Business as Usual

Chapter 37


Not Human


The demon invasion of Sunnydale had swept through the town like an evil disease, terrifying, destroying, killing everything in its path. But eventually a strange silence fell outside the Willow Tree Tearooms and owner, Agnes Pringle, wiped away the tears of self-pity that had overwhelmed her.

Gingerly, she stood up, wincing at the ache in her legs and realised she was still griping her best rolling-pin, her weapon of choice. Moving the chair she’d pushed under the door handle to stop any more demons coming into the Tearooms, she opened the door and peered out.

The town looked as if the end of the world had happened. Fires flickered, smoke drifted through the air, burglar alarms were screaming and somewhere – a long way away – she could hear a police siren. But the demon gang had gone. Something had changed, too, something was different and Agnes suddenly realised that the weird metal tower that had dominated the skyline since Glory’s days had vanished.

More worrying to her - there was no sign of Dawn or Spike. The Sunnydale streets were empty, but Agnes caught sight of various furtive movements as residents began to appear in doorways and windows, checking the damage, wondering if it was safe to come out.

Agnes walked up the street a little way, worrying about her friends. She didn’t understand why Spike hadn’t come to see if she was all right. Not that he had any obligation to do so, of course, she thought hastily. He had other friends, other people to worry about. Just as long as Dawn Summers was all right. Agnes had a clear memory of the young girl’s face earlier as she’d pulled on her crash helmet over her long dark hair. She so enjoyed riding on the back of Spike’s monster bike.

Suddenly Agnes felt her legs quiver; she’d spotted something lying in the road in front of her. Arms, legs, oh no, there was a body and a head – oh no, please no. She took a couple more steps then felt a wave of relief rush through her as she saw the wires and chains, pieces of metal, rods and hinges. The ruins of the Buffy robot lay in front of her, the eyes wide open and staring, sightlessly, up into the starry sky.

“Oh you poor thing!” Regardless of the dirt and grit digging into her knees, Agnes knelt at its side. She knew the robot wasn’t human, of course, but it had still been happily alive in some strange computer way she didn’t understand. It had helped, done the job it was programmed to do and seemed to enjoy its life.

Of course it hadn’t been human, didn’t possess a soul, but then neither did she and Agnes knew with a cold certainty that she would have been horrified to find herself abandoned in pieces on her death. At least she would descend into decent dust and scatter gently in the air. Being left by her friends in the middle of the road as if you were just rubbish – well, it was unseemly, rude, uncaring.

She felt a surge of anger at the way the robot’s owners had just abandoned her, like a game they’d finished playing with once it got broken.

It took Agnes two trips to carry the remains back to the Tearooms. They were heavier than they looked and it took a little time to collect the innards that were scattered over the road. She found carrying the head with those sightless eyes particularly distressing. For some reason it reminded her of how unpleasant she always found the sight of dead fish lying on ice slabs in the fishmongers. Eyes glaring up at you, accusing, defiant, dead.

Gasping – because really she wasn’t getting any younger! - Agnes managed to get everything down the stairs into the basement.

She longed for a nice cup of tea, but needed to get things sorted before she sat down to rest. Eric and Nancy, the vampire children she sometimes cared for, would be charging along the passages into her basement as soon as it was safe to do so. She didn’t want them to see these – remains. It might worry them. Children were odd creatures and although they happily killed things on their little computer games, Agnes wasn’t quite certain if they would find a dismembered body, even a metal one, unsettling.

She hesitated – what should she do with the remains? She could put them in her shopping trolley and wheel them down to the garbage dump later in the week – but that was treating them as rubbish and so not an option. Well, perhaps she could dig a hole in one of the smaller passageways that ran under Sunnydale? Except she didn’t actually own a shovel and – Agnes was nothing if not pragmatic, she didn’t know if she was strong enough to dig a hole deep enough to bury a body, even a dismembered one.

Sighing, she opened the storage bin where she kept her bags of flour and sugar. A few minutes later, they were stacked neatly on the floor and Agnes was piling the metal pieces inside the bin. Gently, she placed the head in last, pushing down the little plastic eyelids over those dreadful staring eyes.

Shutting the door, she stood up and wearily filled the kettle. Tea! She would die – well, obviously she wouldn’t but she felt like she would – if she didn’t have a cup of tea right now.

Suddenly the door to the basement was flung open and Spike half fell down the steps. Startled, Agnes spun round. “Spike?” She stared at him in astonishment as he stood there, swaying slightly. His eyes were blazing with an inner joy she’d never seen before and his whole face was alight with a happiness that was shocking in its intensity.

“She’s alive! She’s back. Buffy’s back!” He reached out, grasped Agnes round the waist and swung her into the air, round and round as if she was a child again.

“Spike! Put me down! What on earth’s happened?” Agnes found her feet and tottered across the room to sink into a chair. “What do you mean, Buffy’s back?”

“They rescued her from Hell. Willow and Tara and Xander. The devil knows how. Some mojo. I don’t care. She’s back. Oh, they didn’t do it that well. She had to dig herself out of her own coffin. God knows how she did that. But it doesn’t matter. Agnes, she’s alive! Alive!”

And before she could speak he’d turned and two great strides took him up the stairs and away again.

Agnes sat very still very a very long time, tea forgotten. The Slayer was back in town – and Spike found this something to rejoice about. That was so odd that she couldn’t quite grasp it, but the look on his face had told her quite plainly that the vampire’s feelings for that small blonde girl were far more complicated than she’d ever imagined.

His words about the coffin slowly began to penetrate – and she was thrown back to a night some time ago. To a funeral parlour, to damaging a coffin and sewing the lining up quickly so no one could see. So, had she helped the Slayer return? Had she, Agnes Pringle, released a vampire killer back into her own little Sunnydale world, putting them all in danger. Why she might stake Shona or the children next! That was a horrifying, sobering fault.

“Be sure your sins will find you out,” she muttered at last. “I should have confessed I broke the coffin lid, then they would have chosen a new one. This is All My Fault.”

At last she stood up and pulled on her second best coat. Buffy Summers returning from the grave had at least solved one of Agnes’ problems for her.

Just before dawn, a small, plump vampire could be seen pushing a trolley through the streets of Sunnydale, out to the main cemetery. It was a bit of a struggle getting the wonky wheels up the slope – the trolley had a tendency to steer to the right no matter how much she tugged it in another direction – but at last she manoeuvred it across the grass to the open grave.

“Well, the Slayer won’t be needing it any more,” Agnes murmured. The mud and grass had been scattered violently around and the lid of the coffin lay in pieces nearby. But the inside was untouched and, carefully, Agnes began to lay the pieces of the robot inside its final resting place. She was just placing the head inside, resting against a silk cushion, when a noise made her jump. It was only a night bird but the head slipped from her grasp and fell a few inches.

To Agnes’s horror, the eyes opened, there was a small click and a voice said, “I can’t see! Is anyone there?”

Agnes struggled to make her voice work. “Yes, my dear, I’m here.”

“Am I sick? Willow should mend me. I feel broken. Tired.”
The mechanical voice was getting softer and softer, as the final energy in the final battery was exhausted.

“You must go to sleep, my dear,” Agnes said. “I’ll…I’ll stay here until you do.” And she reached out to touch the plastic cheek that felt no warmer than her own cold hand.

“Mommy?” And there was a lift of excitement and then – nothing.

It didn’t take long to push the broken coffin lid back and smooth earth and grass back into place. It wasn’t perfect, but then who would come to look at it? Buffy Summers was no longer buried here. Agnes stood, leaning on her wonky trolley. She felt she should say a few words, but she needed to go home, to get away from this place before the sun rose.

tbc