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Dianna Wears Red

Fourth Test

"You're a what?" The small redheaded girl asks me.

Her name is Willow Rosenberg. According to the Council’s files she’s a genius, bit socially awkward and stronger than she appears. If they knew what I knew they could add being an out and about lesbian and is currently in a relationship with The Council’s little prize.

Only right now she’s not looking all that strong.

She's sitting on the floor having pulled herself upright. I found her sleeping there when I entered the room. Now she's squinting at me with the heel of one hand pressed to her temple and the other hand held in front of her, trying to block the rays of the setting sun.

I lean forward slightly so my body cuts off the light coming in through the window. The girl sighs in relief and lets her outstretched hand fall. "I'm a Hunter," I repeat.

She squints at me trying to get a clear idea of what I look like but with the sun behind me that's probably pretty hard. "Let me make this a little easier," I say. I stand up, she flinches and shrinks back a bit at my sudden movement, turning away from her I go over to the window and find the metal latch that holds the blinds up. With a flick of my fingertip the catch is removed and the blinds come rattling down, rather loudly. At the sound the redhead winces again and groans.

Turning around I sit back down on the bed, clasp my hands and stare down at the girl on the floor.

Blinking several times she opens her eyes and stares at me, "Who has Buffy?" she finally asks.

"The Council," I reply.

"Why?" She keeps her voice flat, even; she’s keeping control. That or she's still a little woozy.

"They're scared," I say.

Her eyes flicker over to the window; she stares at it. Maybe looking for something outside; this is hard with the blinds down. After a few moments she nods slowly.

She's taking this all rather well. Complete stranger in her room, talking about her kidnapped friend.

"How did they catch her?"

"Me," I say. "I caught her for them."

That gets her attention, her head swivels and she's staring directly at me. I find myself pinned beneath two green eyes. I meet her stare without flinching, I've been hunting longer than she's drawn breath and I know the rules. I won't back down from her challenge. Besides what could she really do to me? I could snap...her...over....uh oh.

She stands up slowly, drawing herself to her full height without taking her eyes off of me. This in itself is not that impressive, with her standing up and me sitting down we’re still pretty much the same height but….

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and, without my say so, the muscles in my chest tighten slightly.

"You?" she says quietly. "You took Buffy away from me?"

I'm seized by an impulse to look away, to surrender to her. I won't naturally. I never have and I never will. Now the muscles in my arms and leg begin to tense, all without my say so. I can hear my breath whistling in and out of my nose.

This is crazy. She can't weigh half of what I do, I've got more ways to kill her than I can recall and she's just staring at me. So why am I feeling more unnerved by that look of hers than the last time I had to face down a cranky grizzly?

"Yes," I say. My voice sounds calm and clear which is good. I mustn’t let her know how her stare is affecting me.

"And you gave her to them," She replies. "Now they're hurting her, probably thinking they're doing her a favor."

"Yes," I say with a slight nod, the movement takes effort on my part. "I captured The Slayer for them, they told me to so I did."

The weight of her stare is palatable. As the sun continues to set and the light in the room fades the green of her eyes begins to wane. Her eyes...almost look like they're filling with black. She doesn't have power this little girl. Not yet, she will though; its sleeping now and I think I might have just gotten it, and her, attention.

That may have been a mistake.

Then she blinks, a few times. Then a few more times and continues to blink. “I hate staring,” she grumbles rubbing her eyes. “Gets my eyeballs all Sahara-like.”

This sudden jump from Very Dangerous to Somewhat Cranky in her behavior catches me totally flatfooted, my muscles relax instantly and I practically slump in relief.

"I have to call Giles,” The girl says reaching for the phone. Her fingers curl around it but before she can dial I grab her hand in my own.

“Willow-“ I begin.

She spins and her eyes are blazing. “Don’t touch me,” she says coldly.

I ignore her, “Listen we-“

She interrupts me again, “They’re torturing her. Right now they’re torturing her, burning her, screaming at her. She can’t walk, or rest or run. She loves to run,” she places free hand, such a tiny pale limb, on my chest.

“She loves to run and now they’re burning her feet. They’re burning her feet, her hands, her skin and making her bleed; all because of you. Because you gave her to them.”

The redhead pauses, looking thoughtful. She glances at my hand, my hand that’s still resting atop of hers which is holding the phone. “And I told you not to touch me,” she pushes me with her other hand.

Ow.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I smell ozone.

I’m not sure how but I appear to be against the far wall. The remains of a wooden cabinet scattered around me.  She gave me a simple push, there was a loud bang and now I’m lying in the remains of furniture; it appears I was wrong.

I glance up at Willow. She’s staring at her hand, the one that pushed me, in …well it looks like, I sniff, certainly smells like fear.

She looks at me, then back at her hand, then back at me. “I’m,” she pauses for a second and I see her throat swallow. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I guess…uh…I guess.”

I stand up slowly, ignoring the protests of various bruised muscles. “I deserved it,” I say.

The young girl opens and closes her hand a few times, “It looks like my hand,” she’s talking to herself. “It looks like my hand and feels like my hand. It opens and closes like my hand, see?” she demonstrates by making a fist two times. “But it just did the ‘Knock Big Lady Across Room’ thing and that is decidedly not Willow-hand like behavior.”

“I’m not big,” I say stiffly, the words slipping out before I can help myself. “I’m muscular.”

She stares at me at first, and then cracks a smile, the smile becomes a giggle, the giggle becomes a laugh. She clutches at her stomach and continues to laugh. I can feel my own lips tugging upward but I don’t let them. This evening has been full of loss-of-control.

The redhead continues to laugh; she falls to her knees laughing, still laughing. She falls over on her side, curled up in a fetal ball; eventually the laughter starts fading.

Predictable. She’s crying.

I roll my eyes and stare at the ceiling, ‘Why me?’ I mentally ask no one in particular.

“In love with a girl,” she moans. “Then she starts turning into….” she’s cut off by fresh sobs. This goes on for a bit and the next thing I can make out is, “Waste all my shampoo, use lipstick on the rug,” more crying. She flops over onto her back and stares at the ceiling; is she even aware I’m in the room anymore?

“Torture, and strange woman showing up in our room. ‘I’m a Hunter’,” she says in a poor copy of my voice. I’m getting sick of this. Self pity only did one thing as far as I’m concerned: Get people dead.

“Beware the dark side,” the redhead giggles. “For once you go down that path forever shall it dominate your destiny!” What the hell is she talking about?

That’s it.

I straddle her, bend down, grab her by the shoulders and haul her to her feet. Her head lolls and her eyes aren’t focusing; I slam her again a wall. “Shut up” I snarl in her face, our noses scant centimeters from each other. “Right now the woman you love is being tortured as you yourself pointed out!” Her head rolls the other way, she sniffs noisily. I pin her against the wall with one hand on her chest, with the other I cup her chin and hold her head still.

“Now yes, I captured her. I tracked her down like a beast of prey and netted her pretty as you please.” She blinks.

“Then, I bagged her, gagged her and delivered her like a package because that was my job. That’s what I had to do.”

She licks her lips, and she stares at my mouth, she’s started coming back from wherever she ran to.

“So I caught her and gave her away,” I say clearly, coldly without expression or tone. “That…may have been a mistake.” She’s looking at me again.

“One I’m going to fix,” I pull my face away from hers. I’m no longer in her personal space but I’m still holding her against the wall. “But we can only fix it if we go now, I have no idea how long your girlfriend can last against Fat Man, he’s a monster but he knows what he’s doing.” I begin to relax, easing off still holding her against the wall but I let go of her face. “So we don’t have time to call your friend and have him sit around, examining books or making plans.”

She blinks slowly, “You know Giles huh?”

I almost grin, “I know the British.”

“You’re touching me,” she says it in a quiet whisper, I almost miss it. I let go of her and take two large steps back.

“Are we going to go?” I ask her.

She goes to the closet without a word. Reaching inside she grabs a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a light jacket. She slides into the jeans, pulls the shit over her head. Without waiting to put on socks she steps into her sneakers. Throwing the jacket over her shoulder she turns to me.

“We go,” the Witch says.

***

It takes us half an hour to reach wherever it is this hunter lady wants to go. Of course I know where it is and if she’d told me I could have gotten there faster. Like, taking a bus maybe or walking there in a straight line rather than going around, through lots of trees, behind peoples houses and all that other stuff.

She’s probably say she was being stealthy and she might be right but I don’t have time for this, Buffy is….

Can’t stop thinking about it, what I saw, what I heard…what I felt. It wasn’t just the pain or the noise, she was trapped. Trapped in a big box and there was nowhere for her to go. That’s what was hurting her the most, she couldn’t go, she was just stuck there and that’s what was…she’s breaking. I know it, something inside, something deep inside her was breaking apart, fragmenting and if she does break…

Oh God.

My fingers are tingling.

The Hunter grabs me and pulls me into the shadows, “We’re here,” she whispers.

Where’s here?

Oh. The Docks.

“Whe-“ I start to say.

“Be quiet!” she hisses in my ear.

I nod and quietly whisper, “Where’s Buffy?”

The Hunter, her back against the wall of a warehouse nods in the direction of another warehouse. It’s across from us, directly, and surrounded by dirty yellow light thanks to a series of spotlights mounted on each of its corners.

“What are we waiting for?” I hiss and take a step.

The Hunter grabs me by my shirt collar and yanks be back against the wall. “Are you crazy?” she whispers angrily.

She looks up, “On the roof of this very building are at least three sharpshooters with long range rifles and laser sites. They’d take you out before you made it three steps.”

She glances around, I see it at the same time she does. A ladder built into the side of warehouse; its end is hanging at least ten feet off the ground. “Wait here,” she commands.

Walking underneath the ladder she bends slightly and jumps up easily catching the bottom rung. She easily pulls herself up, hand over hand, the rungs until her feet catch the bottom one. Without a sound she climbs the rest of the way and disappears over the edge of the roof.

“Hmph,” I mumble, crossing my arms. “Buffy would have done it better.” I pause. “Faster too.”

From the roof I can hear voices. Can’t make them out really, sounds like…someone is greeting …there’s The Hunter’s voice and…that’s odd. Now it’s quiet.

Hmmm…should I? I mean…I’m not …exactly stealthy but…it’s gotten awful quiet up there and....oh heck with it.

I glance around and tip toe across the shadows until I’m standing under the ladder. It looks…higher than I thought. Well, if she can do it I can-

I bend my knees till I’m almost squatting, okay, here we go Rosenberg, ready…on three…one…two….three!

Not even close.

Okay again, here we go and…Jump!

My finger tips don’t even touch the bottom of the ladder.

A hand slides across my mouth, I scream into it but the sound is muffled. I kick behind me but my attacker doesn’t budge. I dig my nails into the forearm that’s snaking across my throat but that doesn’t do any good and…and…

Oh God…oh God….Oh God…..

“What are you doing?” The Hunter whispers into my ear. Oh it’s her.

She slowly removes her hand from my mouth, and lets me go. I almost shout, I take the breath to shout but The Hunter glares at me. I exhale. “What did you do that for?” I say as fiercely as I can, and still whisper.

“You don’t need to whisper anymore, but speak quietly,” she brushes her hands off. “In answer to your question if I’d tapped you on the shoulder, you’d have screamed your head off.”

I don’t want to admit it but she’s right, “So…uh what happened to the…y’know…quys with overly capable phallic symbols?”

She blinks once or twice, “Uh…if you mean the snipers on the roof they’re taken care of.” She peers around the corner looking at a third warehouse to our left, I hear her mutter, “Phallic symbols?”

I take a few steps closer to The Hunter; she’s eyeing the roof of the third warehouse and whispering to herself, can’t make it out now what she’s saying. “Now what?” I whisper.

Without taking her eyes off the warehouse she replies, “Now you wait here, there are more guards on the roof over there and the warehouse to our right. I’ve got to sneak over there and take out a combined total of six heavily armed guards.”

“So what should I do?” I reply.

The Hunter glances at me over her shoulder, “What part of ‘wait here’ slipped by you? This will require patience, stealth and really nice left hook. I can’t have someone who is like a Moose in a China shop dogging my every step.”

“A bull,” I say automatically. “The correct colloquialism is a bull in a-Hey!”

The Hunter shrugs her shoulders, “Same difference,” she mutters.

“I am not a bull,” Pause. “Or a moose and there isn’t a china shop anywhere nearby! This is my girlfriend in there so-“

“So nothing,” The Hunter cuts me off. “If you want to try and be helpful sit tight and be quiet.”

“Now wait just a cotton pickin’ minute here,” I say wagging my finger in her face. “Why the heck did you bring me along then? I mean if you’re going to go off and do everything then what is my purpose here? I’d like to this I have something of value to contribute!”

The Hunter is quiet for a moment then she finally asks, “Did you just say ‘Cotton pickin’ minute?’”

I uh…”Yeah….,” I mumble, suddenly embarrassed. “I guess I did.”

“Jesus,” she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t say that,” I shake my head.

“No, I said it,” The Hunter snaps. “Look, you want to know? Fine, you’re here not to get killed and, more to the point, not get me killed.”

“That’s not informative,” I grumble. I glance down at my toes then back at The Hunter.

The Hunter sighs and throws up her hands, “I’m pretty sure I could get her out without your help, but I’m not sure how controllable The Slayer would be. You know, having been tortured for all this time.” The Hunter pauses for a minute, “So I’m thinking that she’ll be grateful see a familiar face. Also it’s a gesture of respect to her; I respect the Slayer and want to ‘be courteous’ one hunter to another. Course I have to get you to her in one piece.”

I stare at her without saying anything, willing her to read my mind.

“Not buying it are you?” she asks after a few moments.

I shake my head.

“Okay,” The Hunter sighs and rubs her nose with her fingers. “Okay, fine, the truth of the matter is that I’m scared to death what The Slayer will be like when she comes out that box and I want you to be there to make sure that I am not noticed or as little noticed as possible. Better?”

“Yep,” I say. “That wasn’t so hard now was it? So what can I do to help?”

“Think of a way to take out those lights around the main warehouse or something.” She says pointing at the warehouse where Buffy supposedly is then adds. “If you do decide to do anything wait at least ten minutes, I should have the situation in hand by then.”

Before I can reply to that she’s stepped around the corner and is gone; I move as un-mooselike as possible and peer around the corner myself but I don’t see her anywhere.

“Buffy could do that better too,” I mutter. Biased very much, thanks.

Fine, you go that way Ms ‘I’m a Hunter’ and go do your hunting thing, I’ll take care of the lights. Bet your furry behind I’ll take care of the lights.

I sit down, cross my legs and take a few breaths. I’m deep in the shadows, I can’t be seen but I’m hoping that no vamps come along.

Closing my eyes I let my breathing deepen, I relax as best I can

Center….center….no…no …don’t, don’t remember Buffy’s pain, it’s distraction…we have to get to the center, it’s calm in the center we can…we can work and…help in the center…no…God no….

Bright, and pain and noise and noise and pain and burningnoise and painburning brightnoiseburn burnnoisebright

Hurting, hurting, hurting…shhh…so bright…shhhh…hurts...shhh….

Buffy’s smiling at me, she’s lying beside me in our beds moved together and I wake up to her smiling. First thing I see in the morning is her warm smile. Better than any other way to wake up….

Trapped,trapped,hurting,traphurting,brightlytrapped…shhhh…shhh….

….Buffy’s just come home, she’s so tired from her classes; her shoulders slumped she lets her backpack drop to the floor. The thump of so many books makes the floor shake. I show her I bought mochas and her smile lights up the room. Suddenly energized she jumps across the room and gives me a big hug….

“Willow?” I hear The Hunter’s voice. I know she’s there, I knew she was coming. Ten minutes already? My, she’s efficient. That’s probably how she caught Buffy the first time; being so very efficient. We should probably have a talk, The Hunter and I, about her efficiency. I ignore her.

….stopbrighpain…stoptrappedburn…free…free…free…brightpainstopfree…free…free…save me…free…

Have to get to the center, my center, push through the storms and fury and power and get to the center, I know the center is calm and peaceful. Where I can find what I need and do what I have to do.

Shhhh….

Hush…shhh…

I know them.

I know who they are, I know what they are, I know where they are and I know what they want.

They are monsters, they are on the other side of those lights, those walls, those doors and they want to take Buffy away from me. They want to take away her smiles, her hugs, her bad days and her good days. Her laughter, her tears her desires and her fears.

They want them all, they’re worse than any vampire because they don’t want to kill her, they want to own her.

They want to take her from me.

There...there I’m in my center.

And there are storms here too.

They want to take her from me.

I won’t let them.

I open my eyes; I see the lights surrounding the warehouse.

I open my lips and breathe, “Break”.

***

Whatever the Council is paying these guys is too much. That was way, way too easy to do. Three warehouses, three roofs, three times the same question, ‘How was the hunting?’ Three scuffles later and nine men down.

I’d honestly like to think I’m that good but I think it was more along the lines of these ‘assassins’ being that stupid. Better go get the redhead, she’s probably hyperventilating.

Hm?

What’s she doing?

Okay, let’s evaluate the situation. I have just risked life and limb to help someone free someone else who I myself captured, at great personal risk, and now the first someone, namely a redheaded girl named Willow, is sitting cross-legged in the dark.

And occasionally whimpering.

“Willow?” I ask.

For a split second I think she’s registered that I’m there then her focus …turns away I guess.

I step closer to her, intent on grabbing her shoulder…and I stop.

The hairs on my arm are standing up, hell even the hairs on my pelts are standing up. She opens her eyes and doesn’t see me, she’s staring only at the warehouse where her lover is being held.

The air gets heavy and thick, it’s an effort to breath…oh shit.

“Break,” she says.

I hit the deck.

The entire front of the warehouse ripples, like hot pavement on the horizon, a slight shimmer, an illusion that makes you want to blink or rub your eyes. The front of the warehouse does something like that. Only it’s not an illusion when the entire front of it gets blown in and all the spot lights running around it explode in miniature fireballs. The heavy steel door rattles in its slot then…slowly…with almost a sense of dignity…falls forward to slam into the ground.

“So much for stealth,” I mutter to myself pulling my feet under me. I glance over my shoulder at Willow; she’s collapsed, chest heaving eyes glazed. I kneel by her side and feel her face; it’s cold, clammy and covered with sweat. Her eyes come into focus and she looks at me, “Sorry, sorry. Just the lights,” she gasps, “I…hah hah…only wanted…hah…to break the lights!”

“I believe you,” I whisper to her. “Stay here, I’ll cover.”

“N-no,” she stammers. She shrugs my hands off and rolls over, getting her hands under her she tries to push of the ground. “Sh-she needs me,” Willow grunts.

Fine, she can play catch up. I dash toward the now wrecked warehouse, from the smoke I see a figure emerge. Fatman? No, just one of his men.

He sees me, “Where the bloody blue blazes have you been?” he hollers at me as I run up to him.

“Hunting,” I say. “What’s all this?”

He shakes his head, “No idea, an attack of some sort. I can’t get in touch with any of the guys on the patrol. I’m about to check.”

“Right,” I say nodding. “You check the guys on the south building, I’ll take north.”

“Stay in radio contact at all times,” He says holding up his walkie talkie.

I smile and pat one of my belt pouches that doesn’t have a radio in it but what he doesn’t know…is probably going to hurt him a lot.

He turns away and I hit him. A very nice rabbit punch right where the skull meets the neck; without a sound he crumples onto the pavement. If I’m to rescue The Slayer I’ve got to get to her before Fatman does something stupid, like kill her.

I turn back to the redhead, she’s on her feet and staggering toward me; well…if anyone wants to get to her they’ll probably have to get past me first. There’s nobody else out here, any other guards are inside what’s left of the warehouse.

Probably.

I duck through the dark opening where the door used to stand and make my way across the room. I’m trying to stick to the shadows but that’s a lot harder than it should be. The redhead’s magic whatever shook the whole building and all the lights that she didn’t blow out inside here are swinging back and forth.

Reaching a corner where no light can reach I stop and listen.

Silence.

The generators which were powering Fatman’s fun room are dead, probably fried by Willow’s magic blast. There’s no sound of any movement either. At the far end of the room, one moment lit from above, the next darkened than lit again, is the tiny steel cell that holds The Slayer.

There’s nothing moving anywhere.

Where’s Fatman?

I wait for a minute, the oscillations of the lights above lessen and soon only the center of the room is lit. I take a deep breath and hold it, tasting the various scents filling the room.

Jesus.

Tears spring to my eyes and my stomach churns as the odor of burnt flesh and hair assault me. Sweat, dirt and a lot of cigarette smoke are also in the mix but there’s no smell of gunpowder, or blood, or pasta.

“Buffy!”

Damnit, I was right. She’s a moose!

The redhead is standing by the far side of the opening where the door was; with one hand she’s supporting herself. She’s half bent over and she’s still breathing heavily.

“Buffy where are you!” she screams into the warehouse.

“Willow, shut-“ I start to shout.

Movement!

There!

No, he was outside!

Fatman steps directly behind the redhead and wraps a forearm around her throat and pulls her against his bulk. With his other hand he presses a small ugly pistol to her temple.

I’m such an idiot; he must have gone out a side door when Willow…blew everything up. Must have stayed on the far side of the warehouse, out of sight. I was so intent on getting inside I forgot about the possibility of him circling around. Stupid, bungling, arrogant amateur.

“Ah, my dear Hunter,” he rasps. “I freely admit that I am no match for you in combat but with this lovely little thing between us it balances accounts nicely,” he pushes the pistol harder, Willow squeezes her eyes shut and whimpers. “Yes, it does even things out rather well,” Fatman purrs.

“I know you duckling,” he croons to Willow. “You’re Willow Rosenberg, one of The Slayer’s little friends. Oh we do have detailed file about you, yes we do.” He squeezes the girl slightly. “The Council doesn’t like you; you helped The Slayer become independent, you pulled her away from us,” With the arm he has around her throat he caresses her face with his fingertips and Willow gives a little hiccup. “No,” he murmurs. “We don’t like you at all.”

Now, while he’s distracted, I’ll try and move just a little bit closer, he’s only ten feet away, twelve tops all I need is a few steps.

The second I lift my foot his attention shifts to me rattlesnake quick, “Ah, ah, ah Hunter,” he shakes his head and makes a tsk tks tks sound. “No movements from you.”

“So sad,” he says solemnly. “You betraying us, now The Council will have to seek compensation. You know how it goes, follow in the shoes of Shylock and retrieve our pound of flesh.” He finishes with a soft smile, like the idea pleases him, probably does the tubby freak.

“I didn’t betray you,” I smile back, playing the game. “I did exactly what I was instructed.”

“How droll,” Fatman murmurs. “I suppose this is the trite, ‘no one told me not to get the Slayer’s friends and attempt to free her’ argument?” He fakes a yawn but even though it looks like he closes his eyes I can see them, little piggy eyes, glinting in the dim light. “Sorry darling, not interested. Neither will The Council be.”

“I won’t let you hurt her,” I say, changing the subject.

Fatman smile again, a beatific smile, his mother probably loved it. I hate it; fate permitting I’ll feed it to him.

“Wouldn’t think of it,” he says. “Now this is how it shall be. I am going to walk toward the cage,” he says ‘cage’ with extra force trying to use my dislike of that name against me. Won’t work FatMan. “And for every step forward you will take a step back, you will remain the exact same distance from me at all times.” He hasn’t taken the gun away from Willow’s head for an instant. “Failure to comply at any time will result in this little one’s death.” He grinds the barrel against her temple, smiling like a cherub.

“You kill her, I kill you,” I say, one foot still poised.

“True,” he replies with a nod. “But she’ll be dead won’t she?”

“You love yourself too much to risk yourself like that,” I say.

His smile widens, “Maybe,” he shrugs. “Then again maybe not.”

He grabs Willow’s hand with his, “Let me see your hand Duckling,” he whispers not taking his eyes off me. “Let Papa see your hand.” He holds Willow’s hand to his face and inhales deeply.

“Exquisite,” he breathes exhaling. “I simply must have a taste!” and he slips Willow’s pinky between his puckered lips and suckles loudly. When he releases Willow’s hand she pulls away and her pinky comes out with a loud pop.

“Mmmmm,” FatMan breathes. “Duckling you taste enchanting. Pity we do not have more time.”

He grins at me.

He’s not afraid, I can tell so either he’s telling the truth or he’s too stupid to realize what’s going on. He’s sick, twisted, fat, ugly, obscene and a monstrous example of humanity but I’ve not seen or heard anything that tells me he’s stupid.

Holding Willow against him, barrel of the gun to her head he takes a single step forward. I clench my fists and with everything screaming inside me I step back, I back down. I give way to him; the fat bastard.

“Excellent,” he says. “See we can all cooperate very well, conditions permitting.”

He takes another step, and another, and another. I keep pace with him never waving, never hesitating. With every move I make the protests from my mind…from my heart from that deep angry place inside get louder and louder.

When I reach the cell I cannot back up any farther and he’s still ten feet away. Willow has not moved, or uttered a sound the entire time. She hasn’t even wiped her hand, I can see the sheen of his saliva under the lights.

“Now,” he says. ”As your way is blocked by the cage you will step to your right toward the nearest wall for every step of my own.”

He steps and I comply, my instincts and desires howling.

He reaches the door of the cell, a heavy layered steel door which, thought pitted and rusty, is probably rock solid. “Don’t move duckling,” he murmurs in Willow’s ear. “Do not even breathe; Papa needs his keys but he cannot reach them as all his hands are full so I need you to get them for me.”

He winks at me and bends his head forward so he’s nuzzling the back of her head, “Will you do Papa that favor Duckling? Will you get Papa his keys?”

Willow nods dumbly her eyes open and unseeing.

“Reach back, Duckling,” he instructs her. “Use your left hand only; reach into Papa’s pocket and take out the big key on the key ring. Try not to let your hand wander.”

Slowly Willow reaches back and slips her hand into Fatman’s pocket, a moment later she pulls out a large key ring with an equally large steel key attached to it. She holds it up in front of her and stares at it with a puzzled expression.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I?” Fatman replies blinking innocently. “Nothing. But she will unlock the door for me and then…well we’ll see what we see.”

“You’re…you’re going to kill her,” The voice is weak, tired, distant but still clearly audible. “You’re going to kill Buffy aren’t you?” Willow repeats.

Fatman clucks sympathetically. “I’m afraid so Duckling, I’m afraid so. She’s broken, irredeemable. We tried our best to help her of course. We tried our very, very best but it was too little too late.”

He sighs, “At this point I consider it a mercy actually.”

“But, but you were torturing her,” Willow protests, I remain quiet, a hole in the shadows but Fatman’s eyes never leave me. “You were hurting her, how is that helping?”

“Duckling, Duckling, Duckling,” Fatman says patronizingly. “I cannot expect a child like you to understand. Put simply sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind; she was misbalanced, dysfunctional. We were merely trying to establish order once again, balance, unity.”

He’s silent for a moment, looking introspective. He’s just acting, the fat fuck is just acting, playing a role in a game for his own amusement.

“We failed,” he continues. “To our eternal shame we, The Council, has failed. So we must cut our losses and move on. It’s all for the best, do you understand Duckling? Do you understand what Papa is saying?”

Willow doesn’t say anything; the air is still as we three stand silent, waiting. Then, after a time, slowly Willow nods. “Yes,” she whispers. “I-“

Then with a sudden intake of breath Willow shrieks, “Buffy! I’m here! Buffy I’m right here! We’re here Buffy!”

It’s loud, sudden and totally unexpected. For a second I’m sure that Willow has just killed herself and FatMan will blow her head off.

Instead he only chuckles.

“A good effort Duckling,” he says. And then, then he makes a mistake, he takes the gun away from her temple, with the end of the pistol he taps at the steel door. “This is at least two inches thick plated steel and it is also completely sound proof and air tight. I assure you your ‘Buffy’ is quite unaware of us.”

“Besides,” And his smile, so angelic for this entire time shifts and twists into a grotesque grin. “Before you got here I had already broken her. She was lying on the floor covered with burns quite unconscious.” An ugly, light skitters across the back of his eyes as he stares at me.

With a loud crang sound the steel door tents outward. Right from where he tapped the door with his pistol. He backs away quickly squeezing Willow against him, again with the pistol pressed to her head.

There are two more sounds of impact at two huge dents are knocked in the door. The steel moorings, holding the door begin to groan. “Jee,” I say staring at The Council Member. “Looks like you woke her up Fatman.” I use the name I gave him with relish. His glance flickers from the door, to me and back to the door.

“I’m not fat,” he says automatically. “I’m big boned.”

Two more loud blows ring throughout the warehouse and two more divots tent outward from the steel door; which is looking less and less like a door every second.

“Im- Impossible,” Fatman declares. “That door is two inches thick! The strength of The Slayer is well documented, we know exactly what The Slayer is and is not capable of; she cannot do this!”

“Mm,” I grunt, nodding. “You sure she got the memo?”

With a final blow the door is torn off its hinges; it soars across the room barely missing Fatman before it slams into the dirt….fifteen or so feet from the steel box it was just attached to. Standing in the doorway is The Slayer; her hair is mussed, dirty and matted; there are burns all over her body. The skin of her hands and feet are cracked and bloody. Even as she stands there a small pool of blood grows around her feet.

“Buffy,” Willow breathes. Her eyes come alive, she’s flush with confidence and seems to glow from inside. “Boy,” she crows, twisting her head around to stare at Fatman out of the corner of her eye. “You are really fucked now!”

***

“Boy,” I scream exultingly, “You are really fucked now!”

Buffy’s here!

My Buffy’s here, everything is going to be alright.

We got here in time, Buffy’s here, Buffy’s here!

Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, Buff-

“Shut up,” The Council Man rasps in my ear. “All of you shut up!”

Then I get a good look at her.

Buffy…my poor Buffy…burns all over her, blistered, cracked, bleeding. Blood is trickling from her mouth, her nose, even from her ears. Her hands drip blood on the floor, from where she stands blood is pooling on the ground….

“Buffy,” I whimper, I can’t help it. “I’m so sorry!”

She ignores me; she’s staring at The Hunter who returns the stare, for a moment, and then The Hunter looks away, down to the ground for a split second. She recovers quickly, starts giving her glare to The Councilman.

Behind me I hear The Councilman clear his throat a few times. “Slayer,” he says quite clearly. “You will return to your cage now Slayer.”

She ignores him too.

“Slayer!” he says with more force. “You will obey me; you will return to your cage and wait there until called for. You will do as you are told and you will do so now.”

Buffy keeps on ignoring him, “Slayer,” he’s almost shouting now, I think he’s starting to panic. “I have your friend here and if you do not do as I say I will kill her,” he pushes at my temple with the gun, again…it really hurts. “Do you understand me? I will kill her! I will take this gun and put a bullet into her little red-haired head and it will be your fault!”

That gets her attention; slowly she turns to look at The Councilman and at me. I can’t help the gasp, her eyes! Those are not Buffy’s eyes! Buffy has grey blushish eyes, like a stormy sky not these, not these eyes. These are the eyes of something…

Oh my God.

Those eyes are ancient.

Buffy stares at us, or whatever is behind those eyes stares at us, she looks right at me without a flicker of recognition. Buffy, it’s me, it’s Willow, don’t you remember me?

Then she looks back at The Hunter, “We,” she gurgles. Her voice is raspy, hoarse, like sandpaper across a chalkboard. “We not know you,” and she points at The Hunter with one bloody hand.

Then she looks back at us, at the Councilman her hand swings slowly until she’s pointing at him. A drop of blood rolls over the tip of her finger and drops to the floor, the sound is deafening.

“We know you,” she grunts. “You hurt us,” then her gaze flickers to me and she sees me, for just an instant that bright, terrible old blue dims and she sees me. “You are touching,” she growls. “You touching our mate!”

The Councilman gives a jerk, “Your what?” he gasps. “Mate? What, you and this girl? Mates?”

He begins to tremble and the muscles in his arm tense, he’s shaking me he’s so angry. “You are engaged in a relationship with this girl?” He thunders. “You grotesque, malformed, sinful bitch!” he screams, his voice climbing higher and higher. “You abomination, you have sullied your line-“

Buffy ignores his ranting and continues speaking, “Threatened our mate.”

“-and your calling.” The Councilman continues to scream, his voice warbling.

They’re both talking, well he’s screaming, at the same time!

“And for that,” Buffy snarls. Her lips pull away from bloody teeth and the her fingers curl into claws.

“You will be consumed in the bowels of Hell, twisting in the burning for all eternity, the both of you! First the Witch then-“

“You die!” Buffy shrieks.

“You die!” The Councilman shouts.

He’s going to do it, he’s going to shoot, the barrel of the gun trembles against my skin, the muscles in his hand creak and his forearm across my throat is like a steel bar.

Buffy, I look at her for the last time, Buffy I love you!

Then she flickers, like one minute she’s there the next she’s not.

Then The Councilman’s roar is cut off and something hot and wet splashes into my hair, across my face and into my mouth. His arm falls away from around my throat, and the pressure of the pistol vanishes at the same time. There’s this long, rattling groan and a solid thud an instant later followed by a more meaty thud…or was it two more thuds one on the end of the other?

I spin around look behind me, to see where Buffy might have gone, can’t see a damn thing though. There’s this stuff in my eyes; I paw at my face, scraping away something sticky and…kinda chunky. Like meaty spaghetti sauce, still can’t see anything. I try open my eyes but everything is red and blurry; just gotta get this crud off and now I can see-

“Willow,” The Hunter calls me.

“Hm?” I’m distracted, getting this stuff off, looking for Buffy. No time to talk; busy, busy, busy.

“Willow, look at me,” The Hunter says.

I get the last of the stuff off my face, as best I can, I turn to The Hunter, “What do you want, I’m looking for Buffy. Where’s Buffy? Anyhow?” I ask her. “She was right here, then she just sorta jumped or something and then…poof!” I spread my hands. “She’s gone.”

“Buffy’s behind you, Willow,” The Hunter says slowly she holds out her hand to me.

“Oh okay,” I start to turn. “No!” The Hunter shouts.

“What?” I ask, hands on my hips I’m beginning to get impatient.

“Buffy’s fine, she’s behind you and you’ll see her in just a second,” The Hunter looks over my shoulder and visibly pales. “Just…just don’t turn around.”

I’m about to protest, I’m about to do turn around anyway and do whatever it is The Hunter is worried about me doing then I see Buffy. She’s ambles into my field of vision. “Buffy,” I whisper but she must not have heard me. She’s staring at her hands, her bloody hands, like she did that night after the beer. She’s studying closely some…it looks like tissue hanging from her nails.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” The Hunter mumbles uselessly. “Cover up the mess or something.”

“Yeah,” I reply not even looking at The Hunter. “You do that.”

I reach out to Buffy, I want to pull her into a hug and I try but she steps away. She looks at me, studies would be a better word for it. “We…we know you,” she says haltingly, as if she’s a little unsure. “She knows you, she loves you…she says…she says we…tell you things, a thing.”

“What?” I ask Buffy; behind me The Hunter grunts slightly as she drags something away.

“She…she is not here,” Buffy says. My stomach begins to clench.

“What do you mean ‘she’,” I say back. “Who’s she…where is she?”

“You know…apologies… we speak use her memories to know, still, “  Buffy shrugs apologetically.  “Not …good with this tongue.”

Buffy puts a hand to her head and seems to think. “Your love is…asleep. Inside.” She says finally. “We…we are The Slayer.”

“No,” I whisper. “You’re…you’re just confused Buffy, you’re just confused and tired and….and you have to be there…we…we need you Buffy, I need you!”  I grab Buffy by the shoulders and she visibly twitches.

Slowly, very slowly as if she’s afraid I’ll shatter Buffy caresses my face with her bloody fingers, “Loves you much,” she murmurs, still in a throaty growl. “Too much hurt; too much pressure. Man tried to put us back. Cage us, bind us…we must be free.”

She blinks and when she looks at me again the bright blue is darker, it’s getting darker and darker very quickly. “We cannot stay, and…your mate must rest. All that will be left is…Wild.”

“Wild?” My stomach is a churning, spitting, ball of ice. I can’t feel my legs.

“What she…your mate…” As her eyes darken her speech gets slower and more labored. “Was…become stopped, hurt …must heal. Your mate…will…return….”

Buffy’s head droops and she collapses. Her knees buckle, I try to catch her but her weight drags us both down. Cradling her head on my shoulder I stroke her face, she has to wake up. I have to get her to wake up.

“Buffy?” I say patting her cheek gently. “C’mon baby, don’t do this to me…you have to stay with me honey. I love you so much.”

Her eyes flicker open; they’re almost a flat, deep blue except for a tiny spark in the center. “Mate…return… …she…must…be….” Buffy’s eyes flutter shut

The last word is whispered so quietly, so softly that I’m not sure I heart it. And even with what I know I’m not sure…I’m not sure of what she means.

“Is she unconscious?” The Hunter asks stepping out of the dark.

I stare at this woman, this Hunter that I could blame, that I should blame for all this. I think I might hate her; I’ll have to think about it.

“Yes,” I say biting the word.

“What did she say?” She asks, stepping a bit closer.

I wrap my arms around Buffy and being to rock her back and forth slowly, slowly. “Shhhh,” I whisper to Buffy. “Shhh, everything’s fine now. Everything’s fine.”

The Hunter kneels down beside us, “Willow,” she says again gently. “What did she say? What did Buffy say?”

I look at The Hunter, I stare her right in the eyes…at least I think those are her eyes. It’s so dark…and …my eyes see things  a little blurry again, like just a few minutes ago except now everything’s  not red stuff blurry just blurry, blurry.

“She said she has to be free,” I say.

END-DWR SECUNDUS: Forth Test.