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Chapter 27
In William’s closet, behind a stack of clothes he outgrew years ago, he kept a small ring box, a large book, and a stack of CDs. He had thoughtfully acquired these treasures over the year and hid them carefully. He had planned to wrap them, but it slipped his mind completely.
Early Christmas morning, long before dawn, he sat on his bedroom floor with the items spread out in front of him. He picked them up one by one, turned them over in his hand, studied them, and sat them back down.
In the ring box was an onyx ring. The onyx was cut in a triangle and flanked by two diamonds, supported by a gold band. His mother had stopped and admired it one afternoon while they were strolling through the mall. William didn’t understand why—he much preferred rubies or even emeralds—but she claimed it was just gorgeous. He had been lucky. It went on sale a little over a month later.
The book was leather bound with gold stitching. Old Possum’s Books of Practical Cats. She had a copy, but it was a cheap, garishly illustrated paperback that was falling apart. Looking at the tattered book made him wince, though she claimed she didn’t mind. It wasn’t hard to find an affordable copy on the Internet.
The CDs were an eclectic blend of styles and genres. Classical, country, rock, oldies, big band, even pop. As far as William knew, she never limited herself to genres.
He didn’t know what to do with them.
William didn’t have any presents for Buffy. He never had a chance to buy anything for her. Which was just as well, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to get her.
He would have bought her an emerald necklace to match her eyes. Something small and tasteful, and something that would bring out the sparks in her eyes. He would have bought her a book of carefully chosen poetry. He thought he’d have an idea of what she would like. He would have had to scour the bookstores to find the perfect collection, but he wouldn’t have shied away from the mission. He would have also bought a small box of fudge. The expensive, rich, heavenly kind that you can only find at Christmas.
William didn’t think that would have been enough, but it would have been a start. If he had more time…if he had been given the chance…he would have endeavored to make this the best Christmas she ever had.
In the past, he would have met his mother downstairs at the earliest hour possible. Neither believed in sleeping in on Christmas day. In the past, the tree would be glittering and sparkling in the living room and the fridge would be full of food for the Christmas feast. In the past, It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, and A Christmas Carol would be playing continually in the background.
The tree was still up, but as far as William knew, that was the only thing that had remained the same. He wasn’t in the mood to celebrate the holiday. In fact, he thought the very idea was too painful to consider. He wasn’t merry.
In fact, he wanted a drink. He knew exactly where he needed to go, and he was sure they were open. Places like that made all their money on the holidays.
William had the seen the liquor store on the far west end of town only twice and he had never been inside. It had a reputation—one that was horrific enough to keep any sane person away. He heard the police didn’t even respond to calls out there anymore. He was sure this wasn’t true, but that didn’t make a bit of difference. Even if they responded immediately, there had still be muggings, rapes, and murders on or near the premises.
Before Anne had moved her small family to Sunnydale, the Stop n’ Gulp Liquor and Wine store had hit the national news when one very drunk psychotic held the place up at gun point. There had been a standoff with the police that lasted over twelve hours. William always had a hard time believing that part of the story. One lone man with a shotgun was in a standoff with the entire police squad for twelve hours? But that seemed to be the case, despite William’s doubts.
The standoff ended when he pointed the gun at one of the officers, and they all opened fire without hesitation. “Suicide by cop,” they said. That was the basic elements of the story. But Sunnydale was a small enough town that the stories never really died, and children and teenagers especially were infatuated with the tale. They made it more romantic in their quest to scare each other. He had been drunk and crazy because his girlfriend cheated on him and he went to win her back—she worked at the store of course—and things got out of control. She was hit in the crossfire and fell on top of him when she died. So in the end, they were reconciled.
William didn’t know if that part was true. He also didn’t know why it came to mind as he stood outside the quiet store. There was only one other car in the parking lot, and the road was empty for miles. If it attracted the bad element, they obviously had other places to be at 2 am on a Wednesday night.
Visiting the infamous store had been on his mind since early that afternoon, after the hangover wore off. The night before he had finished the entire bottle of rum, and it felt fine. The ice block in his chest seemed to dissolve, the various aches and pains faded, and as the water dried from his skin, his blood warmed until he felt almost feverish. After the fever came the divine nothingness…floating it felt like and then blackness and then dreamless sleep.
When he woke up, it felt like his mouth and nose had been stuffed with cotton and his ears were ringing and his head, he was quite sure, had been split in two during the night, his brains scooped out, and then his skull sewn together by none other than Dr. Frankenstein.
His mother never expected a thing because she never came to his room. He spent the day huddled in bed and whimpering, and when the night fell, the pain eased, and the ice returned.
He needed to replace the rum anyway.
William never planned on coming to the Stop n’Gulp—what an odd name for a liquor store, he mused—but he didn’t think he could waltz into the supermarket or the slightly upscale liquor store and demand hard spirits. Especially at two in the morning. Probably he shouldn’t be drinking at all, but that really didn’t seem like an option to him then.
William did his best to wipe the fear and hesitance from his face, and strolled into the store like he owned the place.
It was empty, save the old man behind the counter. One lone bulb hung above the cash register, and the rest of the store was cast in dim shadows. His feet stuck to the floor every time he took a step, and he thought he heard rats scratching in the corners. The old man barely glanced at him as he walked in.
It was easy enough to find the rum. Though, he didn’t know if he wanted two bottles of that, or if he wanted to try something new. He stood in front of the long row of alcohol and studied the labels until his eyes crossed. He checked his watch and to his surprise, a whole hour had passed since he left the house. If he planned to drink at all that night, he had better get moving.
He found the exact label of vanilla rum he took from his mom’s cabinet and grabbed two. He had just enough to cover it…though he didn’t have enough money to go shopping again, so he thought he’d better make the new bottle last longer than just one night.
William walked with more confidence than he actually felt and approached the counter. The old man paused from his newspaper long enough to ring up the bottles.
“You remember your ID?” He asked gruffly.
“Left it in my car,” William answered quickly.
“That’s not a good place for it. It could get stolen.”
William nodded. “Yeah, right, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He looked up over his spectacles. “How old are you son?”
“Twenty-two.”
“No, really. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” William murmured, without making any contact.
“That’ll be twenty-five clams. Seventeen huh? You usually roam liquor storms in the middle of the night?”
“No,” William said, pulling his cash out of his pocket and bracing for the lecture.
“Don’t come around here on Friday nights or…well…” He leaned over the cable and gestured for William to come closer. “Unless you gamble, or you want to work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you want to see, come by Friday after eleven. If I’m not here…I’m always here…tell them Rueben sent you.”
“Rueben? You tell all your customers about this?”
“Only the ones interested. Here’s your change.”
William wanted to know why he looked like he would be interested in an illegal gambling room or possible employment, but decided he didn’t really care. He just wanted to get his booze and go home. He took the changed, nodded at Rueben, and ducked out the door.
He resisted the urge to open the bottle and start drinking on his walk home. He thought if he did that, he wouldn’t make it home. He’d drink himself into oblivion on the side of the road and get picked up and sent to jail with the way his luck had been running.
Buffy had been on his mind since he woke up, the only thing eclipsing the brain damaging headache. Remarkably, he could remember every second of every minute that they spent together. In amazing Technicolor, digitally enhanced clarity with surround sound. He remembered very word she said, and every single place she touched him. And it just kept playing over and over and over…
Their final night together had been the worse and the best and the most memorable. It had been everything he had ever wanted, and the image of her stretched out in bed, in his arms, bathed in soft moonlight…it…well…
It made him want to drink.
Heavily.
William sighed and opened one of the bottles and drank from the bottle without hesitation. Instantly, fire spread through his chest and down to his fingers and toes. The world tilted a bit and he paused to steady himself. That should be enough to get him home.
Unconsciously, he continued to sip the booze as he strolled through the silent streets. He’d think about her, have a drink, think about her body, have a drink, think about his mother, have a drink, think about Buffy again, have two drinks. Slowly, his head started to float above his shoulders like a balloon on a string, and the ground started to shake, like a constant earthquake, beneath his feet.
She hadn’t even let him talk. She hadn’t even given him a choice. She had made all the decisions, like his opinion didn’t even matter. She didn’t want to have a serious relationship, so he was left out in the cold, in the rain? They had something together, something special, and she just threw it all away for what? Because she was going to be too busy?
Well, he’d just have to change her mind. Make her see that she was very much in the wrong. If she would just let him talk, and listen to him, they could clear up this little misunderstanding and everything can go back to the way it should be.
By the time he reached Revello Drive, he was swaying on his feet and the first bottle was nearly empty. The bitch would listen to him, goddamnit. She wouldn’t shut him up and send him away and expect him to go with a smile. Not a second time. No, nobody was going to do that to him a second time, and he didn’t give a fuck what he had to do to make them understand that.
“Buffy! Buffy!” William started shouting, still nearly a block from her house. “Buffy! Where are you? I know you can hear me.”
The sidewalk jerked sideways, and William gripped a mailbox to keep from falling. He felt like he was walking on pier, swaying and bucking with the waves of the ocean. His stomach rolled. Had he ever had motion sickness? There was that one time when they drove to Yosemite, but he had sun stroke and they made him eat hot dogs for lunch, and he didn’t like hot dogs anyway…
William shook his head, trying to clear it. Why was he thinking about hotdogs? He was on his way to see Buffy and he didn’t think she liked hotdogs either….what went into hotdogs anyway? Xander claimed it was lips and assholes, but he didn’t think that was true. He’d have to look it up. Somebody had to know…maybe Buffy knew….
Buffy.
William straightened and started walking again. Right, Buffy. He needed to talk to Buffy and make her understand.
“Buffy! Buffy! Buffy! Get out here!” He staggered over her lawn, nearly tripping on the blades. He fell up the steps and against the stairs, slamming his body into the door. The dull sound pleased him, and he did it again and again.
“Buffy!” Bang. “Buffy!” Bang.
The door flew open and he went sprawling into the front hall, losing his balance completely, and landing hard on his chest. Moaning, he rolled over, a slurred apology on his lips. “Buffy…sorry…”
But it wasn’t Buffy.
In William’s closet, behind a stack of clothes he outgrew years ago, he kept a small ring box, a large book, and a stack of CDs. He had thoughtfully acquired these treasures over the year and hid them carefully. He had planned to wrap them, but it slipped his mind completely.
Early Christmas morning, long before dawn, he sat on his bedroom floor with the items spread out in front of him. He picked them up one by one, turned them over in his hand, studied them, and sat them back down.
In the ring box was an onyx ring. The onyx was cut in a triangle and flanked by two diamonds, supported by a gold band. His mother had stopped and admired it one afternoon while they were strolling through the mall. William didn’t understand why—he much preferred rubies or even emeralds—but she claimed it was just gorgeous. He had been lucky. It went on sale a little over a month later.
The book was leather bound with gold stitching. Old Possum’s Books of Practical Cats. She had a copy, but it was a cheap, garishly illustrated paperback that was falling apart. Looking at the tattered book made him wince, though she claimed she didn’t mind. It wasn’t hard to find an affordable copy on the Internet.
The CDs were an eclectic blend of styles and genres. Classical, country, rock, oldies, big band, even pop. As far as William knew, she never limited herself to genres.
He didn’t know what to do with them.
William didn’t have any presents for Buffy. He never had a chance to buy anything for her. Which was just as well, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to get her.
He would have bought her an emerald necklace to match her eyes. Something small and tasteful, and something that would bring out the sparks in her eyes. He would have bought her a book of carefully chosen poetry. He thought he’d have an idea of what she would like. He would have had to scour the bookstores to find the perfect collection, but he wouldn’t have shied away from the mission. He would have also bought a small box of fudge. The expensive, rich, heavenly kind that you can only find at Christmas.
William didn’t think that would have been enough, but it would have been a start. If he had more time…if he had been given the chance…he would have endeavored to make this the best Christmas she ever had.
In the past, he would have met his mother downstairs at the earliest hour possible. Neither believed in sleeping in on Christmas day. In the past, the tree would be glittering and sparkling in the living room and the fridge would be full of food for the Christmas feast. In the past, It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, and A Christmas Carol would be playing continually in the background.
The tree was still up, but as far as William knew, that was the only thing that had remained the same. He wasn’t in the mood to celebrate the holiday. In fact, he thought the very idea was too painful to consider. He wasn’t merry.
In fact, he wanted a drink. He knew exactly where he needed to go, and he was sure they were open. Places like that made all their money on the holidays.
William had the seen the liquor store on the far west end of town only twice and he had never been inside. It had a reputation—one that was horrific enough to keep any sane person away. He heard the police didn’t even respond to calls out there anymore. He was sure this wasn’t true, but that didn’t make a bit of difference. Even if they responded immediately, there had still be muggings, rapes, and murders on or near the premises.
Before Anne had moved her small family to Sunnydale, the Stop n’ Gulp Liquor and Wine store had hit the national news when one very drunk psychotic held the place up at gun point. There had been a standoff with the police that lasted over twelve hours. William always had a hard time believing that part of the story. One lone man with a shotgun was in a standoff with the entire police squad for twelve hours? But that seemed to be the case, despite William’s doubts.
The standoff ended when he pointed the gun at one of the officers, and they all opened fire without hesitation. “Suicide by cop,” they said. That was the basic elements of the story. But Sunnydale was a small enough town that the stories never really died, and children and teenagers especially were infatuated with the tale. They made it more romantic in their quest to scare each other. He had been drunk and crazy because his girlfriend cheated on him and he went to win her back—she worked at the store of course—and things got out of control. She was hit in the crossfire and fell on top of him when she died. So in the end, they were reconciled.
William didn’t know if that part was true. He also didn’t know why it came to mind as he stood outside the quiet store. There was only one other car in the parking lot, and the road was empty for miles. If it attracted the bad element, they obviously had other places to be at 2 am on a Wednesday night.
Visiting the infamous store had been on his mind since early that afternoon, after the hangover wore off. The night before he had finished the entire bottle of rum, and it felt fine. The ice block in his chest seemed to dissolve, the various aches and pains faded, and as the water dried from his skin, his blood warmed until he felt almost feverish. After the fever came the divine nothingness…floating it felt like and then blackness and then dreamless sleep.
When he woke up, it felt like his mouth and nose had been stuffed with cotton and his ears were ringing and his head, he was quite sure, had been split in two during the night, his brains scooped out, and then his skull sewn together by none other than Dr. Frankenstein.
His mother never expected a thing because she never came to his room. He spent the day huddled in bed and whimpering, and when the night fell, the pain eased, and the ice returned.
He needed to replace the rum anyway.
William never planned on coming to the Stop n’Gulp—what an odd name for a liquor store, he mused—but he didn’t think he could waltz into the supermarket or the slightly upscale liquor store and demand hard spirits. Especially at two in the morning. Probably he shouldn’t be drinking at all, but that really didn’t seem like an option to him then.
William did his best to wipe the fear and hesitance from his face, and strolled into the store like he owned the place.
It was empty, save the old man behind the counter. One lone bulb hung above the cash register, and the rest of the store was cast in dim shadows. His feet stuck to the floor every time he took a step, and he thought he heard rats scratching in the corners. The old man barely glanced at him as he walked in.
It was easy enough to find the rum. Though, he didn’t know if he wanted two bottles of that, or if he wanted to try something new. He stood in front of the long row of alcohol and studied the labels until his eyes crossed. He checked his watch and to his surprise, a whole hour had passed since he left the house. If he planned to drink at all that night, he had better get moving.
He found the exact label of vanilla rum he took from his mom’s cabinet and grabbed two. He had just enough to cover it…though he didn’t have enough money to go shopping again, so he thought he’d better make the new bottle last longer than just one night.
William walked with more confidence than he actually felt and approached the counter. The old man paused from his newspaper long enough to ring up the bottles.
“You remember your ID?” He asked gruffly.
“Left it in my car,” William answered quickly.
“That’s not a good place for it. It could get stolen.”
William nodded. “Yeah, right, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He looked up over his spectacles. “How old are you son?”
“Twenty-two.”
“No, really. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” William murmured, without making any contact.
“That’ll be twenty-five clams. Seventeen huh? You usually roam liquor storms in the middle of the night?”
“No,” William said, pulling his cash out of his pocket and bracing for the lecture.
“Don’t come around here on Friday nights or…well…” He leaned over the cable and gestured for William to come closer. “Unless you gamble, or you want to work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you want to see, come by Friday after eleven. If I’m not here…I’m always here…tell them Rueben sent you.”
“Rueben? You tell all your customers about this?”
“Only the ones interested. Here’s your change.”
William wanted to know why he looked like he would be interested in an illegal gambling room or possible employment, but decided he didn’t really care. He just wanted to get his booze and go home. He took the changed, nodded at Rueben, and ducked out the door.
He resisted the urge to open the bottle and start drinking on his walk home. He thought if he did that, he wouldn’t make it home. He’d drink himself into oblivion on the side of the road and get picked up and sent to jail with the way his luck had been running.
Buffy had been on his mind since he woke up, the only thing eclipsing the brain damaging headache. Remarkably, he could remember every second of every minute that they spent together. In amazing Technicolor, digitally enhanced clarity with surround sound. He remembered very word she said, and every single place she touched him. And it just kept playing over and over and over…
Their final night together had been the worse and the best and the most memorable. It had been everything he had ever wanted, and the image of her stretched out in bed, in his arms, bathed in soft moonlight…it…well…
It made him want to drink.
Heavily.
William sighed and opened one of the bottles and drank from the bottle without hesitation. Instantly, fire spread through his chest and down to his fingers and toes. The world tilted a bit and he paused to steady himself. That should be enough to get him home.
Unconsciously, he continued to sip the booze as he strolled through the silent streets. He’d think about her, have a drink, think about her body, have a drink, think about his mother, have a drink, think about Buffy again, have two drinks. Slowly, his head started to float above his shoulders like a balloon on a string, and the ground started to shake, like a constant earthquake, beneath his feet.
She hadn’t even let him talk. She hadn’t even given him a choice. She had made all the decisions, like his opinion didn’t even matter. She didn’t want to have a serious relationship, so he was left out in the cold, in the rain? They had something together, something special, and she just threw it all away for what? Because she was going to be too busy?
Well, he’d just have to change her mind. Make her see that she was very much in the wrong. If she would just let him talk, and listen to him, they could clear up this little misunderstanding and everything can go back to the way it should be.
By the time he reached Revello Drive, he was swaying on his feet and the first bottle was nearly empty. The bitch would listen to him, goddamnit. She wouldn’t shut him up and send him away and expect him to go with a smile. Not a second time. No, nobody was going to do that to him a second time, and he didn’t give a fuck what he had to do to make them understand that.
“Buffy! Buffy!” William started shouting, still nearly a block from her house. “Buffy! Where are you? I know you can hear me.”
The sidewalk jerked sideways, and William gripped a mailbox to keep from falling. He felt like he was walking on pier, swaying and bucking with the waves of the ocean. His stomach rolled. Had he ever had motion sickness? There was that one time when they drove to Yosemite, but he had sun stroke and they made him eat hot dogs for lunch, and he didn’t like hot dogs anyway…
William shook his head, trying to clear it. Why was he thinking about hotdogs? He was on his way to see Buffy and he didn’t think she liked hotdogs either….what went into hotdogs anyway? Xander claimed it was lips and assholes, but he didn’t think that was true. He’d have to look it up. Somebody had to know…maybe Buffy knew….
Buffy.
William straightened and started walking again. Right, Buffy. He needed to talk to Buffy and make her understand.
“Buffy! Buffy! Buffy! Get out here!” He staggered over her lawn, nearly tripping on the blades. He fell up the steps and against the stairs, slamming his body into the door. The dull sound pleased him, and he did it again and again.
“Buffy!” Bang. “Buffy!” Bang.
The door flew open and he went sprawling into the front hall, losing his balance completely, and landing hard on his chest. Moaning, he rolled over, a slurred apology on his lips. “Buffy…sorry…”
But it wasn’t Buffy.