Resurrecting Ravana

by Ray Garton

  The receiver clattered back in its cradle and Phyllis groaned. She didn’t move for about a minute, then stood. She muttered to herself under her breath as she went into the bathroom. The shower door snapped open and she turned on the shower.

  Buffy and Willow turned to each other instantly, smiled, and nodded.

  Phyllis came out of the bathroom and undressed at the foot of the bed, tossing her clothes onto all the others scattered over the bed, fat, big-toed feet moving back and forth. When she went back into the bathroom, she absently swung the door closed behind her, but not hard enough; the door stopped about an inch short of closing. The shower door opened again . . . and a moment later, it closed again. There was a change in the sound of the shower’s stream as Phyllis stepped under it.

  “Okay, she’s in,” Buffy whispered as she crawled forward. Willow moved beside her. Once on their feet, they ran before they were standing up straight. Buffy opened the door slowly, careful not to make a sound; she pulled the door closed once they were both outside.

  “That was close,” Willow said as they went down the stairs. “Too close.”

  Buffy laughed.

  Enough adrenaline was still pumping through the two that they hardly noticed the rain at all, and walked through it without a blink.

  “Who do you think she called?” Willow asked.

  Buffy replied, “I don’t know, but it’s someone she trusts, someone back home in Washington. Someone who knew she’d taken the Indian pieces from her grandfather’s collection.”

  “It sounded like he used something supernatural to find out where she was once he realized she’d run off with his stuff.”

  “Yep. Giles says he’s an expert. And it worked, too, because he headed for Sunnydale. He’s here in town somewhere, or will be soon.”

  “You think a guy that old travels well?”

  “A guy that rich does, no matter how old he is.”

  The got into the van and Buffy closed the door, thinking about the limo she’d seen. Bingo!

  “What’d you do?” Oz asked. “Order pay-per-view?”

  “We got held up,” Buffy said.

  “Yeah,” Willow said excitedly, smiling. “She showed up while we were going through her stuff, and we had to hide under the bed. It was total Mission: Impossible.”

  “Better than the movie,” Buffy said.

  “Are you upset because we kept you away from school?” Willow asked Oz. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  Oz started the van and drove away from the curb. “I’d like to be ready for exams, just in case we all survive.”

  “Then take us back to school, Jeeves,” Willow said. “And make it snappy.”

  * * *

  Giles sat at the desk in his office listening to Buffy, while Willow stood beside her silently. He spent most of his time with his face in his hands. The more he listened and learned how much information she had gathered, the more certain he was that he would not get angry, even though she had done something he’d specifically told her not to do.

  “I can’t believe you went through her things, Buffy,” he said.

  “How could I not?” she asked, spreading her arms wide. “I mean, look at all I found out. This Lloyd guy? He wooed this homely woman — who might even be suffering from some kind of mental illness, I’m not sure — and he got her to care for and trust him enough to steal her grandfather’s collection of Hindu art and run away with him. And according to those letters, he told her he wanted to do it so that collection could be exhibited in a gallery where people could appreciate it and enjoy it, instead of being packed away in some storeroom. At least, that’s what he told her. And now that he’s hidden away with that statuette, now that he’s started the summoning, I think he’s gotten tired of Phyllis. I think he’s beating her. She had a black eye the first time I saw her and when Mom asked her about it, she got really nervous. And today, she was limping. Look, what I’m saying, Giles, is she might be in danger. If this Lloyd dude succeeds in calling up Ravana before we can stop him, then we’re all up the creek. But if something goes wrong, he might take it out on Phyllis.”

  Giles shook his head slowly, took in a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh. If she weren’t a Slayer, he thought, she could be a detective.

  “She may be weird,” Willow chimed in, “but she’s also pretty sad. She doesn’t deserve that. Nobody does.”

  “How did you get into the room?” he asked.

  Buffy and Willow glanced at one another.

  “Oh, um . . . that. We, um . . . we managed. And we didn’t have to break anything, either.”

  He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Buffy —”

  “Okay, we . . . we kind of, um, picked the lock.”

  “Yeah,” Willow said, nodding. “We picked it.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh, and Benson Lovecraft is probably somewhere in Sunnydale right now. Or at least on his way.”

  Giles’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

  “The rumors are true. He’s still alive. He found out she took the —”

  “Are you quite serious?”

  Buffy nodded. “Yes.”

  “That . . . that is extraordinary!”

  “Yeah. Anyway, he found out Phyllis took his collection of Hindu art, and apparently, he left Washington to come looking for her.”

  Giles said, “I’m not sure I want to know how you learned that.”

  “We overheard a telephone conversation while we were hiding under the bed.”

  “Hiding under the bed?” He looked at her, appalled. “You mean, you were in the room with her? Hiding?”

  “She didn’t see us. Didn’t even suspect we were there. And as soon as she got in the shower, we got out of there.”

  Giles stood, walked around in a U-turn, and faced her. “That’s not the point, Buffy . . . Willow. Do you realize the kind of trouble you were flirting with? We can’t afford that. Mistakes are far too easy to make when you’re prowling through someone’s personal belongings like a common cat burglar. Let alone if you’d been caught. How would you explain —”

  “She didn’t even have a cat,” Buffy said. She didn’t give Giles a chance to continue. “Look, Giles, waiting until after school today to go talk to Phyllis Lovecraft? Bad idea. I think we should go right now. She’s upset, crying . . . I think she might be on the verge of turning on Lloyd, especially now that she knows her grandfather is coming. If we go now and you talk to her, you might be able to get something out of her. Like where that statuette is. But if you wait, Lloyd might get to her again and sweet-talk her some more.”

  “I’m having serious thoughts about this Lloyd fellow. He’s probably —”

  “There’ve been more murders.”

  Giles stared at her a moment, stroked his chin. “Plural?”

  Buffy nodded. “Just heard it on the radio on the way in. At the Sunnydale police station. Several cops went nuts and started shooting each other. There are a dozen dead, and the shooters have disappeared.”

  Giles sighed and stood up. “I’ll ask Mrs. Tucker from the front office to come in and mind the library for a little while.”

  Buffy smiled. “That’s a major idea, Giles.”

  He turned to Willow. “We need something to destroy that statuette and its contents. Have you —”

  Willow grinned. “Are you kidding?” She grabbed for her bag — which Buffy knew sometimes doubled as a spell kit.

  “There are a couple books on my desk. I’ve marked a few places in them and made some notes. Look over them and add any suggestions you think are relevant. But don’t actually go through with anything until I return. I won’t be long.”

  “You got it, Chief,” Willow said. She went behind the desk to the office.

  “You mean we won’t be long,” Buffy corrected.

  “No, Buffy, you’ll be staying here,” he said. “You’ve done enough right now.” He tried to look stern.

  “But you don’t know where to find Ph
yllis Lovecraft.” She wore a self-satisfied smile.

  “She’s at the . . .” He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them and smiled. “The Rocking R Motel.”

  “And her room number?”

  “I don’t remember the room. What’s the number?”

  “Uh-uh. Not gonna tell.”

  Another sigh as Giles lowered his head and massaged a temple. He stood again, reached into his pocket, and handed her his keys. “Go wait for me in my car. I’ll be there as soon as I talk to Mrs. Tucker.”

  “Buffy,” Willow said from the office doorway. “We’ll do some concentrated, industrial-strength studying together once this is over. Right?”

  “You’re the best, Will,” Buffy said over her shoulder as she hurried out of the library. She left her umbrella behind again.

  In the parking lot, she jogged through the rain to Giles’s car and unlocked the door. Before getting in, she stopped to watch an ambulance drive into the school parking lot, followed by two police cars.

  “Uh-oh,” Buffy muttered. She got into the car.

  When Giles arrived, he slid behind the wheel.

  “What’s happening?” Buffy asked.

  “Apparently, the janitor stabbed a sales rep from a cleaning supplies company to death,” he replied, a pained expression on his face.

  “Do you think it was Rakshasa? Or do you think he was just tired of the salesman?”

  “The janitor has disappeared.”

  “Ah. Rakshasa.”

  After giving Giles Phyllis’s room number, Buffy walked a step behind him as they went to the door of Phyllis Lovecraft’s motel room. She hoped to keep Phyllis from recognizing her from their one brief meeting at Buffy’s home.

  Giles knocked on the floor.

  “Lloyd?” Phyllis called inside.

  Giles glanced at Buffy, then knocked again.

  A moment later, the door opened and Phyllis faced them in a light blue terrycloth robe in need of washing and enormous furry pink slippers. The bruise beneath her eye was still there, but had grown smaller, lighter. She looked at them cautiously, paying more attention to Giles, and asked, “What do you want?”

  “Miss Lovecraft?” Giles asked.

  “That depends. Who are you?”

  He smiled. “My name is Rupert Giles. I’m quite an admirer of your grandfather’s work.”

  Phyllis’s eyes darkened as she took a step back and closed the door, leaving only an opening of a foot or so. “You work for my grandfather?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. I’ve come to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

  She eyed them suspiciously for a long moment, then stood back and opened the door. As they walked in, she looked at Buffy and said, “I recognize you. You’re the gallery woman’s daughter.”

  Buffy smiled, but it was an effort. “Nice to see you again.”

  The bed had been cleaned off, and the rest of the room wasn’t quite as messy as it had been when Buffy and Willow were there.

  “But I don’t know you,” Phyllis said to Giles. After closing the door, she walked past them, deeper into the room. She was still favoring her right leg.

  “Well, I am a librarian. I have quite a collection of your grandfather’s books.”

  “He doesn’t sign books anymore, so if that’s what you —”

  “No, no, that’s not it. Miss Lovecraft, I have, um, very good reason to believe that you are in a considerable amount of danger.”

  She frowned. “What are you . . . a gun salesman or something?”

  “A gun sales . . .? Oh, no, not at all. Could you tell me, by the way, where is Lloyd?”

  She was surprised by the question, and not very happy about it. “You’re a friend of Lloyd’s?”

  “Well, I do need to find him.”

  “Then you know him?”

  “Uh, well no, I do not. But I know what he’s doing. And it’s putting all of us in danger, Miss Lovecraft, yourself included. So, tell me, please, where is he? Where has he taken the Ravana statuette?”

  Phyllis clenched her fleshy fists at her sides and her mouth curled up as if she’d just bitten into a lemon. “You are working for my grandfather!” she exclaimed, and there was a slight growl in her voice. “Well, you tell him I’m not going back. You tell him I’ve found someone who cares about me, who loves me!”

  “No, Miss Lovecraft,” Buffy said, “Lloyd doesn’t love you. He’s been using you to get to the Ravana statuette. He knew he would never be able to get it from your grandfather’s collection unless he had an insider help him. Like you. He never intended that collection to be exhibited in a gallery, and he —”

  “How do you know all this?” Her pasty face became splotchy with bright red fury. “Who are you that you know all these things?”

  “He’s got what he wants now, Miss Lovecraft,” Buffy went on, louder now. “He doesn’t need you anymore. That’s why he’s been hitting you lately. Beating you. You’re just in the way now, and if you don’t tell us what we need to know, he’ll —”

  Phyllis stepped forward and raised a trembling hand high to slap Buffy, but Giles reached out and grabbed her thick wrist.

  “No, Miss Lovecraft,” he said firmly. “Your anger is misplaced. Do you know what your friend Lloyd is doing with the Ravana statuette and its six accompanying pieces?”

  She lowered her arm slowly and averted her eyes, but said nothing.

  “You know . . . or you’ve got some idea,” Giles said. “Do you actually think you will survive what he’s doing?”

  Still not looking at them, head bowed, she said, “He . . . he loves me.”

  “This resurrection will plunge the entire planet into darkness, Miss Lovecraft,” he went on. “Do you really think you are any more important to Lloyd than anyone else?”

  She mumbled something.

  “What’s that?” Giles asked.

  When she looked at them, she was baring narrow, crooked teeth and the angry red splotches had returned to her face, brighter, more vivid. “I said . . . get out!” she shouted.

  Buffy and Giles flinched as Phyllis spun around and disappeared into the bathroom. There were shuffling sounds, as if she were going through a bag.

  Buffy turned to Giles and said, “I’ve got a feeling we’re not gonna get a whole lot of valuable information out of her. Know what I mean?”

  “I quite agree. We should —”

  Phyllis returned. In her right hand, she held a large knife with shiny blade that extended about nine inches.

  “You go tell my grandfather to leave me alone!” she roared.

  Buffy and Giles backed away as she approached them.

  “You tell him I’m not a little girl anymore!”

  Giles quickly opened the door and gestured for Buffy to exit. “Shall we go?”

  “You tell him Lloyd Kaufman is a good and decent man who loves me!” Phyllis screamed as they left. She stepped outside the door onto the balcony walkway. “You tell him he loves me!”

  Buffy and Giles hurried down the stairs and across the street without looking back. In the car, they sat unmoving for a long moment. Finally, Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, exhaling explosively, cheeks bulging.

  “See, Giles? That didn’t take very long,” Buffy said sarcastically.

  “You were right about one thing. Miss Lovecraft is quite unstable. If Lloyd is actually hitting her . . . well, do you think it’s possible he’s done so in self-defense?”

  “Are you kidding? You heard the way she talked about him. She seems to know something about what he’s doing, and still she says he’s ‘a good and decent man.’ ” Buffy shook her head. “She’s got it bad.”

  “He is most likely the first man who has ever paid her any attention . . . shown her any affection.”

  “That’s the sad part. I feel sorry for her. Even if she did pull a knife on us.”

  “But who is he?” Giles asked. “For a while, I was certain Ethan was behind this. He has an appetite for power exceeded
by no one, and sitting on the right hand of Ravana, ruling like a god . . . that is precisely his cup of tea.” He slipped the key into the ignition. “We should get back to —” He didn’t start the car or finish his sentence.

  Buffy saw him staring across the street and followed his gaze to the motel parking lot.

  Phyllis had come downstairs wearing a long green coat over her robe. Her feet were still swallowed by the large fluffy slippers. She got into a white Ford Taurus and started the engine. The car shot backward from the parking slot and nearly slammed into a pickup truck parked on the other side of the lot.

  “Follow her,” Buffy said as Giles started the engine.

  “That is precisely my intention,” Giles replied.

  Phyllis’s tires squealed as she gunned the engine and sped out of the parking lot without pausing to check for traffic from either direction. She turned left, and the car swerved back and forth from one lane to the other for a moment before she regained control.

  Giles waited for a car to pass them in his lane before pulling into the street. He followed her at a distance, with a Toyota between them and Phyllis’s car.

  “Let’s hope she’s going to see Lloyd.”

  Buffy replied, “Dressed like that, I doubt she’s going out for bread and milk.”

  Phyllis’s driving was erratic and reckless. She sped up, swerved a lot, and went through stop signs without even slowing. Giles followed her at a distance because he didn’t want her to recognize them . . . and also because he wanted to stay the hell away from her.

  She led them to the edge of Sunnydale, to a part of town were many of the buildings were unoccupied and boarded up. Buffy and Giles and the others had driven through that very part of town earlier in the week when they were looking for seedy bars and motorcycle-driving hellhounds. Phyllis’s wild driving slowed a bit as she rounded a corner up ahead.

  Giles turned the corner just in time to see Phyllis getting out of the Taurus. She was parked in the potholed, muddy area in front of the dark, empty, burned-out bus station.

  “I’m afraid if I stop, she’ll notice us,” Giles said. “Keep an eye on her as I drive by.”