As they passed the ‘Hilltop Clinic – 10 Miles’ sign, Buffy couldn’t help but try again especially when she met her mother’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Mom,” she said, her voice shaking despite her efforts to make it calm, reasonable, sane. “Mom, please…”
“Oh, honey…”
“That’s enough,” now it was her father’s reflection looking at her for a second before he turned back to the road. “You’re upsetting your mother.”
She’s upset? Buffy wanted to scream. I’m the one going to the crazy house and she’s upset?
She swallowed the words back, chewing on her already raw lips. There wasn’t any point. If arguing and begging and crying hadn’t worked before, it wasn’t going to now.
Thick silence filled the car as they drove, different from other trips with her listening to her headphones or daydreaming over boys while her parents played the radio and pointed out scenery to each other.
They turned in through a set of iron gates and Joyce stirred nervously, “Hank, maybe we should think about this a little more.”
Hope surged up through Buffy, but was squashed almost instantly.
“Think about what?” Hank demanded. “About her going out at night and getting in fights? About her grades dropping and her mind not on school?” He shook his head. “About how when we tried to talk to her about it, we got some wild-ass story? She’s either making it up, in which case, maybe one of those bootcamps is the answer or she believes what she’s saying, in which case, she needs to be here. How about it, Buffy? Which is it?”
His eyes caught hers again and she flinched, understanding suddenly that he was close to hating her. She’d always been Daddy’s girl, Daddy’s princess, and the loss of his love scared her as much as the vampires had. Almost.
…human faces shifting into awful ridged things with glowing yellow eyes and pointed fangs, strength and quickness that she somehow matched, give of skin and muscle beneath the stake, cloud of choking dust…
“I wasn’t making it up,” she managed out of a clogged throat.
“There you go,” Hank said, stopping the car and turning the key with quick angry gestures. “We’re at the right place.”
Numbly, she followed them out of the car and shivered although the sun was bright and warm along her arms.
“Isn't this nice?” Joyce said brightly. “Look at the gardens!”
The building was long and low and painted white with several wings branching off from the center. There were gardens and people walking in them and guards standing nearby. They were dressed in white and some people might have thought they were nurses, but it was pretty plain they were guards.
Buffy’s eye fell on a girl sitting on one of the benches. She wasn’t doing anything, just staring off into the air with a blank look on her face. She turned her head a little and looked back at Buffy and the impact of the girl’s sadness hit her like a fist.
“Lots of kids your age,” her mother said, still in that chirpy voice. “You’ll make friends.”
Can’t she see? Can’t any of them see there’s something really wrong with that girl?
“Come on,” Hank said impatiently, and Joyce put an arm around her shoulders, urging her toward the building.
The waiting area was large and circular and empty except for a large desk and a few chairs. The sound of loud voices hit her as they walked in, far-away but there, growing as the double doors at the back of the room swung open. “Mr. and Mrs. Summers?”
A man in a white coat smiled and waved them forward toward the doors.
Hank smiled back and went to meet him. “Dr. Sawyer?”
“Yes. We spoke on the phone. And this must be Buffy.”
The doctor beamed that smile at her, not trying to shake her hand, and her brain started a loop that had become all too familiar.
He didn’t come out into the part of the room where the sun shone. He doesn’t want to shake my hand because his is cold because he’s really dead. He knows I’m the Slayer, and tonight…
“Buffy?” her mother’s arm tightened.
“Hey,” she mumbled, shaking her head to clear it.
Stop. Don’t think like this. Not everybody’s a vampire. There were a lot of years where you didn’t know about vampires and nothing came after you.
“Sorry,” Hank said. “She isn’t very happy to be here.”
“Nonsense,” Sawyer said kindly. “It’s perfectly natural to be nervous in this situation.”
“Poor social skills are a sign of impending insanity.”
Everybody, including Sawyer, jumped. “Joe,” he sighed. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
The speaker leaned against the front door, ignoring the receptionist’s disgusted expression, and smiled. “You eye wasn’t on the sparrow, Doc? My feelings are hurt.”
Joe’s gaze drifted to Buffy, eyes running up and down in a way that made her shudder, or maybe it was just the way he looked, in his ragged t-shirt and jeans, greasy black hair in his dark eyes, tattoos up and down his arms. If the girl outside had looked sad, this boy – he wasn’t more than 20 – looked furious, anger only barely in check behind his twisted smile.
“What is it about blond California crazy chicks?” he asked. “What are you in for anyway? Your cheeks are too fat for anorexia, and I don’t see any scars. Did you OD, baby? Have to get that cute little tummy pumped? Or did you just start talking back?”
“Dr. Sawyer!” Joyce said angrily. “I didn’t bring my daughter here to have her put in danger!”
“Of course, not. I’m terribly sorry. Joe has some anger management issues. He’s generally watched very closely. I’m not sure how this happened. Frank, Bill, could you escort Joe to his room? Then come to my office later to discuss this incident.”
Two guards had hustled up behind Joe, each taking an arm and leading him toward the double doors. Surprisingly, he didn’t fight them, although he could have. He was tall and lanky, but his arms were muscled and he moved with a grace that made her think again of vampires. He started to hum, then to sing as he walked, moving in rhythm to his tune.
“I see a red door, and I want to paint it black.
No colors anymore. I want them to turn black.
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes…”
He grinned at Buffy as he passed, and she looked away.
“See you in therapy,” he called and then was gone, the unhappy noises swelling and fading with the swing of the doors.
“Again, I apologize,” Sawyer said. “The boys sleep in a separate wing and Buffy will be supervised during the day. I assure you there’s no danger.”
“All right,” Joyce said quietly and Hank nodded in relief.
Would he even care if I was in danger?
The question almost didn’t bother her. This whole thing seemed like a nightmare, a week-long nightmare that had started when Merrick came up to her where she sat on the school steps waiting for Tyler, and Buffy was rapidly approaching a state of numbness. Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she was asleep and would wake up soon and it would be time for breakfast. Maybe it didn’t matter.
“Let’s get settled,” Sawyer said, and led them through the doors. “The orderlies will bring her bags.” They stepped into the hall and Buffy’s feet slid to a halt. The noise was like a wave now, muttering, yelling, sobbing. People roamed the halls or stood and stared at nothing. Kids with old, tired eyes.
“This is the common area,” Sawyer said cheerfully, leading them past a large room dominated by a television, showing a Disney movie. He didn’t seem to notice a dark-haired girl carefully arranging a table full of magazines, lining them up so that they overlapped each other precisely. “The craft area and dining hall are down that way.”
“And here we are,” he continued, turning a corner and leading them into a wing with an empty hallway. “It’s social hour right now, so nobody’s allowed in their rooms without permission,” he explained, as he opened a door. “We think establishing relationships is key.”
“That sounds great,” Hank said heartily. “Look, Buffy. You’ve got your own room.”
Bed. Built in desk. Chair – wood, she noted, for easy weapon creation. Her eyes locked on the window. It was low to the ground but barred from the outside. That was actually good, because this was a public building and vampires could get in without invitation, and she’d only have the door to watch…
“We have to leave already?” Joyce asked in distress and Buffy snapped back into what was being said.
No, don’t go. Don’t leave me…
“We think it’s best for patients to settle in and start getting accustomed to the routine.” Sawyer said. “Visiting day is Saturday, you know. You’ll be back before you know it.”
This was Monday. Panic shot through her, clenching her muscles, making her stomach hurt. She was going to have to stay here with all these miserable, noisy people and scary Joe, and the smiling doctor until Saturday at least.
Tears spilled from her eyes and she spun away, hands over her face.
“Buffy!” Joyce pleaded, tugging at her wrists, then continuing when she refused to lower her hands. “I know you’re upset and scared. It’ll be ok, baby. I promise.”
“She’ll be fine,” Sawyer said, “Just fine. This is normal.”
Joyce let go, but to her surprise, Buffy felt Hank’s hand on her shoulder. Cautiously, she lowered her hands and watched as he kissed her forehead.
“I know you don’t believe it,” he said. “But this is to help you. We want you to come back to us, to be our girl again.”
A small, hard knot formed in her chest. “What am I now?” she asked and saw her father almost flinch.
“I’ll let you get settled and send someone to take you to the dining hall,” Sawyer said, still smiling.
There was one thing she had to get out, even though they probably wouldn’t listen to her, because she’d made a few kills before talking to her parents, and something might have figured out where she lived. “Mom?” Buffy said in a suddenly steady voice. “If somebody comes to the door after it’s dark, don’t invite them in.”
Joyce’s face crumpled, Hank’s tightened. Sawyer’s stayed expressionless, although she thought one eyebrow went up. Then they were gone, and the door was closed, and she was alone.
That night, Buffy lay on her narrow bed and stared into the darkness, fighting the valium they’d made her take, a cool-featured nurse forcing her jaws open to make sure she’d swallowed it. It hadn’t done much beyond making her a little light-headed, which was scary and a relief all at the same time. Nothing could sneak up on her, but her resistance was one more sign of what was happening to her, of the craziness that had taken over her life since the day she’d met Merrick.
Her mouth tightened, their last talk clear in her mind.
“I explained that you must never speak of this,” her Watcher said angrily. “Now, you know why.”
“I was scared!” she protested. “I’m not used to this stuff. I didn’t know monsters were real! If you talk to Mom and Dad, they’ll have to believe you. Show them a vampire like you showed me.”
“Impossible. I’ve been in contact with the Council, and they agree that my presence must remain secret. You’ve jeopardized enough.”
“They’re going to send me to a mental clinic!”
“That’s unfortunate, but, really, you brought it on yourself.” He looked at her tear-filled eyes and made an effort to soften. “I’m sorry, Buffy. Go along with them, and it should only be a few weeks at most.”
“A few weeks?!”
“I’m sorry,” Merrick said again. “There’s nothing I can do. The Council can try and pull a few strings, but they would want to discipline you for revealing yourself in any case.”
This ought to do it, although they’d probably like it better if she was chained in a basement or something instead of having her own room.
Buffy’s eyes roamed said room again, pausing on the window and door. Her things had been unpacked while she was at supper…or more accurately while she sat in the dining hall staring at her plate and pushing her food around.
Her clothes were hung up, toothbrush and comb and Mr. Gordo sat on the desk. She would get a shower in the morning the nurse had said and shown her the bathrooms. Curtained stalls like in gym class with a nurse's station in the central area in case somebody snapped mid-rinse.
How did I get here?
The boy’s words popped into her head, “Did you start talking back?”
The hard little knot made itself known again. That was kind of it, wasn’t it? She’d changed from what she had been, what her parents were used to, and they hadn’t liked it. She didn’t like it either. It had been much better when she was Buffy the Junior High Student, worrying over what to wear to the dance, then now when she was Buffy the Vampire Slayer, worrying over whether she’d make it through the night.
She turned to her back with a sigh. Probably, she shouldn’t have told. It was important, secret. Anyway, nobody had wanted to hear. But she’d been so very scared, and Mom and Dad used to be able to fix that.
A sound penetrated her thoughts. The wing hadn’t exactly been quiet although it was better than it had been, but this was new. A gasping, sobbing noise on the other side of the wall from her. Buffy knew what it was - somebody crying hard and trying to be quiet.
Another person having a bad night.
For a moment, she felt annoyance. Nobody had been interested in comforting her unhappiness. But that crying was so sad...
She pushed herself up on her elbow and leaned against the wall. “You ok?”
There was a gasp, then silence.
Buffy wanted to say something else, but she didn’t know what to do and was afraid she might make whatever the problem was worse. The cryer didn’t want to talk, that was plain. Should she call a nurse? She thought about the icy face of the woman who’d given her the Valium and decided on no calling.
“I’m awake too,” she finally said, but the silence didn’t break.
Frowning, she lay back and after a long time, fell into a light, uneasy sleep.