Creative Works
Memories Recalled (Page 4)
By Jessi Knorr
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be. They're Joss', aka The Devil. I own
Sage, Summer, Tia, Cora and all the other weird people, plus the plot.
. . .
Chapter 3
Buffy sped home faster than laws permitted, particularly in the steeper parts of San
Francisco where she lived with Willow and Oz. Their tiny three story house sat
perched on a hill that over looked the bay, and you had to make sure your car had
the parking brake on or it would go rolling away. She gunned the car up the sloping
road and screeched to a halt three inches from the garage door. They stopped with a
large jolt and Buffy cut the engine. Sage peeked up from his spot on the floor in
the back of their Sunfire, his books scattered out all around. His black hair was a
mess from the bumpy ride and he watched with worry as his mother slammed the door
and hurried into the house. He just made it inside before she disappeared on the
second landing.
"Mom?" he yelled up. Another door slammed, which shook the house and knocked down a
picture from the mantle above the television set.
. . .
Buffy slammed closed her bedroom door and collapsed on her unmade bed in a fit of
tears. Her mascara was running heavily and her eyes were red and itchy from crying
all the way home. She had seemingly forgot all about the impressionable eight year
old boy downstairs. All that mattered was that she was more wigged than she ever had
been, and more in shock than ever before. Angel was back. Not only that, but he had
accompanied one of her best friends' children into the office. She knew Cora had a
long time boyfriend, but how could she, for eight years, not have known it was
him?
Her throat constricted around the wail that rose out of her lungs at the memory of
him. Everything was such a mess, just when her life was the way she wanted it to
be... Much like the beginning of senior year in high school, when he'd come back from
Hell. Only she now was older, and she had more than overwhelming emotions holding
her down.
Buffy cried into her pillow for several more minutes and pulled her head up. Across
the room, in the mirror that stood perched against the opposite wall, was a strong,
vibrant young woman who had been reduced by jelly by a man. *Not just any
man,* she reminded herself. Twelve years ago, he wasn't even a man. Now that he
was back...
Buffy let out the saddened wail and fell back onto the wet pillow. She wasn't even
sure that he knew who she was. If he did, wouldn't he have done the exact same thing
as she had? Somehow, Buffy's loose left hand found its way over the side of the bed
to the table and the brown book that lay on it. It was about the size of the typical
journal, that's what it was, and the pages were yellowed and curled with age.
Considering it was nearly 200... Buffy cracked the book open to the part where the red
velvet bookmark stood out of it and stroked the charcoal sketch there with her
fingernails.
On one side was written text with the title "ANGELUS" written elegantly
across the top. On the other side was the sketch, a tall and shadowy figure half
hidden by the long shadows cast by the buildings around it. If you looked closely,
you could distinguish the features of the man. If that. Below it read the date and
name of the artist, as well as the same title as the opposite page. Below that read
'found with artist corpse'. Buffy felt more tears bubbling to the surface but forced
them away. She marched across the room with book in hand and forcefully placed it
between two others, which belonged to her now dead Watcher. The tears overpowered
her will at all the swarming memories of the past decade and came spilling out,
quickly wetting down her face again.
Buffy reeled back to the bed and fell onto her back. She quickly curled into a tight
little ball and despite the sobs, fell into a distressed sleep.
"Mom?" Sage whispered into the room, cracking the door open to peek in. He found his
mother sleeping with black streaks down her pillow. Her face was hidden from him,
but he ignored it. Creeping through the gap, he double checked the Slayer and went
towards the bookshelf, careful not to step on a loose floor board beneath the light
brown carpet. Tall for the tender age of eight, Sage reached easily to the middle
shelf and pulled a red tin box out from behind the little pink pig and knocked it
off. The toy made no sound as it smashed into the floor. Sage mentally wiped his
brow as he stooped to pick the Poker up. This time, he bumped into the shelf and
knocked several books loose that tumbled out with dull thuds. His gaze instantly
went to Buffy, who whimpered in her sleep and turned to face him, eyes still
closed.
Sage held his breath as he went to retrieve the tomes. He snapped shut three and
went for the forth when he found himself reading the first passage.
March 10, 1997
The Slayer Has Arrived
... And by the Powers is she a cocky one. Ms Summers is the most troubled person I've
ever met. She doesn't follow rules and examples, she doesn't listen to me, she has
had two students at the high school stumble onto her secret, while both are friends
I am still extremely wary of their ability to... keep quiet. And her abuse of English
as a language baffles me, for lack of better wording. I shall have to check in
later, we're currently in the midst of investigating the Harvest, where the Master
Vampire calls a vessel from which it draws its power.
Cheerio
Rupert Giles.
To say Sage was confused and overwhelmed was an understatement. Flipping further
through the book, he found it stopped almost a year later, on January 19
1998. Buffy whimpered again on her bed, almost as if she sensed him. He read
through the first few lines and closed the book. He pushed them all back into the
bookcase, he didn't know which way they went but he just stuffed them in, and
hurried out of the room with the red tin box, careful not to startle his sleeping
mother.
. . .
Page 4 of 8
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. . .
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