ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES

CHAPTER 199 - HIGHGATE CEMETERY

HIGHGATE CEMETERY
2:30PM

As William and Buffy walked through Highgate Village they could hear a
cacophony of car horns, as drivers skidded through the slippery mess at nearby
intersections, trying to avoid near misses.

They turned onto Swain’s Lane, holding onto each other for support, as they
gingerly made their way down the already steep and narrow road, now made
treacherous by the ice. As the road veered gently to the right, Buffy had her first
glance at the towering brick wall that was in the front of the Western Cemetery of
Highgate. Likewise, across the street, a brick wall also stood in front of the
Eastern Cemetery, although maybe only half as tall. To make up for its lack of
height, it was topped with tall, cast iron railings with sharp spearheads.

"The Western Cemetery is the older part. It opened in the late 1830's, but from
what I remember hearing, it was filling up so quickly that they had to build the
East one within fifteen years or so."

"Why so quickly?" Buffy asked, as she tried to recall if she'd heard of any
pandemics or plagues hitting Europe during that era.

"London was a large city even then, but most cemeteries had been on church
properties; little affairs. As the population grew, there was barely adequate
housing for all, let alone space to bury the dead. That's why there was a rash of
cemeteries being built around then in an effort to keep up with the population, not
to mention disease control."

"You mean the diseases that were killing people?"

"That, too. But I was talking about diseases from the corpses that had to lie
around waiting to be buried."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. Anyway, they held the services for both sides here,” William said, coming
to a stop in front of the gate leading into the older, Western Cemetery, and
pointing to the two chapels that lay inside it. “The one on the left is the Anglican
one, and the other one is the Dissenters.”

“Dissenters? What were they? People against the Anglicans?”

“Not against; more like the other way around. It refers to the Protestant sects who
refused to conform to the Church of England in the early 1660’s. If you know
anything of history, you know that the predominant religion of the land would
usually pass laws forbidding the practices of other religions. In this case, when
The Church of England--which incidentally, had broken off from Roman
Catholicism itself--came to power, it outlawed the practice of other religions; at
least, legally. Then there was the Toleration Act of 1689, which rectified some of
those laws...that’s it in a nutshell,” William said, as his voice faded off.

“That’s okay. Nutshell lessons are good,” Buffy said grinning when she heard the
expected groan at what she knew he would consider her English slaughtering
quip.

“Come on,” William said, taking her hand and crossing the street to the newer,
Eastern side.

William hesitated in front of the narrow pedestrian gate, which stood between
brick piers on one side and a heavy, double gate for hearses and cars on the
other. Even through her gloves, Buffy could feel the tension in his hand as it held
hers tightly.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

He didn’t answer.

"William?” Buffy said, placing her hand on his arm. He turned to look at her.

“You don't have to do this, you know,” Buffy said, her voice soft.

He reached up and gently traced her cheek with his fingers. “Yes, I do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The vicar swirled the glass of Scotch that was in his hand; Giles was keeping him
well lubricated as they talked. He shook his head to clear it of the alcoholic haze
that threatened to settle there.

Up until the day vampires had attacked the churches on Boxing Day, he had
believed evil to be a force to be reckoned with, but one that could ultimately be
overcome by prayer and belief in God. Still, despite his title and vocation, his
belief on the nature of evil was that of a man of his times. That is, he primarily
believed that the nature of evil was due to societal and mental ailments. He’d
never really believed that evil could manifest itself as something that could
physically fight and be fought in the flesh, so-to-speak.

Not that the Church of England’s archives themselves didn’t contain vast
numbers of testimonies by those throughout the centuries who’d sworn they’d
seen demons or vampires. Still, until he himself had...well, what was that saying?
Seeing was believing? And what did that mean? Did it mean he couldn’t believe
in God without actually ‘seeing’ him? That he just professed that he did? These
were the questions that plagued him in the aftermath of the attack.

In the end, though, his belief was strengthened. If there were actual, physical
manifestations of evil in the world, then the opposite side of the coin was that
then there must be God--the epitome of goodness and forgiveness, and, most
importantly, love. Otherwise, the vicar had finally come to reason: How could the
world stay in balance or exist, even?

And yet, if seeing actual vampires five years ago had challenged his view of the
world and God, then this latest revelation threatened to further turn every
cherished belief he still held, upside down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

HIGHGATE

Just inside the cemetery gates, a small arrow directed all those who entered to a
large mausoleum. William looked up at the name, Strathcona, carved above the
door of the red, granite monstrosity that he remembered well, but with one
glaring difference; on the door to the mausoleum itself was a sign which read:

All Highgate Cemetery visitors must check-in here.

“Well, that’s different,” Buffy commented.

“I sure as hell don’t remember this,” William said, frowning.

Buffy was beginning to wonder if members of the undead or demons ran the
place. As far as she knew, the only time one checked-in to a cemetery was
permanently. Then again, she doubted demons would be so polite or give fair
warning of the presence. Or, maybe they would, being English and all. She didn’t
have long to speculate, as the door to the mausoleum was suddenly pushed
open from the inside. Reverting to slayer-mode, she automatically pushed
William behind her, as they both jumped back in surprise.

A small, white-haired lady wearing a purple jacket emerged from the mausoleum.
Upon seeing them, she abruptly halted. Buffy tried to push William back even
further. He scowled at her, and firmly grabbed her around the waist, purposefully
moving her aside.

“Stop it!” Buffy hissed under her breath at him.

“I’m sorry,” the lady said, looking from one to the other with what Buffy would’ve
sworn was a look of mild amusement. “I didn’t know anybody was out there. I
didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, really? Well that makes us even, we didn’t know anybody was in there! Who
and what are you? Vivitrex? Amorix?” Buffy demanded, trying to recall some of
the names of demons whose modus operandi was to look like someone’s
grandmother. She may not be The Slayer anymore, but she was duly suspicious
of seemingly innocent little old ladies ever since the penis-headed one tried eat
her when she worked at the Doublemeat Palace.

“Vivian,” the woman answered, perplexed. She pointed to the nametag she wore
on her jacket. It read:

Vivian – F.O.H.C. Volunteer.

“What does the F.O.H.C. stand for?” Buffy asked.

“Friends of Highgate Cemetery, of course,” Vivian answered.

William nodded and Buffy had the good manners to look duly chagrined--at least
for two seconds.

“Tell me, Vivian, why would a cemetery need volunteers; to procure new bodies?
And while we’re at it, just what were you doing in there? Communing with the
undead?” Buffy asked, pointing to the crypt.

The older woman took a hard look at Buffy and tsk-tsked. She then looked at
William as though to question his choice of friends; this one apparently out on an
ill-gotten day-pass from the local insane asylum.

William looked sheepishly at Vivian and shrugged, earning him a jab in the ribs
from Buffy.

Without another word, Vivian pushed open the mausoleum door to reveal a tiny
shop. William and Buffy looked at each other before tentatively following her into
the Strathcona mausoleum.

As they entered, a man about the same age as Vivian stood up from the folding
chair upon which he’d been sitting, to stand behind the small counter. With their
backs to her, Vivian put one arthritic finger up to her temple and made small
circles, her eyes motioning towards Buffy. The man gave her an imperceptible
nod.

Against the left wall were two, metal racks. The smaller one held postcards of the
more well known memorials, and maps of the grounds. The larger one held
books about the cemetery's more famous residents, the history of the cemetery,
and even one on its myths and lore. There were also photographs for sale of
Highgate’s world-renowned Victorian funeral statuary that graced both East and
West Cemeteries, with an emphasis on the West’s architectural wonders –The
Lebanon Circle Vaults, Egyptian Avenue, and The Terrace Catacombs.

“That will be £2 each, sir,” said the old man, as they approached the counter.

“I don’t understand. Are you telling me there’s a fee to go onto the grounds now?”

“Now?” The volunteer repeated, as he gave William a closer look. Surely, this
young man wouldn’t have even been alive when the Friends of Highgate
Cemetery first formed in order to preserve the cemetery from complete ruination.

“He’s been living abroad for a long time and his family never mentioned having to
pay,” Buffy said quickly, once more offering a reasonable explanation on
William’s behalf. It was one of the many white lies she’d told since he’d returned -
both for him, and, before he’d found out the truth, to him.

He gave her an irritated sidelong glance for her troubles.

“I see. In answer to your question, Highgate Cemetery was in such disrepair back
in the 70’s, that it was either close it to the public for good, or start charging a fee.
The money is used only for the cemetery’s upkeep. However, if your family owns
gravesites here, then there’s no fee for you, of course.”

William shook his head, avoiding her eyes, as he took out his wallet and duly
paid the £4 entry fee for them both.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Leaves and snow crunching underfoot was the only sound, as they walked the
frost-laden sidewalks through the cemetery. While William kept his eyes on the
path before him, Buffy looked around her in awe. Like silent sentries to a bygone
era, museum-worthy statues marked nearly every grave she passed by. There
were all styles and manners of crosses, cherubs, and even animals, but it was
the beautiful marble angels that she found herself most drawn to. Life-sized, they
seemed ready to step off of their pedestals with their delicately carved bare feet
and ethereally flowing robes. With their serene, yet sorrowful expressions, they
stood their ground and mourned their dead.

The further they went the narrower and more overgrown the walkway became,
until it could hardly be called one at all. Larger plots and statues soon gave way
to the smaller, more densely arranged headstones; each vying for room between
each other and the abundant trees and foliage. Buffy followed William as he
determinedly sidestepped roots and broken stones on a trail he alone knew. She
shivered, not from the cold, but from the shadows of inevitability that grew with
each step he took.

Buffy heard him inhale sharply, as he came to a sudden stop. Standing behind
him she looked down at a group of old headstones, almost completely covered
with ground cover, snow, and leaves. She wouldn’t have even noticed them.

“William?”

Crouching, he started pulling the growth away from the stone; the inscriptions
emerging as they were uncovered:

WILLIAM PHILLIP WORTHINGTON,
BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER,
BORN 2 ND, NOVEMBER 1822,
DIED 18 TH, SEPTEMBER 1864.

“I didn’t know you were named for your father,” Buffy said, regretting that she’d
avoided asking him much at all about his family for fear of bringing up memories
of the past that he couldn’t understand.

“I was,” William replied softly. “Although he went by his middle name, Philip.”

He could feel Elizabeth standing behind him, although she’d discreetly moved
back a polite distance to give him a bit of privacy as he looked at his father’s
grave. He had mourned him when he’d died, but that had been when he was still
quite young, and he had healed from the loss of his father. Now he only felt a
tinge of sadness, coupled with the warm memories of the man. But this wasn’t
why he had come.

After a few more moments, William took a deep breath and forced himself to look
at the graves abutting his father’s on either side.

“I think these are...” he mumbled, as he knelt down and started clearing off the
ones on the left side. He nodded to himself when his memory served.

“Are those...?” Buffy asked, seeing the name Worthington, uncovered by his
labors.

“No,” William said, knowing what she meant. “It’s my father’s parents. I barely
remember them.”

“Oh.”

To the left of his father’s grave was one he didn’t remember seeing before. With
grim determination, he started his efforts anew on it.

This time Buffy didn’t have to ask, as she saw the full name uncovered.

HENRY THOMAS AINSWORTH WORTHINGTON,
BELOVED SON AND BROTHER,
BORN 25TH, JANUARY 1844,
DIED 2ND, OCTOBER 1880.

"Henry," William whispered, as his hands stilled over his brother’s name, the Abel
to his Cain.

His mind awhirl, William desperately tried to search out a good memory, a warm
memory -- anything to counterbalance the overwhelming shame he felt. As a
child, he had deeply loved and adored his older brother, but he knew from an
early age that the feeling wasn’t returned. What he had felt from Henry, for as
long as he could remember, had been barely disguised scorn and loathing.

In fact, that he was often the butt of his brother’s cruel jokes is what lead him to
assume that when he’d awoken naked and alone in The Field Museum
warehouse, it was something Henry had orchestrated.

Still, that didn’t assuage, or mitigate the horror of what he knew he’d done to him
when he had become a vampire. The old Scotland Yard reports that Giles had
supplied him, made that revoltingly clear. Nobody deserved what had befallen
Henry. Nobody.

Standing in profile to her, Buffy could see William’s Adam’s apple moving up and
down along the column of his throat, and the tick of his jaw; telltale signs that he
was trying to maintain composure in the face of his pain. Tears came to her eyes,
but she resisted the strong urge to go to him. After a few minutes, her eyes
wandered to two graves that stood a bit behind those of William’s father and
Henry.

From where she stood, she could only make out the tops of the headstones and
first names. In one of those split second flashes of detachment -- where the mind
desperately tries to protect itself from the cold truth -- Buffy found herself
pondering the commonality and frequency of the two names that she was clearly
reading, yet not seeing. At nearly that same instant, the shocking yet, inevitable,
light bulb moment arrived when she heard William inhale sharply. Glancing over
at him, she realized he was now looking at the very same two names.

Only for him, he was seeing them.


END CHAPTER 199