Kirsi
Angel
Joined: 09 Jan 2007
Posts: 35
Location: Finland
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 Posted: Wed Jan 10, 2007 3:25 pm Post subject: Security Issues (BtVS/Doris the Social Worker) |
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My usual style of writing is sort of "poetic" and lyrical. I wanted to try something else, but I am not completely happy with the result. This is probably my least favourite of my fics, but I think the story still has some better parts, too. Anyway, I believe comedy certainly isn't my thing. 
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Doris’s hand was shaking violently when she stopped the car engine in front of her house. Getting out of the car was difficult enough – her legs felt shaky and her head was spinning like a carousel gone crazy. The day had been an absolute nightmare, and she had no idea what was happening to her and why. It felt like some strange whirlwind had suddenly grasped her, and now she was just spinning in the air with nothing solid to hold on to.
It was difficult to fit the key into the familiar lock on the front door, her fingers felt clumsy and tears of frustration and shame blurred her vision. She was not insane; she had tried to explain that to her boss earlier. Still there was no rationalization to the events of that damned day. Doris didn’t believe in ghosts or haunting. She was a rational woman, a practical woman of good old-fashioned American values. Yet some inexplicable malevolent force had begun to torture her today.
Finally she managed to open the door, and she didn’t bother to take off her coat and neatly hang it in the closet, like she usually did when returning home. She just stumbled to her living room, sank on the couch and closed her eyes in utter despair and shame. I hate my life. My name is Doris Kroger, I’m a total failure and I hate my life. How had it come to this? Doris couldn’t really tell, but here she was anyway.
She hadn't really wanted to become a social worker in the first place. As a little girl she used to dream of being a ballerina, wearing a white tutu like a cloud and enthralling the audience with her prodigious grace. But her feet were short and her body stocky and plump even as a child, so that dream had to go. By the time she entered college it was long replaced by the desire to become a dazzling human rights lawyer, doing good and saving the world as well as becoming famous and enormously loved by all mankind. That dream did not come true either, needless to say. She wasn’t bright enough to enter law school, so she ended up with social work.
Her private life didn’t take any more spectacular turn. She was never a popular girl, the boys rarely noticed her for anything other than mockery or contempt. She was also strangely pompous and self-important from time to time, and it didn’t earn her that many friends. Her college years were uneventful and rather lonely, and after graduation she ended up in Los Angeles.
The city was no place for a newly-graduated social-worker to build a shining career. There was work alright - too much of it, to tell you the truth. Families with such disheartening and overpowering troubles, that the little Doris could do to help them was like tiniest sand grain in the Sahara. She stayed lonely in LA, too. She didn’t fit into a city full of long-legged starlets-to-be, flashy sports cars and glamour and luxury. Doris was made of more earthy substances. After a decade in LA, she happily accepted a new job in a much smaller Californian town called Sunnydale.
Sunnydale was a case of its own, Doris soon noticed that. There was something peculiar in the air there. On the surface everything seemed normal, the town looked pleasant and cozy enough. But the problems the citizens – and Doris through her work – faced were different from anything she had ever seen before: Strange skin-conditions, youngsters so high on drugs that they not only acted but looked like monsters, occasional witch-hunts, inexplicable earthquakes and mysterious deaths… The list could go on and on.
The oddest thing was that Doris liked it in Sunnydale. All those strange incidents never directly touched her, but made her feel quite capable and pivotal. She liked to think of herself as a bastion of reason and reliability in the middle of occasionally very chaotic events, and she truly felt like a useful member of that little community.
She was still lonely though. There weren’t that many eligible bachelors in Sunnydale, at least for an over-weight, middle-aged social worker. There was the Mayor – strangest fellow, but quite charming. But he was way above Doris’s reach, and perhaps little too manic for her likings anyway. Principal Snyder, however, was a man she truly admired. An educated man, a strict disciplinarian with same kind of traditional values Doris herself nurtured. No amount of PCP- driven juvenile delinquents, strange gas leaks or disasters in the swimming team were going to make Principal Snyder waver.
Eventually they met; it was inevitable, because the social worker was a regular visitor on school grounds in Sunnydale. One thing led to another, and soon Doris found herself having the most intimate dinner with the Principal at a pricey Italian restaurant. All of a sudden it looked like she wasn’t going to end up as an old-maid after all, and romance felt so much sweeter and more appreciated at a mature age like theirs. Doris found herself humming cheery little melodies and day-dreaming of passionate kisses. Love was definitely in the air.
But so was disaster. Nobody really knew what happened to Principal Snyder and the Mayor when the class of ’99 graduated. There were wild rumors about a giant snake and havoc among the students. But whatever it was, the high school ended up in ruins, and neither Principal Snyder nor the Mayor walked out of those ruins alive. People claimed that poor Snyder was eaten alive by the giant snake, and Doris was left heart-broken. Being dead was surely bad enough, but to die like that, totally stripped out of dignity – it was cruel for a proud man like Principal Snyder.
Doris decided to concentrate on her work – she was too old for romance anyway, and there could never be another Snyder in her life. She became little plumber and little more serious with every passing year. At the same time her co-workers seemed to turn into younger and perkier, and she often found them laughing and whispering behind her back. It was humiliating to be known as the woman whose lover was eaten by the giant snake – even by Sunnydale standards. But she tried not to listen, or not to notice how the most important and interesting assignments were given to the younger workers. Years passed, Principal Snyder became a bittersweet memory, and Doris grew steadily older.
This brought her abruptly to the present and to her pitiful situation. She hugged the pillow on her couch and sobbed loudly. No sense withholding the tears now, she was alone in her solitary disgrace. Life wasn’t fair for Doris Kroger – but then again, when had it ever been?
The day had started like any other regular work day. She had an appointment in the Summers residence. Doris knew who Buffy Summers was – everybody in Sunnydale did. The girl had been a real troublemaker in high school, always in the center of strange happenings and chaos. But Doris tried to keep an open mind and she really felt sympathy for the Summers girls who had just lost their mother. Doris had decided to be fair and friendly– she honestly wanted to help the girls in every way she could. Dawn had been skipping classes and doing badly in school, Buffy had dropped out of college. Doris just knew she was the right woman to guide those poor girls on the right track again.
But everything went wrong from the first moment on. The younger sister was having a teenage tantrum as she stormed off the house, a sheepish looking young man and obviously stressed Buffy Summers following her. Doris tried to bypass that little incident with humor and understanding– typical teenage behavior after all, and Buffy seemed troubled enough as it was. She had forgotten the meeting, and the house was a mess. Not a good sign, but Doris was willing to forget that since taking care of a household and a family was hard work for a young woman of Buffy’s age.
After that things turned from bad to worse. Not only was the house a perfect example of lousy housekeeping, but also lousy company. Slouched in an armchair sat the strangest looking fellow Doris had ever seen. He was dressed in a long black leather jacket, incompletely buttoned shirt and rather battered black jeans. He wore way too much jewelry to look even remotely respectable – and worst of all, Doris could have sworn he had make-up on. His skin was unnaturally pale and his hair was bleached platinum blond. His pose was vaguely intimidating and insolent but also little wretched, and it was more than obvious that there was something indecent going on. The tension between him and Buffy was too thick to miss.
Buffy was over-eager to deny that the creature was her boyfriend when Doris cleverly tested her for that. But Doris had heard way too many lies during her career in social services to be fooled by her. Doris had to take a step back when the man rose from the armchair – his presence made the living room feel crowded and puzzlingly out-of-place. He spoke with a weird British accent and was tremendously anxious to prove what an excellent caretaker Buffy Summers was. Buffy became more nervous and distressed with every word – it was like she expected lightning to strike them all down any minute now. She finally managed to send the man on his way – with a worn-out blanket and blabber about security issues. Doris was feeling alarmed and deeply concerned. It was becoming clear that the Summers house was no place for little Dawn to grow up.
Next she heard a woman’s voice from upstairs, yelling something about being hot and taking a nap. Images of decadent encounters flashed through Doris’s mind. Things did not look good at all for Buffy Summers. But even that was not enough –she noticed a box full of suspicious looking belongings and quickly picked up a small plastic bag of – yes, it was true – drugs. Doris Kroger was no fool – the house was truly a nest of multiple vices. Buffy’s desperate explanations of ‘magic weed’ did little to convince Doris. Her mind was made up. It was not a question of opinion anymore; she had solid proof that the house was bad for Dawn’s development. She had to leave and make her report – be the judge and executioner.
Buffy tried to follow her, and Doris did not like the young woman’s attitude at all. She was a pretty girl but very thin, and she seemed tired and desperate yet strangely arrogant and bossy at the same time. It was almost like she just expected Doris to obey and listen to her ridiculous excuses. Doris didn’t like that sort of attitude at all. It reminded her of those girls who used to bully and ignore her during high school. She gave the girl a sharp response and left with a feeling of deep annoyance and disapproval. Probation was the key word here. This was a household that needed strict follow-up and discipline, and Doris was happy to do her duty.
As soon as Doris got back to the office, she started writing her report. It was almost lunch-time, and she felt like having a cup of coffee after the tedious morning and busy typing. She was extremely fond of her yellow cow-mug; it was a birthday present from her co-workers. And if there was some sort of message hidden in their choice of a gift, she chose to ignore that. After all, she had deserved the coffee mug with hard and painstaking work.
Suddenly something most bizarre happened. The coffee mug disappeared. Doris was sure she had left it on the table on her right side, like she always did. But the mug was on her left side, and she never left her mug there while working. Slightly confusing, but still nothing to worry about. She continued the Summers report and laughed nervously for her own absent-mindedness.
But then everything went truly crazy. The mug was no longer situated on her desk – it was dancing in the air, and worst of all, talking to her at the same time. And of all the things in the world, the mug was telling her to kill. She couldn’t believe her ears and eyes. Kill, kill, kill...Kill everybody. The mug had a beguiling and vaguely familiar voice. What was Doris thinking? She felt like smacking her own head. The mug had no voice, of course, because mugs didn’t talk – not even in Sunnydale. But the mug obviously disagreed and kept talking, so Doris had no choice but to yell in desperation.
“Shut up, shut up, just shut up!”
Her co-workers looked baffled and almost spiteful. Especially that annoying Cynthia from the desk next to hers – thin and nasty Cynthia with her neatly polished fingernails, an ass for a husband, two boring children and a thick-headed golden retriever. Doris felt the foundations of her credibility as a social worker and a respectable woman start to crumble around her. She had to get away, so she escaped to the ladies room trying to gather what was left of her dignity. Poor Principal Snyder – this was what he must have felt like while being eaten by that giant snake…
Doris splashed some ice-cold water on her burning face. Maybe that bottle of red wine last night had been a little too much. She swore to stop drinking for her loneliness and misery. More sleep and exercise and less wine and romantic movies for Doris Kroger, no permanent damage done. Most of her co-workers probably hadn't even noticed anything strange, and perhaps she could somehow bribe Cynthia to keep her mouth shut in the coffee room. Doris held a cold paper-towel to the back of her neck, tried to calm down and decided to continue her work as usual.
But it seemed destiny had really decided to ruin her career. She ran into her boss on her way back to her desk, and of course he wanted to see the Summers file. Doris hurried straight back to her desk trying to ignore all bewildered stares and smothered bursts of laughter. She found the file and handed it to her boss with relief. But it was a complete mess. The boss looked upset while browsing through the files.
“What is this? All work and no play makes Doris a dull girl?”
Doris felt her face start to burn, and tears were not far away. She grabbed the file back and started riffling through it with desperation. What was this nonsense indeed? Being called a dull girl brought back painful memories all the way from kindergarten. The printer was buzzing with malicious noise and pouring out more and more proof of her relapse and professional doom.
She tried to explain, and told her boss about the voice and dancing coffee cup. Honesty was her last hope, but the boss was far from assured. Doris had been given the worst assignments for a while now, the boss wanted to make room for younger employees with modern ideas and pretty, fresh faces. Now he had a chance to kick her out of his way permanently. Was Cynthia behind this blasphemy? Could she be so cruel in her ambition? Was sleeping with the boss during the office Christmas party not enough to raise her stocks?
Doris could hardly hear her boss’ voice anymore. She felt totally mortified and humiliated. Somehow she managed to stumble to the parking lot and get into her car to drive home. And all the while the horrible voice was echoing in her ears. Kill, kill, kill…Doris is a dull girl… Kill everybody.
Of course she didn’t kill anyone. But it took a long time for her to pull herself back together and stop shaking. She knew she was not crazy, but how could she ever convince her boss and colleagues otherwise after this travesty? Trying to understand what had happened was useless – Doris had lived in Sunnydale long enough to realize that. The thought of facing the barely hidden malicious pleasure and pity of her co-workers seemed too much to take. They already disliked her and wanted her out, now they thought she was crazy as well as fussy and useless. Doris felt deeply sorry for herself.
The night fell over Sunnydale, but lights in Doris Kroger’s house didn’t turn off that night. She sat quietly on her kitchen table, drinking wine straight from the bottle and listening to the night birds’ melancholy song outside the open window. She was a failure; there was no doubt about that. She hated her job, no matter how dutifully she tried to do it. She hated herself, her sensible flat shoes and shabby cardigans and her round and flat face. She was a dull girl, always had been. But could it be possible to change it now? She had some savings and her house, and in her night-table’s top dresser a newspaper clip of Caribbean cruise on a fancy Love Boat. A cruise she had always dreamt of, but never experienced.
It was no answer to her dullness or misery, of course, but she wanted to get away from Sunnydale. She closed her eyes and let herself dream of sun on her face and tropical winds blowing tenderly around her, filled with heavy scents of exotic fruits and spices. She had stopped crying without even really noticing it. Perhaps it was time for her to stop worrying and trying to do her duty, and start enjoying of life instead. Doris liked to imagine herself as a phoenix rising victoriously from the ashes of her defeat. Principal Snyder had been the most loveable little man, and his memory would always have a special place in her heart, as well as Sunnydale. But Doris was not one to try to mend things broken beyond repair. She was a survivor.
She fell asleep, eventually, and in her dreams there was no shame or failure, despair or loneliness. She dreamt of dancing figures on a beach covered with golden sand, and also the strange bleach-blonde man from the Summers house was there in her dream. His shirt was wide open, he had a predatory grin on his feline face, and he was dancing under a full moon with Doris who was neither plumb nor dull anymore but full of strange vigor and hunger for life.
It was a very weird but wonderful dream, and Doris was quite embarrassed when she woke up. But it was a sign as well, she decided. She would call a real estate agent and start packing today, and most of all she would let the boss and Cynthia know that Doris Kroger was finally ready to give up her security blanket and move on with her life.
The end
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