Dark ReflectionNick Midian Email: Nick
Summary: In year 2002, a very changed Xander comes back to Sunnydale,
and he's not alone. How will his old friends react? Which are the
secrets that he keeps? Well now everything dies baby that's a fact Prologue: The future, like a dark road in the night... Both men looked young, the passenger not a day above their early twenties and the driver closer to his early thirties, but their eyes reflected their true dimension. They had old, sad eyes. The look of men that had seen too much, that had lived too many years. The passenger was looking though the window pane of his side, so his partner was unable to see his face. In fact, the only part of his head that he had seen for the last hours was the back of his neck, and it was beginning to become an incredible boring sight. The driver let go a controlled cough and looked to his friend out of the corner of his eye. The passenger just stood where he was, looking through the window and taking a drag now and then from the cigarette that was slowly burning in his left hand. The driver coughed again, louder. "Spit it," said harshly the passenger without turning his head around. "Do I really need to put it into words?" the driver said with a faint of French accent in his voice. "I mean, this has to be the worst idea that I've ever heard from you." "I thought that we had already talked about this." "Yeah, I know what you said to the others," said the driver, becomingincreasingly annoyed by the apparent lack of interest in his friend. "How this is supposed to be some kind of early inspection of the ground." The passenger slowly turned his head and landed his dark eyes on the frame of the driver. "And you don't buy it." It was an affirmation, not a question. "No, I don't buy it. But that is not what bothers me." "What is then?" "That, somehow, you have conceived the amazing idea that you can or need to hide the truth from me." The passenger looked at his friend in silence for a few moments, took a drag from his cigarette and smiled slowly. "And I that thought of myself as the brightest guy in town," the passenger told his companion sarcastically. "Don't give me that shit, mon frère," growled the driver without hiding his own smile. "We both know what's your real intention." "I'm afraid I'm a little bit lost here. Enlighten me, please." "You want to see them again. You want to see her again." The passenger carefully considered his friend's words and nodded slowly with his head. "And what if I want?" The driver shrugged and fixed his eyes again on the road. "Of course, you understand that things are not going to be the same. They are not going to be the same. It's been three years after all." "Well, I sure hope so. Considering that the last time I saw them they tried to put a wooden stake through my fucking heart." "And you still want to face them without the rest of the team backing you up?" The driver looked at him and frowned. "Yeah." "Mon frère, you have to be the bravest, the craziest or the stupidest man I've ever known." The passenger flashed an enormous smile full of white teeth and looked again through the window, seemingly captivated by the night scenery. "Probably a little bit of everything," he said not enough loudly for his friend to hear. They spend the next minutes in the same uncomfortable silence that had plagued the interior of the car during the last hours. They used that time like they had used the time before. To remember the past, to think about the present, to plan the future. Past and actual friends, acquired debts, lost opportunities and freely taken compromises. "Michael," said finally the passenger. "Stop the car." Michael Deveraux carefully guided the black Cadillac to side of the road and killed the engine. Without saying a word, his friend opened the passenger's door and got out the car. Michael followed him and stood beside the dark car, looking at his friend with a hint of concern in his dark blue eyes. He was standing in front of an old and torn sign that read 'Welcome to Sunnydale. Enjoy your visit.' with his hand hidden inside the pockets of his long and dark leather coat and his look lost into the sign. "They say that you can't go back home," Michael said, supporting his frame on the long hood of the car. His friend looked back at him. His face had morphed into the one of a demon, with red and gold eyes, edged brow and cheek-bones, and long and pointed fangs. He smiled an evil smile and licked his lips. Michael just smiled back. "In the three hundred years that you have been spending around here you should have learned that they use to say a lot of nonsense, my friend." "Maybe that's true," admitted Michael, caressing his own cheek, "but I have a bad feeling about all of this." The vampire just smiled again and looked back at the tattered sign. "Whatever that'll be, will be," he said philosophically, and then, so low that only he could hear his own voice, added, "I'm home, at last I'm home." And Alexander LaVelle Harris, rose his eyes to the moon and let go a long and loud shout of joy. End of the Prologue The Cast for this Chapter: Nicholas Brendon as Xander Harris Back to the Main Page |