mckenna@mckennas.demon.co.uk.
PART FOUR
Going into Joyce and Giles' house was almost like going back in time for Buffy. Back to a time when she felt secure and warm. A time in her childhood before her parents had started having problems. A time before she discovered who she was, and everything in her life turned upside down.
True, Giles wasn't her father, but he was the closest she had to one since her real father had gone to live in Europe on a permanent basis with his new wife. Well, since long before then, really. The only contact Buffy had now with Hank Summers was an occasional letter, and an even more occasional phone call. Sad though it was, Buffy had learned to accept that Hank was more interested in himself than in his daughter. Or, more likely, he couldn't cope with the fact that his only child spent her whole life risking it. That one day, most likely, she'd end up dying way too young. Unlike Joyce, who had also felt that way so often it had become a way of life, Hank had been able to take the coward's way out and abandon them all. Buffy knew that was a harsh word - coward - but it was how she'd come to think of her absentee father. When she thought of him at all, that was.
But Giles was different, of course. Giles was always there for her, no matter what danger or hurt to himself. First her Watcher, gradually her friend, now her step-father, Giles knew Buffy's every mood, what every expression on her face meant. Before she and Willow had become practically one person, Buffy would have said - only to herself, of course - that Giles knew her better than anyone. And while it was weird, Giles and her mom being married, Buffy was glad. Because it gave her a sense of something she'd believed she'd lost forever. It gave her a sense of family.
And she felt that sense of family now, sitting round the dining room table, amidst the remains of the wonderful meal her mother had prepared for them. Drinking wine and laughing - actually laughing, despite the god-awful events of the last couple of days.
That was good to see too, Buffy thought. Giles laughing, her mom laughing. Once upon a time, when things were really bad - when Angelus had been at his murdering worst - Buffy had despaired of ever hearing anyone laugh ever again. How things had changed. Looking at Willow, smiling, squeezing her hand, Buffy thought that her life had never been better. Weird, scary, being thrust into the real world of adults and having to protect people through the law, as opposed to through her calling, but better. Apart from the Pete Madison affair, that was. But in a bizarre, horrible way, being given responsibility for the investigation into his death was a sign that she was coming to be accepted by the Powers of Authority as well as the Powers That Be. Buffy hoped she wouldn't let either down.
"Well, better clear this mess up," Joyce said, rising to her feet, but Giles pre-empted her.
"You stay there," he said. "You cooked, we'll clear up. Won't we, Buffy?"
Giles smiled, and Buffy thought, not for the first time, how much younger Giles looked since he'd found love with her mother. How much more relaxed and at ease he seemed.
Good sex life, I guess, she found herself thinking, rather disturbingly. She saw Willow smirk, although she didn't look at her. Knew that her thoughts had been heard and suppressed a laugh. Quickly, she dismissed any more such thoughts from her head. Happy though she was that Joyce and Giles had got together; the thought of them being. intimate was taking happy way too far.
Obediently, Buffy followed Giles into the kitchen, began stacking plates and used utensils. Giles donned a full-length protective apron and ran water into the sink. This time, Buffy couldn't suppress her laughter.
"Nice apron, Giles," she sniggered.
"I'll have you know that this particular shirt was very expensive," he said, with all the dignity he could muster. "A present from your mother. Mustn't get water spots all over it."
"Designer Giles," Buffy remarked. "Even Cordelia would be impressed."
"Hmmm," Giles said, apparently not wanting to comment on Cordelia. He and Cordelia had never really got on; Giles had tolerated her because she was part of the gang but that was all. Nowadays they rarely saw each other. When they did, their conversation, such as it was, was merely polite small talk. Buffy knew that Giles held the probably correct opinion that Xander was insane, staying in the relationship, let alone living with her. Giles had a soft spot for Xander, despite the fact that Xander still enjoyed making cracks at Giles' expense. Giles said that Xander made the jokes because his self-esteem was low, and Buffy imagined that Cordelia would have made her friend's self-esteem even lower. But it wasn't her business to interfere with other peoples' lives.
"Giles, I had a weird dream last night," Buffy said, picking up a dish cloth and wiping up washed items with it.
"Oh yes? Weird as in bad?"
Buffy hesitated; actually, she wasn't even sure she should bother telling Giles now. Looking back, the dream didn't seem that important any more. But she'd mentioned it now, and Giles was looking at her expectantly.
"No. Not bad. But weird."
She saw Giles' mouth twitch in a half-smile.
"You know, Buffy, for a person who has had a college education and who now works in a very prestigious position of trust, you can be surprisingly imprecise at times."
"Yeah well, it was. weird."
"Details, please, Buffy. Weird tells me nothing, now does it?"
Buffy fought with the urge to hit him with her tea-towel. She hated it when Giles went all proper on her.
"Okay, okay. The dream was about demons."
"Demons? Another piece of vague information. What kind of demons? You should know by now, with all your experience."
"Well, that's just it. I don't know what kind of demons they were. I couldn't see them. But the voice that spoke to me was feminine."
"Feminine?" Giles mused. "Now that is interesting."
"Yeah, well I thought so too. Because most demons seem gender-less, right? Or," she added darkly, thinking of Angelus again, "male."
"Quite right, Buffy." Giles took off his glasses, began to clean them in the way he always did when something intrigued him. Buffy knew by now it was a concentration mechanism. "Tell me more."
"Well, the voice said that. that they - the demons, that is - would bring the human race into a new age of peace, where there'd be no violence, or war, or heartbreak." Buffy shrugged. "Like I said, it was weird."
Giles nodded.
"Weird," he echoed. "Yes, weird indeed. I take it this dream felt prophetic, or you wouldn't have mentioned it to me." He paused. "Did you tell Willow?"
"Yeah. She told me to tell you."
"You don't think that perhaps she may be able to tell you more than I? Because Willow is more in touch with the feminine side of occult concerns than I ever could be."
"Well. I guess. But neither of us really thought of that. I mean, these are demons, right, and demons are your speciality." She thought for a few moments. "They did say that I'd gain in power, me and Will together, actually. They referred to her as the Sorceress and me as the Slayer."
"Interesting. Very interesting. But of course, all entities of any kind of sentience would know both your reputation, and Willow's by now. What sort of power did they offer you?"
"Wasn't so much an offer," Buffy admitted. "More like a foretelling. That if we didn't fight them, we would gain from it."
"And what was the feeling you got from the dream? Was it a feeling of dread, of foreboding? Did these creatures feel evil?"
"No. Not evil, Giles. But not good either. Just kind of. coldly neutral."
"Well, all I can say is that I'll look into it for you. But are you certain they were demons?"
"I. I just assumed. I mean, they smelt like demons. The whole sense I got was of demons."
"Well, Buffy, you know as well as I do that demons can work for the power of good as well as the power of evil."
"Yeah, I know. I guess we just haven't come across many of them, have we?"
"No, Buffy, we haven't. But who knows, this may well be a breakthrough, a turn for the good of humankind."
"I won't hold my breath," Buffy said sceptically. "These things have a nasty habit of blowing up in your face. One minute you're happy. Next, you're hit by a million megaton disaster and you're trying to save the world again."
Giles nodded, went back to his washing-up.
"Well, as I said, I'll look into for you. But you and Willow should look into it too."
"Got a less pleasant investigation to conduct, Giles." Referring to Pete Madison, Buffy began picking up plates and methodically wiped them dry. "Somehow, that seems. more important right now."
"Well, you just take care, Buffy. Don't go in over your head."
"Quit fussing, Giles. I can look after myself."
Giles smiled with fatherly pride.
"I know, Buffy" he said. "I know."
Later, back at home, Buffy told Willow everything she'd told Giles.
"He thinks you should maybe try to find out, Will," she finished, saw Willow frown uncertainly.
"Me?"
"Yeah, well, as he quite rightly said, you're the one who's in touch with female power. You should maybe invoke that."
"Call upon the Goddess?" Willow said; she sounded hesitant, unsure.
"Well, yeah, why not?"
"I. Well, because she's a huge power to call upon. I don't know if it's right, to call upon her now. We don't have much evidence of any huge disaster and she might be angry."
"Will, with all due respect, that sounds kinda crazy. You're her beloved, her Great Sorceress. Of course she'll help you, if you need her aid. I mean, you call upon her in your spell workings, don't you?"
Buffy was referring to Willow's Wiccan power, of which she was a human embodiment. Again, Willow frowned, shrugged.
"Well, not exactly," she said. "Depending on the spell or meditation, I call upon the appropriate entity, you know that. It's not the same thing as tapping into the highest power, which should only be called upon in dire emergencies."
Buffy sighed; it wasn't like Willow to be so reticent.
"Well, supposing this is a dire emergency, and you don't call on her? And then something happens and you could've prevented it?"
Unfair, Buffy, she told herself, wondering why she was pushing the idea, because her dream certainly wasn't a dream of the dire emergency that Willow had referred to. Far from it.
"Yeah, unfair, Buffy," Willow echoed. Then she smiled reluctantly. "But seeing as how you think it's so important, I'll try. But she may not come." Another reluctant smile. "You know I'd do anything for you, I guess."
Now Buffy felt slightly shamed; she didn't want to put Willow in any danger, but what danger could come to Willow, the Goddess' favourite? None, she hoped.
"Well, come on then," Willow said.
"Now?" Buffy asked.
"No time like the present, right? Let's do it while it's fresh inside our minds."
Buffy smiled; once Willow made up her mind to do something - or was persuaded - she was incredibly stubborn and single-minded in her purpose.
They prepared the main room of the apartment as best they could, given the limited space. Under ideal circumstances they would have had a proper room set aside just for sacred space, or gone into nature to call upon the Goddess, but they lived in a New York apartment and had to make the most of what they had. And as Willow always said, ceremony was all well and good, but it was the heart's intention that really mattered.
So they sat in the candlelight - white candles for the Goddess' purity - and Willow began a low-spoken invocation.
"Oh Great Mother Goddess who holds the answers to the Great Mysteries, I open myself to you and your divine nature. Attend on me now. Make me one with your essence."
As always, when Willow invoked the deities, her face took on a serenity that made Buffy want to weep.
So beautiful, she thought, as Willow seemed to glow from inside, her features becoming ethereal and other-worldly. So beautiful.
".Arianrhod, Diana, Freya, Lilith, Hecate." The list of goddess names went on, Willow's voice became stronger. "Combine your powers together to become the Great One Mother of All. Attend on me, Willow, your daughter."
Willow continued saying the words, and as she spoke the light in the room began to ripple, and Buffy knew that Willow's plea had been heard. The Goddess - or at least, a visible representation of the Goddess - was coming.
The light became concentrated, became a pillar, then seemed to swirl into human female form. Buffy resisted the urge to throw herself on the ground at the figure's feet, such was the power it emanated. Not evil power, of course, from the Great One Mother, but terrifying nonetheless. Looking at her, glowing, perfect beauty incarnate, honey-gold skin glowing in pulsing rhythm, Buffy felt very small and insignificant.
"You call upon me, child?" the Goddess said; her voice was sweet yet stern.
"Yes, Mother," Willow responded.
"You call upon me in all my aspects?"
"Yes, Mother." Willow repeated.
"You call upon me as Maiden, Mother and Crone?"
"I do, Mother."
"So, hear my words, and know my essence, that you have invoked here this night. I am called a thousand, million names by those who speak my name. I am the Ancient One, who holds the immortal key to the immortal mysteries. You have spoken all my names, Willow Rosenberg, you have invoked me in all my forms. I ask again, is that what you want?"
"I need your help, Mother."
Buffy had a vague sense of true fear now. The Mother's words were obscure, somehow, yet absolutely specific. All her forms, she had said. Somehow that sounded like some kind of trick, but what trick, Buffy couldn't hope to fathom.
"Will." she said, but Willow raised her hand and stemmed Buffy's interruption.
"Will you help us, Mother?" Willow entreated.
"Is that what you want?" Still another question, and Buffy tried to intervene again.
"Will, I think."
"This is what we want," Willow said, overriding Buffy's objection again.
"Then tell me how I might aid you?"
Too late, Buffy thought. The Goddess had agreed to help and Buffy knew now that they couldn't change their minds. If the Goddess had been trying to warn Willow - however obliquely - then that time was past. Once the Goddess' aid fully was invoked, there was no turning from it.
Buffy tried to relax; the Goddess represented the force of female power, was an agent for Good, just a single step descended from the One Light.
Willow was telling the Goddess about Buffy's dream, and Buffy had the weirdest feeling that as Willow was explaining, so the Goddess was looking into Buffy's own head and extracting picture images directly from it. Very odd, that sensation, as though crawling fingers were probing the very matter of her brain. Yet it wasn't entirely unpleasant; rather like being a little drunk.
Finally, the sensation stopped, and Buffy felt herself alone in her body again.
"I will tell you, daughter," the Goddess began, "that a time of imbalance is approaching."
"Imbalance?" Willow asked.
"There must be a balance in all things. Light and dark, hot and cold, life and death, yin and yang. The balance of all these things is set to be tipped."
"How?" Buffy spoke now. "How is this balance to be tipped?"
The Goddess turned her moon-silver eyes on Buffy, and Buffy shrank back, could barely look into them because the eyes held the secrets to infinity and limitless time, and to look upon that for too long would send a person insane.
"Your investigations will lead you to know, Slayer."
"Is it gonna be a demon invasion?" Buffy asked, regardless of the feeling that she was slipping into an abyss of time and space that she couldn't crawl out of.
"You will discover that, Slayer," the Goddess said, as vague as ever. "But know, my daughter," speaking to Willow now, "that you are part of the imbalance."
Willow frowned, looked stunned and a little distressed.
"Me?" she said, her voice small and squeaky.
"All things come from the One Light, the One Creator. What you deem good or evil is merely what is. You have invoked me in all my aspects, and have helped upset the balance."
"But how?" Willow's distress was apparent now. "I didn't mean to make anything bad happen. How can I reverse it?"
"You cannot reverse what is pre-ordained," the Goddess said, sounding terribly compassionate, full of deep sympathy for her human child. "You were meant to precipitate matters. And now you will fight it."
"So there will be a fight then?" Buffy said; although appalled at what the Goddess had said - or hadn't said - she at least felt on safe ground that there would be something to fight.
"There will be a fight, Slayer, if you want a fight. But you may not want it."
"What does that mean?" Buffy asked, feeling frustration well up inside her, threatening to burst like a damn, but the Goddess fixed her with her moony eyes and shook her head.
"You will discover that soon enough, Slayer," the Goddess replied. "The honours offered to you in your dream were real, and they will be offered again. Are you strong enough to resist them?"
"What.?" Buffy asked, but the Goddess shook her head again, and the light began to fade from the room, and soon she was gone.
Buffy stared at Willow, stunned.
"Well that sure didn't go the way I thought it would," she said, more for something to say, to break the frightened silence, than anything else. Slowly, Willow shook her head. Then her face crumpled up, and she burst into a storm of tears. At once, Buffy drew her into her arms, held her tight, let her cry.
"It's my fault," Willow sobbed. "Whatever's about to happen, it's my fault."
"No, Will, the Goddess didn't say that. She said you helped precipitate it. That it's all pre-ordained. We just have to find out what it is that's about to go down, what it was you did that's gonna help bring it to a head."
"And how do we do that?"
"Same way as we always do - we research it. All aspects of the Goddess, Will. I think that's what we need to find out. And she said my investigation would lead to the uncovering of the truth. I guess she means Pete's death, right?" She bit her lips together. "You know, the coroner said that maybe it was an execution. Maybe he was right."
"Doesn't add up," Willow mumbled, wiping her eyes. "It all seems so unconnected. And then there's that bit about the offerings to us. What's that all about."
Buffy shrugged, sighed.
"Guess we'll soon find out."
PART FIVE
Ducking under the yellow "Incident" tapes that had been placed across the entrance to Pete Madison's apartment, Buffy pushed open the door and hesitated on the threshold for a few seconds.
She was reluctant to enter the apartment. Somehow, going inside for the express purpose of rifling through Pete's private stuff seemed like another violation of the man who had become her friend during the three short months she'd been part of the New York branch of the Bureau. Also, she didn't much like the idea of going into his bedroom, as she knew she had to. Because she knew she'd find it spooky.
Buffy sighed and forced herself to step into the cool hallway. This was a job, same as any other, and she had to act in a professional manner. Did she shy away from entering a nest of vampires or a den of demons because it might be "spooky"? Had she refused to face Angelus at the final closing of the Hellmouth because she felt uncomfortable about fighting to the death with a former lover? No, she hadn't. That battle had been one of the worst she'd ever fought - once upon a time she'd thought of souled Angel as the love of her life - but she'd seen it through to the nauseating end. Had done her duty as a Slayer then, and had to do her duty as an FBI agent now. Not investigating Pete's death would be doing him an injustice.
Still, it was weird, walking down the silent corridor. Unnerving. Imagination though it might be, Buffy felt sure she could still "feel" Pete's presence, urging her on. Telling her that she must find out the truth, because he couldn't rest otherwise.
"Pull yourself together, Buffy," she said aloud into the gloom of the hallway. "You're just tired and over-imaginative after last night."
Well, that was certainly true. After last night's encounter with the Goddess, neither Buffy nor Willow had slept much, if at all. In fact, Willow had almost looked sick with exhaustion that morning, so much so that Buffy had suggested that maybe she should take the day off work. But Willow, always stoic under pressure, had decided that working was better than staying at home and brooding. Besides, she couldn't go taking time off work; her bosses didn't look kindly on that sort of thing.
Buffy couldn't help but worry about Willow now, because she knew that Willow was carrying an unnecessary weight of guilt. She had helped precipitate events, the Goddess had said, and Willow, always willing to take on other peoples' guilt, accepted her own like an addict accepts free heroin.
But, Buffy thought, wondering what room to go through first, the Goddess had also said that Buffy's own investigation would shed some light on the affair, so she'd better get on with it.
Easiest thing first, she decided, and went into the tiny bathroom. She very much doubted there would be anything of any interest in there, but she had to look. You never knew where clues might be found. She and Pete had been known to find the unlikeliest stuff in the unlikeliest places.
Buffy went through the bathroom thoroughly, found nothing much other than the usual bathroom stuff, including a pack of three unused condoms in his bathroom cabinet. So Pete had obviously been living in hope of having a relationship. But of course, Buffy had no idea of how long the pack had been in the cabinet, couldn't tell if it was a re-stocked item or if it had been there for ages. So no clues there.
The kitchen was equally bare of clues. One thing about Pete - for a single guy, he'd been almost unnaturally neat. Pots and pans were scrubbed clean and stacked carefully on a shelf, glasses were sparkly, and the work surfaces were all wiped down. He would've made someone a great husband, Buffy thought, swallowing a sudden sense of loss and its accompanying tears. Sense of humour, even-tempered, well-paid, not bad looking - quite attractive, really - and a great housekeeper. Apart from the dangerous job he'd done and its attendant unsociable hours, what more could any woman want from a man?
Someone who'd definitely come home at night after the day's hard grind, Buffy supposed. Someone who didn't risk their life every time they stepped outside the door. Someone who didn't associate with drug barons, white slavers and the other forms of human scum that slithered around the city.
Just like me, Buffy thought. Guess I'm not such a great catch either, from that point of view. I know Will still worries, despite everything, despite that we've always come out alive. But we're scarred, I guess. But at least I am still alive. Not like poor Pete.
God, what a waste of a good life. Why had Pete killed himself? What possible reason would a guy with everything going for him have to turn a gun on himself and blow his brains out? But hadn't Buffy herself felt exactly the same way on more than one occasion? Who knew, if she hadn't had the support of loyal friends, she might well not be here now, looking into the death of someone who maybe had been lacking in that support.
Yeah, Buffy thought, remembering the coroner's words about execution again, but maybe - just maybe - he was forced into it. And I'm beginning to think more and more that he was. Pete just wasn't the suicidal type.
Into the small lounge now. More in here, not quite so neat. Two seater sofa, a couple of comfortable chairs, a small dining table with chairs at either end, and a fairly large cabinet/bookcase. No television or computer, which Buffy had always found a little strange. But Pete had preferred to read or listen to the radio, and most of the time, he was out anyway.
Methodically Buffy examined the furniture. The police had performed a cursory examination of the place before Pete's case was handed over to the Bureau; now Buffy had to be ultra-thorough.
One by one, she took all the cushions off the chairs, searched beneath them, felt down between the sides, but only uncovered the few obligatory coins that always seemed to find their way inside furniture, no matter how rigorous a person might be about keeping it tidy. Moving the furniture around revealed nothing more than a little dust.
So resignedly, Buffy moved toward the cabinet/bookcase. Studied the books on the shelves. Never knew when a person's choice of reading material might be useful knowledge.
Not too surprisingly perhaps, there were a lot of books on the FBI, its history, its function, and many handbooks on ethics, the law, procedure, some of which Buffy also owned. There were crime novels (didn't Pete ever get sick of crime? Buffy wondered), and quite a few books on the history of rock music, one of Pete's passions. On the top shelf, there were photographs of Pete himself, both alone, and with other people that Buffy assumed were family members. How must they be feeling, Buffy wondered, at the death of their loved one? Not even able to bury him and say goodbye properly because his death was suspicious and under investigation. Having lost people she loved or had been friends with - Pete included - Buffy's grieving heart went out to them.
Looking in the first of the two drawers in the bottom of the cabinet, Buffy found two telephone directories and a phone book. The phone book was full of numbers, and Buffy knew she'd have to go through every single one of them, checking them out, asking when the person had last seen Pete, how well they'd known him, etc, etc. A few numbers she recognised, including her own, but not many.
Then she began flipping through the directories.
The White Pages directory was unmarked, as far as Buffy could see. At first, upon flipping through them, the Yellow Pages seemed unmarked too, but then Buffy found an advertisement ringed around in red ink.
"LONELY?" the advertisement began. "TIRED OF LIVING WITHOUT LOVE? BEGINNING TO WONDER IF YOU'LL EVER FIND HAPPINESS? AT DREAMS FULFILLED, WE CAN PUT YOU ON THE PATH TO FINDING THE PERFECT PARTNER."
There followed a telephone number, somewhere in Manhattan, Buffy saw from the code.
Frowning, Buffy put down the directory. Pete had ringed round an advertisement for a dating agency? She found that almost impossible to believe.
Biting her lip, she looked at the year the directory had been published. The very latest one, she noted. Only sent out last month. So it was obviously new, which meant that Pete had indeed felt lonely (desperate?) enough to explore any avenue to try and find a girlfriend.
Buffy couldn't quite figure that out. True, there wasn't much time for a social life in the FBI, what with work taking up a lot of their lives, but they did have some time off. Time in which they could socialise and live relatively normal lives. Unlike being the Slayer, which was a full-time occupation with no paid leave.
Still, Buffy knew that a lot of professional people nowadays were engaging the services of such agencies. The theory was that it saved them a lot of unnecessary time trawling round bars and clubs in the hope of meeting someone. You simply handed over your details to the agency, they put you on file, matched you with similar-minded people and sent out the phone numbers of where they could be reached. All the client had to do, if they liked the sound of a prospective date, was call to arrange a meeting. All very easy, very civilised. And the agencies made a small fortune from other peoples' loneliness. Theoretically, everyone was happy.
Personally, Buffy had always thought the concept rather sad. Whatever happened to spontaneity? That wonderful feeling of looking at someone and feeling that flip in your heart, and needing - just needing - to know them? But maybe that happened on arranged dates too, sometimes.
Whether it happened or not, Buffy knew she'd have to go along to the agency and ask questions. That of course might be difficult, because these places prided themselves on confidentiality, but Buffy would just have to get official permission from AD Marshall, and pull her badge.
First things first though. Go through the rest of Pete's stuff and find out if there were any details of any women he'd been out with, either through DREAMS FULFILLED, or any he'd met in other, less contrived circumstances.
Further searching of the lounge brought nothing else to light. Only one place to search now. Pete's bedroom. Sighing, Buffy moved toward it.
I don't wanna go in here, she thought. I don't wanna look at the floor, and the walls. Don't wanna be reminded.
But "don't wanna" wasn't doing her job. "Don't wanna" was self-indulgent and cowardly. "Don't wanna" was a saying for spoilt children, and Buffy was a proper grown-up now and couldn't let "don't wanna" play a major part in her grown-up life. So she stepped into the bedroom.
All at once she was overwhelmed with deja-vu and she closed her eyes, letting the images sweep through her mind. Pete, laying there in undignified nakedness, sightless eyes staring upward at the ceiling. Bloody bullet hole punched into his forehead. Blood pooled around him, soaking into the carpet. Behind him, on the bedroom wall, splotches of grey matter and slivers of bone.
"Oh Jesus." Buffy muttered, seeing it clearly, smelling it, almost tasting the blood and brain tissue in her mouth. Firmly shaking her head, she forced the images, the sensations, away. Couldn't let herself remember too much, just like she couldn't let herself remember other, equally terrible things in too much detail. Buffy fully intended to hang on to her sanity.
Opening her eyes, she saw that the apartment had been cleaned up. Well, of course it had. Once samples of evidence had been taken from the room, the gore wasn't going to be allowed to sit there and fester.
But no matter how well it had been cleaned, the carpet still bore faint witness to the blood that had been spilled on it, and the wall still carried the ghost of a stain. The landlord would have to redecorate in here, Buffy guessed, before he'd be able to let it again. Although personally, she wouldn't entertain the thought of renting an apartment where a suicide had occurred. Such a place was almost bound to be haunted by the memory, if not by the ghost of the deceased previous tenant.
"Okay, Pete, let's see if you've left me anything useful," Buffy said, hoping that hearing the sound of her own voice might make her feel a little better. And it did, a little.
Since the police had had their jurisdiction over the case revoked, they'd only taken the barest essential evidence after Buffy had discovered Pete's body. Things like diaries, letters, other personal items wouldn't have been touched yet, unless they'd been in clear view. Had Pete been the type of guy to keep a diary? Usually, diaries were girl things, although Buffy had never seen the sense of writing down innermost thoughts that people might get their hands - and eyes - on.
But she had to search, and so she began the laborious process of going through drawers, cupboards, even looking beneath the mattress.
Finally, in another address book, tucked inside Pete's underwear drawer, she came across a DREAMS FULFILLED business card. The card was small, made from black card, which Buffy found a little odd. Black certainly did little to promote the concept of romance. Death, maybe, but not love or passion. But certainly, with the red and gold calligraphic printing superimposed onto it, the effect was stunning. Eye catching, which was of course what the agency wanted. Eye catching brought in more prospective clients.
On the back - difficult to see on the black background - a woman's name had been scrawled. Eden Adams. Despite her sadness over Pete's death, Buffy found herself smiling. Eden. What man could resist finding out what a woman called Eden looked like? The Garden of Earthly Delights brought to life in a human body. Was this the woman that Pete had had a date with the night before he committed suicide (was executed.)?
No phone number accompanied Eden Adams' name. Buffy wondered how Pete had gotten in touch with her. Then thought that maybe some women, shy of giving their home or work numbers, might prefer to be contacted through the dating agency. And given the increasing number of crazies out wandering the streets, Buffy supposed it was a sensible way for a single woman to act.
Made it harder though, because Buffy couldn't contact Eden directly now. Couldn't even be certain until she went to the agency that Eden Adams was the woman she needed to find.
After a little more searching, Buffy decided that she'd seen all she needed to see in Pete's apartment. She felt a certain regret that Pete had been such a tidy guy - an untidy person might have left more clues for her to go on. As it was, all she had was one little card and a couple of address books. Not much of a start. Buffy hoped it would be enough.
Back in her office, Buffy filled out the appropriate paperwork, and then applied for permission to go to DREAMS FULFILLED for the purpose of asking questions. By then it was almost six in the evening, and Buffy was exhausted. There being no more that she could do now, she decided to go home. She needed a bath and clean clothes, and then maybe she could relax. Maybe.
I'll call Giles when I get back, she thought, driving through the crowded New York streets, feeling a little hemmed in by the traffic, which seemed to get worse every day. Noisy, dirty and smelly, that was New York. And the New Yorkers - brusque, sometimes to the point of rudeness. She found herself a little homesick for Sunnydale and the laid-back Californian attitude. But she was getting used to it here, little by little. Under their veneer of abruptness, New Yorkers, once they took you to their heart, were as warm-hearted as any other people she'd ever met.
Inside their apartment, Buffy was met with the scent of food cooking, and she realised she was hungry, not having stopped to eat all day. Willow was pottering around in the small kitchen and came out to greet her when she came in.
"How'd it go?" Willow asked. "Did you find anything?"
"Not much. Only a business card of a dating agency with a woman's name on the back. I'm gonna look into it tomorrow, when I get the necessary forms giving me permission to investigate them."
"Oh." Willow smiled. "Good luck, then." Buffy thought that Willow looked pale, and somehow, she felt pale too. Obviously still tired and feeling bad about last night.
"You okay, Will?" she asked.
"Sure I am," Willow said, way too brightly, which made Buffy even more sure that she wouldn't. And didn't Willow know that she couldn't lie to Buffy anymore? A little upset that Willow felt it necessary to deliberately conceal her feelings, Buffy sighed.
"Will, don't hide from me. We're part of each other and it hurts that you're trying to shut me out."
Willow shrugged.
"I don't mean to shut you out. But it's not a nice feeling, knowing that I'm a part of whatever's going on. And the Goddess. She was so. cold to me. She was never cold to me before, and I don't really understand what I did that made her go that way. I feel like I've unwittingly joined the side of the bad guys or something."
Buffy drew Willow to her, kissed her red, fragrant hair.
"You couldn't ever be bad," she whispered. "Not even on purpose. You don't have a bad bone in your body."
"Yeah, well, I feel bad. And I don't wanna feel that way."
Don't wanna, Buffy thought. That little phrase was back again, this time spoken aloud by Willow, who was anything but a spoiled child. Still, Buffy supposed don't wanna was justified in this case.
"Look, it'll work its way out, Will," Buffy said, kissing her again. "These things always do. So what if evil threatens us? We'll just chase it off, like we always do, and send it packing back down to Hell."
"I'm tired of Hell," Willow said. "I thought after the Hellmouth we'd be free of it, but we never will be, will we?"
"No," Buffy said, feeling a sense of fatalism seep through her whole body. "I guess we never will."