Business as Usual

Chapter 26: The Night Before

Agnes Pringle hurried along in Spike’s footsteps as he strode through the dark, empty Sunnydale streets. He seemed oblivious of the fact that he could walk far faster than she could, striding out, an axe balanced across one shoulder of his long black leather coat.

Agnes was clutching a screwdriver. Spike had been uncertain which tool would be the most use for breaking into the Sunnydale Funeral Home where the mortal remains of Buffy Summers were being kept until her burial the following day.

It was a very good job she didn’t need to breathe, Agnes thought, because she would be puffing and panting at having to walk at this speed. Even as a vampire, she certainly wasn’t designed for action, she decided sadly, wishing she could cover the ground with the same easy, cat-like lope her friend used.

Luckily Sunnydale seemed empty; the inhabitants were still at home, recovering from the odd effects the hell god Glory had caused during her brief but terrifying visit to the town.

Suddenly Spike stopped; they’d arrived. Agnes caught up to him, then stopped as she heard the other vampire swear viciously. He leapt forward and burst through the front door which, apparently, was already unlocked.

The private room of the Sunnydale Funeral Home was decorated in, what was to Agnes Pringle’s mind, a rather ornate style. There seemed to be a good many velvet curtains and the carpet underfoot was, in the opinion of her vampire nose, in need of a good clean from too many footprints and not a few tears.

“What the bloody hell – ” he shouted as he strode inside. “Dawn Summers! Niblet! For God’s sake – ” His voice died away in despair and Agnes, scurrying behind him, peered over his shoulder into the velvet hung gloom.

She felt her face growing lumpy and struggled to control it. The Slayer’s coffin was there, in pride of place, lid open, and she could see the still body laying amongst the white satin cushions, the long amber hair tastefully arranged, the skin washed and creamed. Agnes sighed and felt tears burn in her eyes. Even though this was the Slayer, she looked so young and innocent; a life hardly begun, now ended. It was all very, very sad.

But this girl was dead and beyond her aid, thank goodness – and briskly Agnes turned her attention to someone she could help. The Slayer’s little sister, Dawn, was sitting on the floor, leaning against the casket stand. She was gazing up at Spike, her face as pale as the dead girl’s, her eyes far too old for her years and far too dry, as if she had no more tears to shed.

“I’m sorry, Spike. But I didn’t want her to be alone tonight. She’s going to be on her own for ever and ever under the ground. And that isn’t right. She liked people. We’ve got each other; who has Buffy got?”

Spike sat down next to her and draped an arm round the thin shoulders. “I’m sorry I shouted, Dawnie. I thought….bloody hell, I wondered – ”

“You thought I was trying to do some magic trick to bring her back? Like I did with Mom.”

“Well – ”

“Oh, it’s OK, Spike. I’m not a silly child any more. I know once you’re dead you have to stay dead.” Suddenly she laughed and the sound was far more chilling than the dead, cold air of the funeral home. “Unless you become a vamp, of course. But there wasn’t even a chance for you to do that for her, was there? Not after I killed her.”

“What are you talking about? You didn’t kill Buffy. She jumped to – well, to save the sodding world.”

Dawn pulled away from his comforting arm. “Of course I killed her, Spike. If I hadn’t been the Key, if I’d never existed, then none of this would have happened, would it? Buffy would still be alive, still be the Slayer.”

Spike glanced over her dark head to where Agnes was standing in the shadows. “Listen, Dawn. No one believes you were responsible. No one at all.”

Dawn jumped up, all long arms and legs. She wrapped her arms tightly round her body, trying to hug some comfort into herself. “Yes, they do! Oh, they would never say so, but I can see it in Xander’s eyes, the way Willow is really, really nice to me, but she won’t touch me. Do you know, she’s never given me a single hug since Buffy died? Tara does. Tara’s sweet, but not Willow and in my mind, I’ve known her ever since we moved here to Sunnydale. As long as she and Buffy were friends. I know exactly what she thinks.”

She spun round and leaned over the still body in the coffin, reaching out to push a tendril of hair into place. “Buffy just looks as if she’s asleep, doesn’t she? But she’s dead. I wonder if she’s somewhere now, looking down and blaming me for what happened? Are you, Buffy? Can you hear me? Why won’t you say something? Shout at me. Tell me off. You always tell me off, tell me what I’ve done wrong. Stop being quiet – stop – stop – stop being dead!”

Dropping the hammer and screwdriver, Agnes stepped forward before Spike could move. The young girl’s voice had risen to a hysterical pitch and she flung herself onto her sister’s body. Agnes pulled her away and folded her tightly into her arms as, at long last, the tears came and Dawn collapsed into shuddering sobs.

Long minutes passed. Agnes held Dawn and watched over her head as Spike took the chance to say his own goodbyes to the girl he loved. As he bent to kiss her, Agnes looked away, feeling that there were some things no one should witness.

Spike looked up at her, his face a mask of exhaustion. “She’d stake me for doing that if she was here,” he said. “She told me once the only chance I’d ever have of kissing her was if she was dead. Funny, eh?”

Agnes thought privately that kissing a Slayer must be the most traumatic act of any vampire’s life. She was only thankful they were always women and never men! Because although she’d once had a crush on Eunice Murphy, head girl in her sixth form at school, she’d never wanted to actually kiss another woman!

“Spike, I know this is difficult for you, but this child needs to be in bed, trying to get some sleep. She’s got a long day ahead of her tomorrow and it isn’t going to get any easier in the weeks ahead.”

Spike turned his head and gazed for the last time at the Slayer. He was so sodding tired. All he wanted to do was wait until he heard that final sound, the earth thudding down on the coffin lid, then walk out from the trees surrounding the graveyard and die in the midday sun, next to her grave.

But – there was Dawn. He looked back to where Agnes was holding the youngster, stroking the long dark hair, hushing the sobs, rocking her gently in her arms. Dawn Summers, all he had left of his love.

He slid his arms round the girl and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. “I’ll take her home,” he said, his eyes gleaming in the gloomy room. “Thanks for being here tonight, Aggie. I won’t forget it.” And he strode away, the teenager’s dark hair gleaming against black leather.

Ten minutes later, Agnes was halfway home herself, so tired she could hardly put one aching foot in front of the other, when she realised that Spike had left the axe on the floor next to the coffin! She would have to go back for it. She was quite sure that the Slayer’s friends would guess who had been in the room if they discovered it there in the morning and Spike was not in the right frame of mind to deal with more trouble. He was likely to lash out first and regret it afterwards. And that child needed him in one piece, not dust floating around Sunnydale.

The door had swung shut behind Agnes when she’d left the Funeral Home but luckily she still had the screwdriver and, thanks to Jason Biggs, she knew how to use it. Dear Jason, ten years old and one of the naughtiest little boys she’d ever known. She hadn’t realised that all those times she’d found him in her tea-shop back home in England, he’d been playing truant from school. She’d believed him when he said he was off sick. But when she’d locked herself out of her shop one morning, it had been Jason who’d shown her how to unlock the door with a screwdriver.

Dear Jason; she believed he was something big in television these days. Or was it Parliament?

“Agnes, you’re dithering. Concentrate,” she muttered to herself and with a few deft flicks of her wrist, the door unlocked and she hastily entered the room and picked up the axe from where Spike had left it.

A sudden noise made her jump and she spun round to see something lurching through the far door. Agnes whimpered with fear. She had no idea what it was – demon of some type, she supposed – but it was black and foul, dripping slime and filth all over the floor and was heading straight for the Slayer’s coffin. She gripped the axe with both hands and backed away. Oh, if only she was brave! She didn’t know how to fight, only cook. And this didn’t seem like a custard cream situation!

The thing belched and a foul, fetid smell filled the room. Agnes coughed, gasping for the air she didn’t need, then realised the thing was completely ignoring her. All it’s attention was focused on the coffin. With a quiet squeak, Agnes stepped in front of it and jabbed with the axe.

“Go away! I don’t want to hurt you! But you simply can’t feed off the Slayer’s body. Go away! Shoo! Shoo!”

The thing belched again, even louder, but didn’t stop. Agnes jabbed again with the axe. She had no problem with the Slayer’s body being carried off and probably eaten in some hell hole, but she knew it would upset Spike and Dawn a lot. And this thing just wouldn’t listen to reason!

With another gasp, she swung the axe back over her shoulder, then brought it down with all her might. The thing roared as the blade cut into its arm, but it still kept coming. Moaning with fear, Agnes swung the axe again, then shrieked as it thudded into something hard and jammed tight.

She dropped the handle, scurried round the side of the Slayer’s coffin and realised the axe was stuck in the underneath of the coffin lid! Muttering an apology to the Slayer, Agnes hoisted up her skirt, knelt on the edge of the coffin and, with all her power, plucked the axe free from the padded white satin lining.

“You – are – not – going – to – drip – mess – all – over – this – dead – girl!” she panted, her face becoming lumpy and her teeth fangs. Valiantly, she edged forwards, jabbing the axe out, again and again until finally the thing gave a last belch of disgust and disappointment, turned and vanished back into the darkness.

Agnes leant against the coffin, trying to control her trembling legs. She stared down at the still, pale figure and wondered how on earth this little slip of a girl had killed and destroyed so many things. It was such hard work.

“Oh no!” Agnes gasped in dismay as her gaze settled on where the axe had smashed into the coffin lid. It had cut right through the padding and – yes – she pushed her fingers through the cut, the coffin lid itself was badly cut and weakened. Thankfully it didn’t show from the outside.

Agnes pulled her little sewing kit from her cardigan pocket. She was never without it, because one of her mother’s many sayings had been “a stitch in time saves nine” and now that was coming true. With swift, neat stitches, Agnes sewed the lining together again. When she had finished, you wouldn’t have known anything had happened to it.

Of course she realised as she finally carried away the axe and left the Slayer to her long sleep, there was nothing she could do about the damaged coffin lid. But there: it wasn’t as if Buffy Summers was ever going to notice.

tbc