XIII
Death: Seeing beyond death to rebirth; clearing away the old to make room
for the new; risking renewal; radical transformation; unexpected change;
death of a particular phase in one’s life; completion of one cycle as a
new one unfolds. Conversely, can indicate stagnation, stasis, inability
to change, lack of development or evolution.
She was used to fighting.
Everyday was a battle; a battle for the future, a battle for the light, a battle for the world. A battle for life.
This battle for her life? That was something new.
The ambulance was crowded, especially around the two injured. The girl in particular – her stretcher was surrounded by paramedics struggling to keep her alive. They had never seen anyone so badly injured yet still living. Not only that, but she was aware, looking at them with pain and panic in her gaze. Her blond hair was matted with blood, her shirt hung in tatters and she had deep gashes all over her body. That didn’t even begin to describe her internal injuries.
The second occupant of the ambulance was a young blond man, only a couple of years older than her. He had a nasty gash on his forehead among other injuries but refused to let the paramedics treat him until they helped the girl. He clung to the girl’s hand – one of the few uninjured parts of her – in desperation.
“Don’t you dare die on me Buffy,” he said. “You just hold on. You just hold on.”
The injured girl swallowed and tried to speak. She locked eyes with the boy next to her. She’d never been so afraid.
“Don’t try and talk,” the boy whispered, and the girl nodded very slightly. Her condition would allow no more.
The ambulance pulled up in front of Sunnydale Hospital. The injured pair had to be separated then; not an easy task. The girl was rushed into the emergency room, the boy steered away to be treated for his lesser wounds.
Two more young folk came running in behind them. A nurse stopped them from going right in. “How is she?” the boy demanded.
“Are either of you family?” the nurse asked. At the teens’ blank faces she said, “Her family should be here.”
“I’ll call her mother,” the boy said quickly and rushed for the phone.
The girl was not so easily turned away. “Please,” she begged, “I’m her best friend.”
“Then you can help,” the nurse replied. “We need to know anything you can tell us about her medical condition and what happened.”
The red head’s gaze was locked past the nurse where doctors tried to save her friend. “She was saving me. I was captured…by this gang, and she saved me. I’m the reason she’s here,” she began, not even seeming to hear her own words. “She’s…really strong and heals real fast…. She’s not allergic to anything. She’s been in the hospital twice before, once with the flu and once with a…neck wound.”
She might have said more, but her friend cried out and the doctors seemed to be moving quicker than before. Something was clearly wrong. The red head rushed past the nurse to her injured friend’s side. Or tried to; another doctor stopped her as she drew close.
“Willow!” the injured girl cried, reaching out blindly as best she could. Her eyes were glazed with pain. “Tell him!” she yelled, her voice hoarse. “Tell him I never forgot. Tell him…”
“I will,” the red head said, though she did not understand. “I will.” And the nurses herded her back outside to wait.
That was the last time she ever spoke to Buffy Summers, Slayer.
“And then Clint says, ‘I thought gifts were only for the anniversary dates.’ I mean, hello?” Cordelia was saying. “I can’t have him take me for granted. Of course, then I had a vision, and that just called off the date for good.”
“You know, we are hunting demons, Cordelia,” Wesley whispered.
“So?” Cordelia replied in her normal tone of voice.
“Don’t you think you might be scarring them off with this chatter?”
“Oh, please,” Cordelia replied, rolling her eyes.
Angel smiled slightly, listening to all of this from a couple of steps ahead of them. They were following the very vision that had interrupted Cordelia’s date, and she wasn’t about to let him forget it. He was sympathetic, but he would have been more so if the vision had been clearer.
“You sure you don’t remember anymore?” Angel asked again. They’d been walking down this street for a half an hour based on the street sign she’d seen. “Some…clue?”
“You’re one to talk,” Cordelia replied testily. “Mr. Cryptic.”
“You’d think that the Powers That Be would be clearer in their messages, wouldn’t you?” Wesley said after a moment.
“You would,” Angel agreed.
“At least we know it has to be in the city, right?”
Angel was going to agree when he remembered another vision – one of Doyle’s visions. It was the one time that a vision had led him out of L.A. He had gone to Sunnydale…to Buffy. He tried not to think about her, to think about those few days, but he couldn’t help it. His mind and heart automatically went to her. They always would.
A scream tore from his throat suddenly, but Angel did not hear it. Nor did he hear Cordelia cry out as he collapsed right in front of her. He only felt the pain – all consuming – and an anguish he could not explain.
The Slayer was dead, and the darkness consumed them both.
On to Book One: The Hanged One