Third Test

Disclaimer: All this belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Inc. (Much to their regret I'd wager)

Drain Brameged Inc. Proudly Presents

A Mad-Hamlet Production

Dianna Wears Red - Secundus

Third Test

"Why am I still here?" I say with a sigh.

The fat little member of the Council who seems to be in charge just smiles at me indulgently. "As I mentioned hours ago, your services are still required for added security." He tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling thoughtfully. "You did capture her after all and it would make sense to have the one responsible for the capture of the Feral additionally responsible for her continued incarceration while we try to help her."

"You're so generous," I sneer.

"And altruistic," he adds nodding.

"You've got her in a twelve by twelve steel box!" I say rolling my eyes. "You don't need me here anymore. Let me go. I've completed my side of the agreement."

The greasy ball of lard waves his finger in the air, one of the tiny silver rings he wears on his pudgy hands glitter in the poor light. "Not quite," he purrs. "The stipulations for the contract state the capture of The Slayer and as long as the Council Member in charge deems. That would be me."

"Fine," I growl. "How long is this supposed to take?"

"Not long," he replies. "The therapy will either bring back the human from within or..." his voice drifts away and he shrugs helplessly.

"Or she dies." I finish for him.

"Sad but true," he nods using a sympathetic tone of voice. "Either way though the Council's interests are served."

A nagging thought enters my mind, something I had meant to pursue more closely but had overlooked. "What," I say slowly. "What exactly does this 'therapy' involve?"

Lard ball shifts his weight from foot to foot, tapping his index fingers against his pursed lips as if thinking terribly deep thoughts. After a moment he sighs, "Come with me."

He leads me to the back of the warehouse. Behind the steel box that now houses the still unconscious Slayer is a small control room. He enters the small room and flips on a few switches. I can hear generators begin to whine as if building a charge and the lights in the warehouse dim for a moment. Along the back wall of the room are a series of monitors. These he activates with a flip of his pudgy fingers. As the monitors warm up I can see the inside of the cell where the Slayer is still sleeping. The cameras cover every possible angle.

"All the cameras have one hundred and eighty degree range." He explains proudly. He sounds like a salesman. "They're recessed within in the walls and encased behind armored glass. While she could, with effort probably, get to them she does not know exactly where they are, nor will she get the chance."

Reaching for the control panel he grabs a tiny joystick and moves it around. The camera on one of the monitors, the one directly over the slayer pans back and forth across her naked body. He pushes a button on the top of the joystick and the camera zooms in on her breast and even more as it pans across her crotch.

"She really is a lovely creature," The fat little man says in a totally even voice. I'll give him points for self control; but I can still smell it on him, he likes this. He's looking forward to it; I feel sick.

"What does this have to do with the therapy?" I say a little too loudly.

"Oh that," he replies turning away from the monitor. "It's simple really; also within the cage-"

"Cell," I interrupt.

"Excuse me?" He asks politely.

"It's a cell," I repeat. "You put animals in cages, not people."

"How quaint," He says. "Well right now she is in danger of becoming an animal, which is why I am here. But for the sake of argument: The Cell is also live."

"Live?" A slight chill settles in my bones.

"Yes," He nods. "It's totally wired so every square inch of the floor can conduct an electric charge," He beams at me as if proud of the fact. "Not enough to cause permanent damage but enough to cause pain, even to one such as her." His gaze turns back to the monitor. "It's for her own good you realize."

I clench my fists tight, my nails biting into the palms of my hands; I'm not surprised to feel blood oozing between my fingers.

"We also have concealed speakers within that- Oh, fortune smiles," He points at one of the monitors. "Sleeping beauty awakens. Now I can save myself the effort of explaining everything and simply demonstrate."

On the monitor The Slayer sits upright slowly, one hand pressed to her temple. "Willow?" I hear her voice crackle through the speakers.

Fat Man reaches over and presses a large red button, I hear the increased whine of generators then The Slayer screeches loudly, her body arches off the floor till only her fingers and the tips of her toes still have contact. The muscles in her throat stand out in stark contrast as she tries to find the capacity to voice the pain.

After a few seconds the Council member releases the button and The Slayer collapses on the steel floor.

He wraps his chubby fingers around a microphone beside the camera control joystick and in the dim light of the control room I can see the sheen of sweat on his palms. He grips the microphone tightly. "Now that I have your attention, Slayer," He says clearly. "Here are your instructions. Before you is a table and on that table is a box. Inside the box are some clothes which you put on now."

The Slayer rolls over and pushes herself slowly to her feet. "Who...who are you?" Her voice is thick and the words come out slurred. "Whadya...what do you want?"

The Council member again pushes the red button. The Slayer's fresh scream comes through the speakers loud and clear as the electric charge courses through her body. After a moment he releases the button and The Slayer collapses. "Questions will not be tolerated," He says into the mike. "Hesitation will not be tolerated. Disobedience will not be tolerated. There will be obedience. You will open the box and you will put the clothes on. Now."

Flicking off the microphone he turns to me. He's smiling. A rather pleasant smile, I've seen demons from hell; I've seen rabid bears that had to be put down, but I've not seen anything so terrifying in a very long time. "It's quite simple really," he says calmly. "She is given a clear order and will receive repeated and lengthier punishment until she obeys. Negative reinforcement you understand."

I swallow a few times trying to gather enough saliva to reply. It takes a few seconds. "Of course," I say.

He turns away with a nod and flicks on the mike again, "Obey," he says sharply.

The Slayer looks around, trying to find the source of the voice I guess, "Fuck you!" she snaps.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly through his nose then reaches over and presses the red button again. Still holding it he turns to me, "If you'll excuse me I have to give this matter my full attention." He's still leaning on the button.

"Sure," I say carefully. "The sun will be up soon, I'll go give the perimeter a check." I have to speak loudly to be heard over The Slayer's shrieks.

"An excellent suggestion," he replies already looking back at the monitor. He takes his finger off the button and turns the microphone back on, "You will open the box and you will put the clothes on," he says into it.

Heading for one of the side doors to the warehouse I grab the rusty doorknob and open it slowly. I step across the threshold out into the predawn gloom of early morning. The door swings shut behind me, latching into place with a quiet click. And through all sound proof walls, armored glass and the warehouse itself I can still hear- but that's not really important is it.

I said I was going to check the perimeter and that's what I'm going to do. Even if is a complete waste of time; why should this part of my little 'mission' be any different? I jog across the open space to the warehouse directly across from the one where my ex-prey is receiving the best in hospitable service. There's an old ladder on the side that I scramble up, damn, it'll take a lot of work to get those rust stains out. Upon reaching the roof I crawl across the metal roof on my belly until I reach the crest.

Far to the east the first sliver of the rising sun can be seen; the horizon of buildings, lamps, church towers and houses are outlined in orange light. From this distance, in the orange glow or sunrise this town actually looks like an accomplishment, something to be proud of.

But I'm not here for the view. I scan the horizon, but all I see are the surrounding warehouses stretching away into vague shapes in the gloom. I lie still and I wait.

Five minutes become ten, ten becomes thirty. There.

One of them must have gotten bored because outlined against the now risen sun I see a man shaped figure break from the shadows and move across a distant roof. This member of the Council meets up with another. They're talking I think, one of them offers the other something, cigarette maybe; that or a joint. Wouldn't be surprised. Shifting away from the rising sun I face the west.

There, another guard on that warehouse roof. No, two.

I shift again and carefully scan the northern rooftop. Nothing, at least nothing I can see and if I can't see anything I very much doubt there is anything to be seen. No point in checking the south, the Watcher's warehouse, slash hotel, slash headquarters, slash torture house, is the southernmost warehouse; just empty lots beyond that.

I mark the position of the four guards, two to the east, and two to the west. Then I shimmy back across the sloping rooftop, down the ladder and back across the paved road to the main warehouse. I open the door again and ease my way inside.

Heading for the tiny control room, cause I'm sure that's where Fat Man is going to be, I open the door and peek inside.

Yep, there he is alright.

In the tiny room the monitors are the only illumination; the bright glow gives his skin a pale reptilian sheen; there is sweat on his forehead and his eyes are gleaming. I could smell him the second I entered the warehouse again.

"Ah," he says without taking his eyes off the monitor. "Perimeter secure I trust?"

"Sure thing," I reply casually. "How goes your little pet project?"

"As planned," he says, he steps away from the monitors and gestures to them. "See for yourself."

I don't want to. I don't particularly have too but it would help me if this slug thought I was on 'his side'. So I look.

I was right, I shouldn't have.

Inside the cell the Slayer has pressed herself into a corner. In the ceiling. She's bracing herself with her hands and feet pressed against the wall, using sheer muscle power to hold herself off the ground, away from the electrified floor. The downside of her strategy is her legs are spread and she's still naked. It takes effort but I manage not to look away.

"This is progress?" I ask.

Fat Man shrugs. "I allow her small victories, it gives her hope and that is a hope that I can, when I wish, crush. As it is, the view is…" he pauses and purses his lips. "Enjoyable." He says slowly.

He glances at me, "If you go for that sort of thing," he says hastily. He doesn't want to offend me, how nice.

I choose my next words with care. "Hey," I say with a shrug of my own. "Fun's fun."

He turns to me, smiles, showing all his teeth in the process. "Yes," he says, his voice a horse, choked whisper. "Fun is fun."

He turns back to gazing at the monitor. "And now?" I ask.

"Now we let her win," he replies. "She'll stay up there until exhausted. Then I shall repeat the commands and punish her when she refuses." His eyes flicker to me and back to watching the screen. I school my expression to one of careful neutrality.

"This cycle will repeat several times, punishment, rebellion, exhaustion," Fat Man continues. "Then I'll let her recover for a short time; giving more hope to her, sowing weakness."

"And then?" I gently prod.

"The cycle will resume but I will change it," He says slowly. He stares at the monitors hungrily.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Instead of allowing her to resist I shall activate the second phase of the therapy," He smiles at the screen. I glance at it and see the Slayer's head has slumped slightly. The tendons in her legs and arm are trembling slightly.

Fat Man leans over the microphone, "You will go to the box on the table. You will open the box." He instructs.

The Slayer's head whips around toward the camera, she knows where it is, and she knows where we're watching her from. I stare at her, and she, through the camera stares at me. The image is tiny, grainy and black and white. But I know, I know her eyes are blue. And angry.

Then she bares her teeth; her lips pulled back, teeth clenched together and the corners of mouth stretched upward. It's a smile. A hideous, proud, fierce smile. The muscles in her frame tense and the trembling stops. Fat Man grins slightly. "So predicable," he sighs.

He didn't see it. Or if he did he didn't understand it.

I do.

Fat Man turns his attention to me, "So as I was saying; the second phase involves auditory and visual bombardment. Discordant noise and flashing pattern less lights. Ultra-sonic bombardment will throw her inner ear off and the visual onslaught will make thinking impossible. However, the subconscious will be susceptible to suggestion." He grins suddenly. "This will cut down on the voyeuristic enjoyments but there are other forms of fun."

I want to take a bath.

I want to take a bath in a clear, ice cold mountain stream far, far away from humans.

I nod, "Sounds effective."

"Oh it is," he replies. "I've been trying for some time to have such training made mandatory for all newly discovered Slayers but there is a softer element in the Council these days."

He shrugs, "Still there's the now."

"I'm hungry," I interrupt. "I'm going to get something to eat."

"Very well," he says absently his full attention back on the monitor. "Don't be long."

"Not my call," I reply heading for the exit, I make it a point to walk casually. "If the prey is cooperative I could be back before noon, if not I'll be back before dark."

He glances at me, "That's hardly satisfactory," he says.

I return his stare and meet it, "That's the way it is."

He licks his lips nervously; at least I hope its nerves. He's silent for a time.

"Very well," he says finally. "By dark."

"By dark," I repeat.

"Have fun," He calls out to me.

"This is feeding," I say before the door shuts. "That's fun," I point to the monitor.

He only laughs.

***

She didn't come home.

She was supposed to come home. She was supposed to leap through the open window and gather me up in her arms. Everything was supposed to be alright after she came home. We'd had that fight in front of the library and she stalked off and I tried to find her and when I couldn't, which was no big surprise, I came home and went to sleep.

She should have woken me up in the middle of the night with a big fluffy hug. A big fluffy hug that I would have returned and we'd have done the hugging to tell each other that everything was all better but we didn't because she didn't. Come home.

Okay...okay relax. She could have gone to her mom's. Or Xander's. Yeah that's it, she was upset and needed more down time then I thought. She's probably just gone to her mom's and had a quiet night. There's absolutely no chance that something has happened to her or she's hurt or been killed by- Oh God!

Where is she!? Where is Buffy? I know she didn't go home. We had a small argument; it wasn't a major thing, it wasn't a terrible thing it wasn't a bad bad no good thing it was just a small thing and it wouldn't have, couldn't have resulted in her needing to spend the night somewhere else! Something's happened! I know it! I know it, I don't know how I know but I know and she needs me, she has to need me! She needs me and I have to do something but...but....how? I couldn't find her when ...what do I do?

I ...I'll call Giles. He'll know what to- He won't have a clue. Probably want to do something involving books and asking all sorts of nosey questions. I don't want to tell him about the argument or my worries about Buffy's behavior. He'd probably associate it with that 'feral' thing he's so worried about. Ever since he brought it up he's been doing major duty research despite all our claims that everything is okay. Or it was.

I...I got it! The search spell. The one I was going to do last night! I'll do it now! I'll find her and help her and then we...yes!

I leap out of the bed and sit cross-legged on the floor. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, I'm trying to relax, find my center all the inner peace stuff.

Remember," I say to myself. "Magic works best when there is a focus."

The second the words are out of my mouth a mental picture hits me across my head; Buffy hurt, bloody, lying somewhere in the dark too weak to move or call for help. All she can do is stare at the dark over her head and wish that someone would-

Aradiagoddessofthelostthepathismurkythewoodsare densedarknesspervadesIbeeschtheebringthelightNOW!!" I blurt quickly.

My eyes fly open and before me, like the night when I had to find Buffy, the night everything began, there is a ball of light floating before me. Unlike the other it is deep red and about the size of a baseball. It bobs around sluggishly, almost resentful of having been summoned.

I'd feel bad about the lousy calling but I simply don't have the time! Staring at the ugly ball in front of me I glare at it, as if daring it to keep up with the attitude. "Lead me to Buffy," I say fiercely. "Quickly."

The light turns and begins to drift toward the window then pauses. It drifts back and forth looking a bit uncertain then starts to shake.

"What are you waiting for?" I demand. "Take me to her, take me to Buffy!"

Its shaking gets worse until its just an indistinct red blur. I take a step toward it, ready to try hitting it like someone upset at their computer. It flashes bright red and I cover my eyes instinctively. There's a quiet pop and when I peek out from behind my arms the guide is gone.

"What?" the words escape aloud.

It couldn't...it couldn't find her! That means...it means she's not here! She's dead! No! She can't be...she can't be dead no! I..I don't believe it, I won't believe it! I jump to my feet, yank the door open and dash down the hall. I think I'm saying something, I'm not sure...just..no! No no no no no no!!

I leap down the stairs to the main lobby. Usually in the mornings someone has bought the local paper. Yes! I grab it from the hands of a student.

"Hey!" He protests. "What do you think-"

"I need this!" I hiss at him. He stares at me, swallows and nods dumbly. I ignore it, I ignore everything; I flip through a few pages, scanning the headlines. There's nothing there about bodies being found. Around me the murmuring of people grows a little louder. I ignore it; I'm too busy because I have to find out, I have to know if....DAMNIT!

"There's nothing in here!" I shout crumpling the paper up and throwing it across the room. "It's useless!" I spin around to return to my room, I gotta think of something. There's got to be something I can do, I refuse to accept the possibility that Buffy is...is....

No!" I cry aloud. "I won't believe it!"

Right in the faces of a small crowd of gathered students who are all staring at me. "Get out of my way," I snap at them, and they part before me as I stalk up the stairs. I know what they're staring at. I just got out of bed so all I'm wearing is an oversized T-shirt and my underwear. So what? Let them stare, I have to find Buffy!

***

Soon I leave the hustle and bustle of Sunnydale awakening to a brand new day far behind. Into the deep woods I plunge, heedlessly, recklessly, trying to lose in the green and light of the forests her furious eyes.

I'd seen eyes like that before; on the features of a cornered bear, a tree'd mountain lion, all numbers of examples.

'You will not win,' that look always whispered in my mind. 'I will be free.'

I'd never really believed it, after all I was the one who had cornered the bear or trapped the lion in the tree; but now…. Now I think I believe.

I shake my head violently, "No," I say firmly. "No flipping out now, we're outside, we're hungry, and we're going to get something to eat."

With some effort I begin to move quietly through the woods; tracking…searching. 'Like she should be doing,' my mind whispers.

I think I'll bang my head against a tree, that'll shut up that annoying voice. On second thought I'd prefer to not have a headache.

With practiced patience I stalk the woods; I'm silent as I move but it takes effort which bothers me. I've done this for so long it should be, usually is, natural. Something is off but I don't know what it is.

'Liar.'

That's it. Time to bang the head.

I head for the nearest tree. It's an oak, old, solid looking. "No offense old timer," I whisper patting the rough bark. "Just got a few wires crossed."

Then I see it. A deer. A buck I think, somewhat young but strong. It's nibbling on some shoots, fully intent on what it's doing. Either I was actually quiet or I got lucky; either way there's my breakfast.

Reaching for my boot I carefully and slowly pull out the knife I keep strapped there. Running my thumb along the blade I insure what I already know, that the blade is sharp; for a quick, clean kill.

Easing around the tree I step silently toward my prey. Looks like there is enough meat on those flanks to keep my supplied for a day or three. It's not easy sneaking up on a deer with only a knife to kill, but I left my other stuff at the warehouse and it's not like I haven't done it before.

I take a deep, quiet, breath, hold it for a ten count and then let it out slowly. I center myself, pull in my presence. I am now part of the woods, part of the backdrop, there is no hunter here, there is nothing here but the trees, leaves, small bushes, lichen and the deer.

I step.

It doesn't react, its ears do not flicker, its eyes do not blink, it just bends its head again nibbling at the plant.

I take another step.

Still no reaction, no sense of danger; I am not invisible; I am not here at all. There is nothing but the breeze blowing against my face, the woods and the deer.

A third step. I could stretch out my hand and brush my fingers along its back; if I wanted to pet it, if I wanted to touch it I could. I have to reach its throat though. One more step and I can wrap my forearm around its neck and then one quick slash…it'll be all over.

I step…my foot lands on a dry branch. The snap is tiny, barely audible at all. The wind is blowing in the trees, the birds are singing from the branches; squirrels dig for nuts and store them in their cheeks, chattering and squabbling with each other as they do so. No, the snap of the branch underneath my heel makes almost no sound at all compared to all the others.

The deer leaps away, like an arrow from a bow, its legs carry it out of my reach, over the hedge and its gone, deep into the green.

Shit.

With a sigh I slump to the ground.

"Shit!" I say aloud this time slamming my knife back into its sheath. "I'm better than this!"

Everything has gone quiet now; no birds, no wind, no squirrels…no deer. That means no breakfast.

"Something is off," I grumble. "Something is really off!"

And I know what it is, and I know what I have to do.

Damnit, this is going to really complicate my life.

***

I'm sitting on the floor staring at the pieces of our new Mickey Mouse alarm clock. When Buffy killed our old we went out and bought another. She really didn't want it but I thought it looked so cheerful with its big plastic Mickey smile and those white puffy gloves that pointed at the numbers. Buffy let me get it mumbling about the pleasure she'd get watching Mickey dislocate his own shoulders for her amusement.

Buffy's not here though, I don't know where she is. My…my guide couldn't find her and that might…it might….

No. Won't think it! It isn't possible, not now, not yet, she's not, I mean…Buffy's not…

When I got back up to my room after stealing the newspaper Mickey was sitting on our bedside table, being all cheerful. His alarm went off, the second alarm, the one I set to remind me not to be late for classes. His alarm was a recording of him laughing, a bright, cheerful happy laugh.

'Ha Ha Ha,' It went. 'Ha Ha Ha!'

Without thinking I grabbed Mickey by his face and smashed him into the floor. And I smashed him, smashed him, smashed him and smashed him until he stopped laughing.

So Mickey's dead but Buffy isn't! She isn't…the guide; just because the guide couldn't find her doesn't mean anything. It was a- a- bad guide, that's right, that's what happened. I summoned a guide that was lazy and not very good at its job.

I should be…I could…that is….

One piece of plastic-Mickey-face catches my eye; part of its eye and half of its smile.

'Ha, Ha, Ha!' The memory of its laugh echoes in my memory.

ARRggghh!! I jump to my feet, grab the pieces of Mickey up in both hands and hurl them at the wall as hard as I can!

That was pointle- OW! I grab my head where one of the larger pieces just hit me after bouncing off the wall. Rubbing the spot I go to the mirror. No, no blood, just a little red spot.

God, I look terrible and…I sniff my sleeping shirt. What time is it anyway? I forgot to check before butchering Mickey. Walking across the room I flip open and wake up my lap top. Ten seventeen; my classes started hours ago and I didn't even notice. Mickey's alarm went off at … I've been staring at nothing, doing nothing for over an hour and a half! Buffy could be in trouble, she might be …be…who cares what, she could be in real trouble and here I've sat feeling sorry for myself. No more, I'm going to sit down and figure this out. The guide spell, yeah first I'll research the guide spell and find out exactly how it works, and then I'll know…well I mean something should…come up. No, I will find Buffy, I will help her because- Because I have too.

But first a shower.

***

It's the normality of what I'm doing that brings comfort; or at least denial. I'm standing in the shower letting the hot water pour over me. I'm not thinking about what I'm doing, I'm not thinking at all, my mind is blank, and my mind will be blank. Won't think about it, won't think about anything. Just going to get clean. I reach for the bottle of shampoo-

Buffy's lying on the ground behind some buildings; the morning sun right outside but it can't get into the narrow alley. Garbage mixing with her long blonde hair; head at an odd angle, tiny trickle of blood seeping out between her lips. Eyes open staring at nothing, empty blue eyes, flat like dead water. The words echoing off the dirty bricks still hours after she's stopped breathing. 'Help me Willow!'

No! The shampoo bottle slips from my fingers; I lunge after it and slip. We hit the same floor at the same time. Pain streaks up my arm and leg.

"No!" I shout pounding the floor, water splashes in my eyes. "No!" I say again, still hitting the floor. Using the pain in my hand to try and drive away the nightmare.

"She's not dead!" I hit the floor.

"She's not!" My hand is probably bleeding.

"She's not!" I scream.

I wipe the water…just water…out of my eyes. I see the shampoo lying a few inches away. I grab it and stand up slowly; my hand aches, my elbows ache and my legs aren’t happy either. I ignore the pain and flip the cap on the bottle.

I concentrate on keeping my hand from shaking while pouring the shampoo into my palm. This is very expensive shampoo and I'm on a budget. I can't afford to waste any of this very expensive shampoo. Buffy would not be happy if I had to spend more money on my expensive shampoo-

That's it! I rinse the shampoo off my hand and then grab the bottle with both hands. Turning it upside down I squeeze it as hard as I can. A might surge of shampoo comes jetting out of the top and is quickly rinsed down the drain. I squeeze the bottle again and more of my shampoo washes away.

Only a little left.

This little bit of shampoo I pour into my hand and then, setting the now empty bottle down, I start washing my hair.

I've wasted all my expensive shampoo and now Buffy will have to come back and tell me how upset she is with me. It's simple now. Buffy can't be dead, she won't be dead, not now. She has a job to do.

I lather the soap in my hair and run my fingers through the suds. Mmm…that feels good. All the tension is just running down my body, out through my toes and going swirly down the drain. I think I'll sing.

"Gonna wash that death right outta my hair," I mumble. "Gonna wash that death right outta my hair and bring my Buffy back to me."

I can see it now. I'll walk back to our dorm room, maybe using the tip of my towel to get the last of the water out of my ear. I'll fish my keys out of my bathrobe pocket and push the door open. She'll be standing in the middle of the room. She'll…she'll be wearing her red jacket and white slacks…I love that outfit on her. Her legs will be spread slightly in a proud, stance. Her hair will glow in the rising sun, right outside our window. She'll be so…there. So vibrant. So full of life.

I close my eyes and lean back into the stream of hot water letting it rinse the soap out and taking away the last of my worries with it. I close my eyes and luxuriate in the sensation. It's so good to be perfectly content.

Buffy will walk across the room and grab my now empty bottle of shampoo. I haven't left it in the shower but will have brought it back with me. This is important because I'll take it to be recycled along with all the other plastic bottles.

"Didn't you just buy shampoo?" Buffy will ask me. She won't be angry, but she'll be staring at me, right in the eyes. Her look will be strong, powerful, full of force.

I'll want to look away but won't be able to. Her look will have me trapped; like in a vice. "Uh-huh." I whimper and nod. Maybe I'll even have my puppy-dog look.

"Willow," Buffy will say shaking the empty bottle under my nose forcefully. "You know this shampoo is very expensive. We can't afford it often."

"You're right," I reply. "I'm sorry."

Buffy will then drop the bottle; no she'll throw it over her shoulder. Then she'll put her arms around me and, with steady but gentle force, push me back against the door.

Our noses will be almost touching, her eyes never having left mine the entire time; they'll be glowing with life. "That's okay," She'll whisper. I'll more feel her words in the warmth of her breath than hear them. "But it's important you buy more of your expensive shampoo soon."

"Why's that?" I'll try to say, but I'll be so …so… I'll be almost stuttering.

"Because," Buffy will breathe, goose bumps will ripple across my back. "You smell delicious when you use it."

Then she'll close the distance between us and kiss me, holding me close with great force, kissing me, pushing me against the door and it will feel wonderful and we'll be full of life, together, no force will keep us apart ever again.

Force….

Force!

That's it!

My eyes snap open. I've been leaning with my eyes closed under the water for so long the lights in the shower hurt. I blink until they adjust.

I can barely breathe. I understand now, why didn't I figure it out earlier?

"Rosenberg," I mutter aloud. "You are an idiot."

I grab my towel and bathrobe off the rack and run to the door of the shower before skidding to a stop. I nearly lose my balance on the slippery floor, pin wheeling my arms like crazy so as not to fall over.

Naked me plus Public Hallway equals very embarrassed Willow.

Buffy…

I halfway wrap my towel around me, yank the door open and run as fast as I can for the door of our room. Lucky me, nobodies around; probably all in classes. I reach our door and start digging through the pockets of my robe, trying to find the keys. My hands are wet and they keep slipping out of my grip.

Stupid…frustrating…aha!

Got em!

I yank my door open then slam it behind me. I throw my bathroom supplies on my bed. Hm, left the shampoo bottle in the bathroom.

Screw the environment.

I know how to find Buffy!

I hustle over to my desk and grab one of my books on witchcraft. I want to flip through the pages, I want to find what I'm looking for and I want to find it now! But I don't. The book is very old and delicate. Their really isn't a table of contents either, just sections so I have to carefully turn the pages one by one. I have to examine each page slowly as my Latin is rusty and I'm probably going to tear one of the pages because my hands won't stop shaking and-

Better idea: Let's check online.

I sit down in the chair to my desk

And stand right back up again!

That's cold!

I forgot I'm still not dressed.

I reach into my closet and pull out the first thing I lay my hands on which I quickly slip over my head. Okay, I'm all set, ready to find what I need. I sit back down in front of my computer and logon. A few mouse clicks and searches later I have what I need.

And I know what I did wrong.

There on the screen before me is a clear explanation of the guide spell. I really have to bookmark this site.

The spell didn't work not because she was…. She wasn't. The spell was blocked. I should have picked up on that, even if…if…. Just If! The spell still would have taken me to her. It didn't, that means something is blocking my spells….that means something has…oh God and that could mean…Oh God!

I enter a search command for the archive for the spell I now seek, the one I should have thought of before. I've wasted so much time! There, there it is. I scan the page quickly…okay…seems simple enough. Nothing too exotic here like feathers or blessed beads just…just some chalk. Or a marker.

I print out the spell. Then going over to my book bag I dig around in my pencil box. No actual markers just…. Hope the powers won't be offended if I use my bright orange highlighter.

I pick up the scattered clothes that are on the floor and sweep what's left of Mickey under Buffy's bed. Then I carefully draw a circle, around me, using the highlighter; or I try to. The stupid thing refuses to leave a mark! This isn't fair! All I need a stupid circle…and I don't have any more markers and …and….

I scan the room, looking for anything that I could-

Buffy's makeup bag.

Leaping to my feet I unzip the tiny bag and pull out Buffy's lipstick. It's not the very expensive kind, just average. Not too dark, not too light; a nice, pale, pink color, kinda normal, for a girl who's anything but normal.

It's my favorite.

I take the cap off and inhale slightly; the familiar mixed berry scent …hurts. The silver tip of the lipstick goes all blurry, the emotions hit…so hard. Can't see very well…stupid tears…. She, Buffy, she was wearing this lipstick yesterday at the Library during….

I wipe my eyes with my freed hand and can't help but read the words written on the side of the tube.

'Guaranteed Smudge Proof'

I can't help it, I start to giggle, 'guaranteed'…right. Then I'm crying some more, right in mid-giggle but the giggles don't give way, so I'm crying and giggling at the same, sitting in the middle of the floor, rocking back and forth on my knees cradling a tube of lipstick.

I have to stop this; I have to finish…what I started.

Won't be distracted or … become lost. I'm not lost, I'm the one searching and I will find her, I will find Buffy. Now.

I wipe my eyes again, take a few breaths, stupid hiccups, okay…breath…breath…better. Okay, here we go. This probably will take a chunk out of our security deposit.

I twist the tube and using the pink lipstick draw a circle around me where I sit. Unbroken, whole, complete.

I sit down in the middle of the circle and close my eyes. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest, my hands are still shaking. It's…Buffy is…I should call Giles. He'll know what to do. Yeah, I'll get up right now, call Giles, fill him in on all the details and then …then we'll do…stuff…something. And Xander can come too! Even Anya, I'll take all the help I can get because we'll all be looking for Buffy because she needs us…but…

Buffy's …she's…she that…I need her. And…and she needs me.

My head turns almost against my will until I'm staring at the phone. It's sitting right there, on the corner of my desk. Some sunlight through the window makes the handle kinda shiny. I could call them…I really could.

We're a team! We're the Scoobies! We stick together and share but…I …

Buffy could be in trouble, no she is in trouble and I might not be strong enough to get her out. Okay…so….I'll call them. I'll call the rest of the gang and tell them what's going on. Then we'll get together, pool our resources, rescue Buffy and get coupons for happily ever afters good for a few days at least!

Right. Going to call Giles. Yup. Uh huh, going to do it.

After I cast the spell.

Well, that's decided.

I adjust my sitting slightly so I'm kneeling in the middle of the circle.

I cup my hands in front of me, the palms crossing over each other; I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds then let it out, I take another, hold it again and release it. A third breath, deep, in through my nose, I hold it.

Taste it.

I can smell her. Buffy. Maybe just a memory, maybe because she's in the room, this is her room, our room. Me. Mine, ours, hers. Here, us. Together. She's all around. I can taste her in the air; feel her heat in the breath in my lungs, I exhale.

I'm ready.

I close my eyes slowly, still kneeling, hands cupped.

"Please," I say aloud. They're listening, I know they are. "Please, take me, this tiny part of me, take it to her."

My hands grow slightly warm, I don't focus on it, I don't focus on anything, I just try and give, give of myself so it can be given to Buffy.

"It's right here," I say aloud. "Please just take it to her, it's not much because I'm still kind of new at this but, please, take it to her. Take it to Buffy."

A gentle breeze picks up, and the warmth in my hand vanishes.

I sit back on my feet and brush some of my hair out of my eyes. "Well now," I say that wasn't so haraAAAAHHH!!!"

My …hands! They're…they're burning! My feet, my hands…oh God oh God oh God oh God…so…aaaahhH! Make it stop, make it stop, please …Buffy…what? Too much, no don't pull at …stop! I…they're…they're hurting her…hurting us…can't…stop….screaming…everything's pain and bright…oh God…make it stop!

Pain, pain and fear and pain…can't breath…can't see…just white…white and that voice…

"Obey!" It commands.

"No!" I scream back.

White and…white…pain…

"Obey!" Again.

"No!" I scream back, again the pain, the burning…I can…I can smell…burnt meat.

Oh God my hands!

"Obey!"

No! Can't say it this time, blood in my mouth, cough it up, on the floor…it starts to boil.

"Obey!"

Coughing, gagging…pain…white…burning…white…

Dark.

***

Oh my head.

I roll over slowly and instantly regret it. Opening my eyes takes a while; the dim light coming through the windows goes right to the back of my skull.

"What…what happened?" I mumble to myself.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

The spell.

The Voice.

The Pain.

The White.

"Buffy!" I shriek and jump to my feet or try to. Instead my head blows into a million pieces that scatter all over the floor; that's what it feels like at least. The impact of my knees on the floors is a pleasant distraction from the screaming in my head.

The screaming of pain and the screaming of Buffy.

I put my hands to my face and they come away wet, with tears. I'm not surprised.

"Buffy," I quietly sob. "Where are you?"

"I can tell you that." A voice says from behind me.

I turn around slowly, trying to think of some sort of…magic if it's needed. There's someone sitting on my bed so it's probably needed, needed very badly. Too bad I'm drawing a blank.

"Who are you?" I say, trying not to sound afraid. I'm probably not doing a great job of it.

The figure turns their face slightly so the dim light spills across their face. I see tough, tan, leathered skin; I see hard jaw lines and a few scars. I also see long, flowing black hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"I'm a Hunter," the woman replies.

END-SECUNDUS-Third Test