The tired glass finally gave up its fight against the raging storm outside and crashed inward sending shards scattering across the bare floor, swiftly followed by the torrential rain that flooded through the new aperture without hesitation.
A thunderous crash rattled the weak foundations as lightning streaked across the dark sky, briefly illuminating the shabby interior of the old shack as the torn and ragged curtains hanging beside the now empty window frame twisted and lashed at the air under the relentless onslaught of the howling wind, reminiscent of dark flags hailing the power of the storm itself.
In the darkest corner, beside an old chest of drawers, the motionless body of a tiny girl cowered, her legs pulled up against her chest like an oversized foetus. Small spots of blood had appeared on the material of the long, white nightdress that she was wearing. Splinters of glass from the window had found their way across the room and had embedded themselves into the soft flesh of her bare feet and shins.
The foundations shook again, but this time there was no accompanying thunder. Instead came a low rumbling growl that grew louder as the intensity of the vibrations increased.
The girl pushed against the floor in an attempt to force herself further into the corner, but she was as far as she could go. She looked up, the fear on her face painfully apparent and contorted by the eerie light that flashed periodically into the room, bestowing an impish quality upon her features.
The nails holding the wooden boards of the floor began to work loose, slowly at first, then gradually gaining momentum until they were literally shooting out of there resting place and striking the ceiling with enough force to leave an impression. A crack appeared as the brittle floorboards bowed outwards, then another and another. In a matter of seconds the centre of the room was engulfed by a flurry of splintering wood, large spear-like strips were flung in all directions as a dense clouds of dust spread like a choking fog, covering everything it touched with a blanket of thick black ash. It cleared almost an instant later as a new sound blasted the room, a loud swirling noise, like a giant plug had been pulled from the ground and was trying to pull the world inside. The darkness of the room was instantaneously obliterated as flames bellowed forth from the gaping hole that had been formed by the explosion. There was no heat to the fiery tentacles that whipped across the room, feeling the surroundings, searching…
The girl stifled a scream as she watched the flames draw closer to her position. She buried her face into her knees in an attempt to hide from the oncoming horrors. Then…Silence. Lifting her head slowly, the young girl examined the room. It was once again dark and the storm outside had ceased it barrage. The only evidence of these events was the fissure in the floor that could only just be made out in the dim light. She stood, as though mesmerized, staring in to the newly opened abyss. Gradually she stepped closer, like a marionette drawn by an unseen force. Eventually she reached the edge, eyes still locked on the darkness beneath her, unable to look away. A flash of realisation crossed her face as she began to tumble forward, falling, helpless. The darkness below engulfed her small body as she fell and she was gone.
From the depths, a large hooded figure levitated slowly upward until it was within inches of the ceiling. The pit beneath dissolved and trickled away like oil, leaving the floor solid once more.
"I know you are watching!" The deep, gravely voice came. "I can feel you. But know this…. I shall come and you will die!"
Chapter 1
"No!" She screamed as she sat bolt upright in bed, the sweat of fear trickled down her brow and dripped onto the damp sheets. Her breath was shaky and her heart pounded in her heaving chest like it was trying to beat its way out of her body. Her eyes, squinting in the light, darted around the room, looking for something out of place, something not quite right. But nothing. Everything was as it should be.
She brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and took deep breaths to calm herself. She sat, staring at the wall, trying to make sense of the horrific nightmare that had unfolded in her sleep. What did it mean? The hooded figure lingered in her memory. The face, hidden by shadow, even now sent a cold shiver down her spine as though she could feel the piercing gaze of its unseen eyes and sense the maliciousness of its being.
She'd had dreams like this in the past, but never so vivid, so clear. The haze that usually gave her the feeling of immunity was gone. She felt naked, defenceless, but most importantly she felt fear. It was as if she was truly a part of her own dream, like she could have reached out and touched the small girl, comforted her, protected her.
A sudden sense of guilt hit her hard in the stomach, she convulsed. She could feel the bile welling up in her throat. Leaning over the side of her bed, she convulsed again. A stream of vomit spewed from her mouth, again she heaved and repeated the process, the only thought in her head –
Why didn't I save the girl, she was so small, so helpless. I should've stopped her, kept her away….
A loud knock on the bedroom door brought her thoughts back to the present. She was slumped on her bed with her head still hanging over the edge. A thin line of mucus hung from her top lip, glinting in the sunlight like a spider web in the early morning dew. She had been crying. She could feel the drying tears on her cheeks and the puffiness of her eyes.
How long have I been like this? She wondered as she slowly sat up straight. Her throat was sore and felt swollen. Wiping her face with the bed sheet, she put an unsteady foot on the floor and tested her weight on it. The knock came again.
"Hang on a sec!" Her voice was hoarse. Moving toward the door, she paused momentarily as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, then continued.
Upon reaching the door, she braced herself against the frame for support, and slowly turned the handle.
The teenage girl on the other side looked concerned, her big eyes, though bloodshot from tiredness, scanned the face of her older sister. "Are you okay? I heard strange noises." Her voice was soft and slurred. Her face screwed up as she grasped her nose between her thumb and forefinger "And what is that awful smell?", She cringed.
"I'm okay." Unwilling to go into the details of the nights events with her younger sibling, she quickly searched her mind for a plausible explanation. "Just a bit of a stomach bug I think."
"Are you sure?" Her sister, still holding her nose, enquired.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Honestly!"
"Okay Buffy. If you're sure." She turned and headed toward the stairs.
"Dawn…" Buffy's voice was a touch more normal. Her younger sister turned back to face her, the worried expression she wore on her face was barely disguised by the small smile which spread hesitantly across her lips. "I love you."
"Where'd that come from?" Came the puzzled reply.
"I just thought I'd let you know" The guilt from not saving the small girl still hung in her gut.
"Do you want some orange juice or maybe a coffee?" Dawn stood by the refrigerator as Buffy entered the kitchen.
"Huh?" Still feeling a bit dazed, she pondered the question like it was a difficult algebra exam. "I…I'm not sure I could stomach anything at the moment." She mumbled as she finally realised what the question actually meant. The thought of ingesting anything made her insides twist. "Maybe later, okay?"
"Okay. You go and sit down, take it easy for a while" The worried look was back on Dawn's face. Looking at her, Buffy noticed how much she looked like her mother while wearing that expression.
After a couple of hours of aimlessly flicking from channel to channel trying to find something interesting to watch, Buffy resigned to the fact that meaningless drivel was the order of the day and turned the television off.
"Feeling any better?" Dawn walked into the room and sat gently down next to Buffy.
"A bit." She replied after contemplating how she did actually feel.
"Maybe some fresh air would do you some good." Dawn suggested.
"I don't know" Buffy pulled the curtain away from the window to look at the street outside. "Although I do need to speak to Willow today."
"Why, what's the matter?"
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with." Buffy's words were distant; her thoughts were elsewhere as she spoke. Out of the window she watched a small girl, dressed in a pretty birthday frock, playing across the street on her shiny new tricycle.
"Come on Buffy? Please?" Dawn's pleadings were wasted on her older sibling. Buffy's eyes had glazed over and she was lost in a world of her own.
******
"Okay sweetie, don't worry I'll be right over!" Willow placed the handset of the phone back into its cradle on the counter of the old magic shop. She paused for a few seconds; contemplating the conversation she just had before turning to face Tara. "That was Dawn," she raised her hand and placed it gently on Tara's arm, gently stroking the green woollen fabric of her cardigan as she spoke. "She say's that Buffy's weirding out on her." She bent her knees slightly as she reached down, lifted her bag from the floor and swung it easily over her shoulder in a well-practiced motion, letting it rest on her hip.
"Weirding out?" Tara, looking puzzled, tucked a loose tress of hair behind her ear as she searched Willow's wide, watery blue-green eyes with her own, looking for emotion in their depths.
"Dawn said that she's been staring out of the window for the last hour and a half." She gave Tara a reassuring hug before she strode over to the table at which Giles sat, flipping through the pages of a particularly sombre looking tome.
"Is everything okay?" He asked, looking up over the rim of his glasses. The thick, mottled page between his fingers slid from his grasp as he became aware of the concern playing across Willow's face. "What's the matter?" The feeling of dread crept in. Filling his gut as it had a hundred times before.
"It's Buffy," Her voice softened, trying not to worry Giles any more than was necessary. "Dawn says she's acting a bit strange."
Giles stood, removing his glasses as he did. The chair in which he sat squealed noisily as it moved backward across the wooden floor. "Strange? Strange how?" His free hand instinctively reached for the jacket pocket, pulling free a small cloth.
"Dawn said that she had been vomiting this morning and that she has been acting strange ever since she got up." Willow paused, pondering her choice of words as Giles stood, gently massaging the cloth over the fragile glass lenses. "She said that Buffy seemed…distant. Now she is just staring out of the window. Dawn thought she was watching a small girl across the road, but she went out with her parents half an hour ago and she's still standing there. She's really worried about her."
"We'd better get over there." Giles finished cleaning the lenses of his spectacles and placed them back on the bridge of his nose. "It's best to be on the safe side." He reached down and pulled the rough, leather bound cover of the book shut. "Let me just put this away and I'll be right with you." He lifted the large book with obvious effort and tucked it awkwardly under his arm before making his way to the bottom step of the narrow staircase that allowed access to the small mezzanine where the restricted books were kept. Willow joined Tara by the door and waited.
The bright sunlight was harsh in comparison to the dimly lit interior of the Magic Box, causing the trio to squint against its intensity as they stepped through the open door and onto the sidewalk. Here and there, small pockets of people went about their daily business. Across the quiet road, a frustrated mother frog marched her ill-tempered son past the local convenience store to the face cringing cries of 'I wan' some candy! S'not fair!'
To their left, a small group of teenagers stood, loitering on the street corner. Playing a game where they took it in turns to hit each other in the arm with all the strength they could muster, in a desperate attempt to prove their masculinity. Two of the group had already taken a step back from the rest, briskly rubbing their deadened muscles, faces barely hiding the pain. The one furthest away, a thin boy with bright copper hair, hair that was often the subject of his daily torment from his friends, deftly covered the act of wiping away a tear with a mock yawn and stretch as the rest continued to pound each others flesh with their fists.
Giles reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a key. It had a long cylindrical barrel, the tip covered in a series of unique bumps and indentations. He gazed at the small object in his hand as a tiny smile pushed the edges of his mouth ever so slightly toward his cheeks. He used his thumb to locate the correct button on the fob and, not so much as pushed, but squeezed gently. The familiar electronic sounding chirp, chirp of the alarm disengaging sounded, accompanied by the flashing of indicator lights. Even after more than a year, he still couldn't believe that, he of all people had bought a BMW. He remembered how he'd considered taking it back to the dealership to trade it in for a more practical model and the teething problems he'd had adjusting from his clapped out old Citroen. Now? Now it was his pride and joy. Instead of getting strange looks as he drove around the streets of Sunnydale, he was the recipient of envious stares and appreciative glances. Even when he had left for England, supposedly never to return, he couldn't bring himself to part with it. He'd put it into storage, planning to get it shipped over when he had settled down.
"Giles?" Willow and Tara were already sitting in the car.
"Oh," Caught unawares by his daydream. He moved swiftly to the door and swung it open. "Sorry. I've got a lot on my mind" He was mildly annoyed at himself for having such thoughts at a time like this. Thoughts he thought best not to share with his companions.
"Are you okay?" Tara's soft voice filled Giles' ear as she lent forward from the back seat to bring her head level with her friends in the front. Her hand sat gently on his shoulder.
"I'm fine," Giles placed his hand on top of Tara's and gave it a light squeeze as he looked at her over his shoulder. His eyes briefly caught Willow's as he turned back to face the front and he flashed a quick reassuring smile before bringing his head to face forward. "Honestly."
The engine roared to life as he turned the key. Long gone, the days of coughing and spluttering as the motor struggled to start. He moved the gear stick into Drive and pulled away from the kerb. It wasn't long before they had joined the traffic and were heading at a steady pace towards Buffy's house.
Willow had been sitting quietly since they had started the journey, only occasionally looking up to see how far they had progressed. A single thought had been occupying her mind. What if all of this is my fault? I should never have been so stupid! She looked over at Giles. He was busy concentrating on the road ahead and didn't see the look on her face. A quick glance at Tara revealed that she was staring out to the side, watching the people and houses as they drifted past. She turned back to Giles.
'Giles?' He jumped nervously at the voice as it spoke to him from inside his own head. He knew who it was, but the sheer invasive nature of the occurrence always took him by surprise.
'Willow!' The look of annoyance on his face, the only sign of what was happening. He concentrated on not speaking aloud. 'I really wish you wouldn't do that when I'm driving!' He exhaled heavily through his nose.
'Sorry Giles, but this is important.' She flashed an apologetic glance over toward him as he had turned to display his displeasure. 'I'm worried this could be an after effect of what I did. What if this is just a sign of something worse?' Willow turned her head, displaying mock interest at a passing house, not wanting Tara to sense that anything was wrong.
'Well you said that you didn't complete the ritual. Who knows what effects there could be? We'll just have to tackle this the best we can.' Giles couldn't stay angry at Willow for long, although she had been reckless and stupid, performing the ritual to bring Buffy back from the dead. He even admired her determination and courage to a certain degree. But he couldn't help thinking that she was getting in way over her head with her witchcraft. He had spent so much time with them over the last few years that he'd begun to develop a fatherly attachment to the members of the 'Scooby Gang' as they affectionately liked to call themselves. His job as a watcher had developed into something more. Maybe the council was right. Maybe his closeness to the Slayer and her motley gang of friends had clouded his judgment. But the bond he had formed bound him too tightly to his charge. Even when he was relieved of his duties and the replacement Watcher was dispatched, he could not bring himself to abandon them. He had found that the mutual respect that they had built up through years of working together under some extreme circumstances gave them something that couldn't be replaced as easily as his role as Buffy's Watcher. Not by the likes of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. No, not by a man who could be so detached, so insensitive. He could never have given Buffy what she needed. Support and encouragement but above all else - love.
The rest of the journey was spent in contemplative silence as the streets glided by. Each of them sat with their own thoughts, not feeling the need to speak. Conversation at a time like this would have been forced and awkward.
The car slowed as they approached their destination, rolled up alongside the kerb before finally coming to a halt. They clambered out of the vehicle and slowly walked up the path to the porch. The small sign on the wall that displayed the numbers 1630 went unnoticed. The door opened as they approached. Dawn rushed out and grabbed Willow around the waist, burying her head into her chest. Willow stroked Dawn's long hair and uttered soothing words to the worried teenager.
"She's in there." Dawn lifted her hand and used her index finger to point into the living room. "I don't know what's wrong…She won't speak to me."
"Shh, It's okay sweetheart. We're here now." They all moved inside shutting the door behind them.
******
There was something not quite right about the dim alley. Even in the bright midday sun long shadows clung to the dirty walls as if desperately holding on to the darkness that had long passed. The cool chill in the air only reinforced the sense of deep foreboding that hung over it like the damp smell of rot from the months of old uncollected garbage and broken glass that piled up against the walls.
The crew from last refuse truck that ventured down this narrow passage had mysteriously vanished without a trace. Their truck, the only thing that was ever found, the only proof that they were ever there at all, had been left running for seven hours until somebody had finally discovered it, drivers door wide open, key still in the ignition, empty. Ever since that fateful day two months ago, there had been no one willing or crazy enough to replace them. And so the garbage continued to mount up, the large wheelie bins overflowing.
Here and there, trails of footprints lead from the row of rusty metal doors that were spaced evenly at intervals along the wall furthest from the bins. Those daring enough to attempt putting their garbage in neat piles leaving evidence of their bravery in the form of boot shaped imprints, solidifying in the mulch of rotten food and grease. Accompanying these human tracks, were those of animals. Stray dogs that had been lured in by the smell of an easy meal, their paw prints circling the piles of garbage, torn and shredded refuse sacks the indication of their search. The light, almost invisible impressions of cats, searching for old bones or chasing the swiftly multiplying number of rats that were living the life of luxury in the quickly forming cesspit.
"Yeah, yeah!" Midway along the wall one of the metal doors swung open, the rusty hinges loudly squealing in protest before slamming against the wall with a heavy metallic thud. "I'm doin' it for crying out loud!"
From the open doorway a young man appeared. Around his feet he employed two grocery bags to cover his shoes, sealed firmly with a rubber band around the bottom of his jeans to keep the slime out. In his hands were two fresh garbage bags, filled to the limit and threatening to burst with one false move. He looked down, the contortion of his face signalling the utter revulsion he felt. For a moment he stood to gain his composure, nearly vomited at the smell twice and took his first step toward the far wall.
Robert Birch was a hard working and under appreciated man. It had been that way for most of his life. Ever since he could remember he had been bullied or pushed into things he didn't want to do and now was no different.
For six long years he had worked under Marlow Wilks, an overweight and overbearing pig of a man. Owner and ruler of his own little kingdom on Wilton Avenue, the amusingly named 'MARLOW'S MEAT MENAGERIE' was the sum of his life's work. A greasy diner that attracted next to no customers, apart from the occasional out-of-towner that was none the wiser. The only reason that Marlow was allowed to continue trading was the fact that his younger brother was in a position of power at the local government and could pull a few strings when necessary.
"Haven't you done that yet?" A voice bellowed from somewhere inside. Robert felt the annoyance begin to build up as it usually did and sighed.
"Not yet." He called back as he took another step forward, his foot slipped forward on the slick surface of mush. "Damn," He muttered under his breath as he managed to regain his footing. "Why don't you come out here and do it?" He knew he'd never have the guts to say it to Marlow's face, though he'd often imagine himself doing it. Right before he imagined getting knocked all over the kitchens.
"I really don't know what I pay you for!"
'Pay me?' Robert's fought the anger swelling in his head. Keeping his thoughts to himself was a struggle, but knew it was probably better that way. His wage was by most standards pathetic. Earning a measly four bucks an hour, the same wage as when he had started. 'I could earn more making running shoes in Asia!' All he could say was "Sorry Boss!"
Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered going into work. Day in and day out he endured the same torturous routine. The constant barrage of insults and remarks from Marlow was getting him down and now the twice-daily trip into this mess.
His social life was in a sorry state, the six-day week he worked choking any possibility of enjoying time with his friends. The same friends that stopped asking him to go out years ago, as they already knew his answer. He ran errands for little or no gratitude, cleaned the kitchens, mopped the floors and on the odd occasion, he even done a bit of 'personal' business for Marlow and his brother. Sure, it was his job, but a bit of thanks wouldn't go amiss.
"Yeah, so you should be!" The voice of Marlow drifted out of the door to Robert's ears.
"We should try and get something done about this lot out here!" Having eventually moved close enough to the piles of putrid waste. Robert placed both bags carefully on top and stepped back.
"Hey, It's not my problem! Let some other goodie-two-shoes sort it out!" The tone of Marlow's voice, one of sheer indifference.
"Whatever you say Boss." The words were half-hearted; the thought of having to do this again at the end of the day was almost too much to think about. It had gotten so bad recently that he would have to shower at least twice to get the rancid smell from his hair.
He turned back slowly to head for the door. Something in the corner of his eye moved. He focused on the spot where he had seen it, just to the right of the wheelie bin at the furthest end of the alley. Nothing. 'Probably just a rat or something.' He decided as he swatted a lone fly from his face. It dawned on him that something was out of the ordinary here…a single fly…an alley full of rotting garbage…"Where the hell are all the flies?" His own voice surprised him. Again there was movement in the corner of his eye. "Screw this!" He made for the door, slowly and carefully planning his next step. It was the sound he heard that distracted him from his task. Ever so quiet, but in the silence of the alley he heard it, along with the sound of his own heartbeat. It was a strange noise. A sound that he couldn't quite place. Curiosity getting the better of him, he changed direction. This far from the wall of garbage he could move a bit faster and moved cautiously toward the far end of the alley. As he approached the noise grew slightly louder. Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Steadily he approached, uncertain that he should even be doing it at all. As he reached the bin, the smell in the air changed. No longer was it the stench of rotting vegetables and processed food…No…Now it was the nauseating stink of rotting flesh.
He rounded the side of the large wheelie bin and felt his skin crawl at the sight before him. A writhing mass of blackness made from a mixture of hundreds of cockroaches, varying in size from a penny right up to a disturbing four inches. Intermingled with these were the missing flies, crawling and buzzing around in their thousands, waiting for a chance to get at the booty beneath them. At the edge of this heaving multitude of filth sat three rats, eagerly snatching at the all-you-can-eat buffet on offer. Crunch, crunch.. One of the rats chewed noisily on an unfortunate cockroach. Every now and then a small gap would appear in the almost solid mass. There was something underneath, material of some kind. Another gap formed. White material, or what used to be white. Now it was a stained, bloody mess.
Robert, although on the verge of relinquishing his breakfast to the repulsive sight before him, wanted to know what was concealed beneath this black shield of living insects. He grabbed an old newspaper that hung out from the top of the bin and rolled it up as he took a step closer, near enough to sweep it across the gruesome swarm.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his sleeve to prepare himself. He leant forward and with a quick flick of his wrist he parted the throng of insects. An action he would regret for the rest of his life. The horror that lay beneath stopped the heart in his chest as the blood drained from his face with alarming speed. Scrambling backward, he slipped, falling into the filth beneath him. His feet continued to lash out against the slick surface, slowly pushing himself up against the wall, the bags on his feet coming away in strips as he tried to get further away. A small amount of cognitive thought returned to him as he fought his way back onto his feet and ran, slipping and sliding, for the open door. The vision of what he had seen staying in his mind like a living nightmare. Looking back over his shoulder to ensure that it hadn't all been a hallucination caused by the gases emanating from all of the rotting garbage, he ran head first into Marlow.
"What the hell are you screaming for?" Robert hadn't even realised he had been screaming, all he could do was whimper like a frightened child at the feet of this big man and point to the far corner. "What?" Marlow looked to the place his gibbering employee was signalling toward, he squinted, just about able to make out the multitude of swarming insects. "What? It's a few cockroaches! What do you expect? Look at the mess out…he..." That's when he saw it, just before it was completely engulfed under the black mass…a hand…the hand of a small child… He looked down at Robert; panic was not a feeling that he was accustomed to. A hundred thoughts rushed into his head in the same instant as his heart pounded painfully in his chest. His breathing began to labour as he turned and lurched toward the front of the diner in an attempt to reach the phone, his hand grasping at his chest as his other arm flailed wildly in the air trying to maintain balance. Kitchen utensils were sent cluttering to the deck as he knocked containers and pots from their set places. The searing pain dropped him to his knees, smashing his head into the solid corner of the worktop and splitting his skull with a bone-crunching thud. He slid to the floor and lay face down as a pool of thick blood oozed from his injury. His slobbery and out-right laziness having eventually got the better of him.
Robert remained kneeling in the doorway, his mind numbed to the dead man laying only yards in font of him. Finally he gave up the ghost and emptied the contents of his stomach into the rotten slush in the alley.
******
After some physical manipulation and a bit of collaboration, Willow, Tara, Giles and Dawn looked down at Buffy, triumphant in their efforts to get her to come away from the window. Buffy sat on the couch, hands hanging loosely by her sides. She was still, almost to the point of rigidity. The only sign of life was the gentle rise and all of her chest as she sat, staring, wide eyed, through her friends at the opposite wall.
"Are you sure you didn't rebuild the Buffy bot?" Dawn's inquisitive eyes searched Willow's face.
Willow, at first didn't understand why Dawn asked such a seemingly unrelated question. Then looking at Buffy, she realised her point. "Dawn." Her voice hid a hint of anger. How could she think that? "No, of course not honey." Looking at the faces of her companions, she knew that they too had considered it as a feasible explanation. "I can understand why you thought it though." She added to comfort Dawn, who was on the verge of tears again. It had taken her and Tara a good half an hour to calm her down the first time and the last thing she wanted was to upset her again.
"Hmm, This is very odd." Giles stated as he leant forward to snap his fingers in front of Buffy's unmoving face. Nothing. Not even the smallest of flinches. "You say she was sick this morning?" He had turned to face Dawn.
Fighting back the urge to burst into another fit of tears. How could she ever become a member of the 'Scooby Gang' if she cried at everything bad that happened? That's if Buffy ever let her… "Uh-huh." Was all she could get past her lips.
"I'll go and have a look in Buffy's room. You three…sorry, four stay down here." He headed towards the front door before he turned left and began ascending the stairs. "And I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea!" He called back down behind him. It was only Willow who appreciated that he was trying to lighten the mood.
Giles pushed the door wide and grimaced as the smell of stale vomit drifted into his nostrils. Inside, the room was tidy except for the nightie that had been placed in a heap on the end of the bed. The only indication of the morning's events was a discoloured damp patch on the carpet. Never having been a person that accepts things at face value, he began to search the room. He noticed the large chest at the bottom of the closet almost immediately as he opened the door. Pulling it out, he flicked the catches open and lifted the lid. Inside he lifted the false top and uncovered her stockpile of weaponry. Of course, this was her reserve stock. As a result of having too many uninvited 'guests' in the house, she now kept a good array of weapons hidden from view at various strategic points around the house. Having found nothing in the closet that would indicate any foul play, he moved over to the dresser. On the top, Buffy's usual array of make-up stood unused. The drawers contained nothing of interest or anything to cause suspicion, so he made his way over to the bed. Getting down an all fours, he placed his head against the floor to get a good look underneath. Still nothing. Some old magazines and some dust, but nothing more was hidden in the dimness. The chest of drawers was next. Giles was getting frustrated as he rummaged through drawer after drawer of nothing. He looked around the room, searching. With a defeated sigh sat down heavily onto the bed.
"Have you eaten yet?" Willow's hand stroked Dawn's long hair as she comforted her.
"No, not yet." Dawn shrugged as she answered. "I'm not really hungry."
"You've got to eat sweetie." Tara joined in. "Even if it's only something little."
"I know I should, but I'm not really in the mood right now." Her eyes moved briefly to Buffy, still sitting on the couch looking like a mindless automaton, before coming back to Tara.
"Do you think you could manage some pancakes?" Willow laid her hand gently on Dawn's shoulder as she smiled sympathetically at her.
"With honey?" Dawn's face brightened. As did Willow's.
"With honey."
"It's a deal!" Willow wrapped her arm around Dawn's waist as they headed for the kitchen, giving Tara a wink as she passed. Tara mouthed the words 'I love you' in return before she followed behind.
Upon entering the kitchen, Tara gracefully moved around the counter and pulled out the frying pan and a mixing bowl. "Do you want rounds or shapes?"
"Um…I'll have r…" A harsh banging on the back door interrupted Dawn's answer. As they looked over, they could see a sight that was rapidly becoming familiar. The figure, a hunched man with a blanket covering his head. Willow moved to the door and turned the latch before swinging it open.
The figure lurched inside, banging into the counter, the mixing bowl bounced off of the other side and skidded across the floor. "Bloody hell!"
"Spike! Be careful!" Willow scolded.
"Sorry sweetheart, but in case you hadn't noticed," He removed the blanket and stood up straight. "My bloody hand's on fire!" He held his hand up to Willow; the skin blistered and bubbles before her eyes.
"Eww, Spike, put it away!" He dropped his hand to his side. "What are you doing here? I suppose you were just passing…again?"
Spike composed himself and straightened his jacket. "I thought I'd drop in and check on my favourite girl." He turned to Dawn and flashed her a smile with a quick wink. "You okay little bit?"
"I am, but Buffy's being really strange." She used her thumb to signal over her shoulder towards the living room.
"Strange? Let's have us a little look-see, shall we." He strode around the counter and out through the door. The girls in the kitchen hurriedly followed.
Spike knelt in front of Buffy and looked her up and down, taking in every inch of her. He locked his gaze on her dilated pupils with his ice blue eyes. He stared, unblinking for a moment. "She's in there." He looked over his shoulder at the audience that stood behind him. "She's just hiding." Turning back, he moved his face closer until the tip of his nose touched hers. He brought his hands up and took a firm grip on her upper arms as if preparing to shake her.
"Spike…"
"Shhh pet, let's see if I can get her out." His voice was gentle…caring. Adjusting his position he leant his head to one side then the other.
"What's he doing?" Dawn looked to Willow for an answer.
"I don't know sweetie," She was just as perplexed as her young companion. "Let's wait and see." They watched Spike move slightly back from Buffy and bring himself up into a crouching stance. The look of concentration on his face was set as he opened his mouth to speak…
"BUFFY! HEY PRINCESS! WAKEY WAKEY!" Buffy snapped back into reality, panicked and sent Spike flying across the room with a hard kick to the chest. She jumped to her feet, ready for battle.
"Buffy!" Dawn stepped forward to her sister, held back only by a wary Willow. Buffy was confused, disoriented and potentially dangerous.
"For Christ's sake!" Spike gathered himself together as he sat in a heap against the wall. "Help someone out and what do they do? They treat you like a bloody punch bag! Ta very much!" He smoothed his hair with his palms, pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and drew one out with his teeth.
"What's happening?" Giles appeared in the doorway, clutching something small in is hand. "What's all the shouting abo…Buffy!" Buffy had turned to face him, her senses slowly returning. "What…how...are you alright?" Giles stepped closer. The thing that he held in his hand distracted Buffy's attention. Her reaction was immediate. Her hands shot up and covered her mouth, stifling a whimper.
"What's that?" Dawn had left Willow and walked over to Giles. She pointed to his hand.
"I don't know. I found it under Buffy's pillow." He held up the object. It was a finely made doll. A doll of a female child…a child wearing a white nightdress. A nightdress stained with flecks of blood…
