Stranger In My House
by Shyfox
What Curiosity Got the Cat
[reviews]
Chapter Seven: What curiosity got the cat
I will remember days in Avalon;
I will remember nights in your arms.
I will remember days in Avalon,
And I will recall every moment.
Like days in the sun.
--Richard Marx
*****
The wretched desert takes its form,
The jackal proud and tight,
In search of you I feel my way,
Through slowest heaving night
Whatever fear invents,
I swear it make no sense
I reach out through the border fence
Come down, come talk to me
In the swirling curling storm of desire
Unuttered words hold fast
With reptile tongue the lightning lashes
Towers built to last
Darkness creeps in like a thief
And offers no relief
Why are you shaking like a leaf?
Come on, come talk to me
Ah please talk to me
Won't you please talk to me
We can unlock this misery
Come on, come talk to me
I did not come to steal
This all is so unreal
Can't you show me how you feel
Come on, come talk to me
I can imagine the moment
Breaking out through the silence
All the things that we both might say
And the heart it will not be denied
'Til we're both on the same damn side
All the barriers blown away
I said please talk to me
Won't you please come talk to me
Just like it used to be
Come on, come talk to me
I did not come to steal
This all is so unreal
Can you show me how you feel now
Come on, come talk to me
-- Peter Gabriel
So, I guess I'm back to writing in this old thing again...I've kinda missed updating it for the past few days, with everything that was going on I just didn't have the time for it. Or the words to put what was happening down on paper. I can say, it's been the strangest few days of my life...that I can remember anyway.
I'm not quite sure how to start with this. My thoughts are pretty jumbled up right now, going from one thing to the next without really stopping to examine it completely. I guess that's kind of what this thing is for. To help me straighten out the mess.
I guess I can start with the freaky occurrence at the Bronze, although the feeling of things being kept from me started hitting me way before we ever got to the Bronze. I could probably brush off what happened there as somebody drugging my drink if it hadn't been for the dreams that I had later that night. I'm not sure what happened after I ran out of there, I only really remember half of it...just more craziness to ponder. In fact, if it didn't so closely match the dream I had after I got home, I'd probably forget the whole incident.
So, I've been pretty much trying to figure out what all of the strangeness means, and not getting a whole lot of answers. That's when I started to figure out that maybe they weren't telling me the whole truth...just an edited version of it. Well, there was that...and then there was the paper I found in the picture frame. I found that totally by accident though...
*****
Willow had just left, after eating a very hearty breakfast of waffles and whipped cream, home fried potatoes and Kosher bacon, (Buffy was a little surprised that her mother kept some in the freezer for just such an occasion), and Buffy found herself missing her friend already. It was plain to see that the redhead had wormed her way under her skin, tugging at a soul deep connection that the amnesiac was starting to think had always been there. She still didn't quite know where that connection began and ended, but she knew it ran deep.
Taking a glance at her mother, who was clearing the table, Buffy decided to voice the question that was forefront on her mind. "Mom, how long have me and Will been friends?"
Joyce almost dropped the plates that she had been holding, letting them go with a clatter into the sink. She darted a look towards her daughter, trying to decide if there were any possible hidden meanings behind the question. Buffy's face was guileless in appearance, although she could have sworn she saw wheels turning in the back of her blonde head. 'I knew Willow sleeping over was a dangerous idea.' Joyce thought, wondering how much damage control she would have to provide.
"Willow and you? Well, you've been best friends ever since we moved here...I guess that was your sophmore year in high school...so about four years now." Joyce answered, tentatively. "Why do you ask?" Her voice careful neutrality.
'Hmmm. Four years is a long time to get to know a person. I wonder why, then, do I only have one picture of us together?' Buffy thought, kicking the question over in her head. But to her waiting mother, she merely replied. "No biggie. Was just wondering." Before she got up from the table, excusing herself, and wandering into the living room.
Joyce followed her daughter's movements with worried eyes, wondering just when all hell would break loose, knowing her daughter, the wait wouldn't be long.
*****
Buffy tried really hard to concentrate on the books that Willow had brought over, she really did, but somewhere between the second daydream and the third time she read the same page over again, she got the feeling that homework never had been her strong suit. She suddenly remembered a hazy memory. A vision of Willow sitting alone on a bench, watching other kids passing by from the safety found beneath the brim of a too wide hat. She remembered introducing herself to the painfully shy girl, then asking her for a favor.
'Help me with my homework?' Well, not the best way to introduce yourself to somebody, but it seemed that was the way they had hit it off. She wondered what Willow would do if she called her up and asked for her help again. Well, she probably wasn't even home yet, so that was a moot point, not that she knew where home was, and suddenly it occured to her that there was a lot about her 'best friend' that she didn't know.
Dropping her books on the couch, where she had been sitting for the better part of the day, trying to absorb the knowledge that refused to enter her brain, Buffy scanned the living room bookshelves for photo albums. She discarded the ones that her mom had pulled out to show her, knowing instinctively that she wouldn't find what she was looking for in them. No, what she wanted to find had to be hidden somewhere...you just didn't spend four years with a person and not have some momento of that person's life. The books downstairs were useless, so Buffy headed for her room, pausing briefly at the top of the stairs to give the closed door there a baleful look.
She sensed the secrets that were hidden behind that door, a door that was never opened. Even though her mother claimed the room to be her office, Joyce never went into the room, and did most of her work on the kitchen table. She was starting to resent the half-truth's, wondering why there were so many secrets being kept under one roof.
Heading into her bedroom, she closed the door, having to catch it before it slammed shut. She paced the room like a caged tiger, her half recalled memories taunting her with vague recollections, keeping the rest in shadow. It was starting to drive her crazy. 'Damn it, why can't I remember!" Buffy thought, slamming her fist down on her bureau, shaking the items that rested on it's surface and jarring the picture of Willow and herself, causing it to fall to the floor.
"Great, Summers. Now look what you've done." Buffy said, crossing to look at the picture frame that was upside down on the floor. As she knealt to pick it up, she noticed that an edge of the photo seemed to be peeking out of the frame.
Picking up the frame, she turned it over to look at the front. No...the picture wasn't crooked. She touched the edge with a finger, pushing it up...it wasn't the picture, there was something else in here. Something that could hold the answers that she was looking for. With trembling hands, she flipped the frame back over again, then slipped the back off. Out tumbled the picture, and another peice of paper folded in half.
She carefully put the photo on the bed, being cautious not to smudge it, then picked up the paper that had obviously been meticulously hidden inside. 'What could it possibly be?' She asked herself, nervously, just before she opened it and let her eyes scan the page.
'Buffy Summers...psychiatric evaluation...patient suffering from grandiose delusions and mistaken identity...Ira Rosenberg...'
She stared long and hard at the sheet of paper she held in her trembling hand, trying hard to absorb it's information while trying desperately to remember the events that went with it. "Ira Rosenberg...Willow's father?" She was in shock...she had to be in shock, because her lips, as well as the rest of her body felt numb. "He had me locked up in a Psychiatric ward? Why? What did I ever do to him?" She couldn't make herself absorb the information, it was too unbelievable. The peices to her missing puzzle were beginning to tumble like clogs in a lock, they were starting to fit. But there were too many questions that she still didn't have the answers to, and it was high time she found them out.
*****
"Mom." Joyce's head shot up from her paper work when she heard the odd note to her daughter's voice. Buffy was standing in the kitchen doorway, her face emotionless yet pale, looking rather like someone had hit her in the face with a two-by-four.
"Buffy?" Joyce shot up from her seat, coming closer to her daughter, worried by the strange appearance. Had she remembered something? "What is it?"
"Why would Willow's father want to have me institutionalized?" Buffy asked, waving a piece of paper in her hand.
"What?!" Joyce blinked, taken completely by surprise. This was not what she had been expecting, at all. "What are you talking about?"
"This." Buffy shoved the paper into her mother's hands, demanding her to refute the evidence, or at least explain it.
Joyce was stunned. She remembered what Buffy had said about that time she had disappeared. Now as she looked at the paper in her hand, she learned the truth about those circumstances. Right there, in black ink, was the evidence of the man's duplicitous behaviour. A slow burn filled her stomach, as her eyes widened over the name on the sheet. Somehow, she couldn't help but feel enraged at the man who had tried to get back at her daughter so viciously. 'What a complete and total Asshole. He's the one that needs to be institutionalized. Just wait until I get my hands on him.' If she hadn't known him for the jerk he was before, he had certainly won no brownie points with her now.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Buffy asked, her voice choked
"I had no idea." Joyce answered, shaking her head, the shock making it hard for her to think.
"How could you not know?" Buffy asked, wincing as she heard her voice crack. She didn't know who to believe anymore, she didn't know what was true and what was false, it seemed like everyone had something to hide. Her dreams hadn't helped, nor the occurance at the Bronze, making her question everything that she thought that she knew about herself. And this paper sealed the deal. Was she crazy and nobody wanted to tell her? "What's wrong with me?"
"Buffy...you are not crazy."
"Then why..." Buffy started, taking the paper back and looking at it again, trying to get the words on the page to make some sense. Ira Rosenberg. Something about the name kindled an emotion in her. A red, fiery, hot rage. Then, she noticed something else. Her eyes narrowed over the information, as her mind seized on a decision.
"I don't know. But Buffy, I promise you, I'll get to the bottom of this." Joyce promised, not liking the look on her daughter's face.
"Thanks, mom. But I think I've got this one covered." Buffy said, before she turned and headed out the kitchen door.
"Buffy!" Joyce watched stunned as her daughter walked out, then headed directly to the phone.
*****
Buffy stood outside the small white house, listening to the sounds of the argument that could be heard quite loudly through the open livingroom window from the bush that she hid in right outside. On the way over here, she'd had every intention of walking straight up to the door, knocking quite loudly, and then demanding an explanation from the man that lived inside. She'd had a whole hour to fuel her anger, considering it took her that long to find the house. She'd forgotten that just because she had the street address didn't mean she knew where the stupid street was. Finally, she'd asked somebody for directions. The old lady she'd run into had looked at her strangely, hemmed and hawed for about five minutes, and then pointed her in the right direction. So, needless to say, by the time she arrived at the house, she was seething with anger.
She was halfway up the walkway, before the loud sounding argument that reached out from the confines of the small house and seemed to be engulfing the entire neighborhood, registered on her bubbling brain. "Sheila, get back here!" She paused at hearing the male voice screeching loudly, tilting her head and staring at the house like it had just developed a life of its own.
"No..." She heard the woman's voice distantly, hers not carrying as far as the male's had, but the sound of the argument was enough to strike her curiosity so she edged closer, finding a vantage point from behind the shrubbery under the window. "I will not allow you to cost both of us our daughter, Ira. Hasn't she been through enough?" 'Sheila' was saying, her voice practically pleading the man for understanding, even though it was covered by her anger.
Curioser and curioser. Buffy had time to think, before the man was shouting again. "Willow should be at home, where she belongs! Not off pining over somebody who doesn't even know that she exists. If you ask me, she's a lot better off. That Summers girl has been nothing but trouble from the day she entered our lives." Buffy's ears picked up at the mention of her name, her attention focusing through the window at the man who was waving his arms around with his impassioned speech. She studied the man, noting his red, blotchy complexion, and the way that his hair was starting to thin out on top. Going bald, eh Ira? From what she'd seen, the guy would deserve it if it all fell out. Suddenly, the air of the confrontation changed and she was unprepared for it. She had been focusing so hard on the man's appearance that she'd missed what the woman had said. Whatever it was had caused the man to change tactics. He grew quieter, his back stiffened, and an air of authority seemed to settle down over his balding pate.
Ira had dropped his hands to his side, drawing a deep breath as he studied the woman he'd been married to for the last twenty five years. He sometimes wondered how things had gone so suddenly, horribly wrong. He had seized on the Summers kid as an excuse, a scapegoat, a person to lay his load of guilty feelings. But the truth was, he'd shut his eyes to the horrors of the world, the horrors that his daughter was so open to every day, because he hadn't had the courage to face them. He'd shut himself off from reality, choosing to believe that everything was fine, that his God was still the Ruler of mankind and that his wife and child were still the same people that they had been five, or even ten years ago. In the process he had lost touch with his wife and daughter, they had changed without him even knowing. In the small, dark recesses of his mind, he knew that he was the one that was really at fault for the status of his present relationships. But he was unable to face up to it, so he chose to lay the blame elsewhere. He'd never really liked the suspicious looking girl anyway...always getting into trouble. Always putting his daughter's life in danger. This had just been the last straw for him, he'd rationalized internally. And when the accident had happened, he'd looked at it as the perfect opportunity to get rid of the foreign object in his young daughter's life.
"We need to show a unified front, Sheila. Convince her together to come home. We can take care of her here. We don't even know where she's staying now that..." He was cut off, going stark white by his wife's next words.
"I know." Sheila answered, quietly, not meeting her husbands gaze as she revealed the truth she'd been hiding from him for the last few weeks. "She's safe. She just didn't want you to know where she was. She made me promise."
"I can't believe...my own daughter..." Ira looked away from her, not wanting to see the hurt and regret that had replaced the love that had once lit his wife's eyes. He shook his head, feeling like his whole world was crumbling around him. "I guess that's it then. My own daughter doesn't trust me anymore."
"Ira..."
"What about you?" Ira asked, suddenly as he swung to face the woman he 'loved'. "Have you lost faith in me too?"
Sheila shook her head at him sadly. "I don't know what I feel anymore, Ira. All I do know is that I've been estranged from my daughter for too long. And she's hurting right now. So, if you can't be there for her...with me...then I guess I'm going to have to be there for her without you." Sheila picked up the suitcase that she had set down when the argument had first began and headed for the door.
"Sheila..." His voice was almost too quiet to hear, and yet she heard the tone of desperation in his voice so clearly.
"When you're ready to be there for us Ira, you let me know." Sheila replied, giving him one last look before she walked through the door and out into the deepening twilight.
*****
Buffy watched from the cover of the bushes as Sheila entered her car and drove off. Mr. Rosenberg hadn't even followed his wife outside, Buffy could still see him standing in front of a bookcase, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared moodily at a family portrait that hung on the wall. She was still angry with him over what she'd found, but somehow what she had seen had taken the wind out of her sails and she no longer found herself with the need for confrontation. Surprisingly enough, she felt a little sorry for the man looking so alone and so hollow in his empty house. Although, from what she had overheard, he'd brought a lot of it down upon himself. But besides that, the overheard conversation had given her a lot to think about.
*****
Buffy didn't notice how the day dwindled into darkening twilight as she made her way home. Her thoughts were too absorbed by what she had overheard and the many questions it had evoked. It was ironic in a way, she'd gone there looking for answers and had ended up leaving with more questions than what she had started with. And she hadn't even seen the guy face to face.
She had learned a few things, though, like the fact that Willow was estranged from her family and that she herself was somehow to blame. She couldn't imagine how, though. Willow's father had called her a trouble maker, and there was no doubt in her mind that the man disliked her with a passion. That was probably the reason he'd tried to have her committed. Buffy was pretty sure that was faintly illegal, and she supposed that she'd kept the paper that was tucked neatly into her back pocket, before, as proof, just in case she ever needed to use it. She could probably even figure out why she hadn't told Willow or her mother about the incident, if Willow was already estranged with her father, knowing this would have just made things ten times worse between them. How she had managed to get out of there in the first place was still a mystery to her, although, the more she thought about it, the more the visions of the tall, dark stranger from her dream seemed to slip up on her. She wondered what the deal was with him. Was he real or imaginary? And if he was real, did that mean that the other guy in her dream was real too? She shuddered at the thought, not wanting to give too much credence to the images that she still saw way too clearly.
"Hey, Slayer. What's the hurry? Got a hot date?" A voice straight out of her nightmare, came at her from the shadows, stilling her heart and her feet on the pavement as she swiveled nervously to look amongst the gathered shadows for the source of it.
"Who's there?" She called out, trying to sound brave, as she thought she detected movement from the space between two houses. The figure moved out into the light made by a streetlamp, it's orange light reflecting strangely off of blonde hair, enhancing it with an almost ethereal quality.
The man smiled briefly, as if he were amused by both the question and the look of fear in her eyes. "Well...don't tell me you've forgotten old Spike." His voice was mocking, the grin still lurking on his pale face. "What's the matter? Did you fall and hit your head? Give yourself a splitting headache, did ya?" He asked, with a certain amount of glee. As if he was in on a very private joke.
Buffy's nostrils flared as her dream came back to haunt her in living color. "You're not real." She whispered, closing her eyes to try to block the face from her vision. Meanwhile, her inner voice screamed at her that he was real, and if she didn't move it soon she was going to be worm food.
"Not real?" He snorted, wondering why she wasn't giving him any of those annoying come backs she was so famous for. "Bloody Hell, Slayer. You have gone daft. And here I thought it was just a rumor."
Why was he still talking? He was just a product of her imagination. He was supposed to be gone by now. She peeked an eye open and saw him standing up close and personal, as if he were examining her with the precision of a physician.
He noticed her staring at him in what appeared to be shock or fright, and he stepped back a pace, the smile tickling at his lips again. "Well...it appears I have two options. I can kill you...thus adding another notch to my Slayer belt adding to my well deserved reputation. Or, I can leave you this way. With two loopy Slayer's around, I won't have to fear for my undead life...not that I ever did, mind you." The blonde certainly appeared to be enjoying his decision making process. "But then again, some newly risen jerk would probably just end up killing you by accident, what with the state you're in you probably wouldn't fight him very hard, and then he'd have my much deserved prize." Spike pretended to think the decision over very carefully, in truth all he wanted was to taste the Slayer's sweet tasting blood, but he didn't mind having his fun first. "Nope...that wouldn't do at all. I guess I'm just going to have to kill you then." He grinned, before lunging at her, Buffy still too stunned to move.
She tensed up just before he grabbed her, letting out a little squeak of terror as she felt how strong he was. Then she was being shoved, hard, out of the way, hitting the ground in a heap as the sound of a fist hitting flesh registered on her frazzled nerves. "What?" She croaked, looking up to see the dark stranger from her dream fighting with the blonde. The blonde's face had shifted, displaying the horrific visage that had filled her with dread the night before.
"Why do you always have to go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, Angel?" Spike asked in disgust, while hitting the would be hero in the mouth hard enough to knock teeth out if he was human.
"Just the way I am, I guess." Angel answered him coolly, kneeing the other vampire in the gut, before giving a small slice of his attention to the fallen Slayer. "Buffy! Get out of here!" The dark savior called to her, still in the midst of his battle.
"But..." She wasn't sure why she was protesting instead of running for all she was worth, but she really didn't want to leave him alone for some strange reason. That was, until he turned shining golden eyes in her direction.
"Now!" He demanded, before tackling Spike to the ground. Buffy didn't have to be told again. Picking herself up, she sprinted into the night, hoping to leave the demonic creatures far behind her.
*****
"Where could she be?" Willow asked fretfully, pacing the span of the living room as she kept an avid watch for any sign of life outside. 'What if she's hurt...what if she's bleeding...what if she's...' She closed her eyes tightly, hugging herself, as she tried to block the last possibility from her consciousness.
Joyce laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Honey, I'm sure she's fine."
"Yeah, but...what if she isn't...what if she's...what if I never get a chance to tell her?" Willow looked at Joyce through worry laden eyes. They had searched for Buffy for most of the late afternoon and into the evening, before finally deciding to return home just in case Buffy came back. They'd discussed the situation that had sent Buffy out there in the first place. Willow couldn't believe her own father could be that mean...that cruel. She wondered why Buffy had hidden this from her. But then again, she probably knew why. Her wife never wanted her to be hurt, and she knew that this would definitely hurt.
Willow sighed, turning her back on the night outside the window. "I'm so sick of this. I'm so sick of having to pretend, of not being able to tell her the truth. I just want to tell her..."
"Tell me what, Will?" Buffy asked softly, standing in the doorway.
"Buffy?" Willow gasped, a hand going over her mouth as she saw her wife and lover standing there, looking wild and disheveled, and not a little bit like something the cat dragged in.
"Tell me what." Buffy said again, this time a little more demanding as she looked around at the three people in the room...the people that she had thought she could trust above all others, and now to come back after some very strange and terrifying encounters to find them all talking about her...well, she'd had just about enough.
"Buffy." Giles cautioned, trying to disarm the situation like Buffy was a nuclear bomb about to go off.
She shook her head, not even bothering to look at him, her attention focused on the redhead that trembled in front of her. "I have just been through one of the strangest days of my life..." She paused, thinking about that statement, then shook her head, adding the rest that she'd come to loathe saying. "...that I can remember. I find out I was locked away in a mental institution...by Willow's father, no less...then I get attacked on my way home by some strange...blonde...demonic dude who keeps calling me a slayer, or the slayer...or something like that...and now I finally get home to where I think I'm safe...and I find out that what I've been suspecting really is true. You guys are keeping things from me...and now I want to know what they are."
She gave them a second to respond, looking around at their dazed, shocked faces. "Well?" She demanded, her voice cracking from the stress.
"Buffy...I..." Willow stared at her, feeling her breath fill up her lungs as she tried to figure out what to say. She'd wanted so very much to be able to tell her, and now here was her chance and she couldn't.
Buffy saw that Willow was struggling, and a part of her even felt sorry for her, but the bigger part of her just wanted to know what the heck was going on. "No...that's okay, Will. I'll just find out for myself...starting with that 'office' that nobody ever goes into." She'd decided on her plan of action before she'd even consciously thought about it. Before her family could even react she had turned and headed for the stairs, determination guiding her every move.
Willow's mouth had dropped open in shock as she figured out just exactly what Buffy was planning to do. "No...Buffy wait..." Willow cried out, as she ran after her, Giles and Joyce joining her a second later, both crying out for Buffy to stop.
As they reached the stairs, they heard wood splintering above them, and knew Buffy was breaking the door down. "Buffy..." Willow managed to say, just before the sound of a door slamming open registered on her ears. They all stopped to stare at each other, not bothering to race now...all knowing what they would find when they reached the top of the stairs.
*****
Buffy, for her part, had been on autopilot as she headed up the stairs, not knowing what she would find, but knowing it was gonna be big. Her greatest expectations couldn't have prepared her for what she actually did find. It had felt like second nature as she had kicked the door in, feeling her body moving gracefully into the kick, using all her strength to lever it open. Hearing the door slam against the wall had been like hearing the door that blocked her memories grinding open. But when she saw what the room actually contained, her stomach dropped away, an almost weightless quality rushing to her head, and she felt her knees buckle as she hit the floor.
*****
As the wind picked up outside, the lone wolf that circled around the open door of the Summers home, smiled wickedly. It was gonna be one Hell of a night.
*****