That I would be good
Even if I did nothing
That I would be good
Even if I got the thumbs down
That I would be loved
Even when I'm numb myself
That I would be good
Even when I am overwhelmed
That I would be loved
Even when I was fuming
That I would be good
Even if I was clinging
-- Alanis Morissette
Fuck.
It had crept up without her knowing. It had managed to rear its ugly head in the worst way. the worst way possible. It made her sick.. made her shake almost as violently as the cold made her shake. It hurt in places she couldn't even describe - as if the wounds themselves from so long ago had just been ripped open, and the salt of raw memories rubbed furiously into the flesh. Ghosts of bruises...shadows of aches . Usually, she'd be drunk, or hungover, or high for this. It was the one true commitment she had made to herself - she would be completely physically and mentally AWOL for this day.
And it had arrived, without her knowing.
"What, so they're sending you after me?" She snapped, twisting her lips into a cruel smile. "They're playing the Angel card, huh?"
"No card." He said. "I came alone."
She looked up at Angel, and knew he knew. Of course he knew - she was in a file somewhere. All her records.were somewhere, filed away. She'd told him the importance of forgetting this day almost as soon as she knew he'd known it. She'd never told him why, and it had never been necessary. But as he stood there, in front of her, his lips slightly parted as if contemplating something, she felt a sure stab of fear, and knew that if he said it, she would go. She would run.
Either that, or she'd kill him.
"Faith." He whispered.
Don't Angel. Her soul silently pleaded. Please don't.
"Where are you going?"
It hit her with an immense wave of relief. Her body, her being relaxed for only a moment, but it was a moment nonetheless. It told her he understood. Despite everything else, he wouldn't stoop that low and offer her the same plaintive courtesies that too many people just threw away as a line, without even realizing their implication.
'Happy Birthday, Faith. Really. Have a wonderful day.'
She stepped towards him boldly, pouring everything she had into her words. She had played this card so many times in her youth. She would play it again with ease.
"Let's go home, Angel." She said, placing both hands on his chest, smiling seductively at him. She pushed him back against the wall of one of the crypts, and stepped either side of him so that his legs were trapped between hers. "Come on, there's nothing more we can do here, right? We came, we saw..let's split this popsicle stand." She pressed herself against him, breathing hotly into his ear. "They're fine without us. They wouldn't miss us if we. you know..." Smiling briefly against his neck, she bit down softly into his flesh, relishing the goosebumps that rose on his skin. Faith moved back to his ear, and whispered "..Got in that car and drove back to LA?"
Angel sighed, but didn't offer her the answer she was after.
"I don't think it's a good idea for us to be here, with Ammitus wandering around." He murmured.
The resulting growl that emerged from her lips would have made anyone's blood run cold. Even his.
His words had been hollow in her ears - she wasn't an imbecile. She knew something was happening. She may not have been an A-grade student, but one thing she scored 100% on was her ability to hide away from her past. She was an expert. There were things pushed so far into the musty, cobwebbed part of her head that not even she could gain access to, regardless of whether she'd wanted it or not.
And all of it.. all of it - Cheerio, her birthday. it was coming back. All springing forth from that part of her. She sure as hell knew she wasn't asking it to.
Faith pushed herself away from him, eyes and face as dark as the night, glaring, breathing out large puffs of steam that made her look like an injured raging bull.
She backed away until there was a good two yards between them, then flung her arms wide.
"What, like now?" She drawled, stalking back and forth in front of him. "You see Ammitus out here, maestro?" She stopped, narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. "Wanna know what I think?" She hissed, lowering her voice. "I think it's had me." Jabbing a finger to the scar on her temple she craned her head forward. "I think the fucker got me."
"We don't know that Faith."
"What, do you think I'm stupid!?" She snarled, taking another step away from him. "You think I don't know what's going on? Why suddenly all this shit is sitting in my head?"
"We don't understand anything fully-"
"FUCKING BULLSHIT!" She yelled. "There is shit in here that I would have never." Her resolve cracked for barely a second, images flashing in front of her eyes. Cheerio. God, what Doug had done to him. all because of her. Faith snarled, her teeth bared, "I would have NEVER have brought up again on my own! What is it doing, huh?" She demanded. "How does it work? Do I keep seeing this until it's over? Does it come kill me in my sleep? What the fuck happens, Angel?"
"We don't know-"
"BULLSHIT YOU DON'T KNOW!" This time, she bordered on screaming. "BULLSHIT! How long is it?" She crossed her arms. "How long before I top myself? Is it all seven days? Or do I go earlier!? How does it happen?"
"We don't know!" Angel stepped towards her, undeterred by her flinch. "Faith.. we don't know." He sighed, bringing a hand to his brow, warding off the anger... Shaking his head in silent resignation, knowing he could never ask for her to be anything less than angry with him. "There is a lot we don't know."
It stopped her dead in tracks.
In all her rage. all her fury, Faith couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Angel. He, who had been there for her when nobody else would. who had done everything she needed.who had fed her nothing but popcorn only because that's what she wanted, and now, he couldn't help her. For whatever reason, she knew he couldn't do it.
It left her utterly deflated. Devoid of energy. Devoid of fight.
She sighed.
"Angel, if I'm gonna go crazy and top myself, I don't wanna do it here." She closed her eyes. "Not around them. Not around B-"
She felt the air shift as he approached her, and two protective hands clamped down on each of her shoulders.
"You're not, do you hear me?" Angel whispered. "They won't let you. I won't let you."
"You sure about that, Angel?" She asked softly. "They have a lot of reason to hate."
"They have equal reason not to."
Faith laughed. "Now I know you're full of it."
Despite the sarcasm in her tone it was, at the very least, a laugh.
He smiled. The problem was, unbeknownst to Angel, Faith was beginning to believe her own words. Parts of her had already shut down - parts of her had already ended it.
She didn't know her father.
She didn't know her name.
And that.that day.was how she found out it was her birthday. And how old she was.
That was who she was, in this life.
What a waste of a fucking life.
"So.what happened?"
Buffy, slumped forward on the couch with the posture of someone bone- tired and still in shock, uncovered her bleary eyes and dropped her hand to rest between her knees.
"I don't know." She said. She hadn't been able to sleep a full night in over a week now, and this was only adding to the problem. "I'm either clearly there, like. I'm able to move around the dream.see things from different angles." Her mind flashed back to her standing barely inches from Faith's face as the other her plunged the knife in. She shivered. "The last one I wasn't. in there, it was more like I was watching it from outside. like a movie." Buffy cringed inwardly at her own description, remembering that little girl. the man. movies were entertaining. What she'd seen was horrific. She glanced up. "How long has Angel been gone?"
"Oh. not even an hour." Tara said, then smiled reassurance. "They'll be back soon."
Buffy simply nodded, her shoulders sagging a fraction further.
Giles frowned. "Can you be more specific? Give us an example of what you've seen?"
What!?
Her eyes flashed and shot up to him, "No." She said, fixing him with a steely glare.
Giles winced. "Buffy you don't have to be specific, but. just.. a little more specific than this would help."
Her lips twitched as she reigned in her instinct to stand up and yell at him to mind his own goddamned buisness. Instead, she took a deep, silent breath and returned her stare to her bare feet.
"Okay." She said, linking her fingers together. "The first time.she was dreaming about the night I stabbed her-"
"Again?" Willow asked, incredulously. Buffy nodded.
"I could. walk around inside the dream. Like. this `second' me had been there when it had happened. I walked right up to her.them." Buffy's eyebrows furrowed and she gestured non-specifically with her right hand. "..me." She continued, "I stood directly in front of. me, and the knife went through me - the actual me-" She pointed at herself "-into Faith. I was. like a ghost."
"Wow." Willow jerked her head back in a mixture of shock and surprise, then, clearly realizing how that might have been taken, quickly moved to clarify. "I mean. wow. how. weird. How. that would have been awful."
Buffy released her from any further verbal backtracking with a small smile and a gentle nod. Willow closed her mouth and glanced across at Tara, then down at the floor.
"Any sign of the Big Bad?" Xander asked.
Buffy sighed. "No. I don't know. I wouldn't even know what to look for. Where to look. Besides, I was kinda distracted by the watching me stabbing her part."
"..Which you were right to do."
Buffy looked sharply to Xander, and shook her head. He opened his mouth to say something else but Giles, who had been paying no attention to either of them, interrupted.
"And the second one?"
Buffy turned away.
The second one. She rolled her shoulders uncomfortably.
"The second one.I had no control over where I was." She said. "I wasn't even there. I was just. watching. I couldn't move around."
Her fingers clenched tightly around each other. Because if she had been able to move, that man would have had his spiritual head divided from his shoulders. Several times over. She narrowed her eyes, and chewed on the inside of her cheek. For a moment she considered telling them that today was Faith's Birthday, but thought far better of it very quickly. No wonder Faith had never told them. Or celebrated it.
"He's watching." They all turned. Giles was staring into a smaller, older and far dustier book than any the others remembered. He drew in a deep breath, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. "When a demon wants to enter the minds and dreams of the mortal, it must first open the dreamscape to the ethereal plane. There the dream is played out as a vision, and enables the demon to move around, unrestricted by the constraints and limitations of a mortal mind." He glanced up, then back down. "However, it is important to remember that in making this transition, the dream can be viewed by any other entity on the same plane at that time, and, in the same way, opens the demon to attack inside the dreamscape."
"Ugh." Willow shuddered. "What is that, the demon handbook?"
Giles flipped to the cover, dusted it lightly with his fingers and nodded. "Volume three, actually."
"So Ammitus knows it could be attacked." Tara said softly. "That must be the weakness Angel was talking about."
Giles raised both eyebrows and expelled another short breath. "So it would seem."
"But it's still watching."
"Well why wouldn't it?" Xander asked, looking around at them. "I mean, it's been doing the whole world domination thing for over a thousand years. It's not suddenly going to get all self-conscious and worried."
"Perhaps it is confident a mortal wouldn't be able to join the dreamscape with it." Giles suggested. "Or, perhaps there are so many planes it is highly unlikely two demons would meet on them, unless someone is trying to seek it out."
"Or maybe. it hasn't read the handbook?" Willow offered. At Giles' raised eyebrow, she looked away. "I know. it probably wrote the handbook."
"What I don't get." Xander piped up again. "-there are all these records of it appearing, throwing the world into darkness, destroying souls, yada yada. But then clearly everything goes back to normal. So, who puts it back in its box?"
"Does nobody realize what time it is!?" The occupants of the room all turned to find Anya, looking tired and more than a little grumpy, standing in the entrance to the living room. She glared at Xander. "It's 4:30am. We usually have sex now."
Xander blushed several shades of deep scarlet, and sunk back into his chair. "An, we can't.." He said quietly.
"Of course we can't! You're not up there!" She folded her arms. "I can't exactly have sex with myself now, can I?"
Giles cleared his throat. Willow and Tara covered their mouths in muffled giggles. Even Buffy had to smile. Xander's face and neck were now the solid colour of his socks, and despite his best efforts at appearing calm, the tiny beads of sweat appearing on his forehead gave him away.
"An!" He began, overenthusiastically. "-nice of you to join us. Please, have a seat. We were just discussing the great evil that is about to rise and destroy us all."
Anya's eyes darted left, and right, then she frowned. "How is that better than sex?"
"Anya." Giles' voice cut through the air again, slicing the humour in half. He had a wonderful knack at doing that, and despite the reckless self-centeredness Anya so often displayed, deep down she was pulled into line with the rest of them every time he did it. "Perhaps you could help us."
Anya leaned up against the doorframe, arms still crossed. "What?"
"Ammitus has come. to life. several times now." Giles peered down at the demon handbook.
Xander straightened, happy for the subject redirection. "What Giles wants to know, is why doesn't it just stay alive? Why does it keep having to go through the same old `find 30 tortured souls and only then can you burn down the city' routine? Why the winter solstice? Why every four hundred years?"
Anya's eyes shot to Buffy's, and in that short space of time Buffy knew she had at least some of the answers. She raised both eyebrows in a silent plea and Anya frowned, taking a step into the room.
"Well. I don't know any more than what I told you all before." She paused, glancing back at Buffy for a moment. "Except, well, it's a story, and you know what I think about stories."
"Anything would help us right now, Anya."
"Okay." She said, "Okay. Well, I said that nobody really knows much about Ammitus." She paused. "I wasn't completely telling the truth." She shifted her weight on her feet and almost. almost looked guilty. "Thousands of years ago Ammitus was actually the. let's say the lapdog of the one who judged all souls."
Giles nodded.
"You mean the devil?" Asked Willow.
"No." Anya shook her head. "The devil was evil."
"But he was a demon."
"Not exactly." She made a face, then shook her head again. "No, not really. He was his own entity. He was. well, he was neutral." She paused, staring at some indefinable point on Xander's arm rest. "Ridiculously. painfully. neutral." Then suddenly she blinked, and looked up again. "I wasn't around at that time, but the word was that getting him to form a fast opinion on anything was the greatest torture of them all." She rolled her eyes. "You talk about the cosmic scale? Well he created it. And he studied it meticulously. And it took forever for him to make a decision."
Buffy frowned. "What decision?" She asked.
"He was the one who decided which... direction everyone goes when they die."
Xander twisted around in his armchair. "Kinda like a giant. soul accountant?"
"Yes!" Anya said triumphantly. "Yes. Exactly - that's a good name. I'll call him the Accountant." She nodded once to confirm her own decision. "People who died came to him, he weighed up their goods and bads, then decided which way they'd go."
Xander tilted his head forward, and pointed up. "Pearly gates?" Then pointed down "-or Fire and Brimstone?"
"Something like that."
"And he weighed up each decision?"
"Yes."
"On the cosmic scale."
"Congratulations Xander!" Anya clapped her hands together once, scowling in frustration. "-you have understood the last five minutes of the conversation! Yes-" She repeated. "-On the cosmic scale."
Xander ignored her impatient sarcasm and nodded, genuinely thoughtful.
"Is there like. this huge waiting list?" He asked. "I mean, if you have to bring out the cosmic scale for everyone who's ever died."
From the dark expression on Anya's face at yet another question, it was fortunate that Tara was more than qualified to answer it. Anya's mouth had opened to pave the way for her second snide retort, but Tara simply smiled, raising her hand slightly in an indication she would handle it. Anya's mouth snapped shut.
"Time doesn't work the same way on the ethereal plane." She explained. "It doesn't follow the same rules."
"Ah."
Silence descended on the room. Xander still wore his thoughtful expression, and nodded every so often as if he was still trying to absorb the conversation, and would come to minor clarifications in his head every few seconds. Anya's hands had moved to her hips and she was staring pointedly at him, daring him to open his mouth again.
Finally, when it was clear he had nothing further to ask, and that she wasn't going to get the satisfaction of shooting him down, she turned away and lowered her hands, clearing her throat.
"So anyway-" She continued, "In that time there were a lot of people on the negative side of their cosmic scale. Hell was. well it was getting full. He created Ammitus to dispose of the souls so `the devil', as you call him, wouldn't get cranky."
Willow frowned. "Couldn't he have. you know. standardized it? Like a `half up, half down' thing?"
"Hah!" Anya scoffed, crossing her arms again. "Not a chance. And that was the problem. He didn't give anyone any chances. Yes or no. Up or down. That's why he needed Ammitus to help him clean up."
Buffy shivered. The idea of someone creating this. it made her feel ill. It didn't matter what Anya said. Surely something that neutral couldn't have created something this evil.
"And that's where the know stops and the think begins." Anya pursed her lips. "The ancient rumour is that there was a woman who had died, and came to be judged, as they all do. The accountant pulled out his cosmic scale and began to look at things-" She made a disinterested face, shrugged and waved a hand. "Usual story, the Accountant pulls out all her goods and bads and looks at her life, and, well, quite simply falls in love with her."
"Oh gee, how romantic." Xander muttered.
"You should take some tips." Anya snapped. Xander winced, knowing that his comment would rear its ugly head again sometime soon. But Anya carried on, giving Xander at the very least a 20 minute respite.
"The problem was.The cosmic scale was. skewed in the direction of the Fire and the Brimstone. No matter how hard the Accountant looked, he couldn't balance it the other way. After an insufferable length of time he thought he had figured a way out, but by the time he got back to her Ammitus had already done it's job."
"Ouch." Xander winced again.
"That's one way of putting it." Willow breathed, cringing.
"The Accountant turned on Ammitus and cursed it, pretty much confining it to wander around the ethereal plane." Anya shrugged. "To return to Earth it had to seek out its own souls to devour, and had to have a certain number or a certain soul, and the only time it could do this would be to reach its quota before the winter solstice." She sighed. "Problem was, Ammitus couldn't judge - it was never allowed to. So basically, it had to get the person do give up their soul voluntarily."
"And the winter solstice part?" Willow asked.
Anya made an `aha' gesture with her finger. "That was the clincher. You see, the cosmic scale seesaws for everyone. Well, most people." She corrected. "Sometimes you'll get people who are just. bad. Most of them are men, did you know that?" She flicked Xander a sideways glance, but he didn't bite. She scowled. "A lot depends on their most recent acts, it weighs them against history. I was more involved in the negative part of the cosmic scale. The fact that they weren't going to be tortured as much as they clearly deserved was sort of.. Balanced by the fact that I knew they'd be going straight to Hell."
"Aaaand the winter solstice part?" Xander repeated, shifting uncomfortably.
Anya shrugged. "For some reason the winter solstice was when most people's cosmic scale was on the upper. Something about the whole. giving thing. Winter, shortest day of the year, something like that. it's hard to commit murder when you fingers are frozen to your meataxe."
"So Ammitus has been cursed into finding people who hate themselves, at the hardest possible time."
"Basically." Anya frowned. "And the Accountant hasn't been around for eons. Again, rumour has it he's been hiding out, trying to revise the cosmic scale ever since. Unfortunately, in the meantime his lap-dog has got a little too good at what it does. It goes after demons and mortals alike. After so long it would be mighty powerful."
"And what's been stopping it?" Buffy asked. "What's been sending it back to the ethereal?"
Anya drew in a deep breath and expelled it loudly. "Beats me." She said. "Could be part of the curse, who knows. I didn't hear anything about that part." She glanced up at Giles. "Well, that's me. Can I have sex now?"
Before Giles could answer, and anyone could see the colour creeping back into Xander's cheeks, the front door opened softly, and two dark figures crept in.
Buffy immediately rose, turning to them, taking a step forward.
Her heart lurched.
Angel's arm was wrapped protectively around Faith's shoulders. Although his body shielded her from them, Buffy could see the top of her head, tendrils of bunched wet hair falling forward, covering her face. Hiding it from light. From them. Just as they were passing the entrance to the living room Angel glanced up, and offered Buffy a look somewhere between `not now' and `be back soon'.
Buffy's forehead creased in a deep frown.
"Buffy-" Giles pulled her attention away, and she turned around. He lowered his voice, glancing unconsciously in the direction Faith and Angel had just disappeared - up the stairs. "You'll be able to tell when Ammitus is watching. It will be in the dreams you can move around. Like the first dream." Buffy shivered. After all that. them on the roof - Buffy watching her kill Faith again. Ammitus had been watching the whole time. "It's important that you don't look for it." He continued. "It shouldn't be able to see you, but if it gets even a hint we know, it will simply wait."
Buffy nodded distractedly.
"Stealthy. I get it." She murmured, looking back to the stairs with that same frown.
She should have known.
She should have felt Faith arrive
But she had felt nothing.
Chapter 16
In the all night Café
At a quarter past eleven
Same old man
Sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his teacup
Each tea lasts an hour
Then he walks on alone
So how can you tell me You're lonely
And say for you the sun won't shine
Let me take you by the hand
And lead you through the Streets of London
I'll show you something
That will make you change your mind.
-- Streets of London
"You're quiet today, Princess." Cheerio said, puffing on his cigarette. "What's got you down?"
She lowered her head. Strange, she had been thinking the same thing of him.
"It was my birthday the day before yesterday." She said.
"Ah!" He turned to her fully, and patted her on the shoulder. "Happy Birthday. is that why I didn't see you?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah that's why. I had a. party."
For show and tell in school last week a girl had told the class about how she'd had a party. The girl had thought it was a pretty stupid idea for show and tell because everyone from the class had gone to the party, so they all knew what happened. Everyone except her of course. But she hadn't been expecting any different.
Cheerio grinned wider and opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly she frowned deeply, and shook her head.
"I didn't have a party." She said. "I only said I did cos it seemed like the right thing to be doin' when it's your birthday." She sighed. "Sorry for lyin'."
Cheerio shrugged, as if he'd known she had been from the beginning. "No sorries needed Princess."
"I mean-" She continued, barely even registering the response. "Why'd I have had a party without tellin' you.." She glanced up. "When you'd be the only person I'd wanna invite?"
If he had been able to speak at that point, he would have been cut off by the sound of heavy movement against the fence. As it was he had just been blown away by the words that he barely even noticed them himself, until the girl's hand rose and pointed in their direction. Cheerio looked over his shoulder, and sighed.
Four men were approaching them, dark attire blending in with the late afternoon. All looked like they would tower above anyone who stood in their way... and there was surely no chance of that. Not with sticks so black and fierce hanging from their belts. Not with expressions so dark they could almost have been walking shadows.
They made her instantly nervous.
"Who are they?" She whispered.
Cheerio didn't seem surprised by their appearance. "They're men who work for other men." He said, shuffling to the left a fraction, away from them.
"Why are they here?"
He was silent for a moment, as if simply taking stock of the situation. Then he looked her up and down, his eyes coming to rest on her deeply bruised cheek. "Workin'".
She blinked in confusion. "But.what's they got to do with you?"
Cheerio's expression grew distant again - in the way it had been much of the afternoon. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. There are things a princess like you should'a never seen." He said softly, then blinked and nodded, as if confirming that he was happy with the way he had explained it. "Things that Cheerio woulda felt less of a human bein' if he hadn't pointed out to somebody."
"What do you mean?"
And suddenly, some internal resolution seemed to be at once reached and the Cheerio she knew was back. It confused her.
He simply winked. "I know you'll figure it out in time."
The men stopped barely a yard from him, cutting off any path further down the laneway. The girl eyed their faces. "Are they your friends, Cheerio?"
"Hah!" He laughed. "No, they're here on business." He cocked his head to one side. "You are here on business?"
"We are." The one closest to them said. The girl couldn't help the shiver that ran up her spine - his voice sounded like a block of lead being run across a cheese grater. "Dunno why he'd bother with a Bum, but we do what we're paid to do."
Cheerio snickered to himself, puffed the last of his cigarette and blew the smoke up towards them.
"Princess, meet Harry, Charlie, Boris and Moe."
She continued her study. All had their arms hanging by their sides, just above those sticks.like the cowboys did in those gunfights that she'd seen on TV when Doug watched it.
"With or without the girl." `Boris' muttered. Cheerio waved a hand at him.
"I don't like them." The girl breathed. "They don't smile."
"Neither did you when we first met." Cheerio grinned at her. "Only judge people by whats they do. Not how often they smile. Take Boris here for example -" He gestured upwards and winked. "-bet there's a brilliant smile in there just itchin' to bust out!"
`Boris' didn't seem to keen on sharing. He lifted his arms and crossed them over his chest.
"With, or without the girl, old man." He warned again. "We don't have all day."
Cheerio sighed again, puffing once more on his cigarette before expertly flicking it out so it landed half an inch from on of their shoes.
"Neither do I, so `t seems." He murmured. He nodded, then squinted up at them. "Five minutes?"
The girl's heartrate quickened. Five minutes? Five minutes for what? And what's-
"Princess...Can you do me a favour?"
She stopped her train of thought immediately, turning her eyes to the weathered old face. He gestured behind him with his head.
"Take out the trash?"
She blinked. She didn't even know Cheerio had trash Peering behind him she scanned her eyes over the area, looking for a pile of papers, epty cigarette boxes. chocolate wrappers.
"Where's the trash, Cheerio?"
He laughed. "You got no eyes girl? In the corner!"
She froze.
She didn't even need to look before all her joints locked up, refusing to move, her blood running cold. Her eyes flicked between Cheerio and the four men, as if doing that alone would extract answers out of either of them. explanations of what was going on. Why all the secrecy?
Her sense of foreboding grew.
He was giving her his.
"No." She said finally, shaking her head. "No that's not trash."
Cheerio put on his best chiding tone, but being poorly practiced when it came to her made it seem utterly out of place. "You sure've got no eyes have you?"
The girl drew in an audible gasp. A panic settled in her heart. Why? Why was he giving her-
She noticed his eyes dart very quickly up to the men then back down again before his face softened, and for an instant she caught a flash of. fear? "Come on Princess.Help old Cheerio out." He nodded reassuringly. "Take the trash. But I don't want it in the dumpster there - take it down to the one around the corner. You know where I mean."
The panic began to rise.
He was!
No!
"No.." She echoed her internal cries, which turned her tone resolute. "I'll wait for these men to talk to you."
"This is an adult conversation." Cheerio shook his head. "You can't."
"No!" She repeated, this time in fear and frustration. A sting lodged itself at the back of her throat and she felt her nose begin to run and hot, angry tears prick her eyes. She stared at him pleadingly. "Please let me stay. I won't be no trouble. I'm good at not listening."
She saw him glance up again at the men, who had inched closer but had made no move to indicate to her what they wanted.
Cheerio had known what they wanted. He had known from the beginning. he'd been expecting them from yesterday afternoon.
He knew it was over.
So he did the only thing he had left to do.
Tilting his head, he smiled at her. "Come here, my Princess." He whispered.
He reached out - his shaky hand stretching across the gap between them, fingers trembling with old age and too many cigarettes. She stepped towards him with no question - with limitless trust; took his hand and threw herself into his arms so hard any other old man might have fallen over.but he didn't. Not him. Not Cheerio.
"Please don't send me away.." She breathed into his ear, afraid the men would hear her. His arms tightened around her body.
In that brief, broken moment it was the safest she had ever felt in her life.
She pressed her face into his shoulder, oblivious to the smell that kept so many people barely within four yards of him on a normal day, and her tears spilled out onto the fabric, washing through the dirt.
"Please. I'm scared."
The arms around her loosened, ripping her away from her safety and depositing her squarely into reality. He moved his hands to her shoulders, pulling her back from him. She had expected him to be angry with her. She had expected the glares and the curses she was so used to.. at her weakness for crying. for being afraid.
But he was still smiling. That smile that told her everything was going to be okay.
"No need to be scared, my Faith." He told her. "It's all in the trash. You take it with you."
The men had moved even closer - an oppressive shadow just to the left of Cheerio's shoulder.
"But they're your things..." She stuttered out between erratic sniffs and sobs not even she could control. They're your special things."
He shook his head. "They used to be." He whispered "You're my special thing now." He brushed her hair behind her ears and smiled. "Don't cry my Faith." He said. "Don't cry."
It wasn't a curse. It wasn't a demand. It didn't follow with a fist, or a kick. It was a simple request, that she not hurt. That she not be sad for him.
The girl bit down on her lower lip, drawing into her mouth, sucking in a deep breath to calm her sobs, determination written all over her face. She would stop crying. She would do it because he asked her to. She was grown up. She was old enough.
".That's my girl."
The words came unbidden to her. She barely even had time to take stock of what she was saying, as if the aching feeling rose up from her chest and simply spilled out of her mouth. They sounded foreign to her own ears, having never been uttered in her household, not once, since she had remembered.
"I love you Cheerio."
His eyes brightened brilliantly, and one last `whoop' left his lips as he punched the air with his right fist.
"I love you too, Princess." He said. Then pointed at the corner. "Take out the trash."
Finally, she nodded, stepping past him, the ache now burning. spreading all the way out, into her arms, her hands which shook almost as violently as his did, her fingers closing around the garbage bag that had been his.
But she wouldn't cry.
She pulled it away, gathering it up and taking a hesitant step backwards. The corner of the alcove now looked cold and empty, like a house that had had all the furniture removed. But the occupant was still sitting on the steps, watching the removalists drive away, nodding, smiling when she moved past his shoulder to stand before him.
She wouldn't cry.
"Remember the dumpster around the corner." He whispered. She nodded. "And don't look back. Promise me you won't."
She wouldn't cry.
"Promise."
He smiled again, but this time there was no enthusiasm, no cheekiness, no spark. It was simply. resigned. Sad. It made him look as if he had aged ten years in the last five minutes.
She wouldn't cry.
"Go now."
She turned around, pulling the bag with her, fingers clenching tightly into the plastic as she forced the tears to stay away. There was very little light left, but she could still make out the path through the fence, out into the open. Out where he had ordered her to go.
"Goodbye, Princess." She heard him say.
And following those words came the first sound of many she would never forget as long as she lived. The sound of metal striking flesh, bone, concrete. Cries for mercy, pitiful sobs, prayers for him... for her... then nothing. Nothing but cold metal on a broken body.
And a child's heart shattered into a million pieces.
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