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jetpack_monkeyThis is for TBQ's benefit. It's a WIP from waaaaay back that I haven't touched in ages. Probably some grammar errors. Anyway. Share and enjoy.
Title: Parker Abrams and Tucker Wells Aren't Dead
Author: Jetpack Monkey
Rating: PG-13 at the moment
Projected length: Could get to "Living History" proportions if it keeps going like it is, although not the same kind of writing.
Characters: Parker Abrams, Tucker Wells, Andrew Wells, Forrest, some OCs
Summary: Parker gets an offer he can't refuse from a mysterious and off-putting stranger.
Author's Notes: The challenge I gave myself was to stay within canon as much as possible while still telling an interesting story. Things start concurrent to the events after Parker gets clocked in "The Initiative" and run parallel to Buffy Season 4 (and possibly Angel Season 1 if the characters let me).
Parker Abrams gripped the sterile upholstery of the examining table while the doctor prodded at his swollen nose.
"Yup," the medico said, "looks broken."
"Well, is it or isn't it?" Parker asked. Actually, it came out more like, "Weh, id id or idn't id?"
"It's hard to say. Broken nose isn't like a broken arm." The doctor extracted a pen light from his pocket and looked up the nasal passage for the third time. "It's going to be at least a week until anybody can say for certain. I'll make an appointment for you with a specialist, and you two can take it from there."
Parker waited while the doctor went to make the phone call. He reached up and touched his nose. It was warm and felt alien. Stupid neanderthal Finn...
"Don't touch it," the doctor warned before returning to his phone conversation.
"Sorry," Parker muttered.
The doctor hung up. "Huh."
"What?"
"Doctor Jameson says he knows you."
Parker thought for a second. "Tall guy? Balding?"
"Yeah."
"Treated my concussion when I was in here two weeks ago."
The doctor arched an eyebrow at his patient. "Just what kind of shenanigans have you been getting into, son?"
Parker laughed with a hint of bitterness. "Angry puppy."
---
Dr. Richmond didn't even look up from the papers she was grading when Parker entered the classroom, but the Alternate Theories professor still greeted him by name. It was uncanny how she could do that, just know who was walking through her door.
"Hey, Professor," Parker said, silently cursing as the words came out in a headcold fashion. So far his plan to sound like a normal person was 0 for 1.
The professor glanced up and her eyes widened. "What happened to you?"
Parker reflexively turned his head away to obscure his bruised and swollen features. "Nothing. Y'know, just a scuffle. Some stupid thing over a girl." Behind him, other students filed in. A few gasped at the sight of Parker's injury. Others stared or, worse, tried not to stare.
"A girl, hm?" Professor Richmond crossed her arms.
"Yeah," Parker said, sliding into a front row desk. "Some guys are just... they need to chill out, y'know?"
"Mm. Hope things work out for you," she responded. She clapped her hands together. "Let's get started. What did you all think of the reading? Parker?"
Parker mustered up as much normal speech as he could. "It was pretty cool, I thought. It's pretty weird how some people think so much is in the hands of these small groups of people." He smiled - very few 'd' sounds. Very awesome.
"Weird, yes. The conspiracy theories behind the Freemasons and the Illuminati are definitely farfetched, but then again, this wouldn't be Alternate Theories on History if they weren't. What I want to focus on this week is -" She looked to the back of the classroom. "Can I help you?"
Parker twisted around to see a brown-haired kid in a black hoodie standing in the rear doorway. Definitely of the creepy "I hand out at the local gaming store and am in a trial separation from reality" crowd. Parker faced forward again - it didn't look that important.
Professor Richmond walked over to the stranger to find out what he wanted. Parker picked up only snippets - something about auditing the class. He glanced back at them. The new kid's gaze was not-so-casually fixed on Parker. At least, it was for a split second. The weirdo's head dodged back to the teacher and he continued the conversation, his eye wandering Parker's way every few seconds and snapping back. Probably looking at my nose, Parker thought.
"Take any empty seat, Mr. Wells," Professor Richmond said, retaking her lecturing position at the head of the class. "Now, as I was saying..."
Parker tried his best to concentrate on the subject at hand, but his nose was throbbing and the girl sitting next to him was wearing a top that would be called indecent below the Mason-Dixon line. Not only that, but a pair of staring eyes that Parker was sure belonged to the interloping weirdo were boring into the back of his skull, raising the hairs on his neck. Every now and again, Parker would twist his head around sharply (bringing a new gush of dull agony) only to find the Wells kid suddenly very interested in the wall next to him.
"...and next week, we'll talk about your final paper," Professor Richmond said just as Parker tuned back in. "Read Chapters 9, 10, and 11 in your Zinn books and don't come back here if you're going to mindlessly spit the theories back at me. Really think about this stuff, okay?"
The students collected their belongings. Parker threw his bag over his shoulder and turned to see the weaselly kid scurrying out of the room. Parker took a step to pursue him, get the scoop on "What the fuck," but thought better of it. He took a deep breath and relaxed a little. So not worth his time.
---
Parker grabbed a tray and joined the langurous dinner line. A pair of girls, who Parker mentally named Bony and Tubby, walked past him. Looking at his nose, they stifled giggles. Parker held his tray to his chest and frowned. A hand clasped against his shoulder. He spun around. "What the hell do you want?"
"Woah, Abrams. It's just me," said the sandy-haired frat boy in the Abercrombie and Fitch shirt.
Parker took a breath. "Sorry, Spence. It's been a day."
"I'd say. I heard you got your face fucked up, but shit, man..."
Parker tried to ignore his friend's probing examination of his nose. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said, covering the injury with his hand.
"Still pretty bad. Damn. Riley Finn did this to you?"
"Yeah," Parker said, grabbing a plate of porkchops. "He got all huffy about some joke I made."
Spence plopped two porkchops onto his tray. "I heard you dissed Finn's girl."
"Wait, Finn's dating Summers?"
"Not yet, but he's got a thing for her. It's all over campus. Where've you been?"
"Getting my nose bashed in, apparently," Parker said. "Figures, though. Violent whackos in love. They deserve each other." He grabbed a slice of pumpkin pie and pocketed a few Rice Krispie treats.
"Dude, do not run your mouth about Summers. I went to high school with that chick. She was a few years down from me." Spence looked around and then dropped his voice to a low whisper. "Heard some crazy stuff, like how she burned down her school from before. She was always getting into fights and stuff. Took on this whole gang of thugs at the Bronze one night."
Parker shifted uncomfortably. "She look so small."
"Trust me when I say this, my man - live and let the Summers talk die. I heard she's killed people."
"Huh." Parker handed his punch card to the cashier. "Awfully naïve for a..."
"Dude. Let it go."
Parker found a table and slumped down in the plastic bucket chair. "Let me get this straight. Not only did I get my face broken and my skull bashed, but I might've unleased Glenn Close on steroids?"
"I'm not sayin' anything, man," Spence said, sitting opposite of Parker. "We're not having this conversation."
A girl in a belly-exposing top walked up to the table. "Parker?"
Parker turned his head and watched the girl's shocked reaction to his new look. He sighed. "Suzie. Hey."
"God, I can understand why you haven't called me back. What happened to you?"
Parker forced his aggravation at his current predicament down and brought out a cool, non-chalant expression. "You mean the nose? This guy was saying some really crude stuff about this girl I know. There was violence. I know it was stupid, but..." He shrugged and flashed a winning smile.
"What a horrible person." Suzie sat down next to Parker and grasped his arm. "You want me to come over tonight. I can, you know, tend to you."
Parker bit his lip. "Gosh, Suzie. I would really love to, but I've got this thing tonight and..." He stopped for a moment and gave her a lopsided grin. "You know what? Let's do it tomorrow. We'll hang then."
"You promise?"
"I promise," Parker said.
"Great! I'll be over around eight o'clock tomorrow, 'kay?" Suzie checked her watch. "Oh, crap. I'm going to be late for my floor meeting. Later!"
Parker watched her walk out and then turned back to Spence, who was shaking his head at him. "What?"
"Dude, you're going back for seconds?"
Parker shrugged. "Why not? It was pretty good the first time. Don't see why I shouldn't dip into that again. Besides, Suzie's got a good head on her shoulders. She knows it's just a little fun between two consenting adults."
"Okay, bro. We'll see."
"What's your problem?"
"Nothing, dude. Just watchin' your back." Spence sucked the air in through his nose. "Gee, I smell attachment."
Parker picked up his tray. "You smell your week-old underwear."
"Three days, bitch."
"Yeah, whatever. Look, I just want to blow off some steam here, that's all. I'll catch you..." His voice trailed off as he glimpsed a familiar figure framed by a slightly ajar doorway across the cafeteria. Parker looked away with deliberate movement. "Hey, Spence," he said, "you see something in that door over there?"
Spence looked. "Nope."
"Cool."
"There was a freaky dude there for a second, starin' at you, but he bolted."
"Dammit!" Parker muttered.
"Parker?"
"It's nothing," Parker said, walking away. "Just my imagination."
---
Parker woke up to the Barenaked Ladies singing about the one week before somebody would say they were sorry. He smacked his alarm and rolled out of bed. He looked at the time. Dammit. Half an hour until Psych discussion. He considered not going, since his TA Forrest had been so good about not restraining his friend the previous day, but Professor Walsh docked a full grade for each section missed. He'd just have to take it.
He winced as he pulled his shirt on, the fabric pressing against his injured nose. He threw on a pair of pants, his shoes, and then his watch. He'd have to shower later. He grabbed his backpack... except he didn't. It wasn't on his chair like it usually was. Parker thought back. He had it during Alternate Theories and at dinner.. He didn't have it coming home. He must have forgotten it in the cafeteria when he left in that bad mood. "Great," he said to nobody in particular.
Walking out the door, he hustled down the hallway and down the stairs. He'd just have to go look for his bag after discussion. He hit the commons and started a sort of half-jogging gait, trying to increase his speed without looking like a complete moron. He couldn't believe he just left his bag like that. If he'd only done his homework like a person who cared, he would've figured this out hours ago... No, he had to stop beating himself up. He'd get the bag back. It was probably in that Lost & Found bin behind the cashier stand.
He swept into the Natural Sciences building and down the stairs into his classroom. Forrest was leaning against the desk, arms crossed. "30 seconds, Parker, and I would've had to dock you."
"You wouldn't dock a man with an injury, would you?" Parker said breathlessly.
"If Professor Walsh says so, I jump right at it. You don't want to mess with that woman's rules. Sit your ass down so we can get started."
Parker took a desk to the back of the room and tried to listen as best as he could. Forrest's style was inclusive, but a little pompous. He had a way of lightly ridiculing students who answered him incorrectly... Actually, he had a way of lightly ridiculing people who answered correctly. In general, he was sarcastic, but never really mean. Some students couldn't take it and had dropped early in the semester, but Parker suspected that was Walsh as much as anything. He'd love to see that creepy kid show up to one of Walsh's lectures. That would show him...
"Parker," Forrest called out.
"What?" Parker asked.
"Answer the question. What are some of the key differences between Freud and Jung?"
"Uh..." Parker completely blanked.
"Check your notes, Parker. At least regurgitate something."
"I... can't," Parker said. "I don't have my bag with me."
"Coming to class unprepared," Forrest said. "See me after class. Ivy? What are some key differences between Freud and Jung?"
Parker ran a hand through his hair and looked up to see the creepy kid's face through the glass pane in the classroom door. The creepy kid saw that he was caught and smiled before skittling away. Parker lightly smacked his hand against the desk. That kid was definitely following him and he wasn't taking a lot of pains to hide it.
After Forrest dismissed the class, he called Parker to talk with him. "Abrams, man, coming to class unprepared? You know how Walsh feels about that. I should give you a zero for the day."
"I know, I know," Parker said.
"But I do have a heart and somebody needs to apologize for Finn. Probably should be me, since I'm the one who asked you about Buffy. So, I'm letting you off just this once, on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You don't talk about it. Don't chat with your friends about that favor Forrest did for you. Don't tell Mom. Just keep it to yourself. I'm taking a risk as it is. You got it?"
Parker put his hand over his heart. "Swear to God, nobody will hear about it."
"Not even your mom?"
"Not even my mother."
"Good. Now get gone," Forrest said with a small smile. "And, for future reference? Stay away from Finn."
"Trust me, I got the memo."
---
"I swear, dude, I didn't even see your bag there," Spence said, standing dumbly in the middle of the cafeteria.
"Why didn't you look for it?"
"I didn't know it was missing! What's your damage, Abrams? I mean, y'know, other than the nose."
"Ha. Very funny." Parker ground his teeth together. "Okay," he said, turning to the cashier on duty. "You say you were working late dinner last night. Was there a bookbag at that table when you came on shift?"
The short, muscular student nodded. "Yeah, I figgered somebody left it there, y'know. Freshman are doin' crap like that all the time. It's a total laugh riot. Anyway, some guy grabbed it up. Maybe I shoulda checked his ID."
"Wait," Parker said. "My bag was here and then you let somebody else take it?"
"Dunno if it was yours or whatever, but somebody came and took the one that was there."
Parker rubbed the corners of his eyes, careful to avoid touching his nose. "Dammit! Okay. This guy... Did you get a good look at him?"
"I guess," the cashier said. "He looked like a lot of the weird dudes 'round here."
"Well, I don't want to to tax your brain or anything, but was he wearing, say, a black hooded sweatshirt?"
"Yah, now that you mention it."
"I knew it! Thanks." Parker started walking away, then suddenly loosed a frustrated fist into the empty air. "God damn that creepy kid."
"Creepy kid?" Spence asked.
"That guy from last night. The one who's following me. I don't know what the hell he wants..."
"Aw, Abrams got a boy-friend," Spence chirped.
"Not. Funny."
---
"Images of Pop Culture" remained Parker's favorite class long after he'd realized that Reegert was even more of a tyrant than Walsh. If you just did the work, didn't fall asleep during the movies, and didn't make the mistake of showing up when you weren't enrolled, it was actually an easy 'A,' especially since Parker knew so much about pop culture.
The professor hadn't arrived yet, but that wasn't unusual. Reegert usually appeared at the last possible moment, sweeping into his latest lecture as he hustled in and dismissing the class as he hustled back out, leaving the TAs to fend for themselves. Parker took a seat in the very back row, pulled out the folding desk, and opened the recently purchased replacement writing tablet. He clicked the lead out of a new mechanical pencil and scrawled the date on the top sheet of paper.
The auditorium darkened and Professor Reegert walked in. "Good morning, class," he said, flipping on the digital projector. The first Powerpoint slide displayed the bold title "Jaws and the Age of Spectacle." Professor Reegert turned to the auditorium at large and began, gruff and forceful: "I'm sure enough of you are familiar enough with Jaws that I don't have to introduce it. If you haven't seen it, consider yourself fortunate - you have successfully avoided witnessing the downfall of American cinema. Rome might not have burned in a day, but the art inherent in our national filmmaking cinema was devoured in a summer. For the next two weeks of this course, we're going to look at how and, more importantly, why."
Parker dozed off after the second clip. The image of a smirking boy tugged at his semi-dream state. The kid sported sallow skin contrasted by a pitch black hooded sweartshirt. Parker shoved the image away, but it dodged his attempt, and strode forcefully to the fore of his unconscious mind. The more Parker pushed the mental interloper away, the more tenaciously the image clung. Parker struggled while the representation of the grinning geek started a complicated Jerome Robbins dance routine.
As he jolted from his dream-state, he heard a familiar conversation float over from his immediate left. He heard Reegert ask somebody if they needed help... and then he heard a heckling voice respond that he was only auditing the class. Parker looked over and saw the kid in full, grinning like a jackass a few yards away. There was a full row of seated students between them, but Parker stood up and pushed his way past each one, disrupting notebooks, overturning folding desks, and bruising his own thigh. The kid, however, saw him, smiled, and then bolted out of the auditorium. Parker vaulted over the last two students, but caught his foot on the aisle armrest, sending him crashing, cheek-first into the ground. The pain between his eyes increased, but he stood up and ran after the stalking dickhead.
He burst into the hallway in time to see the last of a black sweatshirt disappear around the far corner. Parker's feet pounded against the laminated tiles, his nose throbbing more intensely with each hard stride. He pulled around the corner and through the plate glass door immediately in front of him, raced outside... and into a gaggle of visiting high school students, knocking them over like bowling pins.
"Dammit!" Parker yelled, pushing himself off the ground. He looked down at one of the girls he sent tumbling. "Sorry about that. There's this guy, and..."
"Oh my god," she said. "What happened to your face?"
Parker brushed some dust off of his pants. "Wacky mishap. Be careful around maniacs with hammers." He offered her a hand up, which she took. "I'm really sorry about knocking all of you down."
The huffy-looking tour guide motioned to the students. "Okay, if we can get over the commotion? Next up, we have the Richard Wilkins Memorial Library, built with funds donated by the son of the first mayor of Sunnydale."
Parker smiled at the girl and then scanned the commons. Other than a few people studying on the grass and the kids he just knocked over, there was nobody - not a trace of whoever had been stalking him. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself.
Chapter 2a
The note taped to Parker's dormroom door was simple - "Old Sunnydale High Building. Room 47. 3:00 PM or else." Obviously, the geek had gotten bored. Parker ripped the message down and crumpled it up in his hand. He unlocked the door and shot the paper across the room to the wastebasket. It bounced off the rim and hit the floor.
Parker checked his watch. No way was he going to that meet. Old Sunnydale High was a bombed-out condemned building, unsafe for walking in, much less clandestine meetings. Besides, other than a little following, the geek hadn't done anything to prove he was any sort of threat. Parker dismissed the issue out of hand, except there was something about that note...
He picked up the ball of paper and smoothed it out. There was something familiar about it. He read the note a few times, but nothing came to mind. Then he flipped the sheet over, and started reading the list of women's names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses. The asshole had ripped this from his black book. Each entry had a check mark next to it. A little note at the bottom of the page said, "More to come."
Parker grabbed his phone and dialed the first number on the list. "Elsie? Hey. It's Parker. I..." There was a click and then a dial tone. Parker dialed the next number. "Hey Nicci. Parker. Have you..." Click. "Dorothy. Abrams. Did..." Click. He wasn't going to get any answers out of those girls.
"Fran! Hey. Don't hang up. It's Parker."
"Parker Abrams. How nice of you to call. I was just thinking about you."
"Hey, that's cool. Look, have you... Has anybody..."
"Hm?"
"Did some creepy kid get in contact with you?"
"No."
"Oh, good."
"But I did get a really interesting e-mail from you're, ah, 'friend' Ellen Ripley."
"Ellen... Ripley?" The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Yes, she had some really illuminating things to say about you. Would you like to hear?"
"Not really. Just..."
"'Parker Abrams is a rat. He used me mercilessly, just like he's used other women. Somebody has to put an end to his womanizing ways. I met Parker one night in the cafeteria lunch line.'"
"Fran, it's not like that..."
"'He seemed like *such* a nice guy...' Do you want me to go on? Because, honestly, I could continue the story from that point myself."
"Fran, it's all been a huge misunderstanding."
"No," Fran said. "I understand. I understand in a big way. It was all a little fun. Well, I'm not having fun now, Parker, are you?" Click.
Parker slammed the phone back into the cradle. That little dweeb... He'd be there after all, if only to get his stuff back and show the geek who really held the cards here.
First, however, he really needed to get an icepack on his nose.
---
"There's an implicit understanding. It's mutual use. No, not like that. It's just... it's a contract. She can't get pissed off just because both ends of the bargain were held up." Parker jogged ahead and kicked a rock across the student commons.
Spence shook his head and hustled to catch up. "Dude, you're preaching to the choir. Choir knows half of what you're saying is BS, but they'll still sing a Hallelujah for you anyway." He took a swig of his chocolate milk. "Anyway, told you not to go for seconds."
"Fucking geek."
"Hey, not a geek here."
"I didn't mean you. That creepy kid. Um... Tucker something." Parker snapped his fingers. "Tucker Wells, that's it."
"Yeah, what's up with that kid, anyway?"
"I dunno. Hey, maybe he went to Sunnydale High. You remember him at all?"
"Nope, sorry dude. Sounds like the kinda kid that I'd avoid if I could."
Parker frowned. "Tell me about it."
"Hey, bet a dweeb like that still lives with his folks. Bet you could get him in a lot of trouble if they knew what their kid was up to."
Parker considered this for a second. "I don't know. Could work. I'm supposed to meet him later at Sunnydale High. I could pull his address and get his parents while he's waiting for me."
"'Course, they could be creepier than him," Spence said, grabbing a candy bar from his bag and unwrapping it.
Parker nodded to some voice inside his head. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna do that." He slapped Spence on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. I owe you." He bolted across the grass.
--
Parker hated looking at his reflection. Okay, so that wasn't really true. Usually, he loved to look at it. Ever since he was punched in the nose, however, the experience had been kinda jarring. He always had to take a second to realize that the freakish face looking back at him was, in fact, his own.
Right now, he was trying not to stare at himself in the window of the city bus. It was only a partial reflection, scant in the daylight hours, but it was enough to see how much the swelling and bruising had reshaped his face.
Although Parker wasn't typically a vengeful guy, he couldn't help but feel tendrils of rage squeezing at the muscles in his neck. Whether he'd been out of line with his remark about Buffy was beside the point - Riley Finn had no right to break his face.
He seethed for a moment, and then calmed. His Catholic upbringing told him that forgiveness was divine. His history classes taught him that the only worthy absolution was the one that came from the side that won -- everything else was a momentary diplomatic retreat. Just look at Germany.
Parker's pragmatism, a far more powerful force than either religion or history, reminded him that he had neither the drive to forgie or the means to do anything notable to either Finn or Summers. It was best just to stick to his own thing, hope nothing cropped up.
Nothing. Like the kid in the hoodie was nothing. Like his missing backpack was nothing.
Maybe the whole pragmatism thing wasn't working out so well.
--
The front door of the largish home opened, revealing a blonde, anemic-looking kid. "Um, hi?"
"Hi," Parker said. "I'm looking for the Wells residence?"
"What do you want?"
"Uh, just to talk to Tucker's parents."
"Oh. It's about Tucker. You know, I can cause trouble, too. I summoned... stuff. Did anybody even want to talk to my father?" He paused. "Well, I guess you kinda do. Please, enter The House of Wells. I'm Andrew."
"Thanks," Parker said, stepping over the threshhold.
"Dad's out of the dimens- out of town. Dad's out of town right now, so Aunt Sylvia's staying with us." Andrew dropped his voice conspiratorially. "My cousin Cyrus disappeared about a couple months ago and she keeps calling me by his name. It's kinda creepy. We don't look that much alike. I mean, my eyes are totally different than his."
"That really sucks about your cousin," Parker said, not caring very much.
"Oh, I'm not worried. It was obviously the government."
"The what?"
Andrew glanced around. "He... knew things. About the coming invasion. And there's these troops around. They seem to think they're hiding, but everybody's seen 'em."
"Uh-huh. Look, if you're Dad's not home, I'll talk to Tucker. I'd like to settle our differences."
"Yeah, that's cool. He's not here, though. Something about none of my business."
"I figured he'd be out."
"We can hang, though! I got a Playstation. We can play Tomb Raider."
"Ah gee... Andrew, right?" Andrew nodded. "Right, see, the thing is, I'm sure you're a great guy, but I really have to find your folks or Tucker. Maybe we'll hang later."
"Really?" Andrew stepped toward Parker, his eyes lit up.
Parker stumbled back a few inches. "Maybe. Right now, I've got to go. Classes. And then I'm meeting some people --"
"Oh. I get it. Fine."
"Parker smiled broadly, trying hard not to make it as fake as it really was. "I'll see you around." He hustled out the front door, looking out the corner of his eye to make sure he wasn't being followed. When he was assured of his escape, he turned forward -- and rammed his nose right into Tucker's forehead.
***
"Let me get you a fresh icepack, dear." Aunt Sylvia twittered out of the living room.
"No, really, I'm okay. This one's plenty fresh!" Parker said, wincing slightly. The slightest facial movement was excrutiatingly painful.
"Oh, well then," Sylvia's voice floated in from the kitchen. "Tucker, dearest, do you need a fresh icepack?"
"No..." Tucker sat in a natty green comfy chair, holding his current icepack against his forehead. "But I sure could use some cookies..."
"I'll start you up a batch, just hang tight!"
Parker shifted uncomfortably. Something was poking out from between the sofa cushions and pressing into the small of his back. He reached under and pulled out a small statuette of a beautiful woman with four arms and pointy teeth. He showed it to Tucker. "What the hell is this?"
"Oh, that's where that went." Tucker reached over and took it. "It's an idol of the Goddess Yeska. She doesn't really have four arms, though. It was Dad's, but he gave it to me after he turned 50. It's a traditional father-son thing, I guess."
Parker furrowed his brow, then unfurrowed it when the the pain came. "Ow. When you say she doesn't really have four arms, you mean there's really a Goddess... Yelksa?"
"Yeska. And there's a lot of things you don't know about, Abrams. Vampires, demons, anthropomorphs, magick. All these things are real and I need you to understand that before we start in on this."
"This? Okay, first thing, I don't even know what the hell 'this' is. Second, you've got me wrong. I'm not here to join up or whatever. I'm here to tell you to quit following me around."
"Oh, I know," Tucker said. "Andrew told me while you were passed out. And, uh, don't encourage him. The human race would be better off without him trying to interact with it."
"That's not true!" Andrew said, standing up from his hiding spot behind the couch.
"Oh, why don't you cry and threaten to run off to México?" Tucker mocked.
"Shut up! I haven't done that since I was ten!"
"Thirteen."
"Well, Mom and Dad only had you so they could sacrifice you! I was the keeper," Andrew said.
"Yeah, I can see why I'm around, then. Shove off, farkface. I'm having a conversation." Andrew stomped upstairs to his room. Tucker turned his attention back to Parker. "Sorry. Brothers."
"I wouldn't know."
"Where was I? Oh, yeah. The part where your reasons for being here aren't the ones you think. I've got something to show you."
"You're crazy," Parker said, sitting up. "You're crazy and I'm not looking at anything."
Tucker smiled slightly. "You're going to watch because of two things." He paused, as if waiting for some cue from Parker, who simply looked at him incredulously. Tucker sighed. "Okay, first - if you watch my little presentation, I'll return your bookbag with the contents unharmed. Second, if you're not interested, you'll never see me again." He stood up and grabbed his own backpack and headed for the main staircase.
Parker stood up. "Wait, you mean that you won't come to my classes, you won't call anybody I know, and you get within 50 yards of me?"
"I swear on my mother's grave."
Parker decided the price was worth it and followed Tucker upstairs.
--
Tucker's room was a hurricane aftermath of dirty laundry, magick books, figurines, and more spiralbound notebooks than Parker thought a human being needed. A shiny new Dell computer rested easily on the oversized desk in the corner. A twin bed bore flannel sheets that appeared to have been tormented into a giant wad in the middle of the mattress. Next to the disheveled bed sat an easel with the words "Buffy Summers: Public Enemy" printed on the top sheet.
"You got an easel for this?"
Tucker grimaced. "I would've had a markerboard but dweebezoid protects his crap like doomsday is coming. Which, given this town, wouldn't be too surprising."
"So, Wells." Parker sat down in the cozy desk chair. "Dazzle me."
"Okay, you've met Buffy Summers." Tucker flipped the page over to an enlargement of Buffy snarling. "Heh, you could say you really got to know her."
Parker smirked. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Right, well. You've experience her strength, too." Tucker turned to a long-distance photo of Parker being smashed over the head with Buffy's club.
"Hey, where'd you get that picture?"
"During reconaissance. I've been working on this project for three months now. I'm reaching the critical stage, which I need you for."
"What the hell is this plan and why are you so obsessed with Summers?
Tucker crossed his arms huffily. "You'd be obsessed, too, if you'd seen the things I've seen." He shoved the current sheet up and over, revealing various scenes of Buffy squaring off against weird guys with forehead issues and scaly monsters. "Buffy Summers is the Slayer. This means she's the mystically enhanced enforcement for a shadowy group of figures known only as the Watchers Council. Sometimes, as in Figure A, she's on our side, fighting vampires who are evil, nasty creatures. However, sometimes she's destroying demons - a benighn subset of the extra-dimensional populace who are just trying to make do on Earth. Note figures B and C.
"Worse, though, is that the Council occasionally uses her for assassination. Like the time she murdered Ted Buchanan, a brilliant computer scientist who came close to discovering their secrets." He handed Parker a loose sheaf of papers. "Those are all of Buffy's police reports, plus a print out of her high school permanent record. Note the constant fighting, pyromania, and the number of times she's been suspected of murder. They've had warrants out on her."
Parker looked over the documents. "Wow. How is it that she's never been taken to trial?"
"Council pulled some strings the first few times, but eventually they had to send in a patsy - Faith Lehane." Tucker skipped the easel presentation ahead a few sheets. "A second Slayer, which is unprecedented from what I can tell. Faith's already got a rap sheet and a bad attitude, so when Buffy murders the assistant mayor, the Council's Sunnydale liason Mr. Giles and his flunky Mr. Wyndham-Pryce are able to manipulate the facts. A warrant goes out for Faith's arrest."
"How do you know all of this stuff?"
"Some of its from books I borrowed from Dad, some of its recon work. A lot is just talking to the right demons. Any other questions? Maybe about the mystical, vampires, demons?"
"No questions because that parts insane."
"But it makes sense."
"Yeah, that's part of what's insane about it."
"Don't worry. Everything will be revealed in time. Anyway, back to Faith." Tucker smacked the easel for emphasis, causing it to tip. He grasped at it with clumsy hands, only barely managing to right it. "Ahem. Faith managed to save her own ass by allying with the powerful warlock Mayor Wilkins. "
"Hold on The mayor of Sunnydale was a warlock? This just gets weirder by the second."
"I know it's a bit of a stretch, but this is the town we live in. Wilkins was a warrior fighting in the name of Order. When Buffy put Faith in a coma, he went postal at graduation and summoned a gigantic demon snake to destroy her. Unfortunately, his instrument of revenge exploded when Wilkins was gutted by Buffy during the chaos."
Parker ran a hand through his hair. "This is... pretty heady stuff. She gets away with all of this?"
"Like I said. The Council. Also, she has a powerful witch on her little murder squad. There's another guy there who has no powers of his own, but follows Buffy because it's his own sick idea of fun."
Parker shifted in his seat. "So, how powerful is Summers anyway? You said something about 'mystically enhanced.'"
"Here." Tucker handed Parker a sheet with archaic lettering. "I worked up a D&D character to represent her. Look at the strength and stamina ratings."
"Wait, not way is she only a level 9 barbarian with these figures."
"You are talking 3.0 conversions, right?"
"No. I haven't played since it was still called Advan- Ever. Once. I played once. It, uh, sucked. I was trying to impress... You know, let's drop it."
Tucker smirked. "Anyway, you can see how dangerous she is. She has to be stopped."
"I'm starting to get that. She sounds crazier than I thought. And all this talk about angry puppies had to be a code word for something."
"Angry puppies?"
"Here's a question. Why me? It can't be the good looks."
Tucker wrinkled his nose. "Part of it might be. Here's the thing - I'm a genius. Like, off-the-charts smart. I'm good at planning, scheming, stuff like that. I can come up with Plan A and Plans B-Z, but I don't have two things. First, the ability to think on my feet. I can't improvise for shit. If I get into a situation I haven't planned for, I wanna know I'm covered."
"And the second thing?"
Tucker coughed. "Uh, communication skills. I'm okay with the geek population, but talking to the so-called in crowd? I've had some bad experiences."
"It takes some time."
"Actually, I don't really care. People are, for the most part, overrated. But it may come down that we'll need to navigate the social situation."
"I don't know, " Parker said, standing. "Summers freaks me out and you're a creepy creepy guy. No offense."
Tucker nodded. "None taken."
"This whole thing just seems out of my league."
Tucker snorted. "If we all waited for something that was in our league, you'd still be a virgin and I wouldn't know crap about demon summoning."
"Yeah, about that. If we're going to do this, and I can't believe I'm actually considering it , but if we are? I want to see some solid proof about magick and demons and everything. "
"The whole PCP, every day is Halloween in Sunnydale thing too thick of a smokescreen for you? Fine. Toss me that book at your feet." Tucker caught the tome and set it on the bed. He pushed the knot of sheets and blankets to the far corner of the mattress and climbed on top, settling into a cross-legged position. He flipped through the book until he found whatever page he needed, then looked up at Parker. "Whatever comes through the portal, I need you to touch it as soon as possible. Even if it looks like it'll take your hand off."
Parker arched an eyebrow.
"Just do it." Tucker sat up straight and began reciting weird foreign words from the book. After a few "oohramyoos," his head lolled. Then he bit his tongue hard, cutting it. He spat out the blood, which hit the air and seemed to tear it. A light crackled into existence, and then a second one, and then several. The tear widened to the size of a manhole. A shrill bark rented the air and a furless beast the size of a poodle jumped out from the hole in space. It looked at Parker and smiled, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
"Woah!" Parker yelled, stumbling against the desk.
"Touch it!" Tucker commanded him with a slight lisp.
"I'm NOT touching that."
"Dude, don't be a wuss. Touch the damn thing now!"
The beast leapt at Parker's throat , all four feet pointing nasty claws at him. Parker dodged and threw open Tucker's doorway. The beast took the invitation with pleasure and bounded down the stairs.
"I told you to touch the Grixnar." Tucker tossed the book aside and stood up. "It would've obeyed your every command if you'd just touched it in the first thirty seconds."
A high-pitched scream pierced their eardrums. "Your Aunt Sylvia..." Parker said, his face ashen.
"Naw, that was Andrew." Another scream in a slightly lower register burst from downstairs. "That was Aunt Sylvia. C'mon." Tucker grabbed the book and headed downstairs. Parker followed, not quite sure what else to do.
They found the panicked Andrew and Sylvia in the kitchen, both standing on top of the counter. Andrew swang a broom wildly, knocking back the beast's leaping assaults.
"Provisum exertus," Tucker read aloud from the book. A muffled "pop" came from where the Grixnar had been.
Andrew continued to swing. "Is it gone?"
"Yes, numbnuts."
"Are you sure?"
"Can you see it?"
"The last time you said something was gone, you just made it invisible," Andrew whined. "I frothed at the mouth for hours. Stupid demon poison."
"It's not invisible, Andrew. It's gone. Disappeared. It is no more."
Aunt Sylvia stepped down from the counter. "Tucker, what has your father told you about summoning in the house?"
"If he hadn't taken away the house where I was training, I wouldn't have to summon here."
"Well, whose fault is that?"
Parker raised his hand. "Uh, excuse me. You know about this? That was for real?"
Aunt Sylvia rolled her eyes. "You brought a newbie into the house? What am I going to do with... Parker, right?" She spoke very slowly, as if talking to a child." Magick is real. Demons are real. Their father's a warlock. Do - you - understand?"
"Yeah. It's cool." Parker sank to the floor. "It's really... great. Did it just get cold in here?"
"Great. Go into shock." Tucker sighed. "Andrew, get him a blanket. Parker, don't puke on the carpet or Dad will kill me.
Title: Parker Abrams and Tucker Wells Aren't Dead
Author: Jetpack Monkey
Rating: PG-13 at the moment
Projected length: Could get to "Living History" proportions if it keeps going like it is, although not the same kind of writing.
Characters: Parker Abrams, Tucker Wells, Andrew Wells, Forrest, some OCs
Summary: Parker gets an offer he can't refuse from a mysterious and off-putting stranger.
Author's Notes: The challenge I gave myself was to stay within canon as much as possible while still telling an interesting story. Things start concurrent to the events after Parker gets clocked in "The Initiative" and run parallel to Buffy Season 4 (and possibly Angel Season 1 if the characters let me).
Parker Abrams gripped the sterile upholstery of the examining table while the doctor prodded at his swollen nose.
"Yup," the medico said, "looks broken."
"Well, is it or isn't it?" Parker asked. Actually, it came out more like, "Weh, id id or idn't id?"
"It's hard to say. Broken nose isn't like a broken arm." The doctor extracted a pen light from his pocket and looked up the nasal passage for the third time. "It's going to be at least a week until anybody can say for certain. I'll make an appointment for you with a specialist, and you two can take it from there."
Parker waited while the doctor went to make the phone call. He reached up and touched his nose. It was warm and felt alien. Stupid neanderthal Finn...
"Don't touch it," the doctor warned before returning to his phone conversation.
"Sorry," Parker muttered.
The doctor hung up. "Huh."
"What?"
"Doctor Jameson says he knows you."
Parker thought for a second. "Tall guy? Balding?"
"Yeah."
"Treated my concussion when I was in here two weeks ago."
The doctor arched an eyebrow at his patient. "Just what kind of shenanigans have you been getting into, son?"
Parker laughed with a hint of bitterness. "Angry puppy."
---
Dr. Richmond didn't even look up from the papers she was grading when Parker entered the classroom, but the Alternate Theories professor still greeted him by name. It was uncanny how she could do that, just know who was walking through her door.
"Hey, Professor," Parker said, silently cursing as the words came out in a headcold fashion. So far his plan to sound like a normal person was 0 for 1.
The professor glanced up and her eyes widened. "What happened to you?"
Parker reflexively turned his head away to obscure his bruised and swollen features. "Nothing. Y'know, just a scuffle. Some stupid thing over a girl." Behind him, other students filed in. A few gasped at the sight of Parker's injury. Others stared or, worse, tried not to stare.
"A girl, hm?" Professor Richmond crossed her arms.
"Yeah," Parker said, sliding into a front row desk. "Some guys are just... they need to chill out, y'know?"
"Mm. Hope things work out for you," she responded. She clapped her hands together. "Let's get started. What did you all think of the reading? Parker?"
Parker mustered up as much normal speech as he could. "It was pretty cool, I thought. It's pretty weird how some people think so much is in the hands of these small groups of people." He smiled - very few 'd' sounds. Very awesome.
"Weird, yes. The conspiracy theories behind the Freemasons and the Illuminati are definitely farfetched, but then again, this wouldn't be Alternate Theories on History if they weren't. What I want to focus on this week is -" She looked to the back of the classroom. "Can I help you?"
Parker twisted around to see a brown-haired kid in a black hoodie standing in the rear doorway. Definitely of the creepy "I hand out at the local gaming store and am in a trial separation from reality" crowd. Parker faced forward again - it didn't look that important.
Professor Richmond walked over to the stranger to find out what he wanted. Parker picked up only snippets - something about auditing the class. He glanced back at them. The new kid's gaze was not-so-casually fixed on Parker. At least, it was for a split second. The weirdo's head dodged back to the teacher and he continued the conversation, his eye wandering Parker's way every few seconds and snapping back. Probably looking at my nose, Parker thought.
"Take any empty seat, Mr. Wells," Professor Richmond said, retaking her lecturing position at the head of the class. "Now, as I was saying..."
Parker tried his best to concentrate on the subject at hand, but his nose was throbbing and the girl sitting next to him was wearing a top that would be called indecent below the Mason-Dixon line. Not only that, but a pair of staring eyes that Parker was sure belonged to the interloping weirdo were boring into the back of his skull, raising the hairs on his neck. Every now and again, Parker would twist his head around sharply (bringing a new gush of dull agony) only to find the Wells kid suddenly very interested in the wall next to him.
"...and next week, we'll talk about your final paper," Professor Richmond said just as Parker tuned back in. "Read Chapters 9, 10, and 11 in your Zinn books and don't come back here if you're going to mindlessly spit the theories back at me. Really think about this stuff, okay?"
The students collected their belongings. Parker threw his bag over his shoulder and turned to see the weaselly kid scurrying out of the room. Parker took a step to pursue him, get the scoop on "What the fuck," but thought better of it. He took a deep breath and relaxed a little. So not worth his time.
---
Parker grabbed a tray and joined the langurous dinner line. A pair of girls, who Parker mentally named Bony and Tubby, walked past him. Looking at his nose, they stifled giggles. Parker held his tray to his chest and frowned. A hand clasped against his shoulder. He spun around. "What the hell do you want?"
"Woah, Abrams. It's just me," said the sandy-haired frat boy in the Abercrombie and Fitch shirt.
Parker took a breath. "Sorry, Spence. It's been a day."
"I'd say. I heard you got your face fucked up, but shit, man..."
Parker tried to ignore his friend's probing examination of his nose. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said, covering the injury with his hand.
"Still pretty bad. Damn. Riley Finn did this to you?"
"Yeah," Parker said, grabbing a plate of porkchops. "He got all huffy about some joke I made."
Spence plopped two porkchops onto his tray. "I heard you dissed Finn's girl."
"Wait, Finn's dating Summers?"
"Not yet, but he's got a thing for her. It's all over campus. Where've you been?"
"Getting my nose bashed in, apparently," Parker said. "Figures, though. Violent whackos in love. They deserve each other." He grabbed a slice of pumpkin pie and pocketed a few Rice Krispie treats.
"Dude, do not run your mouth about Summers. I went to high school with that chick. She was a few years down from me." Spence looked around and then dropped his voice to a low whisper. "Heard some crazy stuff, like how she burned down her school from before. She was always getting into fights and stuff. Took on this whole gang of thugs at the Bronze one night."
Parker shifted uncomfortably. "She look so small."
"Trust me when I say this, my man - live and let the Summers talk die. I heard she's killed people."
"Huh." Parker handed his punch card to the cashier. "Awfully naïve for a..."
"Dude. Let it go."
Parker found a table and slumped down in the plastic bucket chair. "Let me get this straight. Not only did I get my face broken and my skull bashed, but I might've unleased Glenn Close on steroids?"
"I'm not sayin' anything, man," Spence said, sitting opposite of Parker. "We're not having this conversation."
A girl in a belly-exposing top walked up to the table. "Parker?"
Parker turned his head and watched the girl's shocked reaction to his new look. He sighed. "Suzie. Hey."
"God, I can understand why you haven't called me back. What happened to you?"
Parker forced his aggravation at his current predicament down and brought out a cool, non-chalant expression. "You mean the nose? This guy was saying some really crude stuff about this girl I know. There was violence. I know it was stupid, but..." He shrugged and flashed a winning smile.
"What a horrible person." Suzie sat down next to Parker and grasped his arm. "You want me to come over tonight. I can, you know, tend to you."
Parker bit his lip. "Gosh, Suzie. I would really love to, but I've got this thing tonight and..." He stopped for a moment and gave her a lopsided grin. "You know what? Let's do it tomorrow. We'll hang then."
"You promise?"
"I promise," Parker said.
"Great! I'll be over around eight o'clock tomorrow, 'kay?" Suzie checked her watch. "Oh, crap. I'm going to be late for my floor meeting. Later!"
Parker watched her walk out and then turned back to Spence, who was shaking his head at him. "What?"
"Dude, you're going back for seconds?"
Parker shrugged. "Why not? It was pretty good the first time. Don't see why I shouldn't dip into that again. Besides, Suzie's got a good head on her shoulders. She knows it's just a little fun between two consenting adults."
"Okay, bro. We'll see."
"What's your problem?"
"Nothing, dude. Just watchin' your back." Spence sucked the air in through his nose. "Gee, I smell attachment."
Parker picked up his tray. "You smell your week-old underwear."
"Three days, bitch."
"Yeah, whatever. Look, I just want to blow off some steam here, that's all. I'll catch you..." His voice trailed off as he glimpsed a familiar figure framed by a slightly ajar doorway across the cafeteria. Parker looked away with deliberate movement. "Hey, Spence," he said, "you see something in that door over there?"
Spence looked. "Nope."
"Cool."
"There was a freaky dude there for a second, starin' at you, but he bolted."
"Dammit!" Parker muttered.
"Parker?"
"It's nothing," Parker said, walking away. "Just my imagination."
---
Parker woke up to the Barenaked Ladies singing about the one week before somebody would say they were sorry. He smacked his alarm and rolled out of bed. He looked at the time. Dammit. Half an hour until Psych discussion. He considered not going, since his TA Forrest had been so good about not restraining his friend the previous day, but Professor Walsh docked a full grade for each section missed. He'd just have to take it.
He winced as he pulled his shirt on, the fabric pressing against his injured nose. He threw on a pair of pants, his shoes, and then his watch. He'd have to shower later. He grabbed his backpack... except he didn't. It wasn't on his chair like it usually was. Parker thought back. He had it during Alternate Theories and at dinner.. He didn't have it coming home. He must have forgotten it in the cafeteria when he left in that bad mood. "Great," he said to nobody in particular.
Walking out the door, he hustled down the hallway and down the stairs. He'd just have to go look for his bag after discussion. He hit the commons and started a sort of half-jogging gait, trying to increase his speed without looking like a complete moron. He couldn't believe he just left his bag like that. If he'd only done his homework like a person who cared, he would've figured this out hours ago... No, he had to stop beating himself up. He'd get the bag back. It was probably in that Lost & Found bin behind the cashier stand.
He swept into the Natural Sciences building and down the stairs into his classroom. Forrest was leaning against the desk, arms crossed. "30 seconds, Parker, and I would've had to dock you."
"You wouldn't dock a man with an injury, would you?" Parker said breathlessly.
"If Professor Walsh says so, I jump right at it. You don't want to mess with that woman's rules. Sit your ass down so we can get started."
Parker took a desk to the back of the room and tried to listen as best as he could. Forrest's style was inclusive, but a little pompous. He had a way of lightly ridiculing students who answered him incorrectly... Actually, he had a way of lightly ridiculing people who answered correctly. In general, he was sarcastic, but never really mean. Some students couldn't take it and had dropped early in the semester, but Parker suspected that was Walsh as much as anything. He'd love to see that creepy kid show up to one of Walsh's lectures. That would show him...
"Parker," Forrest called out.
"What?" Parker asked.
"Answer the question. What are some of the key differences between Freud and Jung?"
"Uh..." Parker completely blanked.
"Check your notes, Parker. At least regurgitate something."
"I... can't," Parker said. "I don't have my bag with me."
"Coming to class unprepared," Forrest said. "See me after class. Ivy? What are some key differences between Freud and Jung?"
Parker ran a hand through his hair and looked up to see the creepy kid's face through the glass pane in the classroom door. The creepy kid saw that he was caught and smiled before skittling away. Parker lightly smacked his hand against the desk. That kid was definitely following him and he wasn't taking a lot of pains to hide it.
After Forrest dismissed the class, he called Parker to talk with him. "Abrams, man, coming to class unprepared? You know how Walsh feels about that. I should give you a zero for the day."
"I know, I know," Parker said.
"But I do have a heart and somebody needs to apologize for Finn. Probably should be me, since I'm the one who asked you about Buffy. So, I'm letting you off just this once, on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You don't talk about it. Don't chat with your friends about that favor Forrest did for you. Don't tell Mom. Just keep it to yourself. I'm taking a risk as it is. You got it?"
Parker put his hand over his heart. "Swear to God, nobody will hear about it."
"Not even your mom?"
"Not even my mother."
"Good. Now get gone," Forrest said with a small smile. "And, for future reference? Stay away from Finn."
"Trust me, I got the memo."
---
"I swear, dude, I didn't even see your bag there," Spence said, standing dumbly in the middle of the cafeteria.
"Why didn't you look for it?"
"I didn't know it was missing! What's your damage, Abrams? I mean, y'know, other than the nose."
"Ha. Very funny." Parker ground his teeth together. "Okay," he said, turning to the cashier on duty. "You say you were working late dinner last night. Was there a bookbag at that table when you came on shift?"
The short, muscular student nodded. "Yeah, I figgered somebody left it there, y'know. Freshman are doin' crap like that all the time. It's a total laugh riot. Anyway, some guy grabbed it up. Maybe I shoulda checked his ID."
"Wait," Parker said. "My bag was here and then you let somebody else take it?"
"Dunno if it was yours or whatever, but somebody came and took the one that was there."
Parker rubbed the corners of his eyes, careful to avoid touching his nose. "Dammit! Okay. This guy... Did you get a good look at him?"
"I guess," the cashier said. "He looked like a lot of the weird dudes 'round here."
"Well, I don't want to to tax your brain or anything, but was he wearing, say, a black hooded sweatshirt?"
"Yah, now that you mention it."
"I knew it! Thanks." Parker started walking away, then suddenly loosed a frustrated fist into the empty air. "God damn that creepy kid."
"Creepy kid?" Spence asked.
"That guy from last night. The one who's following me. I don't know what the hell he wants..."
"Aw, Abrams got a boy-friend," Spence chirped.
"Not. Funny."
---
"Images of Pop Culture" remained Parker's favorite class long after he'd realized that Reegert was even more of a tyrant than Walsh. If you just did the work, didn't fall asleep during the movies, and didn't make the mistake of showing up when you weren't enrolled, it was actually an easy 'A,' especially since Parker knew so much about pop culture.
The professor hadn't arrived yet, but that wasn't unusual. Reegert usually appeared at the last possible moment, sweeping into his latest lecture as he hustled in and dismissing the class as he hustled back out, leaving the TAs to fend for themselves. Parker took a seat in the very back row, pulled out the folding desk, and opened the recently purchased replacement writing tablet. He clicked the lead out of a new mechanical pencil and scrawled the date on the top sheet of paper.
The auditorium darkened and Professor Reegert walked in. "Good morning, class," he said, flipping on the digital projector. The first Powerpoint slide displayed the bold title "Jaws and the Age of Spectacle." Professor Reegert turned to the auditorium at large and began, gruff and forceful: "I'm sure enough of you are familiar enough with Jaws that I don't have to introduce it. If you haven't seen it, consider yourself fortunate - you have successfully avoided witnessing the downfall of American cinema. Rome might not have burned in a day, but the art inherent in our national filmmaking cinema was devoured in a summer. For the next two weeks of this course, we're going to look at how and, more importantly, why."
Parker dozed off after the second clip. The image of a smirking boy tugged at his semi-dream state. The kid sported sallow skin contrasted by a pitch black hooded sweartshirt. Parker shoved the image away, but it dodged his attempt, and strode forcefully to the fore of his unconscious mind. The more Parker pushed the mental interloper away, the more tenaciously the image clung. Parker struggled while the representation of the grinning geek started a complicated Jerome Robbins dance routine.
As he jolted from his dream-state, he heard a familiar conversation float over from his immediate left. He heard Reegert ask somebody if they needed help... and then he heard a heckling voice respond that he was only auditing the class. Parker looked over and saw the kid in full, grinning like a jackass a few yards away. There was a full row of seated students between them, but Parker stood up and pushed his way past each one, disrupting notebooks, overturning folding desks, and bruising his own thigh. The kid, however, saw him, smiled, and then bolted out of the auditorium. Parker vaulted over the last two students, but caught his foot on the aisle armrest, sending him crashing, cheek-first into the ground. The pain between his eyes increased, but he stood up and ran after the stalking dickhead.
He burst into the hallway in time to see the last of a black sweatshirt disappear around the far corner. Parker's feet pounded against the laminated tiles, his nose throbbing more intensely with each hard stride. He pulled around the corner and through the plate glass door immediately in front of him, raced outside... and into a gaggle of visiting high school students, knocking them over like bowling pins.
"Dammit!" Parker yelled, pushing himself off the ground. He looked down at one of the girls he sent tumbling. "Sorry about that. There's this guy, and..."
"Oh my god," she said. "What happened to your face?"
Parker brushed some dust off of his pants. "Wacky mishap. Be careful around maniacs with hammers." He offered her a hand up, which she took. "I'm really sorry about knocking all of you down."
The huffy-looking tour guide motioned to the students. "Okay, if we can get over the commotion? Next up, we have the Richard Wilkins Memorial Library, built with funds donated by the son of the first mayor of Sunnydale."
Parker smiled at the girl and then scanned the commons. Other than a few people studying on the grass and the kids he just knocked over, there was nobody - not a trace of whoever had been stalking him. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself.
Chapter 2a
The note taped to Parker's dormroom door was simple - "Old Sunnydale High Building. Room 47. 3:00 PM or else." Obviously, the geek had gotten bored. Parker ripped the message down and crumpled it up in his hand. He unlocked the door and shot the paper across the room to the wastebasket. It bounced off the rim and hit the floor.
Parker checked his watch. No way was he going to that meet. Old Sunnydale High was a bombed-out condemned building, unsafe for walking in, much less clandestine meetings. Besides, other than a little following, the geek hadn't done anything to prove he was any sort of threat. Parker dismissed the issue out of hand, except there was something about that note...
He picked up the ball of paper and smoothed it out. There was something familiar about it. He read the note a few times, but nothing came to mind. Then he flipped the sheet over, and started reading the list of women's names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses. The asshole had ripped this from his black book. Each entry had a check mark next to it. A little note at the bottom of the page said, "More to come."
Parker grabbed his phone and dialed the first number on the list. "Elsie? Hey. It's Parker. I..." There was a click and then a dial tone. Parker dialed the next number. "Hey Nicci. Parker. Have you..." Click. "Dorothy. Abrams. Did..." Click. He wasn't going to get any answers out of those girls.
"Fran! Hey. Don't hang up. It's Parker."
"Parker Abrams. How nice of you to call. I was just thinking about you."
"Hey, that's cool. Look, have you... Has anybody..."
"Hm?"
"Did some creepy kid get in contact with you?"
"No."
"Oh, good."
"But I did get a really interesting e-mail from you're, ah, 'friend' Ellen Ripley."
"Ellen... Ripley?" The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"Yes, she had some really illuminating things to say about you. Would you like to hear?"
"Not really. Just..."
"'Parker Abrams is a rat. He used me mercilessly, just like he's used other women. Somebody has to put an end to his womanizing ways. I met Parker one night in the cafeteria lunch line.'"
"Fran, it's not like that..."
"'He seemed like *such* a nice guy...' Do you want me to go on? Because, honestly, I could continue the story from that point myself."
"Fran, it's all been a huge misunderstanding."
"No," Fran said. "I understand. I understand in a big way. It was all a little fun. Well, I'm not having fun now, Parker, are you?" Click.
Parker slammed the phone back into the cradle. That little dweeb... He'd be there after all, if only to get his stuff back and show the geek who really held the cards here.
First, however, he really needed to get an icepack on his nose.
---
"There's an implicit understanding. It's mutual use. No, not like that. It's just... it's a contract. She can't get pissed off just because both ends of the bargain were held up." Parker jogged ahead and kicked a rock across the student commons.
Spence shook his head and hustled to catch up. "Dude, you're preaching to the choir. Choir knows half of what you're saying is BS, but they'll still sing a Hallelujah for you anyway." He took a swig of his chocolate milk. "Anyway, told you not to go for seconds."
"Fucking geek."
"Hey, not a geek here."
"I didn't mean you. That creepy kid. Um... Tucker something." Parker snapped his fingers. "Tucker Wells, that's it."
"Yeah, what's up with that kid, anyway?"
"I dunno. Hey, maybe he went to Sunnydale High. You remember him at all?"
"Nope, sorry dude. Sounds like the kinda kid that I'd avoid if I could."
Parker frowned. "Tell me about it."
"Hey, bet a dweeb like that still lives with his folks. Bet you could get him in a lot of trouble if they knew what their kid was up to."
Parker considered this for a second. "I don't know. Could work. I'm supposed to meet him later at Sunnydale High. I could pull his address and get his parents while he's waiting for me."
"'Course, they could be creepier than him," Spence said, grabbing a candy bar from his bag and unwrapping it.
Parker nodded to some voice inside his head. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna do that." He slapped Spence on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. I owe you." He bolted across the grass.
--
Parker hated looking at his reflection. Okay, so that wasn't really true. Usually, he loved to look at it. Ever since he was punched in the nose, however, the experience had been kinda jarring. He always had to take a second to realize that the freakish face looking back at him was, in fact, his own.
Right now, he was trying not to stare at himself in the window of the city bus. It was only a partial reflection, scant in the daylight hours, but it was enough to see how much the swelling and bruising had reshaped his face.
Although Parker wasn't typically a vengeful guy, he couldn't help but feel tendrils of rage squeezing at the muscles in his neck. Whether he'd been out of line with his remark about Buffy was beside the point - Riley Finn had no right to break his face.
He seethed for a moment, and then calmed. His Catholic upbringing told him that forgiveness was divine. His history classes taught him that the only worthy absolution was the one that came from the side that won -- everything else was a momentary diplomatic retreat. Just look at Germany.
Parker's pragmatism, a far more powerful force than either religion or history, reminded him that he had neither the drive to forgie or the means to do anything notable to either Finn or Summers. It was best just to stick to his own thing, hope nothing cropped up.
Nothing. Like the kid in the hoodie was nothing. Like his missing backpack was nothing.
Maybe the whole pragmatism thing wasn't working out so well.
--
The front door of the largish home opened, revealing a blonde, anemic-looking kid. "Um, hi?"
"Hi," Parker said. "I'm looking for the Wells residence?"
"What do you want?"
"Uh, just to talk to Tucker's parents."
"Oh. It's about Tucker. You know, I can cause trouble, too. I summoned... stuff. Did anybody even want to talk to my father?" He paused. "Well, I guess you kinda do. Please, enter The House of Wells. I'm Andrew."
"Thanks," Parker said, stepping over the threshhold.
"Dad's out of the dimens- out of town. Dad's out of town right now, so Aunt Sylvia's staying with us." Andrew dropped his voice conspiratorially. "My cousin Cyrus disappeared about a couple months ago and she keeps calling me by his name. It's kinda creepy. We don't look that much alike. I mean, my eyes are totally different than his."
"That really sucks about your cousin," Parker said, not caring very much.
"Oh, I'm not worried. It was obviously the government."
"The what?"
Andrew glanced around. "He... knew things. About the coming invasion. And there's these troops around. They seem to think they're hiding, but everybody's seen 'em."
"Uh-huh. Look, if you're Dad's not home, I'll talk to Tucker. I'd like to settle our differences."
"Yeah, that's cool. He's not here, though. Something about none of my business."
"I figured he'd be out."
"We can hang, though! I got a Playstation. We can play Tomb Raider."
"Ah gee... Andrew, right?" Andrew nodded. "Right, see, the thing is, I'm sure you're a great guy, but I really have to find your folks or Tucker. Maybe we'll hang later."
"Really?" Andrew stepped toward Parker, his eyes lit up.
Parker stumbled back a few inches. "Maybe. Right now, I've got to go. Classes. And then I'm meeting some people --"
"Oh. I get it. Fine."
"Parker smiled broadly, trying hard not to make it as fake as it really was. "I'll see you around." He hustled out the front door, looking out the corner of his eye to make sure he wasn't being followed. When he was assured of his escape, he turned forward -- and rammed his nose right into Tucker's forehead.
***
"Let me get you a fresh icepack, dear." Aunt Sylvia twittered out of the living room.
"No, really, I'm okay. This one's plenty fresh!" Parker said, wincing slightly. The slightest facial movement was excrutiatingly painful.
"Oh, well then," Sylvia's voice floated in from the kitchen. "Tucker, dearest, do you need a fresh icepack?"
"No..." Tucker sat in a natty green comfy chair, holding his current icepack against his forehead. "But I sure could use some cookies..."
"I'll start you up a batch, just hang tight!"
Parker shifted uncomfortably. Something was poking out from between the sofa cushions and pressing into the small of his back. He reached under and pulled out a small statuette of a beautiful woman with four arms and pointy teeth. He showed it to Tucker. "What the hell is this?"
"Oh, that's where that went." Tucker reached over and took it. "It's an idol of the Goddess Yeska. She doesn't really have four arms, though. It was Dad's, but he gave it to me after he turned 50. It's a traditional father-son thing, I guess."
Parker furrowed his brow, then unfurrowed it when the the pain came. "Ow. When you say she doesn't really have four arms, you mean there's really a Goddess... Yelksa?"
"Yeska. And there's a lot of things you don't know about, Abrams. Vampires, demons, anthropomorphs, magick. All these things are real and I need you to understand that before we start in on this."
"This? Okay, first thing, I don't even know what the hell 'this' is. Second, you've got me wrong. I'm not here to join up or whatever. I'm here to tell you to quit following me around."
"Oh, I know," Tucker said. "Andrew told me while you were passed out. And, uh, don't encourage him. The human race would be better off without him trying to interact with it."
"That's not true!" Andrew said, standing up from his hiding spot behind the couch.
"Oh, why don't you cry and threaten to run off to México?" Tucker mocked.
"Shut up! I haven't done that since I was ten!"
"Thirteen."
"Well, Mom and Dad only had you so they could sacrifice you! I was the keeper," Andrew said.
"Yeah, I can see why I'm around, then. Shove off, farkface. I'm having a conversation." Andrew stomped upstairs to his room. Tucker turned his attention back to Parker. "Sorry. Brothers."
"I wouldn't know."
"Where was I? Oh, yeah. The part where your reasons for being here aren't the ones you think. I've got something to show you."
"You're crazy," Parker said, sitting up. "You're crazy and I'm not looking at anything."
Tucker smiled slightly. "You're going to watch because of two things." He paused, as if waiting for some cue from Parker, who simply looked at him incredulously. Tucker sighed. "Okay, first - if you watch my little presentation, I'll return your bookbag with the contents unharmed. Second, if you're not interested, you'll never see me again." He stood up and grabbed his own backpack and headed for the main staircase.
Parker stood up. "Wait, you mean that you won't come to my classes, you won't call anybody I know, and you get within 50 yards of me?"
"I swear on my mother's grave."
Parker decided the price was worth it and followed Tucker upstairs.
--
Tucker's room was a hurricane aftermath of dirty laundry, magick books, figurines, and more spiralbound notebooks than Parker thought a human being needed. A shiny new Dell computer rested easily on the oversized desk in the corner. A twin bed bore flannel sheets that appeared to have been tormented into a giant wad in the middle of the mattress. Next to the disheveled bed sat an easel with the words "Buffy Summers: Public Enemy" printed on the top sheet.
"You got an easel for this?"
Tucker grimaced. "I would've had a markerboard but dweebezoid protects his crap like doomsday is coming. Which, given this town, wouldn't be too surprising."
"So, Wells." Parker sat down in the cozy desk chair. "Dazzle me."
"Okay, you've met Buffy Summers." Tucker flipped the page over to an enlargement of Buffy snarling. "Heh, you could say you really got to know her."
Parker smirked. "Yeah, you could say that."
"Right, well. You've experience her strength, too." Tucker turned to a long-distance photo of Parker being smashed over the head with Buffy's club.
"Hey, where'd you get that picture?"
"During reconaissance. I've been working on this project for three months now. I'm reaching the critical stage, which I need you for."
"What the hell is this plan and why are you so obsessed with Summers?
Tucker crossed his arms huffily. "You'd be obsessed, too, if you'd seen the things I've seen." He shoved the current sheet up and over, revealing various scenes of Buffy squaring off against weird guys with forehead issues and scaly monsters. "Buffy Summers is the Slayer. This means she's the mystically enhanced enforcement for a shadowy group of figures known only as the Watchers Council. Sometimes, as in Figure A, she's on our side, fighting vampires who are evil, nasty creatures. However, sometimes she's destroying demons - a benighn subset of the extra-dimensional populace who are just trying to make do on Earth. Note figures B and C.
"Worse, though, is that the Council occasionally uses her for assassination. Like the time she murdered Ted Buchanan, a brilliant computer scientist who came close to discovering their secrets." He handed Parker a loose sheaf of papers. "Those are all of Buffy's police reports, plus a print out of her high school permanent record. Note the constant fighting, pyromania, and the number of times she's been suspected of murder. They've had warrants out on her."
Parker looked over the documents. "Wow. How is it that she's never been taken to trial?"
"Council pulled some strings the first few times, but eventually they had to send in a patsy - Faith Lehane." Tucker skipped the easel presentation ahead a few sheets. "A second Slayer, which is unprecedented from what I can tell. Faith's already got a rap sheet and a bad attitude, so when Buffy murders the assistant mayor, the Council's Sunnydale liason Mr. Giles and his flunky Mr. Wyndham-Pryce are able to manipulate the facts. A warrant goes out for Faith's arrest."
"How do you know all of this stuff?"
"Some of its from books I borrowed from Dad, some of its recon work. A lot is just talking to the right demons. Any other questions? Maybe about the mystical, vampires, demons?"
"No questions because that parts insane."
"But it makes sense."
"Yeah, that's part of what's insane about it."
"Don't worry. Everything will be revealed in time. Anyway, back to Faith." Tucker smacked the easel for emphasis, causing it to tip. He grasped at it with clumsy hands, only barely managing to right it. "Ahem. Faith managed to save her own ass by allying with the powerful warlock Mayor Wilkins. "
"Hold on The mayor of Sunnydale was a warlock? This just gets weirder by the second."
"I know it's a bit of a stretch, but this is the town we live in. Wilkins was a warrior fighting in the name of Order. When Buffy put Faith in a coma, he went postal at graduation and summoned a gigantic demon snake to destroy her. Unfortunately, his instrument of revenge exploded when Wilkins was gutted by Buffy during the chaos."
Parker ran a hand through his hair. "This is... pretty heady stuff. She gets away with all of this?"
"Like I said. The Council. Also, she has a powerful witch on her little murder squad. There's another guy there who has no powers of his own, but follows Buffy because it's his own sick idea of fun."
Parker shifted in his seat. "So, how powerful is Summers anyway? You said something about 'mystically enhanced.'"
"Here." Tucker handed Parker a sheet with archaic lettering. "I worked up a D&D character to represent her. Look at the strength and stamina ratings."
"Wait, not way is she only a level 9 barbarian with these figures."
"You are talking 3.0 conversions, right?"
"No. I haven't played since it was still called Advan- Ever. Once. I played once. It, uh, sucked. I was trying to impress... You know, let's drop it."
Tucker smirked. "Anyway, you can see how dangerous she is. She has to be stopped."
"I'm starting to get that. She sounds crazier than I thought. And all this talk about angry puppies had to be a code word for something."
"Angry puppies?"
"Here's a question. Why me? It can't be the good looks."
Tucker wrinkled his nose. "Part of it might be. Here's the thing - I'm a genius. Like, off-the-charts smart. I'm good at planning, scheming, stuff like that. I can come up with Plan A and Plans B-Z, but I don't have two things. First, the ability to think on my feet. I can't improvise for shit. If I get into a situation I haven't planned for, I wanna know I'm covered."
"And the second thing?"
Tucker coughed. "Uh, communication skills. I'm okay with the geek population, but talking to the so-called in crowd? I've had some bad experiences."
"It takes some time."
"Actually, I don't really care. People are, for the most part, overrated. But it may come down that we'll need to navigate the social situation."
"I don't know, " Parker said, standing. "Summers freaks me out and you're a creepy creepy guy. No offense."
Tucker nodded. "None taken."
"This whole thing just seems out of my league."
Tucker snorted. "If we all waited for something that was in our league, you'd still be a virgin and I wouldn't know crap about demon summoning."
"Yeah, about that. If we're going to do this, and I can't believe I'm actually considering it , but if we are? I want to see some solid proof about magick and demons and everything. "
"The whole PCP, every day is Halloween in Sunnydale thing too thick of a smokescreen for you? Fine. Toss me that book at your feet." Tucker caught the tome and set it on the bed. He pushed the knot of sheets and blankets to the far corner of the mattress and climbed on top, settling into a cross-legged position. He flipped through the book until he found whatever page he needed, then looked up at Parker. "Whatever comes through the portal, I need you to touch it as soon as possible. Even if it looks like it'll take your hand off."
Parker arched an eyebrow.
"Just do it." Tucker sat up straight and began reciting weird foreign words from the book. After a few "oohramyoos," his head lolled. Then he bit his tongue hard, cutting it. He spat out the blood, which hit the air and seemed to tear it. A light crackled into existence, and then a second one, and then several. The tear widened to the size of a manhole. A shrill bark rented the air and a furless beast the size of a poodle jumped out from the hole in space. It looked at Parker and smiled, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
"Woah!" Parker yelled, stumbling against the desk.
"Touch it!" Tucker commanded him with a slight lisp.
"I'm NOT touching that."
"Dude, don't be a wuss. Touch the damn thing now!"
The beast leapt at Parker's throat , all four feet pointing nasty claws at him. Parker dodged and threw open Tucker's doorway. The beast took the invitation with pleasure and bounded down the stairs.
"I told you to touch the Grixnar." Tucker tossed the book aside and stood up. "It would've obeyed your every command if you'd just touched it in the first thirty seconds."
A high-pitched scream pierced their eardrums. "Your Aunt Sylvia..." Parker said, his face ashen.
"Naw, that was Andrew." Another scream in a slightly lower register burst from downstairs. "That was Aunt Sylvia. C'mon." Tucker grabbed the book and headed downstairs. Parker followed, not quite sure what else to do.
They found the panicked Andrew and Sylvia in the kitchen, both standing on top of the counter. Andrew swang a broom wildly, knocking back the beast's leaping assaults.
"Provisum exertus," Tucker read aloud from the book. A muffled "pop" came from where the Grixnar had been.
Andrew continued to swing. "Is it gone?"
"Yes, numbnuts."
"Are you sure?"
"Can you see it?"
"The last time you said something was gone, you just made it invisible," Andrew whined. "I frothed at the mouth for hours. Stupid demon poison."
"It's not invisible, Andrew. It's gone. Disappeared. It is no more."
Aunt Sylvia stepped down from the counter. "Tucker, what has your father told you about summoning in the house?"
"If he hadn't taken away the house where I was training, I wouldn't have to summon here."
"Well, whose fault is that?"
Parker raised his hand. "Uh, excuse me. You know about this? That was for real?"
Aunt Sylvia rolled her eyes. "You brought a newbie into the house? What am I going to do with... Parker, right?" She spoke very slowly, as if talking to a child." Magick is real. Demons are real. Their father's a warlock. Do - you - understand?"
"Yeah. It's cool." Parker sank to the floor. "It's really... great. Did it just get cold in here?"
"Great. Go into shock." Tucker sighed. "Andrew, get him a blanket. Parker, don't puke on the carpet or Dad will kill me.
