| The Mercy Seat
Chapter Two: Voices
Half an hour after Jude and Amelia decided to leave him alone for awhile, Xander finally decided to go clean up. The bathroom was not inside the Hole, he quickly discovered, but was a separate building, little more than a porta-john, around the back. If he was expecting any brilliant advances in the science of toiletry in the four years he was missing, he was sorely disappointed.
He pushed open the door to the men's room side of the building, and was greeted with a single, slightly stained toilet, a similarly grungy sink, and a cracked mirror, illuminated by a bare, 100 watt bulb hanging from the ceiling. A white t-shirt with an artist's rendition of the crater was slung over the obligatory handicap access bar. He lifted it up.
"The Hole" it read, in bold letters across the front. "Established September, 2003." The back boasted the crater-drawing, with cheerful yellow lettering proclaiming "I survived the Sunnydale Sinkhole" in what Xander interpreted as sarcasm. He replaced the t-shirt and turned to the mirror.
His face was thin. Very thin. His cheekbones stood out in stark relief over the darkened hollows of his cheeks, which were lined with faint white scars under about a day's growth of beard. His hair had grown down to his shoulders, and seemed to have been shorn off roughly by a dull blade at some point in recent history. A long, greasy lock fell onto his face, completely covering the crater where his left eye should be.
He brushed his fingers over a long, pale scar that ran from the middle of his forehead to just in front of his left ear. He'd never seen it before, but it looked as though it had long since healed. He wondered what had made it.
Similar scars in various stages of healing crisscrossed his torso, from three bright, angry red claw marks over his right collarbone, to the faint, three inch line of where his last date's sword had pierced his stomach. His ribs were faintly visible where he'd lost weight, and he could see clear outlines of each of his abs. He looked leaner and stronger than he ever had before, though he suspected the definition was as much from lack of padding as from actual muscle mass. Had someone shown him a picture of himself like this, he wouldn't have known who he was looking at.
He sat down against the toilet, his fingers running over the scar on his face again. The faint stirring of memory played at the edges of his mind, and he closed his eye.
He pictured a wiry, dark-skinned teenager battling an army of deep brown creatures, with velociraptor claws and small, curving horns. He shuddered.
A name sprang to mind: Kelebeletse Molebatsi. Kelly. It was accompanied by a cloying, smokey scent and the sensation that he was being smothered. A quick series of jumbled images flashed through his mind, the dark-skinned teen, the brown demons, and an older man, weathered and roughened by something more than the African sun. A flash of pain over his left eye, and a painted marble with a deep scratch marring its surface. Someone whispering urgently.
Voices.
//. . . understand Africa . . . .//
//Can I have what he's on?//
//. . . couldn't save her,//
The sensation of his body turning to sand, slipping through someone's fingers, lifted up and scattered by the wind.
//. . . didn't save her . . . .//
//. . . understand what you have to do . . . .//
Someone hands him an elaborately carved pipe and a lighter. He brings it to his lips.
Why did he do that?
Malia, screaming as she was ripped apart in front of him.
//. . . SHOULDN'T save her . . . .//
The teen, Kelly, her stomach slashed open, her large intestines sliding through the demon's hands.
Pain in his eye, in his head, in his ears as the voices batter against him.
Xander lurched forward off of the toilet, spinning as quickly as he could, and vomited violently into the bowl.
Willow hesitated before opening the door to the Hole. She and the other Scoobies had been there once before, on the first anniversary of Sunnydale's collapse. They'd come to the crater to pay their respects to the dead, and had been shocked to find it had been turned into a tourist trap.
They were even more shocked to find that the diner was run by a slayer. It seemed the hellmouth still attracted the slayer spirit, even after it had been closed and buried under a fallen town. She knew some of the others, Kennedy and Rona especially, had visited more often, striking up friendships with Jude, the diner's only regular customer, and Amelia. The Hole, for all its painful associations and tackiness, was a cheerful place in the empty landscape, but Willow couldn't shake a feeling of dread as she stepped into the air-conditioned interior.
At first glance, the diner was deserted. Willow shook herself slightly, preparing a few defensive spells in the back of her mind. She scanned the gift shop.
"Amelia?"
Nothing moved, and only the gentle whirring of the air conditioning greeted her.
"Xander?"
Willow turned toward the dining area. She spotted Jude, leaning back in the corner booth.
"Jude. Where's Xander?"
The girl didn't reply, and Willow felt a burning sensation work its way up her throat.
"Jude?"
The really horrible thing, Willow would decide later, was that she had somehow known, even before she saw the younger girl's lifeless eyes and the blood pooling on the floor beneath her, what she would find.
Jude was unquestionably dead. She had a small hole through her chest, just over her heart. Blood dripped slightly from the corner of her mouth. Whatever had killed her had taken her completely by surprise, judging by her wide-eyed expression. She'd most likely died instantly.
Willow swallowed thickly, backing away from the body. She turned toward the back, not bothering to call out this time. Her feet dragged against the linoleum, and she shut her eyes before leaning into the kitchen.
Amelia's wound matched Jude's almost perfectly. She lay face down on the floor of the kitchen, having been attacked, Willow presumed, from behind. The blood glistened on the otherwise spotless floor, still flowing sluggishly from her chest and back. Willow didn't swallow this time, just turned and retched into the industrial sized sink. She took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to bring her body back under her control.
She was shaking. She couldn't freak out. Not until she knew where Xander was.
He wasn't in the Hole. She knew that, somehow, without having to search. She focused her mind, trying to seek out his presence, and finally stepped back outside. She took a deep breath of the hot, California air, then turned and walked resolutely toward the bathrooms.
Xander's breath whistled in and out as he squeezed himself into the corner of the bathroom. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was hyperventilating and that he needed to calm down. His body rocked back and forth as his hand rubbed quick, rough strokes up and down his arm. Flakes of dried blood drifted down onto his wrecked jeans and he squeezed his eye shut. Someone was muttering dark, angry, senseless phrases that echoed off the walls around him, but he couldn't raise his arms from where they wrapped around his too thin torso to cover his ears. The leather straps pulled painfully against his shoulders.
//She's here.//
Xander stopped rocking abruptly and snapped his eye open. He stared at the floor for a long moment.
"Who? Who's here?"
//She's here.//
"Do I want her here?"
He heard a rough, scratching noise by the door and jerked himself upright. His hands unclenched and he reached for his staff. It was damp under his fingers. He was sweating.
"Who's here?!"
//She'll want to stop you.//
"Stop me from what?"
//Don't let her stop you, Xander.//
Xander nodded sharply, then started shaking his head. "I don't understand."
He caught the whiff of something sharp and sweet. The humid air of the bathroom clung around him as he stood up, until he felt like he was swimming. He clenched his hands around the staff and stepped up to the side of the door, his entire body vibrating in readiness.
A soft knock sounded from the other side. A small voice, worried, cautious. "Xander?"
//Evil.//
"That's Willow."
//Evil. Don't let her stop you.//
"That doesn't make any sense! That's Willow!"
"Xander, who are you talking to?" The knock sounded again, louder. "Open the door?"
//Are you ready?//
Xander nodded, his hands clenching around the staff again, but he squeezed his eye shut. "It's just Willow."
"Xander!"
//Open the door.//
Xander reached out a shaking hand and pressed it against the lock. He hesitated for a second, shifting his grip on his staff, then flung the door open.
Willow stood just outside, peering in at him.
She smiled, raising a hand. "Everything's going to be okay."
Her eyes were a deep, lifeless black.
Willow smiled up at Xander, forcing herself not to wince at how thin, tired, and wild he looked, standing in the doorway of the Hole's bathroom. He stared back at her, a look of barely contained terror crossing his face.
She lifted her hand, preparing the transportation spell that would take them both back to the council's building in London. "Everything's going to be okay." She forced back the memory of the girls' bodies in the diner, of the numerous slayers that had died over the years. There was no way Xander could have killed them. Xander didn't do things like that.
She spoke the first syllables of the spell, then dodged backward as Xander cried out wordlessly and swung a wooden staff at her head.
"Xander!" She stepped back again, the magic crackling readily around them both, trying to gain enough distance from the wild swinging of that staff to complete the spell. "It's me, Willow!"
There was no sign that he understood as he lunged out of the bathroom, staff still swinging. Willow noticed that pointed end of the wood was dark and glistening with blood and felt panic start to well up within her. She reached out with her mind, hoping to calm her friend down.
//Evildoyouhastobecouldn'tdemonsgonelivetoolongthiswayhelpusstopthemhersaveherunderstandhelpusc ouldn'tsavedemonsawayevilstopherloveyoukilledshekilledfuncouldn'tevilunderstand*stop*. . . //
Willow flinched and withdrew from the rapid, garbled screaming that echoed through his mind. She gasped, her mind reeling, as the staff struck her on the temple.
The magic around them whirled and screamed for her attention. She had to finish the spell or disperse the magic soon, but Xander kept coming, his face twisted up with fury and terror. She jumped back several feet, murmuring the familiar phrases of power. Just a few more seconds and they'd be in London. And she and Giles could figure out what was wrong with him.
Xander spun the top end of the staff into the gravel, then twisted it sharply, sending a rain of rocks down on Willow. Most of them missed, but one glanced off her forehead. She bit her lip, refusing to redirect the magic into a shield. Xander's actions were barely controlled, wild gestures with little skill but a lot of determination backing them up. She dodged to the left and shouted out the final phrase of the spell.
Xander froze, his eyes wide, and then seemed to dissolve as a gust of wind kicked up dust and sand around them. When it settled, he was gone.
Willow stood in the parking lot, staring at the space where he'd been standing. She panicked for a moment, before realizing that the dissolving effect was a regular part of the spell, and that Xander had been sent somewhere else.
But she was still there, not in the council headquarters, and she had no idea where the screwed up spell would have sent him.
Willow took a deep breath and pressed a hand to the slightly bloody scratch on her forehead. "That . . . didn't go as planned."
Santa Barbara, California - Early summer, 2004
Xander was standing in the garden, dressed in fresh jeans, a bright hawaiian shirt, and sunglasses. His aunt Edna sat on a curved, concrete bench, looking at a flowering potted plant, fingering the long, arching petals. The bright red of the petals contrasted with the pale skin of her fingers, and the light gray clothing she wore.
Xander half-turned and thanked the nurse's aide that had shown him the way. He put his hands in his pockets and watched the old woman for a long moment. Her lips moved as though she was talking to the plant, but she didn't make a sound.
"Aunt Edna?"
She didn't look up at him, and Xander wondered if she still remembered her name. He shuddered slightly, remembering what his mother had told him, after Edna's only visit to his house when he was growing up. "She's not right, Xander. Her head's all mixed up, that's why she lives at the hospital."
Xander had tried to ask his mom *why* Edna wasn't "right", but his mom just shook her head and changed the subject. Now, almost fifteen years later, Xander knew the answer.
It was called "chronic schizophrenia". He'd looked it up before coming to visit, trying to better understand what had happened to his grandmother's sister, and what might be happening to him. His mother's words, that Edna's head was "mixed up", was a pretty good description. Everything he'd read mentioned "disorganized thought processes". It also told him that Edna's schizophrenia, which had developed gradually from the time she was in her early teens, was almost impossible to cure. There were treatments that kept her relatively sane, but they were not enough to allow her to leave the hospital for more than a hours at a time.
He approached her slowly. He had so many questions for her, but wasn't certain she'd be able to answer them, or if she even knew what the questions meant.
His research was sketchy at best, considering that researching had never been one of his real skills, and he knew that Giles or Willow, or even some of the younger slayers, would have been able to find out more. He hadn't asked them, though. He was terrified of what they would think when he told them why he wanted to know.
"It's no big deal, Wills, I just think I might be going crazy."
It had been six months since Malia died. Three weeks since Kelly had been killed. Though there were still slayers to be found and trained, and though he was the only semi-watcher at this point who knew southern Africa well enough to find them, Xander had requested a vacation. He needed to get his thoughts in order, needed to decompress from the stress of culture shock and grief. And he needed to find out if he was losing his mind.
When he reached Edna's side, she turned to him and smiled. Xander smiled back. "Hi."
Edna narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
Xander's smile faded. "I'm your nephew. Um, sort of."
Edna grinned at him again. They had the same grin. Xander shivered internally. "I'm Greta Garbo."
Xander sighed inwardly. He'd known that getting information from Edna was a long shot, at best, but he'd been hoping she'd be a little more coherent than that.
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Garbo."
Edna giggled girlishly, then leaned forward. "I knew you would come. I know why you're here."
"You do?"
"Yes. You want to know about the voices."
Xander blinked. "Um, yeah." He slowly lowered himself onto the bench beside her. "You hear them too, don't you."
"Of course. The voices have always spoken to me." Edna patted him on the knee. "They don't any more, but they told me before they left that they were going to talk to my son."
"I'm not your son, Aunt Edna, I'm your nephew. Great-nephew. Or something."
"You're like me."
"I'm kinda hoping I'm not."
Edna turned back to her flower. "Cary says these flowers aren't good, but they're very pretty. He said they'd hurt me, but I still got them. They didn't want to give me flowers, but I got them anyway." She picked a leaf from the flowering bush and brought it up to her mouth. Xander frowned.
A nurse's aide came rushing into the garden, a different one from the one who had brought Xander in. She grasped Edna's hand gently, stopping the old woman before she could put the leaf in her mouth.
"No, no, Edna. That's not for eating." She pulled the leaf from her hand. "If you're hungry, we can go to the cafeteria. We can bring your friend."
Edna shook her head. "Nooo. No, they're for me. I want them!"
Xander backed up slightly on the seat. "What's wrong with the flowers?"
The nurse's aide smiled sadly at him. "That's oleander. It's very poisonous. I don't know who brought that plant in here, but if the administrator finds out, they're fired. Edna, that plant is dangerous."
"That's why it's beautiful."
"Yes. But we have to put it away."
Edna started to cry and Xander stood. "Um, what if we just put it somewhere she can't reach it? She really seems to like the flowers."
The nurse's aide smiled at him again, this time with greater warmth. "That's not a bad idea." She turned back to Edna. "Does that sound good, Eds? Should we put this on the top of your bookcase?"
Edna nodded, though Xander suspected that she wasn't paying any attention anymore. "You're right. He's special. He'll help us."
"Yes he will, Edna." The nurse's aide helped the old woman to her feet.
"He'll stop them. He understands."
Xander shuddered internally. He brought his hand up to rub his arm slightly. He knew who Edna was saying he would stop, and that frightened him.
Since Kelly had died, Xander had been hearing faint voices. He usually managed to ignore them, but they were getting louder.
They told him that the new slayers had to die. And they told him how to do it.
"Sir, perhaps you'd like to help me get Edna her lunch?" The nurse's aide held Edna's hand. Edna watched a butterfly flutter toward an oleander blossom. She grinned as it landed on the red flower. The smile was a little predatory, and Xander shivered.
"Yeah. That, um, sounds good." Xander stepped toward the door to the dementia wing of the nursing home. "And . . . and maybe you could answer some questions?"
"Of course, sir. Your aunt is a wonderful woman, really. She's very sweet, she's just very confused."
"Yeah." Xander put his hands back in his pockets. "Confused. Yeah."
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