Chapter 16

A Friend in Need



Agnes had been determined to go to Joyce Summers’ funeral. Even though she had been a new friend, she still wanted to pay her respects to such a nice woman.

But not only was it a very sunny day which made it difficult but Agnes had a drunken vampire sitting dejectedly in her room, sipping neat whisky, ruining her fluffy rug with his dirty boots and annoying her by wanting to talk when she needed to get on and get ready.

“Did I ever tell you that Joyce used to make me hot chocolate?” Spike said for about the sixtieth time that day.

“Yes, you did. And I have told you that I think that was a very nice thing for her to do, especially as you’re a vampire – even though you couldn’t hurt her because of – “ Agnes waved her hand in the general direction of his head.

It was difficult to mention the chip to Spike. He got very defensive and irritated if you did. And no matter how much of a friend he was, a drunken irritated vampire was not something Agnes felt like dealing with today of all days.

“She used to put these little marsh mallow things on the top of the chocolate.”

Agnes sighed and glanced anxiously at the clock. Time was rushing past and the cemetery was quite a way from Willy’s Bar where she lived. “Yes, so you said. Would you like me to make you a hot chocolate now, Spike? Instead of that whisky?”

He shook his head and took another swig out of the bottle. “I wanted to tell Buffy and Dawn – wanted them to know, to understand how I felt – that I’d be there for them. But that wanker Harris – he spoils everything!”

“So you’re not coming to the funeral?”

Spike laughed and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. All the bitterness of many years echoed in his voice and Agnes found herself shuddering, hoping that he didn’t cross paths with this Mr Harris any time soon.

“They won’t let me within miles. And anyway, it wouldn’t be right. Vampires at funerals – most people wouldn’t understand. I wouldn’t want a lot of nastiness. It would only upset Buffy and Dawnie and while I don’t mind usually – well, not today.”

Agnes looked at him sharply. She realised from his unslurred speech and the way he was thinking that he wasn’t drunk, not really. The Scotch was doing nothing to deaden the pain he was feeling. She could only hope that he would finally fall asleep.

“They have lots of friends and family, don’t they? People to help them. I know there’s nothing anyone can really say or do, but still – sometimes it’s the little things that help the most.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “The Slayer take help from someone – that’ll be the day! She’s too well trained by her Watcher bloke. You’re the Slayer, you cope with everything that Life throws at you. She’ll be patrolling for vamps again tonight, no matter how bad she feels inside.”

Agnes pulled her best black hat – well, to be honest, it was her only hat – out of its box and tried, by just feeling, to make it sit down neatly on her head. Not having a reflection made putting on a hat such a trial. Once she’d gone out with the grosgrain ribbon over one ear, instead of at the back. She must have looked extremely weird. But then, she sighed, there was no one around these days who would care what she looked like. Not since she had parted company with her Beloved.

“But what about her little sister, Dawn? She won’t be out tonight, will she? Or tomorrow. And she’s had all that problem of where she came from – the green energy difficulty - to cope with. This loss of the woman she thought was her mother will be devastating.”

“Oh, they’ll all gather around to look after Dawn,” Spike said wearily. “They’ll give her cakes and presents and try to take her mind off her mum dying. They think she’s just a child and can be distracted. Her friends don’t really know her at all.”

Agnes gingerly pushed aside the curtains and peered out. The sun had gone behind a bank of cloud. If she was careful, she might be able to reach the woods that bordered the graveyard where Joyce was being laid to rest. She could watch from the shelter of the trees and pay her respects that way.

“Surely they’re her sister’s friends, not hers,” she said absently over her shoulder, realising Spike was waiting for her to reply. “Hasn’t Dawn got friends of her own who can be there for her?”

Spike frowned. He knew most of Dawn’s friends, of course, by name. He’d learnt to shut his ears to the stream of “She said, and he said, and she said and you’ll never guess what happened when she said – ” that flowed from Dawn’s lips most days. He knew the girl Janice by sight. Would she be at Joyce’s funeral? Doubtful. Would another fifteen year old be what Dawn needed today? No, she needed her sis and Spike had a strange squirming feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the amount of Scotch he’d drunk.

No, he knew Buffy too well. An emotion this powerful would make the Slayer retreat inside her own defences. Would she have the time or ability to deal with Dawn?

Agnes picked up her big black leather handbag and checked the contents. Clean hankie, a few coins, a five dollar bill carefully folded into the zip pocket, a comb and a packet of blood, just in case of delays. Right, all tickety-boo. She was ready.

Spike didn’t look up when she quietly left the room. It was a complicated journey - she had discovered that if you hugged the left side of the road you were under cover all the way to the Library, then you cut through to the back door and, as long as your hat had a wide enough brim and your coat was done up tightly to your neck, you just had enough time to hurry across to the side entrance of the shopping mall before you began to smoulder.

The underground car park was a haven for Agnes because one small service entrance led out into an area where the garbage was collected and on the other side of that were the trees that marked the edge of the woods.

These ran for about half a mile, all the way up to the cemetery and, apart from the muddy patches in places, which didn’t do her shoes, any good, she was out of the sun the whole time.

Agnes knew the tunnel system that criss-crossed Sunnydale made travelling around town faster and safer, but there was one big drawback. Spiders!

She shuddered gently as she reached the trees and stopped to draw breath. She knew they couldn’t hurt her and since her new life had begun she’d met demons who had just as much hair and as many legs, but it was the way they – scuttled! She would rather face a sunny street any day, rather than tackle a spider.

The path through the woods led uphill, twisting and turning. Agnes knew she was going to be late but she still felt a pang of regret when the trees thinned out and she could see that the funeral party had left.

No, there were two people – left. A small blonde girl and a tall, dark haired man. They were sitting together, not talking, just sitting.

Agnes’ face changed gently as she recognised a fellow vampire. Did the young girl know who she was hugging? Well, she didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, but Agnes took a firm grip on her big black handbag. It felt heavy and she was sure it could do some damage if she needed a weapon.

Then the girl moved and Agnes recognised her. This was Joyce’s eldest daughter! The Slayer, the one Spike had feelings for, whether he admitted it or not.

“But she’s talking to another vampire! And not just talking. Well, really!”

For a split second Agnes was transported back into her old classroom. A hot sunny day, the buzzing of a fly trapped inside against a windowpane, the English teacher’s voice droning on as she read from The Importance of Being Earnest.

What was the quote? Something about losing one parent being a misfortune, losing both looked like carelessness. Well, the Slayer was being extremely careless if she had a second vampire friend with whom she felt safe.

Agnes moved a little closer. She had no desire to meet the Slayer. She was certain that would not be sensible, but she blonde girl was Spike’s friend and he certainly wouldn’t want another vampire to be getting so close and – well – intimate with her. The dark haired vamp’s arm was right round her shoulder and really this was not suitable behaviour at a funeral. Agnes could see where the soil had been cut for Joyce’s coffin and wondered what the Slayer’s mother would have said about this.

The minutes passed: Agnes stood very still, her black hat and coat merging into the shadows. She’d learnt patience over the past few years and at last the tall man kissed the Slayer, hugged her briefly and then melted away into the woods on the far side of the graveyard.

Agnes moved and a twig cracked under her foot. The blonde girl spun round, her hand moving to her belt….

Buffy reached for a stake – the smell of vampire was everywhere – then she paused. Of course, it was Angel she could sense. He was still there, somewhere, in the trees, watching over her.

She conjured up a sympathetic smile for the small woman dressed all in black, standing a few yards away…

Agnes gave a timid cough. “I am so sorry to intrude at such a difficult time, but…”

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. Did you miss the – the – burial? Yes, of course you did. It’s getting late, isn’t it? You knew my mother - ?”

“Oh from the hospital,” Agnes said quickly. “We talked and then, when I heard – I am so very sorry for your loss. I would have spoken sooner, but you obviously had a companion with you.”

“A companion?” Buffy rubbed wearily at her eyes. She wished she could cry. Maybe they wouldn’t sting so much if she could just shed some tears and wash away a little of the burning grief. But somewhere along the Slayer path, she’d forgotten how to cry.

“The tall gentleman – I couldn’t help noticing, but I didn’t like to interfere. You didn’t seem to be in any danger, but trust me, I would have come to your aid if I’d thought he was about to do anything inappropriate.”

To her astonishment, Buffy found her lips twitching. Of course she wasn’t going to smile! She would never smile again, she was quite certain of that. But she did just wonder exactly how this prim little English woman, who seemed to be a bit older than her mom, would have dealt with a vampire who had killed more people than she had had hot dinners. Hit him with her purse, probably!

“Well, that’s kind of you, but he’s gone now, so you won’t have to – come to my aid!”

Agnes shifted uncomfortably. She realised she didn’t feel comfortable in the Slayer’s presence. Which, of course, was only to be expected. If only she wasn’t dear Joyce’s daughter as well. But there was an air of desolation about this girl that worried her deeply. This wasn’t just the grief of a child who has lost her mother; this was something else, some other loss, some other burden.

“So your friend has left? He isn’t staying in Sunnydale to help out?”

Buffy turned back to the grave and sank down on her knees, patting at the untidy clods of earth.

“Oh no, he won’t stay in Sunnydale,” she said bitterly. “He’d like to – well, I think he would – but, jeez, that would mean having to put me before himself and I don’t think he knows how to do that. I mean, he knows I’m upset. That’s why he came. But he wants me to feel better now. People ask, ‘how are you?’, but they don’t really want to know. They just want you to say, ‘oh I’m OK.’ Then they can stop feeling bad themselves.”

“Oh, I see.”

“No, you don’t. But thank you for trying. Now, it’s getting late. Would you like me to walk you back to town? You can meet some very odd people after dark in Sunnydale.”

Agnes shook her head. “No, my dear. That’s quite all right. I shall be perfectly safe. There’s nothing in these woods that can harm me and I feel you should have just a few moments alone with your mother.”

The blonde girl looked up at her sharply. “But she isn’t here. She’s dead.”

Agnes shifted her handbag onto her other arm. It was beginning to feel extremely heavy and she was also very hungry. It was dreadful to admit it, but her face had moved – very slightly – when the Slayer looked up at her. It was that nice, white neck and all that lay beneath the skin. It made her stomach rumble.

No, she needed a quiet spot to drink her packet of blood, away from prying eyes. But she couldn’t go without replying to that last ridiculous remark.

“Being dead doesn’t mean you don’t know what’s going on in life,” she said firmly. “I am quite certain Joyce knows exactly how you feel and is desperately sorry for causing you such pain. Now, you sit quietly there and talk to your mother about it. She’ll always hear you, you know. Always.”

And with a smile, Agnes turned and headed back into the woods.

Buffy Summers realised that the smell of vampire had gone. So Angel had left. Gone back to L.A. She was completely on her own.

She reached out her hands and plunged them into the earth. What had the funny little English woman said? Speak to your mother? Tell her how you feel? That was crazy, something Willow or Tara would do. But if she couldn’t tell someone how she felt, she would die and there was only one person who would truly understand.

“Mommy - ?” Buffy said tentatively, and the first cleansing tear burnt its way onto her cheek.


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