Creative Works   

My All (Part 4)
By Tess

Disclaimer: These characters, except for Kat and Jeff, are not mine. I am borrowing them from Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and all those really cool people. I promise to return them only a little worse for the wear. Please don't sue--remember, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!
Special Thanks Go To: Becca, for helping me to decide to write this story and her constructive criticism; my brother Jonathan for being my partner in crime as well as my Buffy viewing partner, and giving me an honest opinion on what I write; Chana, for being the best and possibly most critical proofreader a girl could have; Jon, because he said I had to thank him; Joss Whedon for creating Buffy; and the wonderful cast of the show for bringing it to life.

. . .

(Kat's flashback, cont.)

When finally there were no more tears left for Kat to cry, she stood and rather shakily made her way up the stairs to her third floor bedroom. Blindly, as if in a trance, she pulled out a duffel bag from underneath her four poster bed and began to pack: clothes, toothbrush, sneakers, journal, make-up, brush. Her packing was methodical, emotionless, until she reached for the picture of her family, taken only weeks before at the neighborhood barbecue. She stared at it and fresh tears sprang to her eyes: in the center of the picture sat her father; Kat and Korinne sat on either side of him and he had an arm wrapped around their shoulders; Kaylie sat on his lap; and behind them all stood Michael and Melanie, holding hands. The sun was shining and they all looked so happy....and now they were gone. Brutally murdered by demonic fiends, freaks of nature. Kat had never felt so alone in her life. She felt guilty to be alive, guilty that only she had been able to fight these creatures and live. Slipping the picture into her bag, she stood up and surveyed the room. Was she missing anything? Her eyes caught on a small, white bottle that stood on her night stand. Ibuprofen, 800 mg per pill. . They had given it to her when she broke her tail bone six months ago. It was strong stuff; strong enough to knock you out if you took three or four of them...but what if you took five...or ten...or the whole bottle? Kat opened the bottle and poured the contents into her hand. There had to be about twenty pills there; that should be more than enough to....

A sudden noise from the door startled Kat and the pills fell to the floor. She whipped around in attack and lashed out at the intruder with a high kick. He stumbled back into the door, then held up his hands in surrender.

"Peace," he said. "I come in peace."

"And who the hell are you? Mr. Spock?" Kat looked at the man who stood before her. Middle-aged, he was on the heavy side and had a mustache and bushy eyebrows; other than that he was really rather nondescript. He wore a gray suit and from the front pocket of the suit he pulled out an index card.

"Katrine Elisabeth Vanderbilt?" he queried, more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, that's my name, but that wasn't the question, now was it? The question was: who the hell are you?" Kat's eyes were blazing and her body filled with anger. Only anger; she felt no tingly feeling around this guy, not like when she was around the vampires. Slowly she lowered her arms from attack stance and crossed them over her chest, her pose defiant and menacing.

The man visibly blanched. "I...My name is Richard Wilhelm Clayton the third, and I am from the International Watchers' Council."

"Oh, so what are you, one of those Jehovah's witnesses kinda guys? Sorry, not interested. Not much can save my soul now."

"No, I'm not a Jehovah's Witness, I'm from the International Watchers' Council."

"Yeah, we covered that already. Now are you gonna tell me what you're here for, or am I gonna to have to persuade you?"

"No, please, no fighting. I am here to officially commission you as the successor of the slayer Kendra. You, Katrine Elisabeth Vanderbilt, are the next Slayer."

"Slayer?" The word struck a chord of recognition somewhere inside Kat's shattered heart, and she turned away, trying to remember its significance. *That's what that damn vamp called me before I staked him!* Turning back, Kat asked, "What the hell is a slayer and how did I suddenly get elected to the position?"

"Not elected, chosen. In every generation, there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer. You are the Slayer."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down here! Chosen? What if I don't want to be chosen? And who is this Kendra person? And why do I have to be the Slayer? Can't you just choose someone else?"

"No. You are the chosen one and there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it. The only way for you to escape your calling is death."

Kat looked at the pills scattered on the floor. She found herself torn between the desire to join her family in death, to escape this 'calling,' and the desire to keep living and avenge the deaths of her family members. Her reverie was interrupted as the bald man proceeded with his lecture.

"You are not, however, the only slayer; you will have help."

"Wait a minute...If I'm not the only one, then what the hell was all that crap about?"

"There is another. The original slayer for this generation. Her name is Buffy Summers and she resides in Sunnydale. Her job is to guard the Hellmouth..."

"Hellmouth? As in mouth of hell?"

"Well, yes, actually." The chubby man shrunk under her glare and mopped the sweat from his brow with a fine linen handkerchief.

"So let me get this straight? One of my 'duties' as the Slayer is to guard the mouth of hell? God, no pressure or anything." Kat fell backwards onto her bed with a deep sigh.

"Yes, it is an enormously stressful job, one full of pressure and duties and priorities. It requires a strong girl, both physically and mentally. We at the Watchers' Council believe you are ready to handle it."

"There you go again with that Watchers' Council shit...what the hell is a watcher anyway?"

The man straightened his tie and cleared his throat. "A watcher is the man or woman who watches over the slayer in her duties."

"Watcher: a person who watches. Boy, you get points for originality there."

"Well, the Watcher also prepares the Slayer for battle and instructs her in the appropriate courses of action, or any situations that are not covered in the Slayer handbook."

"Handbook? There's a handbook?"

"Yes, the handbook details the proper killing procedures for vampires and other common demons, as well as contains a detailed profile, a dossier, if you will, of the most powerful and dangerous vampires, both past and present."

"So it's like America's Most Wanted, right? Except for the wanted dead or alive part, because vampires aren't really alive to begin with, so...." Kat trailed off under the confused stare of the man.

"Now, at this pont in time, you would normally be introduced to your watcher, who would instruct you as to your first task or mission. However, due to the fact that you weren't supposed to be activated for another few years, your watcher has not been fully trained yet."

"Wait, activated? I have to be activated? What am I, a wind-up toy or something?"

"Activated is the term we use for the sudden onset of your slayer capabilities. When one Slayer dies, the next is automatically activated. She will find herself suddenly stronger, more agile and flexible, and all of her senses will be heightened. Smell, sight, hearing, all of them. She will also receive a sort of sixth sense, the ability to sense the presence of vampires."

"That tingly feeling!" Kat's eyes lit up with recognition. So those strange sensations she felt when she had been fighting those vampires were real; in fact, they were normal and expected of her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"When I was fighting those vamps, I felt...weird. On edge, pumped with adrenaline...fired up."

"Yes, that is a part of being the Slayer. You develop instincts that can and will probably save your life many times over. Now, regrettably, as I stated before, your watcher is unable to perform his duty as of yet, so you will be placed in the capable hands of the watcher of the Sunnydale Slayer, Mr. Rupert Giles. While his methods, and those of his Slayer, are less conventional than we would prefer, the two of them have stopped many prophecies from coming true and stopped Armageddon numerous times."

"So when do I meet this Giles guy?"

"Mr. Giles, and if you succeed at the mission I am about to give you, you will see him soon. Your mission is this: Ms. Summers, the Sunnydale Slayer, never reported back to her watcher last night after stopping the demon Acathla. Rumor has it that it has something to do with the vampire Angel, formerly known as Angelus. You are to find Ms. Summers and persuade her, physically force her if you have to, to resume her duties in Sunnydale." He handed her a small, white card. "If I do not hear from you in two weeks at this address or phone number, then I will be forced to come looking for you. Do you understand?"

Kat's mind was whirling, racing at the speed of lighting. There was so much for her to comprehend, so many new feelings and fears and she wasn't all that sure that she wanted any of it. She decided to play along with him for the time being, pretend that she was going to follow his orders, and then take off if need be.

"Fine, I'm in," she said. "When do I start?"

"If downstairs is any indication, you already have."

Kat felt a rush of pride when he spoke of the number she had done on the vampires, but her heart sunk with the remembrance of the deaths of all her loved ones.

"My family! I can't just leave them like that...!" Kat's blue eyes were full of tears and her face was twisted with the intensity of her sorrow.

"I promise, I'll take care of all the funeral arrangements and the notification of relatives. The Watchers' Council will cover all expenses."

"Well, what about me? What if I want to be at the funerals?"

"I'm afraid that that would jeopardize your mission, not to mention that your mere presence attracts vampires. If you were to attend, so would the vampires."

"Oh. Vampires at the funeral. Not good. Hey, wait a minute. Speaking of vampires, how will you describe the cause of death?"

"Exsanguination. A complete and total loss of blood. The family was attacked in their own home by a renegade gang with a unique killing style...their trademark, if you will."

"Okay, but how will you explain my absence from the funeral?"

"You're missing. You never made it home that night."

"Are you sure that..." Kat began, but was abruptly cut off.

"I will take care of everything, I assure you. Right now your only worry is to find the errant slayer and bring her back. Do you understand?" His eyes bored into her own, searching for comprehension and confirmation of her task at hand.

"Yes, sir," Kat answered, her voice more grave and serious than she had thought possible.

The man bent down and opened a black leather briefcase that Kat hadn't noticed before; he must have dropped it when she attacked him. From the briefcase he took out several books, all very old, and one even more so than the others. It was this book that he handed to her first.

"This is your handbook," he told her. "This book has been handed down through generations of Slayers dating back hundreds of years. It was written by the one who commissioned the first Slayer: a vampire who had somehow repented of his ways and sought to atone for his sins. He called forth all the magicks available to him, engaged the help of witches and sorcerers, and together they combined their efforts in a spell to transcend the ages: this spell would endow at any point in time a single chosen girl with the powers necessary to stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. Upon the death of the chosen, or if somehow she managed to survive through her twenty-first year, another would be called, and the powers would be transferred to her in accordance with the original spell. The only way for the spell to be broken was the complete annihilation of the vampire race.

Now, this benevolent vampire wrote in this journal all that he knew about vampires and the other evils out there; being smart, he also left blank pages for the addition of new evils and terrors. Another thing he saw fit to do was to establish a second line of defense against his race, the purpose of which was to watch over and help train the Slayer, as well as maintain the handbook and keep a record of the career of the Slayer. These men and women would be called Watchers, for they indeed watched over the Slayer. For every new Slayer there would be a new Watcher, unless situations dictated otherwise, as in your case, Katrine. These journals kept by the Watchers would come to be called 'the Watcher diaries,' and I have several of them here for you as well. These five diaries contain detailed accounts of the actions of the vampire Angelus, recorded by the Watchers of the five Slayers which he killed. Since Angelus regained his soul through a gypsy course some hundred years ago, not much is known of his whereabouts and character, other than that he has taken the alias of 'Angel.'

These books will tell you all you need to know to accomplish your mission and begin your career as Slayer. Good luck."

And then he was gone as suddenly as he came, leaving Kat alone, her head spinning. Somehow she believed this man; things were too weird to be merely coincidences. The question was: could she forsake all she had ever known and venture out alone to rescue a girl she didn't know who might not want rescuing?

The answer came back to her as a resounding 'yes.' What else did she have to lose? Taking a last long look at her room and kicking the discarded pills under the bed, Kat set out into the unknown, but not without a brief stop in the first floor den. She set her bag down next to her father's desk and proceeded over to the painting on the wall. She felt around its edges for the release switch, and with a satisfying click, the painting swung towards her, revealing a wall safe behind it. Mechanically, Kat dialed the numbers to the safe, and upon swinging the steel door open, marveled at the amount of cash her father had stored in there. There had to be hundreds of thousands of dollars in front of her. Kat grabbed a few stacks of the money, which, if she had to hazard a guess, totaled about ten thousand dollars. Not really thinking of the stupidity of carrying that much cash on her person, Kat ran out of the house without looking back once. She caught the first bus out of town, not really caring where it went...."

. . .

Some time around 4:30 a.m.

"And that brings us to the present. So now you know my story and I know yours. I've accomplished my mission."

"Are you going to tell on me?" Buffy asked in a small voice.

Kat's heart went out to the girl whose predicament was quite similar to her own. Hell, it had already been over two weeks, what did it matter now if she didn't tell?

"Not if you don't want me to," Kat said, taking the hand of the blond girl.

Buffy spontaneously leaned over and hugged the girl with whom she had so much in common.

"Thank you so much," she said. "I'm just not ready to deal with all that right now."

"I understand," Kat replied. "Don't worry about it." *And I'll try not to either,* she thought, *but it will be damn hard considering that half the Watchers' Council is looking for me now as well as her.*

"Do you realize that we're fugitives now?" Kat couldn't help but ask.

"Huh?"

"The Watchers' Council now has two Slayers of unknown location, both considered slightly emotionally unstable. You think that they're not going to be looking for us?"

"Nah, they're Watchers! They're all talk and very little action. Besides, how would they even find..."

Buffy was cut off by a sudden loud knock on the door.

. . .

Page 4 of 4
To be continued ...?

. . .

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