V for Vengeance by cjsplace

~ Part 6 ~

We landed in a large basement, which had seen better days. I stepped away from Tara's warm body while her magic lay stickily against my skin. It filled the room with her unique scent. I motioned for her to remain here and stay quiet. She nodded in understanding, moving over to a shadowed corner. Smart girl, she was learning. Maybe there was hope for her yet. I moved silently up the stairs, pausing at the door, listening for sounds from the upper floors. The knob turned silently in my hand, bringing a smile to my lips.

Creeping upstairs silent as a mouse, I found everything just as I had left it, abandoned and dusty. It was a hotel built in late 1920's by some famous architect. The Historical Society had declared it a National Landmark, thus preventing greedy developers from tearing it down long ago. Funny thing about it; the restoration papers would disappear until another ambitious director came along wanting to leave his mark. The cause you might ask; well, it's rather an interesting story.

I'm sure you're wondering what this had to do with the hotel's current condition, or even with my choosing it. Envy. Jealousy. Fear. And, my all-time favorite - vengeance. These deep, dark emotions battered its former inhabitants in a stranglehold, which had left scars scored across their souls to this day. Few garnered more wounds than Maude and Dennis Pearson.

The Pearson family had built the Hyperion. It remained in the family, becoming a favorite of Hollywood celebrities, gangsters, politicians and aristocrats until the late 50s. McCarthyism and the strict Puritan rule of its last known owner, Maude Pearson, led to the Hyperion never admitting another guest. She ruled the hotel with an iron fist and kept an even tighter leash on her son, Dennis. Several strange events led to the hotel's doors closing forever. One summer night Maude suffered a heart attack when her son disappeared while the hotel guests hung a young actress convinced she was an undercover spy. It turned out Maude ruled the Hyperion even from the grave.

I heard about this place through the grapevine. Cities and towns across the country had safe houses for those trying to keep under the Powers radar. Many ran when discovery of their mixed heritage seemed unavoidable while others tried to change their corner of the world. I admired their effort, I did. Once, in a different lifetime, I'd have joined them, hell, I'd probably be leading them. As I've said many times before, I'm not that girl anymore. Do I use the resources they've worked hard to acquire? Yes, why not? We have similar goals. They're just not for the same motives. They wanted to see the world return to something they could understand. I simply wanted vengeance. I'd earned it.

It's strange how things happened. The safe house was a safe basement with access to a warren of tunnels running underneath LA. Several 'sensitives' warned anyone venturing upstairs was taking their life in their hands. This sounded too tempting for me to ignore. A weekend outing from Van Nuys had me indulging my curiosity as I inspected the Hyperion.

I didn't run into any problems until I inspected Room 214. Opening the door to 214, I stepped into a large suite much like the one across from it. Boy, was I wrong. Dear Maude had stuck around to haunt the old homestead, venturing out past her doorstop when anyone dared to challenge her domain. She threw everything but the kitchen sink at me, then she threw me. It was a big mistake - huge.

I hit the wall and rather than going through the decayed sheet rock as expected, I hit a solid surface. Maude turned an interesting purple color then started screaming at me to get away from her boy. She couldn't leave it there, oh no, not mommy screamest. She had to do it, push the envelope, go where others had gone before and paid dearly. Her ugly mouth curled up to form that word. I'm talking about the one all women hate to hear. Yeah, that's the one.

My lips turned up into a smile just as dark as my ghostly host's. I slammed my fists into the wall, causing it to crumble, and silencing Maude Pearson's for the perhaps the first time in her life or afterlife. The old bag looked scared. Too bad, I wasn't the one who had Maude shaking in her sheets. I'd feel insulted if it wasn't so much fun to watch.

Dennis Pearson's ghost came screaming from the wall like a hellhound. He wasn't a happy camper. Guess having your mother bury you alive can do that to a person.

Had to hand it to Maude, she didn't go down without a fight. Popcorn was the only thing missing from this show. Maude recovered once her baby boy stopped to glare down at her. She gathered her wits ready to storm ahead in death the same as she'd done throughout Dennis' life. I watched her square her shear shoulders, lengthen her neck as her back became ramrod straight. She reminded me of a ghostly battleship about to blast its foghorn, letting the other smaller ships know to get out of her way.

"Dennis," she bellowed, "there will be no tantrums. It was for your own good."

Mmm, that was a new one. No one sealed people into walls, except in those old Vincent Price movies. This lady was good. She took a deep breath, which was odd to watch. Her ghostly body expanded then deflated back to its rotund shape. Guess sealing a man into a wall for over fifty years was one way to ensure he grew a pair. It sure worked for Dennis. Either that or his mother's words finished the job.

Dennis sent the room spinning with hurricane force winds aimed directly at his mother. He stalked forward, each step he took shook the hotel's foundation possibly the town even the state. "Mother, you can go straight to hell."

And, just like that, she did.

"Dennis," I called out softly to the room.

Oh, did I forget to mention Dennis decided to stick around after he sent dear old Mom to the great below? He thought he'd see what the world had to offer, and I think he had a tiny crush on me. What can I say? It's my magnetic personality - not. Dennis reminded me of a little boy on Christmas Eve filled with excitement and hope.

I tried to bring him little trinkets from my journeys. His pale, no pun intended, baby face would practically glow with glee when I'd hand him his latest surprise. It didn't matter to him if it was a small wooden top or an original Frank Sinatra recording. Dennis treated them each the same with unbridled joy and gratitude.

I felt a wind's cool kiss, telling me Dennis was about to appear. It was strange with everything I'd seen, done and had done to me to find out ghosts could decide who saw them. I thought I'd see them whether they wanted me to or not, guess it wasn't part of the package. It didn't bother me too much. I saw Sixth Sense and with everything else in my life, I didn't need ghosts showing up for me to solve their problems and send them on their merry. A long leg appearing from the wall got my mind back on track as my ghostly friend stepped into the room.

"Hey," I greeted him with a happy smile. Dennis rated up there with Emma and John Running Deer as the few who had worked their way into my cold, black heart; funny two out of three were dead.

A smile spread across his pale, ghostly lips, showing the cute little dimples carved into his cheeks. "Buffy, you're here. I've missed you."

"I'm the typical bad penny, Dennis, I always show up. Wait till you see what I got you; it's from White House."

Slipping my hand into my front pocket, I pulled out several small objects, all of which fit in my palm. He stepped closer to peer at them, nearly dancing in place. I had to work hard to keep from laughing, knowing how sensitive he was. Dennis stretched out his hand, carefully picking up the first object he came to. He vanished from sight in his excitement, leaving the small, blue object floating through the air as he inspected it. Suddenly Dennis reappeared right before he swept me off my feet then twirled me in the air. He sat me back down as he tried to gather his emotions.

"Oh, oh, wow, Buffy," he gushed as he held the object up to the light to view it better. "You remembered. How do you always remember?"

"Course I remembered, you goof." I checked the contents in my hand then handed the next object. "Okay, this one is Herbert Hoover's presidential pin."

He took it from my hand to examine it as if I had given him the Hope Diamond. I saw the pins displayed in the library during my DC jaunt and knew Dennis would love them. When he had thoroughly inspected the second pin, he looked up expectantly for the third one. I waved my finger at him, laughing when his expression melted into a frustrated pout.

"Uh, uh, you know the way this works. Tell me the latest news and you get the last surprise. First one's for you, last one's for me."

We sat on the floor in companionable comfort. I leaned back on my hands, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Dennis had great recall, and who better to gather information than someone who could walk through walls?

"Downtown's busier than usual, SS are all over the place. They've warded the Compound so tightly that I'm not sure even an angel could get through. D said to check the hidey-hole. Everyone's scared - human and hybrids. The few hybrids still left in the city have been scattering fast. People aren't far behind them. Checked out Inglewood, Pasadena and Santa Monica; they're leaving at a slow, but steady pace."

Pushing up off the floor, I started to pace the room. Maggie was gathering her troops around her, readying for the final act. She thinks she knows what to expect, how I think. This should prove interesting, the ultimate strategy game, which I intended to win. I wondered if Maggie had kept the news from Travers. Knowing my ex-torturer, she would try to keep the news quiet as long as possible. Her overconfidence would lead to her downfall from two fronts - Travers and I. The stupid woman thought her partner would leave her to her own devices. Travers probably knew everything happening with the Compound the minute Maggie did or soon afterward. I hoped he was on his way. Not only would it burn Maggie's ass for him to show up, undermining her authority, which gave me a big happy. Travers showing his pale English ass on American soil allowed me to wrap everything up in one tidy little bow. I could handle this final act with all the characters in play. The thought of not seeing his face when he realized I was the one responsible for his downfall wouldn't have the same sense of accomplishment. Vengeance was an intimate act, its enforcement occurring from actions forced onto others.

Maggie tortured me for five long years. It's true; she was the one who created and performed the experiments. It's also true she wouldn't have known about me, or gotten near me without the Council's approval. The Council meant only one thing - Quentin Travers. He ruled the Watchers Council, how it acted, believed and everything it did. Unfortunately, for me, it included the man I had foolishly trusted, my Watcher, Rupert Giles.

"This is it isn't?" Dennis asked me from where he sat on the floor watching me.

I stopped my pacing to answer him. He stared up at me with worried brown eyes. The presidential pins lay forgotten beside him. I tried to give him a reassuring smile but failed miserably. Dennis had no one else in this world except me, a cold, bitter woman bent on vengeance. Life wasn't fair. It never was and wouldn't change anytime soon.

"Yeah, it won't be too much longer, maybe a week or two. I'd like to confirm Travers before I move, if I can."

I turned to leave the room when I remembered the pin I held in my hand. Pitching it over my shoulder, I couldn't keep from smiling at the happy squeal from Dennis when he caught it. I had saved the best for last, a Franklin D. Roosevelt pin from his first term as president.

I left Dennis to enjoy his presents as I ventured back down to the basement. Tara. I wondered what the timid witch had done with her time alone in the shadows. Why didn't I take her upstairs with me once I knew it was safe? No one knew about the upstairs and I planned to keep it that way. It was a Catch 22. If others knew, then it was no longer safe. The Hyperion wasn't good to anyone if people started noticing strange movement in the supposedly abandoned rooms. They were safe where they were and not knowing saved their lives. Sure, it's a good story. Plus, I don't like to share. Don't project softer feelings into my actions. I made no excuses for them then, and none for them now.

Quietly opening the basement's door, I descended the stairs. There she was in the same place I'd left her. I'm not sure she'd even moved the entire time I'd been gone. Damn, did she need someone to tell her to do everything? A healthy dose of fear wasn't bad, but if Tara didn't grow some backbone, she wasn't long for this world.

I purposely stepped on a weathered board to alert Tara to my presence. Those large blue eyes lit up her entire face, chasing away the darkness. She hesitantly stepped closer to the steps unsure what I wanted, yet comforted by the silence between us. Tara reminded me of a beaten dog. She feared hands might strike her, while needing the comfort and reassurance offered by those same hands. I had no need for a pet. Should she find her inner wolf, I'd bring her into my pack as the alpha bitch I am.

Tara showed potential. I saw the woman she had the potential to become peek out every so often. I intended to find out if she wanted to survive and thrive, given the right incentive, the proper push per se. Was I better than the Council or Powers? Probably not. If she couldn't adapt, I'd do the same as them - kill her. The difference between us came in the possibility to survive, grow stronger and possibly walk away from this.

The silence she thought comforting started to wear on her as I continued down the stairs toward her. I walked by her, grabbing her wrist and continuing to what looked like a solid wall. She struggled against my hand, scratching and pulling as she tried in vain to escape. Good. She had almost learned lesson one - don't trust.

She should have asked questions, tried to feel out my mood, read my body language, keep a safe distance for escape or defense. Her reactions came too late to do her any good. She had to learn how to read a situation and use it to her advantage. Tara instinctively used magic when hiding from the world. I wanted her to use it defensively when danger arose for either her or me. For now, I'd practice with her as my unwilling subject.

First appearances showed the basement as an open area once used for storage with stairs leading upstairs. Hidden deep in the shadowed corners, aided by a slender key were large doors leading led to rooms covering the Hyperion's entire lower regions. Five keys existed and if lost, they were irreplaceable. Few people knew their locations or owners. I owned one and only one other person knew about it. The walls could withstand blast up to nuclear level. I figured if SS started nuking people then I don't have much to do just throw the switch and watch them dance.

The wall pivoted open smoothly rotating from corner to corner. Opened fully, the doorway provided two entrances wide enough for three people to walk through. Interior levers allowed inhabitants to control the revolving action. Pressing a panic button slammed the huge door shut, crushing anyone within its path.

I pulled Tara through the narrow opening, slapping the lever as we passed, sending the giant slab swinging back into place. When I released her wrist, a soft sob escaped her lips. She melted to the floor in a heap. Oh, brother, she was even afraid of the dark. Maybe I'd be better off trying to figure out what she wasn't afraid of; I'm sure the list was shorter. I left my unwilling guest alone in the dark to go switch on the lights.

My hand hovered above the switch. Should I pursue this route? Perhaps it was more humane to put her down here in the dark, killing her and the nightmares. I slipped my hands into oversized gloves hanging from a hook beside the control levers. I silently slipped around Tara, coming at her from another direction. She screamed when large hands grabbed her underneath the arms. She started thrashing around, kicking and hitting. I softly tapped her, knocking her unconscious before she realized who was attacking her.

I carried her down the hall to a small room. The Underground had converted an old wine room into a holding cell. It allowed minimal light in from a small gap where food slid through on a tray, lights that I went to turn on before I left. Yes, I intended to leave her there in the shadows with her fears. How long? However long it took.

The way my footsteps echoed off the solid walls running underneath LA comforted me, with the hissing, clanging pipes, the unique smell registering somewhere between sickly sweet and horrible. This world below the 'real' world was simple and straightforward. I liked how it made no excuses for its appearance. It laid its decay next to innocent beauty, treating any visitors with equal candor. A diamond bracelet could stay caught forever within the tangled weave of a mop, while Master Mouse lorded over the entire event until something better came along.

I'm not sure how anyone could argue superiority while standing in a sewer tunnel, whether they happened to have dry ground beneath their feet or not. Speaking about arguing and superiority brings to mind my intended destination. I'm curious to find out what I'll find in the arranged drop box. D had the spy bug, thinking anyone involved in acts such as mine should perform such feats as James Bond. We argue constantly over it as I reiterated I'm the wrong sex, had no established force and don't have a gadget man like Q. The closest I had come to doing so was when Emma was alive. She knew the most fascination people. They helped me because Emma asked them, and continued in her honor.

My steps slowed as I approached my destination. No sounds filtered down the tunnel toward me. You could never be too cautious. D had supplied me with good intel in the past. I knew the history and understood the reasons. It wouldn't mean squat if Maggie caught D.

Torture leveled the playing field. It changed people. Look at me for Exhibit A. No one knows what they can or will do when tortured beyond the point of no return. I went to a dark place already residing inside me. It was always there. I had kept it tightly under lock and key, letting it out then pulling it back as quickly as possibly before it got a taste for freedom. When push came to shove, I welcomed it joyfully, bathed in its inky depths and allowed the predator free reign. There's no regret for what I did or what came after. I think the real regret came from not having done it sooner.

Perhaps it's why my predecessors had such short lifespan, Council not withstanding. By not allowing their inner demon, spirit, predator, what have you, join with them fully, they burned away precious power on an inner struggle. How could you fight others if you're forever fighting yourself? I remember her, Buffy. She always felt torn, split in two, as if a battle waged within her body even while she slept.

It blew my mind picturing D plodding around down here in Valentino business suits. D had come to Hollywood with the big dream of becoming the next big star. And, like everyone else found out how damn hard it was to even get decent jobs to cover food and rent. D stumbled over a multimillion dollar career path, which no one, including D had even considered - frontline news correspondent. I'm talking right up there with Dan Rather, Diane Sawyer, the heavy hitters. D's straightforward manner of quickly accessing situations then breaking them to level the playing field whether the subject was school busing or interviewing Madam Regent. D handed out equal strokes, pokes and jokes. Who knew bald-faced honesty in a twisted world would create a media superstar the public loved? I liked knowing I'd always get an honest answer with D.

The tunnel curved back to the right at a hard angle. It was misleading. When coming around the corner, there was about ten feet before clover leafing. The Underground called it Lucky One. LA's tunnel layout had exactly seven clover leafs. They created perfect meeting or drop off place for whatever someone needed them for due to their unique construction. The four separate tunnels provided the interested parties separate escape routes leading away from the scene.

Few knew all seven's locations, and you guessed it, I'm among the honored few. D liked Lucky One, said it was the original and anything else was passé. That was D. Another nice perk about the hidey holes, a hundred people could each have one and never know about or stumble onto the others, even if they were sitting next to each other. Weird, huh, don't ask me how. I knew how to find what I needed and ensure no one else had messed with it.

My fingers walked down the bricks. I mentally counted the proper number from left to right, slid over then down, up again, strangely dancing toward my target. Somewhere this cackling little gnome straight from Harry Potter was dancing around in glee each time someone performed this asinine ritual. I bet the hidey holes lined up like safety deposit boxes with some stupid spell preventing anyone except the proper people seeing them. The brick clicked open, sending the contents into my waiting hands. I sat down on the cold floor and started to read. Each page was worse than its predecessor. The end was near. I felt it with every breath, every mile I had covered on my journey, bringing me back here closer to where it all started. Looks like I wasn't the only one who knew it.

Maggie had closed LA's city limits, allowing no one entrance. The egotistical leader had no interest in those exiting LA. If she knew how many were doing so, she might have changed her orders. Maggie had gathered her elite SS around her. The SS patrolled around the Compound, the LA regent building, for four city blocks. They allowed no one access without express permission from Madam Regent. She was digging in, pulling up the drawbridge as she assembled the troops around the castle.

The Regents had divided their power across the country. They thought themselves indestructible. Should one fall, they still stood three strong united against an enemy foolish enough to come after them. Careful planning, strategy sessions, backdoors were put in place to handle every conceivable military strike and assassination scenario. They deployed decoys, hired publicists and started grooming their heirs.

It was time to shake up this town and see what fell loose. I had the perfect way to open the final act. Heading back toward the Hyperion I wondered how Tara was adjusting to her new accommodations. Guess I wouldn't get to help her find her inner Wicca today, place to go, people to destroy.

This idea sounded better in my head than the carrying out part. I pulled another board down, adding it to the growing pile. Carpentry was never my strong suit. I figured I could swing a hammer though without too much trouble. Thankfully, after smashing my thumb and several cussing sessions later, I finished my first task for the night.

A giddy naughtiness strummed through my veins. Tonight marked my opening act for the final performance, the culmination of my blood, sweat and tears. I had carefully crafted it to play out before my honored guests. I still needed to set the stage, gather the extras, paint the props and mustn't forget the most important element needed for a good performance - an audience.

I gathered my supplies, making sure not to leave a crumb behind, nor a footprint, not even a disturbed pebble to show my presence. The night welcomed me as I drew it around with my famed cloak once more in place. I wandered the LA streets to see how close I could get to the Compound. Maggie's new digs spread across three city blocks, encompassing the former mayor's mansion, City Hall and the famed Hospital. She surrounded the entire monstrosity with ten foot high fencing and twenty-four hour guards. It looked more like a Federal prison than a capitol building, but no one dared tell Madam Regent that to her face.

Dennis was right. The SS were everywhere. Little ants scurrying to please their queen. They patrolled in routine patterns from the outskirts of town to the three-quarter mark. The further out the more lax they were, using jeeps and fewer men. The closer I got to the Compound the more intense they became.

I had to admit I was having fun. It wasn't often I got a chance for a good workout. Pitting my knowledge and abilities against the SS numbers was exhilarating. When the numbers became overwhelming, I backed up a few blocks and went up for the panoramic view.

What I saw had me laughing like a loon. Super Soldiers surrounded the Compound. They stood six feet apart, the optimal fighting distance, for defense. Poor Maggie, locked up in her house of pain, guarded by toy soldiers scared of the monster she created. It had a certain poetic justice to it.

I had seen what I needed to and had more to do before the sun rose. It's true. There was no rest for the wicked. Well, the only rest I intended for them to have was the eternal kind. I knew it was the only time I would know peace.

The dawn carried me back to the Hyperion. My activities had kept Tara from my thoughts. I wondered how she had fared. Sleep called me to its welcoming arms even as curiosity pricked my mind. My steps took me by the cell without me knowing their direction. I peeked through the small slit to see how she was doing.

Tara had found the small cot against the wall and lay covered with a thin blanket. Her back faced the door, which made it hard to tell if she was sleeping, pouting or crying. I shrugged my shoulders and quietly moved on toward the bedrooms further along the hallway. The cell had cameras for the prisoner's safety. I'd watch her films tomorrow to see how she adjusted to facing a situation with no one to tell her what to do.

I remembered sleeping soundly, perhaps starting before I even touched the mattress. It began strangely, this dream. Most of them do, but this one was weirder than any I'd had before, which says a lot.

I felt tiny, curled into myself where I had no end or beginning, and cold so cold. My arms wouldn't move no matter how hard I tried to wrap them around me for warmth. I wasn't blind, I don't think, I'm not sure. I saw light, but it didn't warm me. It just lit the pale lids protecting my eyes turning everything crimson and gold. My voice was gone even as the screams roared in my head.

And that's when I heard them there in my head, thousands, perhaps millions of tiny screams. They were a tiny chorus, pleading with me for the same remorseful request - rest.

I woke covered in sweat, and rushed for the toilet as what little I ate came up with a hearty heave. Crawling back into bed, I tried to think through the dream, hoping I was wrong. No one, not even Maggie or the Council would go that far.

HOME ARCHIVE PREV