Spoiler: "Flooded"
Couples: W/A/S
Distribution: Fire & Ice Archive, my website. Anyone else just ask.
Dedication: To Karen and her "Make a Wish" story from the OzMIA list.
Author's Note: A work in progress . . .to say the least. And unbeta'd
§§§
Mer Girl Was
I ran from my house
that cannot contain me
from the man that I cannot kill
from my mother who haunts me
even though she's gone
from my daughter that never sleeps
I ran from the noise and the silence
from the traffic on the streets
I ran to the treetops
I ran to the sky
out to the lake
into the rain
that matted my hair
and soaked my shoes and skin
hid my tears, hid my fears
The rushing, hollow sound of her panting was loud in the witch's ears. Paused for a moment besides a tree she was too scared to remember some bit of helpful magic, let alone try any. Besides, her greatest strength had already failed her, utterly.
She was running. Running toward safety, freedom -- maybe. She was caught in this wild game, in a web of her own making. It felt as though things would never change, that no one would notice, that she would run forever.
Goddess, it was like she was drowning and no one cared. With every step her heart pounded louder in her chest, the sound of rushing blood filled her ears. She didn't hear the slapping of her feet so much as feel it in her bones. Though she knew she'd set a pounding pace -- her sides screamed in agony -- it was if every step were slow and measured, jarring her with each motion.
I ran to the forest
I ran to the trees
I ran and ran
I was looking for me
She was going to be sick. Her stomach turned and roiled in protest. This was too much. Tongues of fire raced through her legs, begging oxygen, as her lungs burned. She wanted to fall down and cry, simply heave wrenching sobs until the pain stopped. She knew that even if she stopped at that very moment the pain wouldn't.
(Besides they were following her.)
An ache would start, cramping her calves, moving up her thighs, encompassing her entire chest, but if that meant she could stop moving it was a price worth paying.
Soft fingers closed on her neck. No! She shook her head. It was her imagination warning her against falling behind, reminding her what lay there. Memories of it followed her sleeping thoughts and plagued her waking dreams. A childhood lullaby ran through her head. In some way it was even more frightening than the imagined hands around her neck, knowing that they'd invaded her most intimate memories.
But why were they chasing her? What had she done wrong? She had done everything right. Everything right. She'd done what no one else was willing to do, what no one else could have done. But those were their voices behind her -- no silent hunters tonight.
It seemed they were the only three playing games in the cemetery. All else had fled in terror. She was fleeing too.
There was harsh laughter some yards away. A wild whoop answered. How long could she keep her advantage over them or where they merely toying with her like dark and light feral cats toying with a vole in a rare show of camaraderie before tearing it to shreds -- and eating it?
Shuddering at her thoughts her feet found a new fire. She could almost imagine steam rising from them as they pounded into the wet earth of the cemetery. It had rained all day and part of the night. Now the clouds raced overhead denying her even starlight to find her way. If only they would part then she could see where she was going.
They wouldn't, they couldn't, tear her a part. Could they? Would they? She would laugh at herself if this weren't a life and death situation. Goddess, why where they chasing her? And how could they be chasing her? Unless . . .unless . . .
"Ah!" She tripped and nearly fell.
One good thing from all this running, her hair was finally dry. She laughed bitterly to herself.
"There!"
"Let's go!"
"Come here little Willow-"
"-no use running-"
"-you know we're going to catch you-"
"-so why are you running?"
Willow wasn't sure what was more unnerving, that they were following her or that they were finishing each others' sentences. Sentence.
Another hysterical laugh broke free. A hyena-like one answered her. She moaned in agony.
"If you want us so much, pet, why are you running?"
"She likes the chase as much as we do, my boy."
They were getting closer. Willow just didn't understand. She had done everything right. She had done everything right, hadn't she?
I ran past the churches
and the crooked old mailbox
past the apple orchards
and the lady that never talks
Up into the hills
I ran to the cemetery
A shriek escaped her. She'd run full-tilt into a tombstone. Go figure. She'd barely heard, "Oh, scream for me more baby" so much as saw -
"Joyce," she whispered.
and held my breath
and thought about your death
Buffy's tombstone and empty grave was hidden nearby where the demons wouldn't find it. But there was no one there now. No one but Willow and her pursuers.
They were so close. If they . . . oh goddess!
Her mind had stopped comprehending a lot in the past -- she had no sense of time now. She didn't know who she was except she was Willow. She was Willow and she was alive and if she didn't keep running she wouldn't be for long. This was her reality. This was it, her world, her whole, her life and death, her existence. And the sound of her harsh breathing and the pounding of her heart in her ears, they were her all that was too.
And the feet behind her, pushing, pounding, splashing, sucked into and pulling out of the saturated earth, they were the world too.
The monoliths and cherubs and mausoleums and headstones of more shapes and sizes and colors and age were simply background. They were spectators in this mad dumb show. Except it wasn't dumb.
Sometimes her ears heard more than the pulsing of her heart. "Willow!
"Willow!"
"Wiiillow!"
"Willoow!" They called to her, they taunted her, until she couldn't tell one voice from another.
I ran to the lake
up into the hills
I ran and I ran
I'm looking there still
And I saw the crumbling tombstones
the forgotten names
I tasted the rain
I tasted my tears
I cursed the angels
I tasted my fears
She bit her tongue to keep from crying out and tasted blood. Turning quickly to look behind her she nearly ran into the tall spire of an ancient tombstone. She grabbed it instead and clung on for dear life. Only a small rest, she promised herself. A small rest. Her throat was closing around itself. The tapering stone was slick with water, soaking her sleeve. She rested her head against the cold, wet stone, tempted to lick away what moisture remained.
She seemed to cling there forever. There was a terrible hitch in her side. Her calves burned. Where were they?, she wondered. In this moment of peace her mind only knew terror. There was no way she could have outrun them. It wasn't possible.
Willow swung her head from side to side, the still-wet tips of her hair sticking to her sweaty face in places. Silence. Utter silence. Where were they?, her mind cried.
Fear made her push herself from the comfort of the cold stone.
And the ground gave way beneath my feet
And the earth took me in her arms
Fear made her steps false.
Willow plummeted into an empty grave crying to the night. The fall forced the air from her lungs. Leaves from the ground above fluttered over her. Sobs wracked her body. First the chase now this . . .now this. Why? "WHY?!" she shouted into the ether. For the briefest moment she could see the moon.
More leaves, a practical handful, fell onto her. The sky opened up without warning mixing with her tears.
Leaves covered my face
ants marched across my back
Black sky opened up
blinding me
"We can tell you why, Pet." Willow shrunk deeper into the grave. Spike lay flat on his stomach, his head over the side.
"That is what you want isn't it?"
"Angelus," was her terrified whisper.
Spike looked over at his sire, flat on his stomach like he. "You went all Angelus on me without saying anything, mate?"
"You know I wouldn't do that. Sorry little Willow," he said turning his attention back to frightened girl, "no Angelus here. He'll be happy to know you care."
Her eyes went wildly from one face to the other. Angel's long hair dripped water onto her face. Spike smiled madly at her, his platinum hair a dark gold and plastered to his head. "Ch-chip?"
"Absolutely love," he knocked his head. "Intel still bloody well inside."
"Oh."
The vampires laughed.
"But, but why?"
"Why what, Pet?"
"W-why the chase? Why do all this? W-why scare me like this?" she finished with a whisper barely heard over the falling rain.
Spike looked at Angel. "Shall I or would you like the honors?"
"I don't know. Maybe you should, Spike. We're supposed to bring her back alive." Willow shuddered.
"You broke the rules, Luv. You messed with things beyond your bloody ken. Powers outside your control."
"There are higher powers than what you understand," Angel growled. "You don't know what you've conjured or what you've released."
"In short you've been a very, very bad girl."
I ran to the forest
I ran to the trees
I ran and I ran
I was looking for me
I ran to the lakes
and up to the hill
I ran and I ran
I'm looking there still
"But I did what I had to," Willow cried in her defense. "I did what no one else could!"
"Keep telling yourself that, Luv," Spike replied with a dark grin.
The two vampires reached down and yanked her roughly from the open grave. "Ow!" Willow cried. It felt as if they'd tried to rip her arms from their sockets. Nothing happened. She looked expectantly at Spike.
"Waiting for a mind-numbing headache are we? Waiting for me to fall in the bloody mud? Sorry, Pet, but you don't count as one of the good guys anymore. You should check your hats more often." She felt something lifted from her head. A comical, conical styrofoam hat was in Spike's hand white on the outside but darkest black inside.
Willow was caught between the two, between light and dark. "What are you waiting for, little Willow," Angel growled. She could feel the rumble in her chest and Spikes answering laugh behind her.
"No . . ." she moaned. She looked up at them again and was struck dumb by their game faces. "No."
Laughing, they dragged the struggling redhead -- who in her terror seemed to forget she was a witch -- to her fate.
§§§
"Willow, honey, are you okay?"
The redhead turned to Tara. "Sure, why?"
"Well you were tossing and turning a lot in your sleep is all. Did you have bad dreams?"
Unsure how to answer she said, "Sort of. Unsettling is . . .is a not so bad word to describe it."
"Aw, honey. You know I could make you a tea tonight that might help."
Willow smiled gratefully. "Thanks Tara. I lo-- Buffy, you're up."
And I smelt her burning flesh
her rotting bones
her decay
"Hey," she answered listlessly.
"How'd you sleep?"
Her answer was vague and noncommittal at best. "How 'bout you?" she asked pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
Willow opened her mouth to lie far more completely than she had to Tara -
"Morning everyone."
Tara frowned. "What are you doing here, Spike. I thought you went home last night."
Willow didn't hear them, her heart pounding like a trip hammer and her mouth dry with fear.
"You all right, Red?" he asked, concerned.
Her head whipped around. "I'm . . .I'm fine. I'm fine."
I ran and I ran
I'm still running away.
Fin