"Living on the Hellmouth *is* a good way to die young, unless you pick up survival skills real fast. My way of making it through life? Never let anyone get close, that way you don't have to deal with it when they stop caring, or move away, or die. Keep them away with harsh words and mean wisecracks and a devil-may-care attitude and a slacker image. Just... don't let anyone care.

"All things considered, I was pretty lucky to have even two friends left by the time I got to Sunnydale High, but they weren't safe from my personality problems either. Willow was in love with me, and I was too busy being hormone-boy to even notice her, what she was going through for me. And Jesse... Jesse was my bud for the longest time, and how do I repay him? I killed him. Okay, he was a vampire at the time, but in my mind, it's still the same thing.

"The only good thing to come out of that whole first-brush-with-the-Hellmouth bit was Buffy. Buffy Summers, a girl I quickly grew obsessive about. A girl who just happened to be the Slayer, destined to fight the forces of darkness... and eventually lose, though you'd never believe it watching her in action. I fell in love the first time I saw her; then I fell off my skateboard, proving the 'love hurts' thing yet again.

"In the first year Buffy lived in Sunnydale, I had more brushes with death than I had in a decade of eating cafeteria food, but it didn't matter because she was there, because she always had everything under control. Sure, I was a bit shaky after I got possessed by a demonic hyena spirit, but there was no real damage--except to my pride, which had never been that well-developed in the first place.

"After that, things went straight downhill: Buffy started dating a vampire when I couldn't get my courage up enough to ask her out; Willow started seeing that long-haired freak Oz, and he turns out to be a werewolf; I nearly get eaten by various monsters--I mean, come on! how many mantis-ladies and worm-assassins can there be out there?--and then, for some reason I still don't get, Cordelia decides to make me her cuddle-monkey, which may sound good on paper, but...

"And through it all, there was death and disaster, and Buffy to save us from it.

"When she died in the Master's lair, a part of me nearly died too. Thank god for CPR. But it was that night that I realized, I didn't stand a chance in Hell with her. I released my hope, and it was like I was free. Then Angel became one of the big, bad things in the dark, and there was hope again, hope that Buffy would see me. But no, she was still obsessed with tall, dark, and annoying, even after he kept trying to kill her. The worst thing wasn't rejection--I've been rejected most of my life. No, the worst thing was having hope, and then having it stolen away again.

"The way he hurt her... I wanted to see him dead. I would have done anything to be the one that staked that bastard to the ground. And the more he hurt Buffy, the more I wanted him dead. So when Willow--of all people, Willow--announced that she could give Angel his soul back, I freaked. I admit it, I went off. After all the things he had done, all the people he had murdered, everything would just be forgiven and forgotten, and Buffy and Angel could be together again... The idea made me sick.

"And, I suppose, there was just a touch of jealousy in there too, that Angel could loot and plunder and terrorize and Buffy still loved him, and I did my damnedest to be perfect and I was just part of the scenery to her. Something in me broke, a part of me really did die then.

"After Kendra was killed and Willow was put in the hospital, for the first time in our friendship, I lied to Buffy. At the time, I rationalized it, told myself it was to protect her, that if she hesitated Angel would kill her, that it was for her own good. I told myself that I was protecting her. But it was all just a bunch of bull, I know that now. Right then, when I lied to Buffy, my motivation wasn't to protect her. It was revenge, plain and simple. I wanted to get Angel back for all the things he had done, wanted to make him pay for all the pain he had caused, for hurting Willow and Buffy, but most of all, I wanted to see him die for keeping me and Buffy apart.

"The part of me that floats above the hormones--just a tiny piece of me, like the tip of an iceberg--knows that I never really had a chance with Buffy, but the rest won't give up the idea. I won't make excuses for my actions, won't make up some lie about Angel's death being for the 'greater good.' The ritual worked, and Angel wouldn't have been evil anymore. What I did was selfish, totally and utterly selfish. And I don't know if it can ever be forgiven.

"The others think that Buffy and Angel are off someplace, celebrating the return of his soul. And maybe they are, maybe I'm going wiggy over nothing. But I don't think so--I know I'm not. Angel's dead, and Buffy could be too. I hope she's okay, but part of me is afraid. I'm scared to death that, wherever she is, she hates me, hates what I've done. I mean, she's been angry at me before, and it always hurt until she got over it, but I don't think I could take it if she ever really hated me.

"Because that would make two of us.

"However much Buffy might hate me, I hate myself even more. One lie, one single lie that hurt her more than Angel's hardest punches and cruelest taunts ever did. I hated Angel because he hurt Buffy, said he was a monster because of it, but what does that make me now? Am I a monster? If I am, I became one so quietly I never even noticed it.

"If only I knew where Buffy was, how she was. I just wish I could talk to her, admit my guilt, try to absolve myself of some of this pain. But I can't, and the pain just keeps eating at me, swirling around in my gut until I think I have to scream or I'll burst, but I don't burst.

"I have to find Buffy. I know that now. I pray that she'll forgive me, but in my heart I know that forgiveness is probably beyond my reach, that I'm now one of the damned. And when I do find Buffy, I'll tell her everything, beginning to end, and maybe if she can't forgive me, she'll at least come back with me to Sunnydale, where they need her most.

"And Willow will smile, and Giles will make some tea, and Oz will get her to listen to the newest riff he's thought up, and Cordy will insult her hair. And it'll be just like old times, except for me. If Buffy can't forgive me, can't accept me, I'll leave. I don't know where I'll go, what I'll do, but I couldn't stand to stay here--either without Buffy, or with a Buffy that hated me.

"I'll talk to Giles and the others tomorrow and let them know I'm going after her. I'm not sure how to start just yet, but I'll think of something.

"End journal entry for May 23, 1998."

Xander's apprehension was almost a physical thing as he entered the Sunnydale High library, hanging about him as a dark cloud. He pressed past the swinging doors and tried to make his gait a natural one as his friends -- and Giles -- came into view at the large table which dominated the center of the lower level. Their eyes were upon him as his mouth curved upward in a smile that didn't touch his eyes.

"Waiting for me? That's new," he quipped easily enough, being so used to hiding his feelings that his nervousness just appeared to be his usual self-consciousness. "So, guys, what's up? Or down, as the case may be?"

His dark eyes scanned the table. There, on his left, was Willow, probably his best friend in the world, her hand tightly gripping that of her boyfriend, werewolf lead guitarist Oz. On his right, the impeccably British Rupert Giles, a man whose facial expression and walk made him seem as though he were continually slightly constipated. The only faces noticeably absent from the gathering were those of Xander's on-again, off-again girlfriend Cordelia Chase, and of course Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer.

Xander's gaze was drawn to Giles as the older man gave a slight exhalation and rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Xander, as stimulating as your brand of repartee is, I'm afraid we have more serious things to discuss. I was going to wait until you and Cordelia arrived before I began so that I wouldn't have to repeat myself..." He broke off, seeming to notice for the first time that Xander was alone. "Where is Cordelia, by the way?"

"Oh, she's got some sort of cheerleading thing going on," Xander replied. "I'd be there with her -- you know, for moral support -- " Willow passed Oz a look that Xander didn't miss but chose not to say anything about, " -- but she gets this whole 'jealous-girlfriend' routine when I hang around. Either that, or the whole 'embarrassed-girlfriend' routine. I get them mixed up."

Giles sighed again. He really didn't need this, not right now, and Xander's flippancy was just making the situation harder on him.

"Xander, sit down." The tone of command in Giles' voice brooked no room for argument, and the look in his eyes silenced the wisecrack in Xander's throat before it could break the silence. He placed himself at the opposite end of the table from Giles and tried to look dejected. Willow glanced sympathetically at her friend and smiled before she turned to Giles to ask him the question that had been on her mind for almost fifteen minutes.

"Okay, Giles, why are we here?" Now this one Xander couldn't pass up.

"Well, Willow," Xander started in, "you see, people have been asking that question since the beginning of time. Why are we here? What is our purpose in life? Are there any reasons at all? The simple version of the answer goes like this: When a boy and a girl like each other a lot, they want to express that affection..."

Giles' face was turning a bright and interesting shade of red, and it looked as though he were about to suffer an attack of something or other. Willow and Oz were trying to suppress giggles and not doing a terribly good job at it. Xander's devil-may-care grin grew as he watched Giles' reaction. Any joke he could use to annoy the G-Man, he knew, was a truly successful one. His dark mood had started to lift; maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.

Finally, Giles decided that he had had enough. He brought down his palm on the hardwood table as hard as he could, which was quite hard considering that he spent most of his time either lifting stacks of books or sparring with a Slayer. The resultant loud crack made Willow jump slightly, Oz move instantly to comfort her, and Xander to close his mouth with an audible click as his teeth met.

"I have had more than my fill of your foolishness for one day! Now be quiet and listen! This is serious!" Giles' color had begun to return to normal but his breathing was harsh and ragged as one who had been performing a heavy aerobic regimen. Xander was silent now, both from acute shame and from the knowledge that Giles never lost his cool like this unless it *was* serious.

"Sorry, Giles," Xander said, real hurt and surprise in his voice now. "What's going on?" Xander's face was a mass of contradictions; he knew precisely what was going on, why they were all here today, but he kept telling himself that he was being paranoid, kept hoping against hope that he was wrong.

Giles cleared his throat and began.

"Buffy still has not returned to school, nor has she contacted me -- nor, I assume, any of you." He paused to look at the assembled youths as they gravely shook their heads. "I spoke to Principal Snyder today, asking when Buffy was expected to return. According to him, she is not."

"What?" asked Willow, more than a bit shocked and worried.

"The principal informed me that he personally expelled Buffy the night of Angelus's attack. He found her here, in the library, looking around, called the police, and then simply expelled her." Giles face was a mask of indifference as he spoke, his crisp British accent striving to report the facts without emotion and only just succeeding.

"But that means..." began Willow.

"That she knew she wouldn't be coming back to school? Yes, indeed," Giles finished for her. "Why she would keep this vital fact from us, I don't know, but I have my suspicions. Possibly, she had already planned leaving Sunnydale after she, um, finished Angelus. More likely, she did not wish to burden us with her own problems, which I can suppose were weighing heavily upon her."

"Wait, wait, wait," interrupted Xander. "Leave Sunnydale? What are you talking about G-Man? She's the Slayer, remember? She can't leave Sunnydale. Can she?"

"Well, um, the- the force which empowers the Slayers may have decided that her tenure in Sunnydale was at an end with the destruction -- or reform -- of Angelus and permitted her to leave. Or, possibly, Buffy is no longer the Slayer and she is no longer required to fight the forces of darkness. There are records of Slayers retiring after dealing with one last major threat, rather than dying in battle. With her responsibility over, she could have decided that it was time to start over someplace else."

"Aren't we just grasping at straws here?" interrupted Oz's cool, slow voice. "I mean, how do we even know that she's gone anywhere? She could still be here in town, recovering from the fight. Isn't that what you said the other day? That she and Angel are someplace quiet, getting, uh... reacquainted?"

Giles nodded. "That was the original theory. Now, however, I know differently. Since Willow was released from the hospital, I've been doing some digging, and what I've found does not inspire me to be hopeful. In addition, my own injuries and general state of confusion slowed the search and made me leave one important source until last: Mrs. Summers."

"Buffy's mom," said Xander by way of stating the obvious. "Cool. If anyone can clear this up, she can."

"Actually, no. Mrs. Summers was somewhat less than helpful." Giles frowned in memory of the confrontation between himself and the distraught Joyce Summers. "She was, in fact, rather close to hysteria. Apparently, Buffy revealed her secret identity to her mother, and they had some sort of argument. The details I managed to glean from her were sketchy at best, but from what I did get, Joyce... threw Buffy out of the house."

"What?" asked Willow and Xander at the same time, startling Giles out of his "lecture mode." They both began to babble incoherently at the same time, leaving Oz in confusion and Giles at the focus of the cacophony. Even through the din, it was obvious that both were concerned, though Willow's tone was closer to panicky worry and Xander's was closer to moral outrage.

The group fell into a shocked silence as the library doors opened noisily, as though someone who had been listening to them had decided to make a dramatic entrance.

"Well, well, well," said the stranger, a small, oily-looking man dressed all in black as he removed his sunglasses and hat, "the infamous Slayerettes. So we meet at last. Too bad it's gotta be under these circumstances. I had hoped to sit down with a cappuccino or a foot-long and talk to you, but they don't allow them in here." He looked over at the English librarian and smiled crookedly. "Sorry 'bout the stuff I snitched from your fridge, Rupe, but a demon's gotta eat."

At the word "demon" the gathered group reacted. Giles instantly headed for the weapons case in his office, while both Oz and Xander moved to defend the shaken and shaking Willow.

"Oh, stop it," reprimanded the stranger. "For one, none of you can do squat against me -- I'm kind of immortal -- and for another, I'm here to help you, so just sit down and calm down."

His words had a calming effect on the friends, and Xander and Oz both lowered their fists, Xander somewhat slower than the good-natured werewolf. Willow's tremors subsided gradually, and Giles made his way back to the table, though he kept hold of the bottle of holy water he had managed to grab.

"Who the devil are you?" asked Giles cautiously.

"Nice choice of words, G-Man," interjected Xander nervously.

The stranger smiled. "That's why I like you, kid, a quip for every occasion." The man's dark eyes bored into Xander. *He knows,* Xander thought to himself in a panic, *he knows everything.* If anything, the stranger's smile became larger, more amused, as though the world were a joke and he were the only one to understand the punchline.

"As for who I am... you can call me The Whistler."