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Forgotten Beginnings (Part 4)
By ~Alissa~
zephyr4682(at)hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Willow, Xander, Oz, Giles, or any of the characters contained in this story. These characters are the copyright of Joss Whedon, the WB, and Mutant Enemy. Also, scenes were taken directly from Becoming that I did not create, but that were written by the creators of Buffy. No infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: I would like to thank my researcher for all the help she’s given me. If you would like to contact me, email me at zephyr4682(at)hotmail.com, or email her at Pixie5482(at)aol.com I appreciate your comments and feedback.

. . .

Something hard struck Druscilla on the back of the head and her teeth grazed past Giles’ neck. On instinct, he covered the wound and stumbled away from the corner, and the injured vampire who was certain to be enraged. He looked at his hand and touched his neck gingerly. The cut wasn’t deep and he would live.

Thinking quickly, he snapped the leg off of a chair and whirled around to face Druscilla.

“What?…” he whispered under his breath. Druscilla was no longer in the room, and the door was left swinging on its hinges.

Completely exhausted, the chair leg fell from his fingers and Giles collapsed to the floor. How in the world did he manage to get out of that one? He felt extremely faint and searched for something cool to rest his throbbing head against…the vending machine would work nicely.

Unable to stand, he slowly crawled across the floor of the teacher’s lounge. His way was steady, yet his foot got caught on something. Turning around, he was confused to find that a rope was tangled around his ankle. As he inspected his foot further, he was doubly surprised to find that the chair leg he had intended to use as a stake came from the chair that Kendra was tied to.

Oh God. Kendra.

She was going after Druscilla.

. . .

Cordelia looked down, her fingers gripping frantically at Xander’s sleeve.

“Oh God, Xander, I can’t do this! It’s way too high!”

“Dammit, Cordelia! Just jump!” And he roughly pushed her from the rooftop. He released his grip on the gutter and dropped to the ground, rolling as he hit the grass.

“Okay…” he started as he stood and dusted the dirt from his pants. “Ouch.”

Cordelia smacked his shoulder.

“Hey! What was that for?”

She stood up. “Xander Harris, I swear, if you ever do anything like that again, I'll kill you. This is a fifty two dollar pair of pants! And these shoes cost more than your parent’s salary!” She wiped a blade of grass from her shoulder but stopped as her finger caught on her sleeve.

“Oh…Xander! There’s a hole!” She hit him again. Xander took a step back, rubbing his arm angrily.

“Well…excuse me, Miss America?…If you’re done, I thought it might be a good idea to start running now!”

She looked at him for a minute before remembering why she had been thrown from the roof.

“Oh, right.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever.”

. . .

Angel walked through the alley, his footsteps heavy as lead, his shoulders hunched. He felt completely empty inside, a void filling his chest like some great cavern. There were only a few more hours. Then the sun would be up and he would be back in his apartment, cowering like a rat might hide from an open street. Yet he’d live to see tomorrow, and every other day after that until the end of the world. That was the irony. He would be allowed to be freed from the crime that he had committed. In some way, it was almost fitting. The curse on his soul was only to make him live with his pain and remember the evil he had once been. Now he would always remember what had happened…what he had done. And he would suffer for eternity for it. If only he had the courage, if only he had just a little bit of bravery, he’d be able to end it. He’d stand right out there and wait for the sun to rise…Wait for the fire to engulf and consume him…wait for oblivion.

Angel pondered over that for a moment, wondering how the curse would affect his death. As a soulless vampire, he would simply cease to exist. But now…now he had a soul again. Would he, like the others, be cast into oblivion, destined to be forgotten? Or would his soul pass over into hell where punishment and anguish were due him? He shuddered. The thought of justice for his crimes was unbearable. Yet he knew that he could not escape from it forever. Someday he’d die, and he would have to make up for his sins with his blood.

. . .

Giles raced down the hallway, limping slightly, his back aching. He had been able to move Willow safely to his house and had called Oz in case she woke before his return. Now he was going to the library, praying that everything was well.

He checked to make sure that the wooden spear was still locked securely into the crossbow. He may not be the slayer, but he would take down a vampire or two.

Giles rounded the corner and then scrambled to a stop by the library door, almost sliding past it. He righted his glasses, and almost smiled. He hadn’t skidded across the floor since he was in high school.

Bracing himself for a fight, he pushed through the doors and held the crossbow up. Everything was eerily quiet. Cautiously, he surveyed the scene, noting the overturned chairs and broken glass.

“Oh Christ…” he muttered under he breath, suddenly worried that one of his books was stolen. The sound echoed through the silent room. He walked further on, his eyes darting back and forth in case the vampires had not gone.

Startled by a figure in the corner of his eye, Giles whirled around, holing the crossbow at the height of his heart and prepared to fire. Yet the body before him was not to be killed.

He dropped the weapon, ignoring the danger he might be putting himself in, and dropped to his knees, the person only a few feet away.

It was Kendra.

. . .

Xander shut the door roughly, trying to push Cordelia away from him.

“Calm down! He’s gone.” He chided.

“God, Xander. I might have died.”

“Oh pity,” he mumbled under his breath. Cordelia clung to his sleeve as he climbed the stairs. “Cordelia, would you let go of me? We’re safe now!” Xander opened the bedroom door but froze as a crossbow arrow whizzed past his head and implanted into the wall. Terrified, he passed out.

“Oz!” Cordelia protested.

“Sorry about that. Thought you guys were vampires. Thank God for bad aim.”

“Okay, we have fashion.” She looked down at Xander. “Well, at least I do.”

. . .

It was dark, yet the voices were somehow clear. She struggled to open her eyes, to call out and tell them that she could hear them talking about her, but her efforts were useless.

Having nothing better to do, she began to sift through her memories. She thought of Angel, and who he had become. She thought of what he had done to her friends and how he had almost killed her…twice. She saw her mother’s face and the cross nailed on her wall. She reflected on who she was before, and marveled at who he had become now. She focused on Giles, and realized the pain he must go through every time he looked at her or the gang. It must be hard to know that he had put so many lives at stake.

She smiled inwardly. Stake. She had made a funny.

. . .

The door slammed behind him, his fingers trembling. How could he possibly survive with so much pain? Surely his heart would burst in grief before that and perhaps he would see his end. Maybe then he could forget.

Voices and images seared through his anguished mind, threatening to tear apart any of the sanity that he still retained.

I'll die without her…she’ll die without me.

Again and again the words repeated, playing over and over on his anguish, screaming ‘You’re responsible! You’re to blame! It’s your fault!’ And worst of all, he could hear Buffy:

I'll never forgive you.

Angel slammed his head into a wall, willing the pain away. The voices only screamed louder, their accusations swelling and throbbing like a badly tuned orchestra. The words jumbled and blended together so that they became a dull roar. But it didn’t help. He knew who they were, and what they said.

You killed my daughter, and then you killed me…Sorry Jenny, this is where you get off…I don’t want to die…It can get pretty scary out here, all alone at night…I've got a wife and three children…

And finally, the voice of the man who’s vengeance began the whole saga:

It hurts, yes? Good, it will hurt more. The face of everyone you killed…our daughter’s face…they will haunt you, and you will know what true suffering is.

Anguished and exhausted, Angel fell on his bed, drawing the covers to his head, regardless of the fact that he was still fully clothed. Maybe if he could sleep…

. . .

“Giles! Thank God you’re back!” Cordelia watched him as he removed the wooden spear from the arm of his jacket. Oz may have been a werewolf, but he certainly had horrible aim. And thank God for that . Another inch to the left, and he would have had to go to the hospital…again. He wondered what the doctors would say when the discovered he had been shot again.

“Xander’s passed out and I can’t get him to wake up…Hey, what’s with the Ghandi face?

Giles removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, struggling to keep the tears from his eyes.

“I've got terrible news…It appears that Kendra…” he took a deep breath, trying to gather enough courage to face the truth enough to say the words aloud. “Druscilla’s killed her…She’s dead.”

“There was a long pause. The only sound was that of the ancient clock above the bed slowly marking the passage of time. Giles could not look at any of them, but turned instead to the bed where Willow lay. Thoughts of his beloved Emily coursed through his mind, and he bit his tongue to refrain from crying out.

“So, Giles?…” Cordelia stepped forward. “What does that mean? I mean, is Buffy the slayer again?”

A fit of rage seized him. Sensing the immediate danger, Oz leaped from the bed and stood between the two. Cordelia took a step back to avoid being hit.

“Goddammit, you selfish, empty-hearted, beauty-queen failure! How can you be so cold?! Perhaps you’ve failed to notice that someone has just died…and not just some stranger from the street, but in fact, a very dear friend! Do you have any idea what that word means, or has your vocabulary and intelligence shrunken with your diminishing check book?!” Giles screamed at her.

Oz tried to intercede. “Let’s just calm down a little here…” Cordelia pushed past him and faced Giles.

“Hey, chill with the tude. Don’t lecture me just because someone named Emily is biting on your conscience!”

He would have hit her. Right there. Without out thought or regard for the future. He simply didn’t care anymore. She had no right…no right whatsoever! She didn’t know Emily! She didn’t see what happened! She didn’t watch her life sucked from her body while she sat aside, helpless to do anything! How dare she sit there and insult both of them!

Snatching a sword from the corner, Giles held its tip toward Cordelia’s heart. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. It would be so easy…so simple. The blade would slice into her chest easily and would lodge in the metal casing of her cold heart. No one would ever miss her. Red swam before his eyes, yet something drew his attention to the bed where Willow lay. A memory stirred.

Giles ran downstairs, the sword in tow. Killing Cordelia wouldn’t do anything for hum except to relieve his very large headache. All he needed now was to blow off some steam.

. . .

Willow gave in to the dark, relaxing her body, saving her strength. Colors seemed to flash behind her eyes, and she could almost make out the faces of her friends. She found it quite disturbing that she couldn’t remember Xander’s face. She could see Buffy, Angel, Oz, and Giles. She could even visualize Cordelia, and Ms. Calendar. But, no matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t picture Xander. When she focused on his face, his features seemed to blur, and she couldn’t see him clearly. She been friends with Xander her whole life, and she couldn’t even remember his face. The thought annoyed her.

Slowly, like water creeping through fabric, she became aware of the spirit who had been sleeping peacefully within her…it was waking…

. . .

Giles swung the blade above his head, satisfied in the sound of it slicing through the air. He turned to the right, moving slowly, feeling the energy flow through him as he listened to the melodic hum of the sword. His temper had been reduced dramatically, but Emily was still haunting him. He couldn’t get her face out of his mind, and at every stroke of the sword, he seemed to be like a gallant knight, rescuing his fair maiden from a fearsome dragon…

But the dragon had already won…had already taken her from him, and had left him to suffer with the pain of his memories.

His battle techniques became more and more frenzied as he relieved that dreadful night, and as the terror mounted in him.

There was nothing I could have done…there was nothing… The words repeated over and over with each stroke, and he almost didn’t hear the scream upstairs.

. . .

Angel sat on the floor, trying to block the voices in his head. He had lit a ring of candles, and a sweet smell radiated from the incense holder, where a few leaves of sage were burning. In front of him was the Orb of Thesulah, swathed in a crimson velvet cloth. He was no witch, but he knew what he was doing.

. . .

“She just started screaming! I mean one minute she was fine, and the next, she went postal!” Cordelia explained, trying to be heard over Willow’s frantic screams. Giles pushed past her and sat on the bed, placing his hand on the writhing girl’s forehead.

“Nosferatu, evoco vestram animam. Lasciate ogni speranza, voi, ch’entrate…somni.” He mumbled quietly, the words barely audible. Immediately, Willow relaxed, her body going limp.

“Buffy…Angel…” she mumbled worriedly. Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his nose, sighing. He would have to tell them about Emily.

“Hey Giles, not to jump the gun or anything, but I think you should tell us about Emily.” This last remark was stated so quietly, the tone grieved Giles, and he turned to face his addresser. Xander stood, his hands running awkwardly through his hair. Giles sighed, and braced himself, trying to gather the courage to reveal the past aloud. He walked slowly to the window. Sensing his discomfort, Cordelia and Xander sat on the edge of the bed next to Oz.

“Emily was my daughter…” His words would have been too quiet to hear, save for the absolute silence in the room. “She was born on July 31st, 1982…the night of the blue moon. It was the second blue moon that year…highly irregular, and very rare. She would have been sixteen this year…” He stopped and rested his forehead against the cool glass.

“It was two weeks before her eleventh birthday. We were walking through a bookstore in London. She knew about my being the Watcher, as well as her grandfather, and was helping me to research a local demon known as Gemeth…” There was a pause. The silence clouded the room, and Giles checked to make sure his audience was still there. Their eyes were on him.

“I had found a particular book, but there was no description of how to kill the demon. It was Emily who found the chronicles for Gemeth, and for his destruction. The chronicles documented the use of the black arts to vanquish the demon, and at first, I forbade her to use such methods, letting my own experience with Ehygon cloud my better judgment. But she convinced me otherwise, and we compromised: She would perform the ritual only under my strict supervision…”

. . .

"Relax dad. I've got the whole thing under control.” Emily sighed.

“Yes…until something goes wrong.” Giles scratched his neck unintentionally. It was more a nervous gesture than a necessary one.

“What can go wrong?” She laced her arm through her father’s. “After all,” she started sweetly, “I've got you to protect me.” Giles looked down on her smiling face. He wanted to remind her that what they were doing was dangerous, perhaps even deadly, but her smile seemed to wash away his fears, and he believe what she said. Nothing would go wrong.

Besides… he thought. She’ll have me to protect her, just in case…

. . .

He had to get to her before sundown. “Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte. Nici mort, nici al fiintei…”

. . .

Giles lit the ring of candles, sure to have placed the power stones within the circle in the exact locations: hematite next to lapis, quartz next to amethyst, garnet next to jade, and agate next to calcite. Emily crouched in the corner, carefully pounding sage leaves and jasmine nectar with a pestle.

“I'm ready when you are,” she looked up at him, her eyes smiling though her face was grave. Giles looked down and rubbed his nose.

“I don’t think I'm ready…but then again, I don’t think I'll ever be ready to deal with the black arts again. But you may begin the ritual when you have finished your preparations.”

She smiled at him. “So paranoid. You know, it’s only a ritual. We’ve come closer to the end of the world than this.” Giles looked up at her and smiled. No matter how grave the situation was, she was always able to lift his spirits.

Giles opened his book and began to read from its ageless pages.

“Chiedo i fantasmi della notte delle streghe del dimenticato oltre sceso dalla loro residenza per rinunciare a diabolic all' uno.”

Emily translated the Italian. “I ask the spirits of the night and the witches of the forgotten beyond to come down from their palace in order to renounce to this demon.”

She slowly poured the sage and jasmine into a brazier, saving a small amount for her to drink. She sipped the sweet liquid, but didn’t swallow. Instead, she grabbed a pack of matches, and lit two of them together. She threw one into the brazier, and watched the flame turn blue, then purple as it devoured the fluid. Next, she sprayed the juice in her mouth at the match in her hand and the solution doused the flame. Emily threw the blackened match to the ground, and it suddenly roared to life with a green flame. In the red smoke that billowed from the flame, there appeared the grotesque likeness of Gemeth. Emily gaped, wide-eyed at the image and leaned forward from her spot on the floor. Giles was not watching Emily, but stared instead at the phantom. He did not see his daughter accidentally inhale the toxic smoke. Nor did he see her eyes roll back in her head, only to be replaced by a black film which covered the entirety of the eye . . .

. . .

Page 4 of 4
To be continued...?

. . .

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