RATING : PG

SPOILERS : general Buffy

DISCLAIMER : I do not own any characters or actions in this except all originatily pertaining to Katherine. She is mine.

NOTES : This is the first fiction I ever wrote.

PART 1

“Things happen in life that we can never imagine. In one minute, your life can change dramatically. It can end, and in that same amount of time, it can begin again. I’m getting slightly ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

My name: Katherine Sarah Parker. A fine British name, for an ‘unclean’ British girl. My mother always said that demons had me from the start, she never knew it, but she would eventually be right. I was born on July 15, 1725 in London. A beautiful summer morning. The sun and moon ruled my life. You see, I was not an ordinary child, I was a child of Satan, according to my mother.

According to my grandmother, for whom I’d received my middle name, I was blessed with the gift. The gift being that I was a witch. Now, as a common misconception, let’s clear a few things up. Not all witches are evil, some are good, and I was one of those. The craft was something that had been a part of my fathers family for generations. They were a more earthly family, following the earth’s patterns and the celestial calendar. My father had been the first in his family to disown this ‘religion’ as he often called it.

When it came to pass that I had the gift, I began spending more time with my grandmother Sarah. She took to teaching me how to control my powers. How to control the elements and how to cast spells. She showed me how make flowers bloom, and how to move objects and separate light… everything that we could do, we did. The magic was always a part of me, a greater power, one that had control over my life, even in death.

Time moved on, as it has a tendency to do, and I grew up. When I was 17, my grandmother died, and a little magic died with her. I stopped doing it for a while, swore it off, because I believed that the God and Goddess had taken her from me. I was mad, probably more mad at myself, because I had tried to save her. I wanted her to live forever, at the time, I knew not what I wished for.

I went back to live at home shortly thereafter. I tried being the good daughter, despite my father’s backhand, and the bruises that accompanied it. It was on my eighteenth birthday, that I was wandering around the fields behind our house, that I saw him. He was two years my senior, but was hard at work building a new house. I could tell he was not of my station, he was lower, but I fell in love. I had to sneak around to see him, because I was forbidden to marry. My father said that the curse of our family would stop with me.

One night, my love and I decided to spend the night at his house. We began making love, when my father crashed through the door and dragged me off. He’d found out at the local pub that I had been seen with this farmer a lot. My father took me back to our house where he told me that I was forbidden to leave the house. He said that if I wanted to know what it felt like, he would show, and he did. I screamed the whole time, trying to find the magic that had been lost to me.

The next morning, I ran off, to my grandmother’s old house. I remained there for three months practicing my craft, during which time my older brother brought me food and clothes. Patrick urged me to go home and to apologize, but I would not listen, and he knew he couldn’t control me. I refused to let my father hurt me anymore, unfortunately I had something else to worry about. I was pregnant, with my brother. It was obvious to Patrick who told my parents. My mother cast me aside for tempting my father with my wicked ways. My father said the child would be destroyed as soon as it came. As much as this child was a painful memory of a horrible night, it was a baby who didn’t deserve this. I used my powers that night to shut my parents out of our lives.

Nine months later, and two weeks after my twentieth birthday, I gave birth to my son, Jonathan. We were two peas in a pod. I loved him. He was not a bad memory, he was the grandson of my grandmother Sarah. I could feel her watching over us. I used the magic to grow food and take care of Jonathan. All was well. I stayed in my grandmother’s house and my parents kept their distance. Patrick came every once in a while to see me and check in.

One afternoon, when Jonathan was five, Patrick came to tell me he had fallen in love. He said her name was Darla and she was upper class and beautiful. He had met her last night and they were going to meet again tonight. He said that he could sense she was different from all the other girls. I was jealous. I should have been happy for him. I know that now, I will forever, but at the time we had fight. He stormed out of the house. He was yelling that it was my fault that mother had died earlier that year. He said that I had put a curse on her and that I would do the same to his girl too. I told him that our mother wasn’t worth the effort of any curse and that she could rot in hell. The fight was bad and it drove him to her, someone he could not protect himself from. The next day, we buried my brother. And the next night, my life changed.

I remember that night as clearly as I do yesterday. I was downstairs, I had just put Jonathan to bed. I was looking at the picture I had drawn of him. A friend of mine was an artist and had drawn some portraits of us for me. He was so beautiful. He was the light in my life. He had given me the strength and courage to stand up for myself. He gave me my magic back, my faith, my connection to my grandmother. He made me feel alive. I was sewing a blanket for him when I heard his muddled scream.

I ran upstairs to find my brother leaning over my son. I screamed for Patrick to get away from him, but when Patrick turned around, it wasn’t him. I didn’t know what it was then, but I know now, he was a vampire. A heartless killing machine designed to hurt everyone. Patrick bolted out the window from where he’d came. I ran to my son and cradled him in my arms. He was sobbing. He asked me why I had not protected him like I promised. I was crying. My son was dying.

His little heart stopped beating and the next day I buried my son.

Why hadn’t I stopped him? What could I have done? How could I have known? These questions have plagued me for over a century. Again, I’m getting ahead of myself. I know, but you already know how it ends.

After the funeral my father came to me and told me he knew what it was like to bury a son. He said that we could comfort each other. I hit him and told him to get away. I began walking. I walked into the field, where I had seen when I saw my love for the first time. I walked through my memories, I walked through the sunset. I walked through the night, unaware to whom I was walking towards.

I came across a clearing in the woods. I saw a blond woman, clearly upper class. I asked her if she was lost. Her voice was but a whisper, her skin as pale as the moonlight. I will never erase the events that transpired that night from my memory. I will never escape.

She told me she knew my brother and I told her my brother was dead and she should run from him if she saw him. She told me she had a present for me. She said I could be reunited with my son, with my family. She said she could show me things I’d never imagined. I turned to walk away. She grabbed me and I felt a sharp sensation on my neck and I fell to the ground. I was dying, as my son had.

Through the haziness of death, I had my first taste of my lifeline. It stung at first, but I couldn’t get enough. The next thing I remember is listening to my father thank all the guests for coming. I heard hearts racing, on fire. Blood coursing through their veins and I knew what I had to do. The sounds disappeared and I began my descent up through the darkness, pressing on. My skin was cool and as I reached the top, it was tingling. I was hungry. As I got up, she was there, as was my brother. She said she knew birth was exhausting and that I needed nourishment. And I began my descent into hell.

Death. The worst thing to feel, other than loneliness. The feeling of your heart giving out. The moment in which you know that you are about to die seems to last forever. Then, when you realize what you are, you wish it had. I’ve been a vampire now for 250 years. I’ve been a witch for 275. My story just begins here. Who knows how it will end? Was I destined to come here? To meet you? Were we destined to love the same man? I don’t know. Who can?”

PART 2

“Know, don’t get all worried. I mean you no harm. Well, I would have at once. There was a time when all I could do was hurt. I loved it. Killing became like breathing to me, automatic. It’s scary how quickly you catch on. I remember my first kill was not that at all really.

She introduced herself, a name I am sure you are familiar with, as Darla. She said I knew what I had to do. I knew as well. I knew how to kill people, and I knew how they could kill me. Inborn knowledge the demon carries from host to host. It’s a disease. A virus. It gets in your blood and takes you over. It killed my son.

I was a rare vampire right from the start I suppose. I felt the need to kill and feed, but I also still mourned for my son. I cursed the demon for taking him, my father for causing the argument that led to his demise. I blamed my brother for killing him. My brother had to die. That night, I picked up a stick and threw it at his heart. I watched him turn to dust. I turned to her and said she’d better leave me alone or I’d do the same to her. She left. She hadn’t known about my magic.

It was some two centuries later that I found the extent of her damage. How many siblings she’d created for me, how many she’d created for herself. It was with a happy heart that I learned of her demise at the hands of my love, of ours.

I was alone. Stranded in the cemetery, surrounded by shadows of my past. Haunted by my future. Blood thirsty. I wanted revenge. I needed to punish the people who’d hurt me. The night was young, and I was in need of comfort. I went to my house and peered in the window. My father was inside packing up my things. It was my house and I went inside the same window my brother had used to escape.

I heard my father ask who was there and I remember his look of terror as I showed myself. Someone once said, family blood is the sweetest there is. As I stopped my father’s heart from beating, I knew I had made him pay for hurting me the way he had. I left and went to my father’s house. He had safe there and I took the money, it was mine. I went from house to house in the village, killing all who, like my mother, had shunned me. They cast me away. The children were left orphans, I could not kill a child. I could not kill a mother. This I found from the start. There was still some humanity. I still had the magic and with it came the humanity. The magic was too strong for the demon to take control over.

My powers were lessen as I no longer had the option of baking in the sun. I would never see another ray of light on my skin. This sadden me even more. I missed my son. I was angry at men, they had taken him from me. Every man I saw became my father and brother who had deprived me of so much. News spread of an evil killer in England, so I left. I went to Ireland, France, Spain, Italy, Greece, anywhere I could run. Killing as I went. Trying to escape the pain inside. I guess you could say I was cursed. Cursed to feel the pain of my son’s death, knowing I caused it. Knowing I would never escape the eternal torture of my soul, a part of myself I could not escape.

I went around killing, making people hurt like I had. We’ve heard of the great vampires, Angelus, with the face of an angel, William the Bloody who loves torturing people with railroad spikes, my own ‘sire’ Darla… all of them, each with his or her own pain. Vampires of the past still haunt us today, each with their own blind torment. Mine was the pictures of my son. The magic was powerful, like I said. It kept some humanity inside, little but some, guilt mainly. My own guilt, but the reality of it did not strike me until about 125 years of spreading death and the disease that plagued me.

I liked sitting in the dark. The sun had been lost to me for so long that I couldn’t even remember what it felt like. My skin was so cold, my fingers numb, begging for heat, begging to be human again, begging to die. I wanted to be with my son, where ever he was. I had been held up in the sewers of a young New York City. I had thought at one time, that America would offer the new blood I was craving, and the escape that came with it, but it did not. I was sitting in my darkness, I had been for days. I was starving myself. I thought I would just wait for death to come and take me once more. Could a vampire starve? I wanted to know the answer, so I waited. I had been waiting for sometime. I could feel the hunger, hear the hearts racing about the streets about. Blood rushing through their veins, like water down a mountain. I could pick out a jogger from a walker, a woman from a man, old man from young… these are the things you learn. Things no one likes to talk about, secrets of the trade, secrets of the hunt, things that cause me great pain now.

I sat for I don’t know how long. I do know that the craving took me over, the thirst, the need. It was ripping into my skin, calling to me, the songs above were calling to me, begging me, whispering me. I stood up, my will power to die was lost. The demon was winning and I went above. I was dizzy, I hadn’t seen any light in weeks I think, the streetlamps made me flinch. I saw out of the corner of my eye, my father. A second look told me it wasn’t him, but this man would do perfectly. I followed him, weaving in and out of other pedestrians, I watched and follow. I smiled, he would know his death soon. He went into a bar, and I did too. I sat beside him and smiled, we ordered a few drinks and talked for a couple minutes. I said I wanted to go home with him. He was begging for me to go, his veins were pulsing, calling for me.

We left and he lived across the street so we went. I followed him into the kitchen and I had a snack. His heart was just about to give, when I heard a small coo behind me, more food. The alcohol was doing it’s dirty work with me and I leaped across the room and grabbed the source of the sound and bit down hard. It was through my haziness that I realized it was a child. I let go and looked down at his limp body.

I don’t know what happened in that moment. Something took over my body, a rush of pain surged through me and I fell to the ground and screamed, and darkness took over my mind.

The next thing I can remember is waking up, in the dark, the same place in the sewers I had been. Whether the events of that night are a dream or reality, I know not. I awoke with a lust for the red liquid I crave. A hunger that I couldn’t quite set aside. I went above, it was night luckily, my only friend in the vast sea of my loneliness. I saw a young man, a woman, an older man, so many people. But I walked past them, into a dark alley where there was an old tabby cat, crying, dying. I helped it along.”

PART 3

“Memories haunt me. Faces of those that died at my hands, the faces of those who didn’t, faces of the children finding their father’s dead, the last time I ever saw my face, before the funeral. So many things I miss about humanity, things you take for granted. A vampire is a shadow of a person that once was, I am a shadow. A non-existent thing that is seen in darkness. There is no way you could possibly understand how lonely that is.

It was 1875 and I was in New York City. Factories were starting to be built, cars were a dream and women couldn’t vote, and I couldn’t kill another person. I couldn’t escape the faces, I couldn’t shake the pain, the loneliness, the realization that I was a lonely shadow of what I had been. The only thing that I had was the magic, or rather, it had me. It was my companion, it and the portraits of my son. I wandered the streets for 25 years, a shadow, lurking in the dark abyss of regret. Suppressing the craving with animals, creatures as lonely as I.

Around 1900, 150 years after climbing up through six feet of dirt, I got smart. Actually I had it given to me, intelligence. I was in a bar drowning the sorrows of my former self, when I met a girl. Her name was Sarah, like my middle name, like my grandmother. She sat next to me and spoke. I will never forget what she said. She spoke so softly, but from the heart. She said, ‘You come here and sit among the people, but you don’t fit, but you can. You can belong, if you believe in yourself and put your faith in yourself. There is a plan for everyone, even one as pale as you. Take charge of your life.’

She knew what I was. I went to her apartment with her that night and slept. In the morning she had some pigs blood for me. I drank while she explained how she had learned of me. She said she was born 25 years ago and that her mother had died when she was five. Sarah had lived with her grandmother, like I had, and her grandmother had taught her the art of magic. Sarah had a gift, a gift of vision, she could read peoples emotions, thoughts, she could get into someone’s mind. She too felt she didn’t fit, but she had made a place for herself.

Sadly, Sarah died in 1920, when she was 45. I lived with her and we practiced magic together. She taught me how to be a person again. She listened to my stories of my son, and she shared hers with me. His name was Jason. He was 19 when she died and he became a very successful business man. He got involved in the stock market and made a killing. He died in  August 1988, he was 87. I was his aunt, I suppose, like a second mother. He left me his money and his house, it totaled about ten million dollars. I always promised Sarah I would take care of him, but it was he that took care of me.

When she died, I left my first name behind, it brought back memories of what I used to do. I was called ‘Kat,’ my calling card were scratch marks all over my victims bodies. I hated that name, so I left it behind. I was Sarah now. I have been ever since.

I’m sorry, this is taking so long, but really, you need to see this, to know why I’m here. I will skip ahead a little bit. Let’s take fifty years, from 1920 to around 1970, I kept in contact with Jason, who never married or had children of his own. I went to Chicago, while he remained in New York. I roamed the fields by night and stayed in the shadows by day. I was searching for more of myself. I knew it was out there, Sarah had told me so. She said there was more for me than darkness. I believed her, I had to.

I helped people as I went. A girl being attacked in an alley way was an excuse to beat some creep up. I also found other demons that were up to no good, saving people, thinking that if I saved them, I was someone more one of them. This didn’t work. There was only one thing that could make me feel like a human, truly like a human: heat.”

PART 4

“It was in 1996 in a museum in Reno that I read about the ‘boca del inferno.’ I’d long heard stories about a place where evil is born. I found it in Sunnydale, California, so I packed up and went. It took sometime to get there, but once there, I found a place to stay. I decided to go shopping one day in a department store. I was looking at shoes when the doors at the top of the stairs flung open and in walked evil. I didn’t even have to look for it. Funny thing about Sunnydale, evil just finds you.

A blue demon walked in, later research told me it was the Judge. He was accompanied by several other ‘men,’ who I can only guess were vampires, who secured the area. To the right of the Judge was a beautiful dark haired woman. She was pale, a vampire, a gorgeous one. On the other side of the Judge is where I found my heat.

I stared into his eyes. The kind of stare that isn’t given back, but where you can just about imagine what a full stare would be like. His eyes were so intense, with anger and agony and confusion. I felt like I was looking into myself. I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like, because I only remember his eyes. A  couple seconds later, he jumped off the stairs and the Judge was blown to bits. I didn’t see him again for two years. I hung out in Sunnydale and learned of the presence of a slayer, not exactly someone I could be friends with. I took off, to Los Angeles.

Those eyes haunted me everyday. I understood them. I was in love with them. Stupid, I know, loving someone who doesn’t even know who you are. How would I go about explaining that a dinner date was out of the question, as they didn’t serve pigs blood in most restaurants? It didn’t matter. One more thing that could haunt me for my immortal life. Or would it?

Of course you know I met him again, we are here, aren’t we? Kills the suspense a little I’m sure. Anyway, I was in LA, as I said. I was in a bar, trying to find evil, when I started talking with this girl. She was beautiful, still is, she introduced herself as Cordelia. We chatted for a while and danced and drank. That night I walked her home. She asked if I wanted to come in for coffee and I did. We became friendly and got together a couple more times. She told me abut her dreams of being an actress and that she worked in a detective agency. I told her fleeting details of my overly long life.

One day, she asked if I wanted to meet her at her work and we would go to lunch. I told her I usually didn’t eat much but I would sit with her. I crept to the address in the shadows. The door had bold lettering, ‘Angel Investigations.’ Catchy title, and I walked in. Cordy was there and she said she just had a few things to check with her boss. She said he’d be up in a few minutes. She proceeded to tell me that he usually slept late. Just then the elevator door opened and he stepped out. I looked up, and met those eyes once more.

I was stunned, she introduced me to him, Angel. I could barely talk, but managed to spit out my name. His eyes were different, softer, not as wild, but just as filled with agony and pain. I knew that pain, the pain of a past. I wondered what he had to hide, I wondered how to tell him I loved him.”

PART 5

“It’s torture: loving someone who cares about you. Being so in love with them that you’d give your life for them, that you’d give  up the most important parts of yourself to save them. I felt that way. Everyday I looked into his eyes, I wished I could give up my magic just to be with him. To feel him close to me, but it was a dream. Something that couldn’t happen, but did.

One night, we had been out drinking, one of the rare nights we convinced him to come out with us. We were celebrating friendship, and the fact that we’d kicked this bad ass demons butt. We had too much to drink. We walked Cordelia home and then walked to the office. He invited me in for a minute and I went. I knew I shouldn’t, but I went to him and kissed him. He backed away and I looked into his eyes once more. I moved closer to him and kissed him deeper this time, and after a minute he kissed me back. I don’t know if I willed it to happen, or if he wanted it to happen, but I felt heat for the first time in 250 years. His skin was cooler than most peoples, but I felt warm. I felt my Angel inside me. It was the most exhilarating moment of my 250 years, more so than even my finest kill. I felt alive inside. I felt like a person, like I had when my son was born, normal. I wanted that to last forever, but it didn’t. After we made love, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, I looked around, he wasn’t in the bedroom. I got up and threw my shirt on. He was in the kitchen sitting at the table. He stood up and proceeded to tell me that shouldn’t have happened. He said that it was too dangerous and that it would never happen again. I asked him why and he said that he had a secret that he hadn’t told me. I said everyone has a secret, but none could be as bad as mine. He said he doubted it. I went to him and he pushed me away and told me to leave. I said that I loved him and that I had ever since the first time I saw him. He said I couldn’t love someone I didn’t know. I told him I did know him. He looked at me and said that I didn’t, that I couldn’t. I said, ‘what secret could be so bad that would change how I see you?’ He looked at me and said, ‘this one.’

I remember exactly what I saw just then. I saw his face change, it took me by surprise, but then I realized, he was a vampire as well. I walked over and kissed him, felt his fangs on my mouth. He pushed me away and screamed, ‘HOW CAN YOU DO THAT? LOOK AT ME!’ I said that I was looking at him and I knew what I was looking at. He asked again how I could kiss a vampire, and I said, ‘because I’m a vampire too.’

He looked at me and bolted up the stairs. I left alone, this was not his biggest secret. He doesn’t love me, he can’t. I knew it. He loves someone else. I wondered who she was, where she was, if she was dead, if he had killed her, why he hadn’t tried to bite me, why he helped people. So many questions left unanswered.

He didn’t come to the office for a couple days. I decided it was best if I just left. I went to tell Cordelia that one afternoon, I told her to just tell Angel, I said ‘catch ya later.’ Just then the door to his office opened and he said, ‘aren’t you gonna tell me that yourself?’ I went into his office and we sat, silent for what seemed like forever.

It was he that broke the silence and created another gap. He said, ‘I am in love with a slayer.’ I didn’t quite know what to say. I let it soak in for a few minutes and then he continued, ‘Her name is Buffy. I met her a few years ago, in Sunnydale. I fell in love with her. I guess more importantly than that is that fact that I am cursed.’ My only response was, ‘huh?’ He proceeded to tell me the story, that you already know. Cursed by gypsies to be forever unhappy, not a very nice curse, but that’s why they call it a curse and not a present.

He told me about when he was evil again and why it was dangerous, what happened between us. He said he still couldn’t explain it, maybe just because he didn’t love me, so he wasn’t truly happy. We talked into the night and I told him my story, about Jonathan and my brother. I told him about Sarah and Jason and what I had been doing since the night I cursed myself, I guess you could call it that.

I paid the price. I had been wishing for my humanity, to feel like I had, and now I did. My heart broke when I realized how deep his love for the slayer, for you, is. I couldn’t punish myself like that, couldn’t sit around and love someone who couldn’t love me back.”

PART 6

“I have loved a limited number of people in my lifetime. My son, my friend and her child and Angel. There were other guys, but they were all the demons obsession, not mine. I don’t know what happens next. I came here to try and move on. Why I would come here of all places, I have no clue. Maybe because I feel a connection with you, we both love the same man and we can’t have him because of the same reason, he loves you. I’m not here to kill you or to exact revenge, I’m just here to… I don’t know… to fight evil I suppose… to help…”

“I know why you’re here.” She was pretty, no getting around that. I met Buffy Summers in the cemetery, I mean, if you’re looking for a slayer, go somewhere where there’s something to slay.

“Why?”

“Because we have something in common. You’re welcome to stay and fight, we could always use another witch.” She was so friendly.

“Thanks.”

That evening, I walked the shadows once more. I felt a little more in place, although the only place I would ever feel home was in Angel’s arms. Who knows, maybe Angel was to open me up for love and maybe my love is elsewhere. I don’t know. Is there another vampire love for me? Is there something bigger out there? Was it possible that the part of myself Sarah had told me about was still out there? I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I am ready for it.

~El Fin~