed there. Didn’t want to leave behind all the memories she had
told him. When he’s explained the purpose of his visit she’d cried and led him
out into her small, shaded garden. In the middle of the lawn a child played, a
young girl with a waterfall of fiery red hair cascading down her back. Victoria
introduced the girl as her daughter – Faith. Gunn had cried then too, despite
himself. He hadn’t cried since he found the body and he hadn’t intended to
again. In his book crying was a sign of weakness, whimpering about her death
wouldn’t bring Faith back, so what was the point?
But sitting in Victoria’s warm,
homely kitchen, her hand tightly coiled in his, he sobbed until his lungs burst
with the effort. He wept for himself and the woman he had lost, for all the
chances Faith had missed out on and all the hardships she had been forced to
endure. He wept for Hope who would have to grow up without a mother and for the
little girl with the flaming red hair who was missing a father. But most of all
he cried for all the people who would never meet Faith, who would never know
her strength and her vitality and would never have their lives enriched by her
presence. It was them he felt the most sorry for, because at least he’d had her
for a while. At least he’d been fortunate to receive to of the greatest gifts
she ever gave – her love and her baby daughter.
Gunn knew then that he hadn’t lost
Faith, because she was still alive in his heart and in the heats of everyone
who’d ever met her. That a scarred and cynical junkie could still remember
Faith with tears in her eyes, or that a woman who only knew Faith for a couple
of months would name her only child after her, was proof enough of that. And
Faith would live on in Hope, in her spirit and in her soul. Gunn would see to
that if nothing else.
When he had finished crying he felt
much better. His grief and not eased any, but he felt more honest with himself
at least. He felt as though he had finally acknowledged the fact that Faith was
dead and not coming back, whereas before he had just been trying to deny it.
And yet more than that he realised it was OK that he missed her. It was all
right that his life was falling apart without her, because that’s what happened
when you lost someone you loved. And once he’d finally accepted his pain he
could begin dealing with it, working through it, instead of bottling it up
inside and letting it destroy him.
At the end of a long afternoon of
talking through his problems with Victoria, Gunn stood up to leave, thanking
her profusely for all the help she had been. She just smiled back at him and
said he had been as much a help to her as she was to him. It was not often she
got the chance to remember her dead husband and still now she needed someone to
share the pain with. Plus the fact she was gratified to learn that Faith had
finally found such an excellent man to share her life with, even if their time
together had been short. Gunn was touched to hear this, and thought at the time
how right Faith had been in her initial judgement of Victoria – she really was
one of the nicest people he’d ever met.
Before Gunn left, she’d disappeared
upstairs and come back down with the journal. Gunn should have it she said. It
contained some important facts about Faith and her history that he should know.
Gunn thanked her for the volume and left, promising that he would keep in
touch. She had smiled sadly in response to this, knowing that it was a promise
he wouldn’t keep. His need for comfort had been particular to this afternoon
and she had been glad to help, but somehow she realised that her presence was
not something he would be seeking out ever again. Gunn bid her farewell, the
diary clutched tightly to his chest, grateful that even for a short while Faith’s
life had been enriched by this woman and her husband. He prepared to set off
back to Sunnydale, finally ready to begin rebuilding his life without Faith.
THE END
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