The Broken Places
I tried to fly, but I can’t.
My body feels heavy, like lead.
I can’t run. I can’t walk. I can’t even crawl right.
What can I say? I did my best? My best seriously sucks!
The rock Amy leaned against was jagged. ‘Uncomfortable’ began to describe it. But it sure beat standing.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, flipping it open. No signal.
No surprise. That’s what this whole little fun-fest has been about.
It’s been thirty-three minutes. Where is she?
She glanced over her shoulder at the steep, eroded incline. Her many failed climbs marred its face. They all ended near the top where thick knots of grass hung over the edge.
God, I hope they’re okay. Anything could’ve happened by now. They could be hurt or worse.
But what am I gonna do about it? I can’t even get to the top of a goddamned hill. I’m fucking useless.
Snapping the phone closed, Amy shoved it back in her pocket.
Birds twittered in the background. Why do they have to be so insipidly happy? “I swear, if they don’t shut up, I’ll be dining on squab,” Amy grumbled.
Now that I’ve wasted way too much time…guess I should go around.
Gotta love Southern California.
She sighed.
No.
No, I really don’t.
And I don’t know which way would be shorter. Stupid thing could go on forever. I’d never know. There are just too many trees to tell.
As Amy stood, her injured leg griped in protest. She gritted her teeth. Well, Faith should be headed east. That is, if she’s even coming.
If standing sucked, walking was a complete nightmare. Her knee bulged, stretching the fabric of her jeans. Every step felt more like a stab. In the spaces between, her leg throbbed.
“You probably won’t believe this, but I’m a sentimental girl.”
The voice was soft, distinctly feminine and so muffled it was difficult to understand. Willow tried to place it. The speaker might’ve been under glass, or so she thought.
Inside a bell jar.
But she’s not the one inside.
“Remember when you used to call me ‘Mistress’?”
The black shade snatched away, breaking the vacuum. With its release, pain flooded in. But it wasn’t really pain. More like the dull ache that comes from too much pain and recognition.
“Now, I get that we had a deal. And it was only for two weeks.” A wistful sigh interrupted Maya’s speech. “But I can’t help missing it.”
Oh, God!
Maya!
It wasn’t a nightmare. I’m really here.
“I think it’s time we revisited our deal,” Maya cooed. A pop, like the crackle of static, punctuated her statement.
But that means—
Every muscle in Willow’s body locked. She burned from the inside out. Her jaw tightened. There was something hard in her mouth. Steel bands bit into her wrists and ankles.
Her eyes snapped open. A scream tore from her depths. She choked. It sputtered and died.
It was impossible to do anything but feel. She felt it all. Everything, from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. Her entire body was alive.
On fire.
In agony.
The assault ended. Willow peered blearily at the wooden floor. It stretched out in front of her at eye level. But it was turned all cockeyed. Her head pressed against its cold surface. Her neck was bent. Everything from there down was so muddled she couldn’t make sense of it. It was all gone.
But it was there.
It—
“You have about an hour left to make your decision,” Maya said.
Willow looked in the direction of the voice. There was a doorway in front of her. On the other side, the floor was bright, like snow in sunlight. Light poured in through the opening, ending in shadow before it reached her. She blinked. The white blur only got worse.
She shut her eyes, but the white remained.
Maya’s voice slipped into the background. “That’s about what it takes for the cross to burn through into something important.”
A chain of boxes stretched out in front of Willow. Each one a uniform, white cube. They went on forever, disappearing over the horizon. Stark, cold, monotonous…
“Now, I need to finish up. When I’m done here, we have a deal to make.” Maya gave a chilly laugh.
Willow reached to open the nearest box. Her fingertips left smudgy, red stains on its ashen lid. The red pooled under the box, wicking into the cardstock.
“That is, if you want me to cut her down. I’d be happy to leave her. Makes no difference to me.”
Willow turned her eyes down. Blood oozed from her pores. She lay in an ever-growing puddle of life. Her life.
“Oh…and, Willow? You’ll never touch her again.”
Crunch, crunch, crunch, Faith’s footfalls echoed through the forest.
She caught a glimpse of someone past a break in the trees. It was amazing. They didn’t turn.
At first it was hard to tell what was up. But as she got closer, things got clearer. What’d she do?
Amy was the sorriest looking sad sack Faith had seen since her last pub crawl. Figures. That tragic piece of work was me the next morning.
I knew this was a bad idea. But once she gets her mind made up, talking her out of it—
It’s pointless.
Shouting was pointless too, but Faith sure wanted to. Anything to make her stop. That’s just painful to watch.
Tinkerbell found her way home. She did two laps around Amy’s head before going ‘poof.’ Faith was right on the little firefly’s six. She slid to a halt.
As Amy turned to face her, all the doom and gloom lifted. A smile sweet enough to frame lit her face. If she could’ve bounced, Faith was pretty sure Amy would’ve.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone happier to see me. Or maybe it’s just been too long. I’m late too. Like that’s new. But it couldn’t be helped—least not this time.
I kept hoping she’d call back. When she didn’t, I kept going until I got it right. Best I could do. There’s only so much south of town. At least I had a direction.
Faith got in, “Sorry, I—” before the tackle came. Well, it wasn’t really a ‘tackle’ so much as an overly enthusiastic hug. She had to stop. Amy kinda wrung the air out of her.
What I really want is to have a look at that leg. So much for what I want…
Again.
Accepting and moving on…
Faith managed to weasel out of the vise. It seems like talking’s the thing to do. Maybe some patching up. We need to get moving.
Amy had other plans. Totally fits the day. Faith wasn’t even sure it was a plan. More like a look.
When Amy closed her eyes, Faith didn’t try to fight. She wasn’t even sure why. It just happened. And she let it.
The kiss was so tender. There was none of the usual hunger. It made Faith feel all tingly. And not the ‘down low’ kind. The ‘warm, fluffy’ kind. The kind she hadn’t felt in years.
Her memories grated. They bubbled up like foam in cheap beer. She struggled, wanting to push away, wanting to run…
It ended so fast. A little too fast. Faith met Amy’s eyes, damning herself for wanting more.
She let her toes dangle. There was nothing there.
What the—?
“Does that make your blood boil?”
That does it! I’ve had it! I’m done with ‘The Bell Jar!’
Making us read that was sick and twisted in fun new ways. And lots more than a little bit wrong.
Willow drove the image from her mind. The blood-soaked boxes faded. She focused on something else. Something so much better…
Buffy’s smile from earlier that morning consumed her thoughts. It’s hard to believe that was only a few hours ago. It feels like a lifetime.
So beautiful…
She looked at me like I was the only thing in her world.
She didn’t know. She had no idea what was happening. And I couldn’t tell her. It’s not like I even knew. I couldn’t possibly predict. I mean, I knew it’d be bad, but—
Willow clung to her memory, doing her dead level best to ignore Maya. Her incessant yammering was just plain tedious.
I need to see this again. I don’t know how. I don’t even know—
I’m sure she hates me. I doubt she’ll want me around. I don’t even want me around. Not after this.
Really, she’ll probably turn me to dust.
It’s fine. I can accept that.
All I have is one tiny little shred of hope. Maybe she can forgive me. And maybe one day, I’ll get to see this smile again.
I have to try.
Words like ‘fatal’ and ‘rage’ filtered through. And of course, Willow’s stupid brain chewed on them.
She thinks she’s clever. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that’d be fatal.
Let it go already. It’s a stupid expression.
“Disobey me and your blood will boil,” Maya crooned. “I can’t imagine anything more fitting.”
Her tone was so self-satisfied. Willow’s tummy turned icy. Lucky me, she figured that out all by herself.
“It won’t be that long. It’s not like I’m a total monster.”
Beg to differ…
“How’s fifteen seconds sound?”
It’d sound a hell of a lot better if you’d just shush! Can’t you see I’m trying to sulk?
Splooshy sounds came from the next room. Willow was just too cranky to care.
I should’ve turned her into a raisin the moment I laid eyes on her. Wonder if I still can.
No. She’d sense me and…
Dammit! It’s not like I’ve got all day. There has to be another way.
Well, being able to see might be a good start.
Willow scrunched her eyes. Do I have to? When she lifted her head, pressure on her neck abated.
Uh, jeez…
A posture collar kept her head pretty much straight. Its rolled edge dug into her chin as Willow tried to look down. The light hurt. She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus.
Her back was so arched that there wasn’t a lot to see. But it explained some stuff. My wrists and ankles are chained together. That’s why I’m so numb.
Willow stared at her chest. Her skin was a patchwork of open sores and crumbling black crepe paper.
The sloshing caught her attention this time. She looked through the doorway, blinking to clear her eyes. I know where I am.
Sunlight beaming in through cathedral windows painted the room bright golden hues. Maya lounged at its center in a garden tub. A woman hung above her, inverted and spread eagle, suspended in a hoop. Her blonde hair draped down, glistening in the light. It was pink in places, matted with blood.
Willow gaped, unable to make herself believe. The hanged woman looked so much like Buffy, but it was impossible to tell. Her face was backlit just like Maya’s.
There’s no screaming. I should be able to hear her. We’re not that far away.
Oh no…
But that doesn’t make sense. Why would Maya—?
The figure in the tub disappeared, sinking beneath the surface. A chill trickled down Willow’s spine. This is it.
Willow balled her right hand and tucked in her left thumb. At least that’s what she hoped for. It was hard to tell. When she kicked, everything instantly went from numb to agony. But her hands were free. That’s all that mattered.
Rolling onto her belly, she turned, tucked and launched at Maya. As Willow flew, her eyes watered. The stench of charred flesh burned her nose.
Willow plunged her left hand into the blood. The first thing she felt was a squashy mound. She gauged and struck, hitting her mark.
Maya’s throat cracked. Thrashing, she kicked and clawed.
Willow moved her left hand around the back of Maya’s neck, trapping her. She glanced up before making her retreat.
That’s not Buffy. It’s not even just one woman. There are two.
Huh.
Dragging Maya along, Willow hurled back into the shadows. Flames rose up as she neared the doorway. They rolled off her hands, licking Maya’s face.
There should be pain. Why isn’t there pain?
Maya struck the wall, splattering blood and leaving a dent. Darkness cooled Willow’s skin. As she ripped the gag from her mouth, the smoldering died away.
Willow sank her fangs in. Blood spurted down her throat. A sensation so wonderful it threatened to claim her.
Wonderful or not…I need to get a grip. I can’t throw this away. It cost way too much.
She tore into Maya’s mind. Everyplace she touched, Willow left a mark. Blighting, raping, rending…
A strange girl hung, smoldering on the cross. Willow knew her. Dimi. She was special. Not to Maya. She just found the attachment convenient. Kenn promised Dimi forever.
Well, isn’t that sweet?
Stupid vamps get the idea that because they don’t age or get sick that ‘forever’ actually means something.
They’re weak and pathetic. Too short sighted to understand.
Everything is fleeting.
As Faith rounded a large oak, she snuck a peek at Amy. I keep wondering if she’s gonna float away.
So far, no such luck. But she hasn’t landed yet either.
Great. I’m had.
Somewhere in that head of hers, she’s probably picking out rings.
When Faith faced forward, her stress level shot up twenty points. The ruined fieldstone cabin positively screamed ‘slasher movie set.’ The only thing missing was the group of stupid teenagers making camp. Well, this might be charming…
…to John Carpenter.
Faith rolled her eyes. Whatever…
May as well get this over with. She took off across the clearing.
Chances are, this’ll be nothing compared to the threat I’m gonna face later tonight.
The rusty wrought iron gate swung open without a squeak. Faith strode up the overgrown flagstone sidewalk. When she put her weight on them, the wooden steps didn’t creak either. The porch was the same story. This is just too weird.
Faith opened the door and stuck her head inside. The room was warm and inviting. Yeah. This place just looks abandoned.
Behind her, the air charged with static. It was a familiar feeling. Strangely comforting…considering.
A faint whimper caught her attention. Whoever it was, they were dead ahead. ‘But Grandmother, what big ears you have…’
Faith moved through the front room, past the dining room and into the kitchen. There were two doors in the kitchen. The first one turned out to be a pantry. She swung the other one open.
When Faith crossed the threshold, she immediately understood the whimpering. Now there’s something you don’t see every day. A crispified vamp chowing down on Janet Jackson…
Amy placed a hand on her shoulder, holding Faith back. She gave the witch a questioning glance. Amy’s scowl spoke volumes.
Faith firmed up. That’s Willow? But she looks like a marshmallow that fell in a campfire.
Who’s the other chick? Janet Junior. And since when do vamps marinade their dinner?
Do I even wanna know about the car battery?
No, wait.
Questions like those will just get me answers.
Faith returned the favor, communicating her thoughts with a look. Okay. Just so you know, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not touching that.
Looks like Red’s got everything under control. I may have to rethink the nick, but she’s good.
Janet Junior turned her head to face them. The malevolence in her eyes sent shivers down Faith’s spine. There’s something seriously wrong with this bitch.
A little too calm, Willow’s victim looked away. Her eyes fixed on something in the next room.
Faith damned herself for wanting to know. ‘Curious’ is just another way of saying ‘stupid.’ I should really quit while I’m ahead.
But she didn’t.
Giving Evil Janet a wide berth, Faith slipped past her into the room. Turning her back on them was none too reassuring. Faith moved out of the doorway.
Even less reassuring was the room. There should be a list of things you least want to find in situations like this.
‘Jacuzzi full of blood’ would rate pretty high on my list. But the bubbling is pretty wicked cool.
Next up: sacrificial not-so-virgins hanging in a huge hula hoop above the Jacuzzi of Death. You should’ve checked the fine print, lady. They might’ve said they were virgins—most do—but there isn’t a single chesty blonde on the west coast who is.
Blood poured over the lip of the tub. Streaming across the floor, it pooled under a cheval mirror.
Faith wasn’t sure whether the mirror belonged on her list or not. It had that ‘mirror, mirror on the wall’ sort of quality. But despite its fairytale appearance, there wasn’t anything really sinister about it. Except that the blood seemed to be drawn to it. And Scary Bitch was staring right into it. The final point was minor. Just a subtle detail. Her reflection had red irises.
When Faith looked at Amy, two more things made the list. The witch had a severe case of fish-face. And she’d landed. We’re screwed.
The main feature was still playing. Faith returned her attention to it. The tub was empty. As the mirror soaked up the remaining blood, the reflected woman turned dark crimson.
The mirror’s surface rippled. A foot pushed through. At first, Faith wasn’t sure she was seeing this right. She got sure fast enough.
The bloody doppelganger stepped out of the mirror. It moved purposefully toward its likeness.
Okay, so…it’s not like I didn’t see that coming.
Faith lunged.
I love vampires. They’re so much fun.
As Willow studied her, smoke billowed off the vamp on the cross. But it wasn’t really Willow, it was Maya. Their thoughts were just too mingled to tell where one began and the other ended.
Willow gave up. She took pride in her work. It was flawless. The tissue inside Dimi’s nose had grown closed, leaving it perfectly smooth. Her jaw was fused. Open just a little. It gave her cheeks a nice hollow. Where her lips had once been, there was a layer of unblemished skin.
That infernal screeching was giving me a headache.
Willow felt herself say, “The way I see it, you have three choices.”
She’d put countless hours into breaking Kennedy. This was just the icing. And it was delicious.
Willow faced the table. Kenn’s pretty, Hispanic complexion was streaked. Tears didn’t suit her. But the look of abject terror was beautiful.
Closing in, Willow raised a finger and said, “You can do as I ask…” another finger lifted “…or you can defy me.”
“That second thing wouldn’t be very smart.” She laughed. “You see, I’ll just cut you. And poor, poor Dimi will have to wait. She hasn’t got very long, y’know?” She took a knout from a cart by the table. Hooks tied to its seven tails glinted in the light. The leather fanned out over tanned skin. Dragging it, she whispered, “Either way, I get my slave.”
The hooks bit in. A scream burbled past Kennedy’s gag.
Willow applied constant pressure. Gashes opened that didn’t heal. Blood oozed. Kennedy was too starved. The leather cords slipped between her thighs.
“Your third choice is betrayal. And in the realm of ‘not smart’…”
Maya’s heart labored as the hooks tore free.
Cells burst and the memory went with them. Willow had seen enough. But that’s not an answer. There must be more. She concentrated on feeding slower and dipped back into the mire.
Sunshine warmed her skin. The air smelled sweet. Fresh rain made the forest glisten. It was simply beautiful.
Leaves scrunched under her boots. Willow wasn’t alone. A gentle patting sound paced her. There was a leash in her hand. Funny, I don’t remember any dogs.
A crate hovered in front of her. Just looking at it made her feel giddy. Something like Christmas.
The trees thinned. Willow guided the crate between rows of ancient headstones. A ruined adobe structure loomed atop the hill. She stared at it in disbelief.
It can’t be this easy, can it?
The desire to go faster unnerved her. She was stuck with the predetermined pace.
Eventually, Willow reached the doors. She stepped into the vestibule. The crate floated away, coming to rest on the pulpit.
Willow passed under an archway to her left. She glimpsed a figure shrouded in shadow as she descended the staircase. That’s no dog.
When Willow reached the cellar, her attention set on the cluster of vamps. It was the most wanton display of hedonism she’d ever witnessed. Naked bodies writhed over a central figure. They scattered with her arrival.
Kennedy lay on a pile of cushions. Caught in the throes of passion, she seized the head between her thighs and growled, “If you move—”
With a casual wave of her hand, Willow broke Kennedy’s hold. The raven-haired vamp went flying. She hit the stone wall. Shackles closed around her wrists and ankles.
Thrown from where they cowered, the other vamps filed in beside her.
Willow asked, “Do you have the slayer?”
Only Kennedy remained free. Rising to kneel, she bowed and mumbled, “No, Mistress.”
That’s better.
Willow studied the row of vamps as she spoke. “You have a week. If you can’t keep your end of the bargain, I’ll have to find someone who can.”
I need a little one with nice tits for Byron.
The raven-haired vamp was perfect, but barely an A-cup. Shaking her head, Willow muttered, “And we’ll have to revisit our deal.”
Willow spotted just the thing. She’s a bit pudgy, but pleasant enough.
At least her tits are good. I can work with the rest.
I’ll get to you in a minute, darling.
Smiling, Willow remarked, “You and your little friends should fetch a handsome price. It won’t be as much, but I’ll make do.”
Yeah, it’ll be rough. Since word got out every boss in the underworld wants a piece. Pet slayer-vamps are all the rage.
Common vamps are still good, but trendy always sells.
Glancing down at her side, Willow said, “Now, I’ve lined up a buyer. I have someone here who wants to say good bye.” The darkness parted like a curtain.
She caught a glimpse before turning back to Kennedy.
A glimpse was all she needed. The image stuck.
Willow wanted desperately to unstick it.
The word ‘no’ caught in Amy’s throat. Her attention snapped from the mirror…
Oh, this is so…
…to the slayer…
…not…
…to the demon…
…goooood!
…to getting the hell out of the way.
She darted sideways. Her knee folded. Blood splashed the floor. She went down.
Amy’s landing employed all of the grace she had come to expect from herself. There wasn’t much that didn’t hurt when she smacked the ground.
Faith lay in a puddle about ten feet away. The wall next to her was splattered with blood.
Well, that’s an interesting way to make a Jackson Pollock…
…or a set for the remake of ‘Texas Chain Saw Massacre.’
Same thing, really.
Amy giggled.
The demon was gone, but something was terribly wrong. The blood was moving.
“Faith, break the mirror!” Amy shouted.
The slayer groaned.
Amy struggled to get up, slipping in the blood. The second time she fell flat on her ass, Amy looked up. She froze. The two hung women were twins.
The Geminatrea.
I knew I recognized—
Oh, this is bad!
That book! This was in that book! That’s where I saw it. I knew I had. But that means…
There should be another—
Her eyes fixed on the demon. All the blood on the floor was gone. It was whole and headed straight for Faith.
Faith swept her leg. It went right through. The demon faltered, but didn’t stop. Reaching down, it took Faith by her throat.
She kicked and punched. Blood splashed where she hit. There was no substance to the demon. Or at least there wasn’t in the unfairest of senses.
Picking Faith up, it turned and strode past Amy. They disappeared out the door.
It didn’t even notice me.
I need to make it. I have to or we’re all screwed!
What do I know? What can I do?
C’mon!
The answer was right there. Her attention fixed on the mirror. I’m an idiot.
Amy folded her good leg. Pushing off with her hands, she stood and hobbled toward the mirror.
Looking was a total waste of time. She knew what she’d see. Dark half and light half were merging. If that happens…
Amy reached the mirror and shoved. It toppled. The seconds it took to fall lingered painfully. Amy wondered what she’d do if it didn’t break.
It might not be a normal mirror.
That’s stupid! Of course it’s not normal. But it could be protected.
I don’t know. I just know—
Crash.
The breath Amy was holding leaked out.
As she turned, not knowing what she’d find, a childish voice rung out, “Roses can’t go in the vase until they’re cut.”
“That’s right, Maya. Cut the rose,” Willow purred.
Cool trickles of fluid felt like ghosts on Willow’s skin. She didn’t understand, but that didn’t matter. It’s done.
Only one thing matters now.
Maya pushed past her. Well, she’s remarkably spry…considering the blood loss. The fact that she’s skipping—
Strange and disturbing, yet—
Willow gave her stance brief consideration as she focused on the shackles binding her ankles together.
Huh.
I find myself oddly unaffected.
It took her a moment to magically jimmy the locks. By then Faith and Amy were way too touchy-feely to care about her. Not that they did in the first place.
Not that I wanted them to.
I wonder what that’s about anyway. You’d think they’d just stopped an apocalypse.
A twinge of jealousy crept in. They had something Willow was certain she’d destroyed. She curbed her feelings and got right to business.
Pointing at the door at the far end of the hall, she said, “Check under the bed.” Moving hurt. Her muscles were so atrophied it felt as though something might pop.
Yeah.
Them paying attention to me…not really—
Willow turned toward the kitchen, suggesting through gritted teeth, “You’ll want a stake.” She limped away. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t look.”
I should—
No, it has to be me. If she hurts me—
I’m just afraid she’ll not know. She’ll not understand and they’ll get hurt.
Me, I’m okay with.
Willow did her best impression of running. Who am I kidding? I’d be lucky to qualify for the Special Olympics now. She’d reached the dining room when Faith shouted, “Hey! Where’s B.?”
Every second was precious. Willow didn’t stop. “Just stay put,” she said, adding a sullen, “Please,” as an afterthought.
It was nearing dusk. Scant light bathed the perimeter of the front room. One small blessing.
Her cloak was still on the hallway floor. When she stooped to snatch it up, her right leg pulled. The skin tore, but she didn’t slow down. Just what I needed, another aggravation…
The open door at the end of the hallway held more concern.
I should hear something. But I don’t.
What if—?
No!
Dammit!
She’s alive. I won’t believe anything else.
Using the wall for support, Willow stumbled downstairs. As she descended, the air thickened with the stench of burning flesh. She cupped her hand over her nose. It wasn’t much help.
Her attention fixed on the hidden door. It was open too. Wisps of smoke drifted over the top of the doorframe. She rushed across the cellar.
Clouds boiled on the ceiling of the next room. Buffy’s face was obscured, but her body was whole.
The cross hurt. Willow turned away. She’s fine.
Well, not fine, but—
She’s here!
Willow said, “I’m here. It’s me.” But she had little hope that Buffy would understand.
She’s alive. That’s what matters.
“I’m gonna get you down, sweetie,” Willow added, trying to sound soothing. Really, she sounded like a nervous wreck.
No reply came.
Steeling herself, Willow approached the cross. If she didn’t look directly at it, the whole thing was less disturbing. Not that—
‘Less disturbing’ is so relative. Especially now.
Willow focused on the shackles holding Buffy’s legs.
This is ridiculous. It’s just silly superstition. I was never superstitious before.
Okay, well…not in the ‘improbable, impractical’ sense. There are certain things you just shouldn’t do. I think Buffy thought I was crazy, but it makes sense. At least it does to me.
Oh, I don’t know.
Maybe it doesn’t.
But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is…
Touching’s bad. I’ll be fine as long as I don’t do that.
Willow bit her lip and looked up. A leather strap encircled Buffy’s throat. Willow couldn’t tell where it went for the haze. But what it was for was apparent. It kept Buffy’s head against the cross. Willow gave up on the shackles. This was the real problem. She exerted her will, slicing the strap. Buffy’s head fell forward.
Willow gasped. Her legs buckled. The floor came up so fast. She crashed into it and slumped forward.
It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. I just wish I hadn’t—
I don’t know what to do!
Silence.
She can’t scream. She can’t move.
Locks of blonde hair rained down. Fine strands like spider’s silk.
I can’t—
Shutting it all out, she closed her eyes and mumbled, “It’ll be okay.” Whether she believed them or not, the words helped.
Buffy lifted her head. Willow wasn’t sure how she knew, but Buffy had and Willow just knew.
Looking’s bad.
It’s okay, I don’t need to look.
One thing at a time.
She concentrated on the shackles. They weren’t that much different from the one’s she’d just removed. The tricky part’s gonna be keeping her still. These are holding her.
I wish I had a choice.
This isn’t something I want, but I may have to. If she hurts herself…
The first shackle came free. Willow magically seized Buffy’s leg, keeping it away from the cross. Her teeth ground together. Buffy was fighting her.
Splitting her focus, Willow went to work on the second shackle. When it hit the floor, Buffy lashed out.
“Please, don’t,” Willow pleaded. Fighting was useless. There’s just too much—
Willow murmured, “Congelo,” and the thrashing stopped. I promised.
I can’t help it.
Apologizing seemed stupid, but she did. “I’m so sorry.”
Willow concentrated on lifting Buffy. There were hooks holding her. Feeling them, focusing on them was horrible, but Willow had to. She had to be certain she didn’t cause any more harm.
As Buffy rose, the first hook slipped out. Another pair pierced her wrists. Willow pivoted her up at an angle to remove them.
It’s over. She’s safe.
Slowly, gently, she levitated Buffy overhead.
Is there such a thing as ‘over’? Not really. This is just another beginning.
Willow placed Buffy standing behind her. Rising was painful, but Willow managed.
When she faced Buffy, a wave of panic crept up. Willow recoiled. She couldn’t look. It was just too horrible.
Focusing on the folds of dark fabric, Willow slipped her cloak over Buffy’s head and sat down. The floor seemed even colder and harsher.
She shut her eyes, blocking everything out. When she was centered enough to continue, Willow lowered Buffy into her lap. Just holding her felt like a miracle.
“I need you to trust me,” she whispered. It seemed a silly thing to say. She’d already taken the trust she was asking for.
She knew her hands were scabby and rough, but couldn’t resist touching Buffy’s cheek.
Really, it was another violation. Something unsolicited and probably unwanted, but Willow needed it.
She allowed memories of the smile to affect her once more. It was so beautiful, vibrant and full of life. So much promise. So much love.
‘Never again’ isn’t an option.
Willow reached out, magically sculpting what’d been stolen.
An eternity passed. Willow became lost. This has to be perfect.
When the time came to open her eyes, dread filled her heart. She forced herself to look.
The smile was perfect in every way. Willow almost smiled herself. What stopped her was the fear reflected in Buffy’s eyes. The contrast was so stark.
I have to let go.
Buffy shut her eyes. Her face felt warm and tingly. Overstimulation had caused everything else to fade.
She focused on the soft, raspy sound of Willow’s voice. The words were unintelligible, except for the last few. “I won’t fight you.” Sounds like she’s given up.
Buffy’s body went slack. The tension in her face relaxed. It took all the self-control she could muster not to spring to her feet.
She thinks I’m going to kill her. I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.
It’s been one bitch of a day. It started off nice enough, but—
I finally came to terms with something that’s—
I dunno…it’s totally bizarre for me.
And I went from telling her I love her, holding her, kissing her to more pain than—
It’s been awhile.
Only I would get a complimentary crucifixion with my epiphany.
I’m just special that way.
But that’s the thing about torture, it leaves you lots of time for introspection.
Either that or lots of time to fall apart.
Tough choice.
She should get which one I picked from the fact that I still have my hands.
Figures, questions were pretty much all I came up with. Well, questions and I decided how big the pieces they’ll find will be. So much for introspection…
It’s a fair bet that we’re safe. She would’ve said something if we weren’t.
I need to be careful. Push too hard and she’ll go all wiggy and useless.
So, let’s start simple. She’ll expect this.
Buffy asked, “Why?” Sensing a little déjà vu here. She opened her eyes.
After a brief hesitation, Willow crumbled. A string of “I’m sorries” came pouring out, broken up by a few “sos” and a bunch of “reallies.”
Buffy was only half interested. Who knew she’d have the strength for this?
Sure couldn’t tell it to look. She’s so badly hurt it’s hard to tell it’s her. Her voice is thin and crackly, but it sounds like her. And her eyes…those are unmistakably Willow’s.
Doesn’t matter.
If I could do this without her, I’d leave. But I can’t, so…
The babble moved on to the expected “I didn’t have a choice,” part of the program.
There’s always a choice.
Buffy blocked it all out. Her eyes drifted shut.
I mean, you should’ve at least told me what you had planned.
I would’ve told you that the whole ‘fake hostage’ bit wouldn’t work. It never does. It’s too easy to figure that the hostage means something. I bet it was written all over your face.
And while I totally get that we have that little problem with being extra-flamey, I’d like to think I might’ve been useful. But you didn’t give me a chance, did you? So I guess we’ll never know.
From the look of things—you in particular—it’s pretty obvious we got lucky.
‘Lucky’? I couldn’t find a less fitting word. There’s no luck here.
Buffy snapped, “That’s enough.” Willow was instantly silenced. Buffy took in her charred, crestfallen face and whispered, “I get it. You were afraid.” She rose to her feet. “Y’know, this might’ve gone a little better if you’d let me help.”
“Maybe, but I don’t see how,” Willow mumbled so sheepishly that while Buffy wanted to go off, she couldn’t. She bent down and lifted Willow into her arms.
Buffy headed for a padded bench along the back wall, remarking as she went. “I don’t know, Will. Maybe I could’ve faked—?”
Her voice fell flat when Willow interjected, “She’d have sensed it.”
After setting Willow down, Buffy turned her back and mumbled, “Yeah, whatever.” She shook her head and walked away. There was something she needed to see.
“I’m sorry, Buffy. I did my best,” Willow said.
Buffy looked at the bloodstained table. Her brow furrowed. Yeah, you said that. “Just tell me you got it,” she mumbled.
A small golden oval lay among a pile of medical instruments on a tray. At first glance it looked almost like an old coin. She picked it up and pocketed it. I don’t really need a diagram to tell me what this was.
Willow replied, “Yeah.” Buffy took a pair of scissors from the tray. As she crossed the room, Willow went on, “I was right. But I was completely wrong. We all were.” She didn’t elaborate and Buffy didn’t press. She met Willow’s eyes. “They’re at the mission.” Answering cost Willow the rest of her strength.
Buffy sat, angled on the bench. She reached behind Willow’s neck, locating the lock that held the collar. She twisted it. The collar came free. Tossing it aside, she rolled Willow onto her back.
Attempting to lighten the mood, Buffy teased, “I don’t think this is quite what you had in mind when you said I could undress you.” It was useless.
She’s too weak or in too much pain. Either way, she’s gone.
Buffy took the scissors and made a cut up the center of the body stocking. Severe burns and nylon…couldn’t ask for a better combination.
She did her best not make it any worse. Her best wasn’t nearly good enough.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell you this. It’d probably be best if I didn’t.
You weren’t gone ten minutes when she brought you back into the room. She put you on that table. She wanted me to see.
That’s how this goes. You know that. You take the thing that means the most and destroy it.
She started cutting and ranting. She said you were disgusting.
I thought she was crazy.
Removing the nylon from Willow’s right shoulder peeled away a large scab. Buffy cringed, but Willow didn’t move.
There was something different about you. That part I got. But it’s not like I had tons to compare. You were different than me. I didn’t see anything wrong with that.
After moving to the end of the bench, Buffy cut the last of the stocking off. She stripped it away.
But I guess you made yourself different because you wanted to feel more.
Buffy gently parted Willow’s thighs. A piece of metal was inserted in a tender spot. She carefully removed it.
Maya didn’t want you to feel at all.
At least you won’t remember.
All that was left was a smooth, featureless channel. The incisions were still fresh. Willow hadn’t healed.
As Buffy stared, a chaotic mix of emotions flooded in. She was awash in a devastating swirl of rage, sorrow, hatred…
Anchored by a profound sense of loss, she went under.
The scissors clattered to the floor.
I’ve lived a clean life. I just don’t see why—
Okay, so…I go through a pack of smokes a day if I don’t watch it. And I’ve got this wicked junk food habit. Then there’s the sex.
Can I get a ‘relatively clean’?
Whatever.
If you can’t lie to yourself, who can you lie to?
The scythe rested across Faith’s lap. Fidgeting, she rotated the handle in her hands. The blade faced her and turned away, glinting as the cycle repeated.
Yeah, I’ve had some wild times. So what? I’m the slayer, not a nun. It’s not like ‘prude’ is anywhere in the job description, but—
We’ve been here, what? Maybe an hour? And I’ve had my quota of shit I didn’t want to see, hear, feel—hell, there may’ve even been a smell or two.
Point is, I’d sleep better at night not knowing that some sick bitch thought it might be fun to combine ‘The Story of O’ with Rudolf’s shiny ‘Island of Misfit Toys.’
There should be a law against even putting those two things together in the same sentence.
And what was up with Red telling us not to look? Doesn’t she get that’s something you just don’t do? It’s the surest way—
“This is fascinating stuff,” Amy remarked.
I don’t see why we can’t go.
They’ll catch up.
Plastering on a thin smile, Faith cast a glance at Amy. She sat on the other end of the couch, looking completely at home. The book in her lap was that Watchers’ Diary Buffy mentioned.
At least there’s that. We stopped it. There’s no way those girls are gonna party without their witch. She’s out cold on the kitchen floor. No clue what Red did to her, but—
I had to put her down. Knowing what it looks like to masturbate with a butcher’s knife…
I could’ve totally done without that too.
Faith glanced at the pile of books sitting between them on the couch. We should seriously burn those. Amy freaked when I mentioned it. She thinks knowledge is good.
I’m still hung up on the idea that the book that did this came from the Magic Box. There’s just certain shit people shouldn’t know. That we keep it around is more than a little disturbing.
Apparently there’s a recipe for becoming a demon. Something other than the usual suckfest.
It’s not exactly the two eggs, milk and flour sorta thing. It takes the blood of two sets of twins conceived at the right points on some star chart.
That the first set’s still in their mother’s womb is messed up enough.
But the second set…
There’s a ritual cleansing. First impression…sounds harmless.
I really, really, really could’ve lived without knowing that ‘ritual cleansing’ can also mean ‘gang rape by demons.’ So much for that whole ‘virgin’ angle.
Yeah.
I get why we’d want to save that.
A muted thump came from the hallway, spurring Faith to rise. She went to have a look. Willow was carrying Buffy through the doorway at the other end. Faith was a little stunned by how much better she looked. That lasted until their eyes met. Willow wasn’t alright by any stretch. And no wonder. B. looks like shit.
Faith returned to the couch. Setting the scythe down was hard, but she couldn’t exactly move books with it in her hand. She cleared the couch as Amy moved to the recliner.
Willow didn’t say a word. She just laid Buffy down and disappeared into the dining room.
Briefly meeting Amy’s gaze, Faith gave her a look that said ‘this gonna be trouble.’ Amy stayed pokerfaced.
Faith turned her interest to Buffy. The vamp’s skin looked like dingy, cracked plaster. Okay. Why’s simple enough to work out. The gash on the left side of her throat’s a dead giveaway.
So, what the hell? She would’ve bled out and dusted way before Red got down there. That had to have happened after. But that’s no vamp bite. And since when—?
A screech from the kitchen brought Faith to her senses. The scythe rested against an end table a few feet away. She went for it.
Willow reentered the room carrying Miss Ginsu by her throat. As she reached the couch, Faith grabbed her shoulder and said, “I can’t let you do it.”
Letting her victim go, Willow turned on Faith.
The whacked bitch hit the floor. She gibbered something like, “Blood makes the roses grow stronger,” as she skittered into a corner.
Faith wasn’t the least bit concerned by that. The other crazy, naked witch with the butcher’s knife had her full attention.
Yeah, like we needed two.
See what I get for—?
Slipping past Faith’s block, Willow seized her by the throat and snarled, “I’ve lost her twice today. And so help me…”
Faith was slung around, stumbled backward and hit the wall hard.
She struggled. It was useless. She couldn’t move.
A barrage of shadowy figures invaded her mind.
When Faith shut her eyes, praying they’d go way, the images sharpened.
One after another, after another, after another…featureless faces flashed like some perverse slideshow in her head.
Willow growled, “Before you go throwing yourself on your sword…” the torrent froze “…you should know what you’re trying to save.”
Faith stared at a quadruple amputee in a box. Another faceless beauty. This one must be the ‘Boxing Helena’ special. Only lots neater. There are no stumps.
Her round, toothless mouth made Faith’s skin crawl. I hope there’s a reason I’m looking at this shit.
She was just another undead blowup doll until Faith heard herself speak, “Oh c’mon, she’s worth at least a hundred mill and you know it.”
As the thing stuck its studded, forked tongue out, it came to her. She was looking at herself. The face is right. Or what’s left of it’s right, but I’m—
Her knees buckled, but Willow kept her standing. That’s not me!
It’s not right. My boobs aren’t—
“It’s a fantasy.”
“She had big plans for you.”
Willow’s voice was soft and silky, with a gruff edge that made her sound like a chronic smoker. This did nothing to reassure Amy.
She was halfway to them and building power. Hope this doesn’t go down the way—
Faith met her eyes and croaked, “Don’t.”
Willow let go.
Faith nearly hit the floor. Shaking it off, she bolted for the door.
Amy nearly got run over. As she recovered, her eyes met Willow’s. That was enough. The blood drained from her face. Being elsewhere was all she cared about. She barely remembered the book on her way out.
Warm evening air hit her face. It felt like someone had spun the dial on the decompression chamber back to sea level.
Maybe we should’ve bailed like she wanted.
Faith knelt in the yard, puking.
Amy let her be. If the look Willow gave me was any indication, there’s no point in saying anything. She’ll talk when she needs to.
A squeal rang from inside the house. Amy ignored it. She was doing well just to sit down on the steps.
Yeah, I’d just be chasing her back in there now. Truth is, I couldn’t leave. It wouldn’t have been right.
That and there’s just too much riding on this not to see it through.
But maybe Faith has a point. Maybe I should want to intervene. That, or feel some guilt for not. A woman is dying.
No, not a woman. A monster that cut unborn babies from their mother’s womb.
That’s where I draw the line. Anyone who could do that deserves what they get. The world will be better off without her.
I do get why Faith would want to stop it. The gray doesn’t get much murkier. But for me…
All I care is that she’s safe. Past that…
I’ve got nothing.
Faith swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Striding over to Amy, she sat down.
They lingered in silence for who knows how long. Amy had no sense of it. She really didn’t care. It was over. She was just happy when Faith accepted her hand.
It’s weird that sometimes nothing’s preferable to something. That’s been a theme today.
Maybe it’s been a theme lately?
I dunno.
Eventually, a heavy thud broke the calm. The porch shuddered.
Uh…
Buffy’s up.
The nothing was nice while it lasted.
Buffy still felt the wood beneath her knuckles. The doors rippled like the surface of a pond broken by a pebble.
At first she questioned her eyes. The movement was so subtle. Blinking, she took a step back.
Around her the air crackled. The robe she wore clung to her skin. Her ears popped.
Guess this must be our ‘entrance.’
Inside she heard the faint scuffle of bare feet on stone. I’d move if I was you. Not that I—
Yeah, you’re good. Just stay put.
A groan trembled through the banded wooden slabs. They moved with her, breathing rhythmically in and out. She wasn’t sure if the doors were causing her to breathe, or if she was causing them. Not knowing was unsettling.
Uh…
This is just weird.
I wonder what’d happen if I sto—
And like a gigantic, invisible something sneezed, the doors blew in.
The vamp behind them was shredded. Skin rent from muscle. Muscle became cinder. Her ashes joined the tempest that churned across the room.
See…told ya. Umm…
Or not so much ‘told,’ but—
Stupid vamp.
Through the swirling splinters, Buffy spied her targets huddled on the dais in the far corner. The pile of writhing bodies froze. Mouths separated from naked flesh.
She launched at them, following the shockwave.
Who could let themselves get so wrapped up? Talk about vulnerable.
A vamp at the rear of the cluster pulled away from her partner. As she climbed to her feet, the billowing swell cut her down.
I guess they figured they had nothing to lose.
The building rumbled. Debris rained from the vaulted ceiling. Reflexively, her eyes snapped shut.
There’s always something to lose.
Buffy dove into the fray, seizing the vamps to her left and right by their necks. Her knees crashed into the back of a third. She drove all three down into the one beneath them.
Its time they took a clue.
No!
Like a silent mantra, the word repeated. It hung in Willow’s throat. She nearly choked on the stupid thing.
It was too little way too late and she knew it, but she had to try. She concentrated, hoping to conjure a shield.
Buffy threw herself forward as the cloud consumed her.
Or Willow thought she’d seen Buffy throw herself forward.
That could be wishful thinking.
I don’t—
Please, don’t let it be wishful thinking.
I don’t know what to do.
There’s just so much. Too much pain, or grief, or…
I think maybe she’s lost her mind. But if I can keep her alive, maybe she’ll—
Oh, god…
What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have told her. We should’ve gone home. It wouldn’t have hurt anything. We had plenty of time.
Yeah, like she would’ve.
I just didn’t—
A black robed figure appeared through the thinning haze. The breath Willow held leaked out.
No, I really didn’t think.
Five bloody carcasses littered the pulpit. The body Buffy knelt on convulsed. Its neck was broken, wrenched against the torso of the one underneath. Buffy didn’t appear to notice. And no wonder, her left hand was buried in the chest of the vamp to her right.
Buffy ripped her hand free. A shrill scream clawed at Willow’s senses. Gore dripped, flames licked, ashes blew and Buffy moved on.
Four more. Maybe she’ll—
Faith pushed passed. Willow didn’t understand why. She turned a blind eye to the carnage. It’s that or intervene.
I’ll just make things worse.
The vamp across from Buffy was up. As she lunged, Faith swung. The blow connected, sending the vamp into the wall.
I always make things worse.
It’s just…they’re not much different from us. At least I don’t think they are. I’d like to—
They deserve a chance. I think…
Maybe.
She considered the girl in the crate.
I don’t think it was them.
I wonder where—
The vamp was on her feet again, much surer this time. The impact had brought out the predator.
Trying to help, Willow focused on slowing her down. This is something…
I need—
There’s nothing I can do.
“Are you okay?” Amy whispered, quickly filling in, “I mean, I know you’re not okay, but—” She offered her hand, grumbling, “Oh, I don’t know what I mean.”
It was the last thing Willow wanted, but she accepted Amy’s hand. Concentrating, she whisked the water away, stripping it from the other elements.
As Faith parried, the vamp ground to a halt. All that was left was an ashen sculpture. Faith struck. Flesh reduced to scraps like burnt paper drifted through the air.
The remains fractured, toppled and hit the stone floor. Crumbling into powder, they were swept away by the breeze.
Faith glanced over her shoulder, giving Willow a grumpy look.
Willow shrugged and mouthed, “Sorry.”
It’s almost over.
I just need to—
“Do you know where she’d be?”
Willow stared past Faith. Only two left.
Buffy was on her feet, pacing, punishing them for living.
It’s not like I think we’ll ever find peace. Or even some sort of stability. I can’t imagine what that’s like.
It doesn’t matter. This needs to end. It has to end. And when it does, things will get better.
They have to get better.
Forest rushed past Jonathan’s window, darkness obscuring the trunks of the trees.
It’s a little frightening how much things can change. Just twenty-four hours ago, Giles’ apartment was on fire. Our whole world was falling apart. It still is, but—
There’s less of a shambles today than yesterday. I’m not sure…
From what Amy said it might be over.
Or maybe close to over?
Giles didn’t tell me much. We were sorta in the middle of dealing with that gypsy.
Could Buffy have picked a bigger loony? I swear…that old man was just—
Wow!
I hope I never get like that.
A sigh slipped out, unchecked and Jonathan rubbed his chin.
Giles didn’t react. He’s probably just as lost, but he’ll never admit it.
At least we got what we needed. Or I think we did. I hope we did.
It looked suspicious to me, but what do I know? I’m good for a few minor incantations. Honestly, Amy’s got lots more power than I do. Giles probably has more.
He seemed to think it was the real deal. That’s gotta count for something.
And now it’s over.
Over?
Even close is hard for me to imagine. It doesn’t seem right, but I guess it is. Amy said they found the one responsible. And she’s—well, they took care of it.
It’s not like I’d know. I spent my whole day trying to make us a place. I know about things like maid service, pool cleaning, the groundskeeper…
I even know what kind of bra Faith’s gonna be wearing tomorrow. I could’ve done without that.
Thing is, even a week ago, if anyone had told me where we’d be, I’d have called them crazy.
Now?
Maybe I’m just stupid, but I think this can work.
And Buffy’s right, someone needs to handle the small stuff. Weird, she even seemed to appreciate that.
But really, either way, I don’t mind. I’m kinda used to being unappreciated. It’s not like I’ll ever be much more than a Jimmy Olsen.
Actually, Jimmy Olsen got his name under Superman’s picture in the paper. I’m more of an Alfred Pennyworth, but without the accent or the cool suit.
A stifled snicker put a grin on Jonathan’s face. I should totally get a tux. His smirk vanished. Well, maybe not. They already have enough fun at my expense. Adding to it—?
Yeah, we’ll skip that.
I just wish I knew. He said it was bad. And there could be—
I can’t. Not right now. When it comes, I’ll deal. Until then, there’s no reason.
All that matters is that they’re okay. At least I hope they are. The rest is…
It’ll work out. I have to trust it will. That’s probably naïve, but—
Maybe I should say something?
Jonathan offered an encouraging, “It’ll be okay.” He didn’t look Giles’ way. It would’ve been way too easy for him to read the worry.
“I’m not sure you fully understand,” Giles replied.
I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. That’s not the point.
Jonathan’s reflection stared back at him from the dark glass. He plastered on a mask of composure before facing Giles. “You’re probably right. But I do know one thing: whatever happens, we’ll face it together. And after, we’ll help each other deal. That’s what we do.”
Giles took his eyes off the road just long enough to regard Jonathan. As though testing, he asked, “And the vampires?”
Jonathan shook his head and turned away. The black nothing outside his window was better. God, could he be more British? It’s like someone starched his face.
We’ve been over this already. He knows how I feel.
Sorta sucks that I’m the only one.
“If you mean Buffy and Willow, they’re part of the ‘together’ now,” he mumbled.
To his surprise, Giles recited, “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”
Huh.
Random Giles.
That’s kind of new.
And kind of… “Beautiful,” Jonathan whispered, only half aware that he was speaking aloud. Some of the tension seeped away. He turned to Giles and asked, “What is that?”
The starch gave out, overcome by a smile that warmed Giles’ face. “It’s a passage from the book of Matthew, chapter sixteen, verse twenty-six, King James edition. Frankly, of the many references I’ve studied, it seems to fit this circumstance the best. It would appear that, first by force, later by choice, Buffy has forsaken her lust for conquest in lieu of a desire to embrace her humanity.”
“Never had you figured for a Bible thumper,” Jonathan teased through a smirk.
“Oh, perish the thought,” Giles quipped, snapping sober before he moved on, “Philosophy, on the whole, has always fascinated me. I would be remiss were I to shun one school of thought simply because the mighty C of E…” Trailing off, he glanced at Jonathan. “That is to say—”
Cutting Giles some slack, Jonathan filled in, “It’s cool. I got it. They’re wankers.” Giles cracked another grin, chuckling softly as Jonathan amended, “There’s wisdom everywhere, even if most people choose to ignore it.”
“Couldn’t have put that better myself,” Giles said as he turned the car into the mission’s driveway. “Right, so…shall we go play hero?”
Jonathan said, “Absolutely,” his mocked confidence sounding phony even to him.
Hellraiser wasn’t meant—
Amid the chains was a face, streaked with blood and very pale. Yet it glowed defiantly with the luster of life.
It wasn’t some sort of goddamn instructional video!
Animals!
Amy’s stomach churned, brimming over. She swallowed the disgusting stuff back. It burned her throat. A sharp twinge made her choke. She covered her mouth, scraping for control.
Anything that could—I should say ‘anyone,’ but no ‘one’ could do this. Nothing with—
Nothing human.
I’m not even sure. Is that—?
No, I don’t want to know. I need to go.
She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight.
I’ve gotta get out of here. Get help. Do something. I can’t—
The image refused to go away. She focused on the face. So strange…there’s a girl somewhere under—
And she’s relaxed. It’s almost like she’s asleep…or somehow at peace.
How could you find peace in that?
Amy turned around.
That’s not peace—just unconsciousness.
I want it—I need to make it go away. I don’t want—
I need help. There’s nothing—
I can’t—
I—
There’s nothing I can do!
Reaching up, Amy forced a long, even breath as she smeared at her sopping face. I’m way out of my depth. I have to get help.
She climbed the stairs. There was pain. She felt a stab here and a dull ache there, but it was so far removed. She was past caring.
Everyone’s like that. There’s a limit…and we’ve all reached it.
I don’t know. I mean, I’m not even sure…
I’m not sure of anything.
Just reacting…it’s written all over their faces. No one can see past—
Weird I get that.
There’s nobody here who’s able to—
But we have to help her! Somebody has to do something.
What can we do?
It didn’t matter much that the vamp Buffy was beating was barely lucid. She kept going, pushing, making it bleed.
Amy was disturbed by how comfortable she was. Or maybe I’m just—
Maybe it’s all the same thing?
Maybe that’s how this happens? You see so much and it’s just—something breaks. And what’s normal—what feels right—it changes.
The vamp Faith fought was drenched with blood and sweat. Willow went out of her way to get that one moving. Funny, even she gets that Faith needs this to be okay.
I just wish she’d quit screwing around and stake the bitch already. She might be able to help. But she needs this. She needs to—
She’s been so—it’s like they stole everything—every scrap of anything resembling confidence.
No, I should leave her alone. Let her work it out.
Amy’s interest settled on Willow. She looks about as lucid as Buffy victim. Leaving her was a bad idea. But I had to go. I needed to help.
Now I need that other Willow. The one who helped me. I need someone who can—
That Willow isn’t home.
Amy limped past them, out the door.
There’s no help for me here.
Heroes indeed.
Giles tread cautiously up the sparsely forested lawn with Jonathan at his side. He could scarcely make out their destination poised atop the hill. Only a faint aura of magical light outlining the open doorway provided a reference.
The air was dank with the promise of rain. He chided himself for not having left his coat behind. The winter garment was far too warm. It’d been hanging in the closet at the Magic Box for just that reason. That morning, it’d been welcome. In a difficult time, it felt as though he was reclaiming some part of himself. Now, that part smothered him.
He considered taking it off, but there was little use just yet.
I would’ve preferred to attend to this myself, but Jonathan simply would not hear of it. Doubtless, he has considered what we stand to find. I was quite plain. However, I believe that he lacks the experience to glean an impression. There are subtleties one must witness in order to truly understand.
I suppose I should be thankful that he’s been spared thus far.
I just wish I could make him see.
Unfortunately, in this instance, my desires are utterly meaningless. Jonathan is a man. I must respect his decision. He’s entitled to his own mistakes.
It truly is a pity that I doubt his ability to cope.
But then, I doubt my own…
They were nearly halfway to their goal when a glowing orb emerged through the doorway. It was the same shade as placid sky. Giles didn’t need a clear view of the figure below it to know that it was Amy. Mages commonly tainted their creations. Any spell that would naturally be colorless became hued to reflect the caster’s strengths.
The orb dimmed, flickered and went out, leaving Amy backlit in iridescent green. Although it was doubtful that she’d seen them, she trudged their way.
Jonathan rushed ahead. The two conversed animatedly when he reached his goal. Their voices grew fainter as Giles approached. He kept his distance out of respect.
Condensation filmed his glasses. He removed them and pulled a handkerchief from his inside pocket. As he wiped the lenses clean, his attention lingered on Amy. She was visibly shaken and white as a sheet. Her clothing was soiled with dried blood and dirt. She leaned against Jonathan to take the weight from her injured leg.
Wheedling free of his grasp, Amy fumed, “No!” She balled her fists. “You’re not going in there!”
Giles suppressed a sigh. It’s exactly as I feared. Just this once I would’ve liked to have been wrong.
Turning on her, Jonathan shouted, “But we came here to—”
Giles called for order. “There’s little sense in arguing.” Although calm, his crisp voice sounded over Jonathan’s, causing him to fall silent. “It would seem we have enough to worry about.” Terrible irony that Amy and I are of a similar mind. Had I the chance, I would’ve gladly spared her too. He replaced his glasses and pocketed the handkerchief before moving on. “Is there something we might assist you with?” The question troubled him. He wanted for all the world to say ‘I,’ but that was not to be.
“We probably should just call nine-one-one. I don’t think there’s much we can do,” Amy replied, hanging her head.
Giles studied her briefly. Perhaps, but at the moment my concern is for you. You look exhausted.
And dare I say, ‘defeated’?
Directing his interest to the doorway, he asked, “And the others?”
“The fight’s over,” Amy mumbled. Pausing to draw in a breath, she amended through a sigh, “Well, sort of.”
From the awkwardness of her response, Giles surmised that the others had reacted violently. That will simply have to run its course. Any attempt to intervene would be entirely too dangerous.
Amy is an altogether different matter.
Giles cleared his throat. In a soft, careful voice he asked, “Are you able to return?” I can hardly force her. Nevertheless the offer should be made.
Amy began, “I don’t—” but faltered under his gaze. Bowing her head, she gave an understated nod.
“I believe it would be best if you did,” Giles advised. While I don’t know exactly what’s happened, I believe that she should face this. There’s power in knowing that you’ve done everything you can to put matters right.
Regrettable as it may be, I suppose Jonathan deserves similar consideration.
Closing the distance between them, Giles put his arm around Amy and muttered, “Right then,” affirming what they meant to do. Jonathan went opposite him, lending support to her other side. Together they set off at an easy pace toward the mission.
The next sign that something was amiss came in the form of Faith standing with her back to them in the doorway. While she surely heard their approach, she didn’t acknowledge them.
The light was horrid, but something about her appearance seemed off. Her clothing was too dark and her hair clumped. As they closed in, it became clear. Though seemingly uninjured, she was drenched in congealing blood.
When they reached the door, Giles spotted what captivated her. Any lingering doubts he harbored vanished.
Although Buffy lashed out violently at the vampire whom she straddled, it was apparent by her erratic movements that she was on the verge of tears. Between blows, she swiped irritably at her eyes.
No, she’s already weeping.
Giles did not at first recognize the one who knelt beside Buffy. Her back was to them. She was clothed only in a crusted layer of blood. What could only have been exposure to extreme heat had left her hair short, ragged and matted. Yet she lives.
Willow implored Buffy to stop. Giles averted his eyes. Though, in truth, her nudity affected him much less than the sheer desperation of her actions.
There are no heroes here, only victims.
Buffy peered into the dark eyes of her prey. Reflected back were fear and pain.
“Good. You should be afraid,” she whispered. The vamp’s throat had turned a gross greenish-yellow. Buffy closed her hand over it, bearing down as she growled, “You caused this.”
Her eyes were blurry. The skin around them stung when she rubbed it. She tried to blink the rest away, but that only made it worse.
Giving up, she looked down. There was an eyelash resting on the vamp’s cheekbone.
Know what? That’s not fair at all. Really, I caused this. She only complicated things.
“I don’t care so much about me,” she mumbled, knowing that at any other time that would’ve been a lie. Not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I may finally be losing it.
Buffy stared at the thick eyelash. For just a moment she considered brushing it away. It’d suck to get that thing stuck in your eye. Talk about torture.
She caught herself mid-snicker. Oh yeah, that’d definitely take her mind off the assorted compound fractures and the crushed throat.
Buffy focused on the whole, taking in her bruised and battered face. I saw her change. Pretty girl…or she was before—
I kinda beat that out of her. Add the bumpy brow and she looks like something from a ‘b’ horror flick. Figures, that was me too.
She was one of the first ones. Sitting there watching TV and, like some sorta not-so-petty-thief, I stole her life away. I destroyed her.
Like that’s a new theme.
Yeah, they should just dust us both. It’d be no real loss.
I kinda wish they would. If justice were any major concern, I’d totally dust myself. I’m the real villain in this little psychodrama. Not counting Maya. That bitch made me look like a saint.
Buffy asked, “Why’d you have to go and bring her into it?” Her voice was small and kinda wispy. She considered speaking up, but in truth, what the vamp heard meant nothing.
It’s pointless. All she’s gonna do is bleed on me. I’m a little sick of blood.
It struck Buffy just how insane that was. Blood and winning ensembles aren’t exactly mixy-matchy.
Not that a horse blanket even begins…
“This was plenty fucked up when it was just us.” She sighed. “Whatever. She wouldn’t fill a dustpan now.”
Leaning forward, she faked a sweet smile. “Now it’s just you and me.” Her smile faded, leaving only bared teeth. “Have you ever been crucified?”
The vamp flopped around, trying to get away. Good answer, but not exactly what I’m looking for. Buffy backhanded her and repeated the question.
Eventually, she perceived a feeble headshake and moved on, muttering, “It sucks.” She snickered. “I could tell you that it hurts, but—gee, ya’think?”
She grumbled through a smirk, “Agony,” rolling her eyes. “God, that’s such a pretentious word and it doesn’t even fit. I don’t really think you can describe it. You kinda have to be there.”
I don’t know what to do.
“Buffy? Please stop,” Willow begged.
It’s like I’m not even here. All she does is stare and mumble.
Buffy’s lips moved and Willow strained to hear. “…what? Here’s the most fucked up thing ever.”
Kennedy’s chest made a crunching sound. Willow glanced down just in time to see Buffy pull away. That and tap on Kennedy’s chest.
I’m pretty sure it’s just a tap to her. I don’t think she even knows she’s doing it.
Willow cringed. It sounds horrible, bone scraping against bone. And the color…it’s like a grape. I’m afraid it’s going to cave in.
But maybe that’d be for the best. There’s so much damage, I’m not sure she’ll ever be—
Willow was so caught up she nearly missed Buffy’s admission. “…don’t care. The way I’ve got it figured, I had it coming.”
I don’t know about that. We could debate ethics.
Well, not right now, but hopefully sometime. She sorta has to be lucid for that.
God, what am I going to do?
“Buffy?” Willow pleaded. Her voice echoed through the mission, but Buffy didn’t react.
I don’t think that someone who’s impaired is responsible for their actions. Not if they didn’t do the impairing. It just doesn’t seem right to place blame.
Now if they get drunk and someone else is hurt, that’s one thing. But Buffy was murdered and possessed by a demon.
How could she possibly be held responsible for that?
It’s not right.
A tear dripped from the tip of Buffy’s nose, splashing onto Kennedy’s cheek. It trickled down the side of her face into an open cut.
Using her right hand—the one that’d been doing the tapping—Buffy mopped her face. When she was done, the hand returned, resting on Kennedy’s sternum.
Another tap signaled the resumption of Buffy’s quiet rant. “You could’ve just fucked with me and I’d have been fine with it. I kinda deserved it, what with the whole ‘trying to start an apocalypse’ thing.”
She’s lost. And I’m lost right alongside her. I need to find the nerve. I have to touch her. Maybe if I touch her she’ll snap out of it?
That or stake Kennedy. Either one would work, I think. I hope. I’m not sure which is better. The one thing I am sure of—
“Well, not so much ‘try,’ I kinda did. I’m still waiting to see how that one turns out,” Buffy grumbled.
Either way she’s gonna hurt me. She may even kill me. I don’t know. Has anything really changed?
No. It doesn’t matter. I drove her to this. It’s my fault.
I should just put Kennedy out of her misery. It’s the right thing to do.
Willow looked around for a piece of wood as Buffy grew more agitated. “But you couldn’t just leave it alone.” What happened this time was more of a punch. Buffy brought the heel of her hand down. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?” Blood sprayed from Kennedy’s mouth. “Why’d ya have to go and fuck with the people I care about?” Buffy paused to smear at the blood and tears. “It’s confusing and wrong. I’m not even sure why I care about them, but I do and—” Her voice choked off mid-thought.
Maybe—
Taking advantage of the silence, Willow tried again. “Buffy, please stop.” She prayed for a response that didn’t come. “We shou—” When Buffy turned away, her voice cracked. She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
Buffy stared at Kennedy’s left arm and mumbled, “Y’know, I had this splitting headache. That could explain it. Maybe I had an aneurism?”
Kennedy turned to Willow, silently pleading for help. She keeps looking at me. Buffy doesn’t even notice. How can she not notice? I’m sitting right here. I could just reach out and—
Buffy grumbled under her breath, “Nah, it’d just heal,” as she seized Kennedy’s arm. “Shit,” she hissed, wrenching the arm, snapping it. “I’ve lost my mind. That has to be it. I even care that you screwed with Giles. Now explain to me how that makes sense.”
She shook her head and faced Kennedy, grumbling, “I need help.”
Yeah, we both do.
Jonathan’s throat burned. The taste of acid filled his mouth. He smelled it with every breath. It was making him sicker, but then, everything around him was.
He stared at the next step, longing to climb. Really, he wanted to push past them and bolt for the door. Instead, he struggled to remember. I used to come here just to get away. Images of sunny days ran through his mind. He tried to hold on. This place felt so—I dunno, steadfast, timeless, powerful…like everything around it could fall apart and it would go on, unchanged.
It’s changed.
But that’s what evil does. It seeks out anything good and destroys it.
The memories slipped away, leaving only her. The one they’d come to help. The one Giles had warned him about.
I wish I’d listened.
Thing is, I couldn’t. I couldn’t stay behind and help. It doesn’t work that way.
He closed his eyes. She stayed with him. Her body was covered in splotches of black, like ink blots on paper. When they moved, he thought it was trick of the light.
There wasn’t much light. Amy couldn’t maintain the spell. She needed all of her strength to help the girl. So Jonathan took out his flashlight and gave it to Giles. Its beam swayed back and forth, casting creepy shadows on the walls.
The spots were just shadow. They had to be shadow.
It’d been a good lie.
Amy focused. She needed to lift the girl so that Giles could release her. That was their plan. If they could do that, it would lessen her trauma. She might even live. But they all knew there wasn’t much hope.
Paramedics could help her too, but they couldn’t hold her still. Not like this. And they couldn’t fix what was wrong. This was better. It was a good plan.
Jonathan forced himself to relax. Amy’s grip on his hand tightened. As he felt the pull and the weakness that came with it, his lie was exposed. The black splotches exploded.
Flies swarmed, darting around him, clouding the air. Their legs prickled his skin. The buzzing was so loud. He wanted to cover his ears, but Amy clung to him.
He ached to wrench free and escape.
I didn’t understand.
He remembered the scream. How it refused to come out. Reflexively, he cleared his throat.
The vision faded, but it wasn’t gone. He’d simply closed his eyes. I tried to wish it all away, but it’s all still here.
Amy gently towed him under. He felt the girl. There was so much darkness surrounding her. It was unlike anything he’d known.
She’s lost.
It felt safe in the dark. Nothing could harm him there. He was drawn to it.
As he drifted away, his crawling skin, the buzzing, the horrible smells—all blurred. I was nearly lost along with her. Amy brought me back.
Willow called out of the blackness, “Buffy?” His eyes snapped open. Her tone held a question. It was like she was lost too.
Jonathan stared at the light pooled on the steps above him, trying to find sense. Why would Buffy leave?
He looked up. Amy was way ahead of him. She held the flashlight limply at her side. Giles had reached the top. He passed though the doorway, turning back to ask, “Would you mind seeing that Willow gets my jacket? I’d like for her to have it.”
It took Jonathan a moment to understand. He’d forgotten the jacket was there. He looked down to where it hung over him forearm and mumbled, “Okay.”
He climbed, focusing on Giles. Jonathan could just make out the girl’s head, nestled against his arm. He longed to see her face, to know that she was okay. The fact that Giles is still moving slowly is a good sign. If she were in trouble, he’d—
It’ll be okay.
I just wish I had something else to call her besides ‘the girl.’ That seems so wrong.
Giles disappeared from view. Jonathan hurried to catch up. Amy was even leaving him behind and she was exhausted.
He was nearly to the archway that led into the cathedral when Willow spoke again, “Buffy, please stop.” No, she hasn’t left. Maybe she’s trying to leave?
Forgetting himself, he went left just in time to hear Willow say, “We shou—”
As Jonathan took in the situation, things made even less sense. Willow’s still, uh…
Heat rose in his face. But Buffy’s right there. She’s fine.
Why did Willow stop talking? And why—?
He stepped toward them and stopped. Torn between helping Willow and losing sight of the girl, he turned away.
Giles was nearing the exit where Faith stood. “Is she gonna be okay?” she asked.
“We really don’t know,” Giles replied. “She’s lost a great deal of blood.”
Blood loss? Really? That’s seriously all you’ve got?
That’s one problem. But have you—?
Shit!
Yeah, he has. If anyone has, he has. He’s just being ridiculously British. Ever think there might be a time when that’s just—?
I mean, you know Faith smells it, even through the blankets. This ‘girl’—whoever she is—she’ll be lucky to make it through the night. Why sugar coat that?
More than a little disgusted, Jonathan turned back to Willow. She held a scrap of wood in her hand. He didn’t know where she’d gotten it or what she intended to do.
When she stabbed at the ground in front of Buffy, a startled shriek rang out. The room went dark. All that was left was the light of the flashlight.
He stood, aghast. Trying to figure out what’d gone wrong, he searched the pulpit. Another vamp was there. Between Buffy’s robe and Willow he hadn’t seen her.
Or maybe I was just too caught up. Either way…
Willow’s not there anymore.
He looked around, trying to find her. In the chaos, Faith had put herself between Buffy and him. “I’m not gonna let you do it, B.,” she announced.
Huh?
Buffy was staring at something behind Faith.
Jonathan glanced down. Willow was curled up, clutching her shins only a few feet from him. He rushed to her side, opening Giles’ jacket as he went. Stooping, he draped it over her and asked, “You alright?” immediately feeling stupid.
The idea that Buffy had hit Willow didn’t take hold until her saw her eyes. There was so much sorrow and pain, but somehow she managed to nod.
Buffy snarled, “Oh, please.” He looked up. “You’re gonna do what? Stop me?” She glared at him.
Jonathan couldn’t breathe.
Faith grumbled, “I’m gonna—” a black blur zipped past her “—try.”
Shit!
As she spun around, someone spoke, “This just makes you like them, Buffy.”
Jonathan?
He stood between Buffy and Willow with his arms crossed. Faith clamped her jaw to keep it from flopping open. This was one of the damnedest things she’d ever seen.
At least she wasn’t the only one who was having trouble keeping up. Giles and Amy both gawked at him from the doorway. But they couldn’t see Jonathan’s expression. That was the truly priceless part.
Well, look at that. The sawed off little bastard finally grew a spine.
Too bad it’s gonna get him killed.
Faith couldn’t see her face, but there was enough attitude in Buffy’s pose for ten little blonde girls. Faith took a step forward. Jonathan shook his head, like he knew the score.
Alright, but don’t come crying to me when she uses that shiny new spine of yours as a Slinky.
“Look at what you’re doing. You know I’m right.” He unfolded his arms. “I get that you’re confused, but you have to see that she loves you.”
Faith wondered where all the angst went. He has to get that the voice of reason only works on the reasonable. Some angst would be smart.
Buffy broke eye contact as Jonathan whispered, “And you love her.” It almost looked like she was hanging her head. That wasn’t it. She was just looking at Willow.
This is truly messed up. He even looks taller. Yeah, but B.’s practically a midget.
Jonathan gave her a few to firm up before he said, “It’s over. We should go home.”
I could go for that myself. There’s a shower there with my name on it.
Turning away, Faith strode across the room toward the busted up vamp. Part of her expected Buffy to have a change of heart, but that didn’t happen. She put the vamp out of its misery.
A gust of wind scattered the ashes. They coated the dark patches of blood with fine silvery dust.
It’s been one helluva day.
Behind her there were footfalls. Jonathan’s leaving. The little bit of light gradually dimmed as he went away.
From the darkness a soft thud sounded. And there goes B. Faith listened to the vamps’ whispers unable to make anything out through their sobs.
I won’t say I don’t have issues, but I think I’m better now. I get that there are things that are just too horrible. They need to go away. I suppose it doesn’t matter what they are.
Thing is, we have to let them.
B.’s got a real problem with that. She needs to give up some of that massive chip she’s hauling around and embrace what she’s got. Amy’s right, it’s precious.
I think maybe she’s getting that now.
And I guess if the cold blooded contingent can figure that out…
Faith sighed. Yeah. There’s no real sense coming off any dumber than I am.
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- © Valyssia Leigh 2009
