Blind.

She was blind, and she couldn't remember why. There was pain, too. Her head was pounding, worse than any headache she'd ever known. Her face hurt, her right hand and wrist, her left shoulder, her back, both knees, even some of her toes hurt.

The strangest part was the shaft of icy cold that had been rammed through her gut and left there, seemingly with the intention of freezing her to death. She had no clear memory of that happening either, but there was a jumbled impression of being face to face with someone... flashes of blonde hair and dark green eyes that were as cold as the thing lodged in her middle. She lost the image, and within moments had forgotten about it entirely.

Pain. Painpainpain. She hurt, a lot, but the worst part was the confusion. Her head didn't seem to be working very well, but it was working well enough for her to realize that it wasn't working very well at all.

She wasn't sure if that made any sense.

It was terrible, not being able to understand what was going on.

Something very bad had happened, of that she was sure. The pain was proof enough of that. Beyond what had happened to her, though, something else was wrong. She needed to be well, to be able to... what? She couldn't remember, though she fought as hard as she could. The fog cleared just a little, and she knew that something important was going to happen, soon, and she needed to be there....

Someone needed her to be there. Who? The pain in her head matched the beat of her heart, the agony coming in a rhythm that made it hard to think, harder to remember. She tried again, but this time she couldn't focus, and suddenly she couldn't even remember what she was struggling to do. She was blind, and she didn't know why.

* * * * *

2:40 pm
May 22, 1999

"Irrecoverable brain damage. It's a shame, to see something like this happen to such a young person." The chief attending was a round little man, and Doctor Clarita Laidlow had to look down several inches to meet his eyes.

"It's a shame for such a thing to happen to anyone, Doctor Myles." Her cool blue gaze fell on the girl lying so still and helpless on the bed, surrounded by beeping, hissing equipment. "This patient is not more deserving of our pity than anyone else, even if she is young, female, and perhaps attractive, in a way."

The man looked surprised, but that didn't bother her. She took the chart from the foot of the bed, reading rapidly through the information noted there. From behind her there came the sound of a throat clearing.

"Ah, Doctor Laidlow. I'm not familiar with the arrangement that was worked out with the director, but did you really travel all the way to Sunnydale just to work with patients who are in a persistent vegetative state? Surely there must be larger, better equipped facilities where you could pursue your studie--"

"Thank you, Doctor, for your concern. My research requires access to patients that conventional medicine has declared as lost causes. Sunnydale General suits my purposes perfectly, and I promise you," She smoothed back her blonde hair and gave him a reassuring smile. "You'll barely know that I'm here. Besides which, there is the arrangement with your director. He has instructed you to cooperate fully with my study, yes?" Her accent was coming through, and she suppressed the urge to frown in annoyance. The man was nodding reluctantly, obviously not happy with this intruder, this foreigner, being given free run of his department. He frowned at her, and then turned to look again at the girl on the bed. Her face was very pale, made even more so by the stark contrast with the dark hair that streamed over the pillow. He sighed.

"Very well. If there's any possibility that your research could help these poor souls, then it's worthwhile. Though this one won't be here long enough to be part of your study."

Laidlow looked up sharply at that, and the man smiled faintly.

"We've just been informed by her legally-appointed guardians; some law firm, I forget the name, that Miss Wilkens here is to be transferred out of here as soon as her health permits." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white coat, looking speculatively at the motionless girl. "It seems that with Mr. Wilkens passing away, she's now quite wealthy, and they want her in a private care facility, not a hospital. I've heard of the place they're going to put her; it's down in Arizona. By all accounts, it's some sort of luxury hotel that comes with a nursing staff and all manner of New Age occultist healers. Shamans and such. Expensive as hell, but apparently the Mayor left word that money was no object."

The woman joined him in looking at the girl. She kept her face expressionless, but her thoughts were racing. There was no way that she would have easy access to the child in such a place, and if they used magic.... Well, they might actually manage to revive her. That could not be allowed to happen, under any circumstances. It was imperative that Faith be kept here.

Doctor Myles had turned to go, but he gave the girl a final look.

"I get so tired of seeing things like this happen, and in this town it never seems to end. Not even eighteen, and she's stabbed and dumped in the back of a truck. What kind of place are we living in?"

Laidlow folded her arms, staring at him coolly.

"Be careful not to become too sentimental, doctor. You don't even know her." She spared the girl a glance, then turned away. "For all we know, she might have deserved what happened to her; she might even have deserved worse."

She had succeeded in shocking him again, and though he tried his best to hide it, his voice was harsh.

"No one could deserve this. Just look at this poor thing. This is a human being, a defenseless girl, and someone tried their damnedest to kill her. Now she'll spend the rest of her life lying in a bed like this one. Whatever your credentials, I'd appreciate you saving your bile for someone who's better able to defend themselves." He was glaring at her, anticipating some kind of heated retort, but she didn't oblige him. After a few seconds of meeting her amused smile, he flushed and quickly left the room.

Clarita Laidlow stood gazing at the patient that had just been given (briefly) into her care, and one delicate eyebrow arched wryly.

"Helpless? Yes. But a human being?"

She drew forth a small cellular telephone, and dialed a number.

* * * * *

She had awakened to find the pain was still there, waiting for her. It was as bad as ever, but she was learning to live with it. It wasn't like she had a choice. After a while, she noticed a couple of interesting things. She was not breathing for herself. Something was inside her throat, pushing air into her and pulling it out at regular intervals. It felt awful; a violation of her body like none she'd ever known.

Memories came back to her, of her childhood, and of the violations she'd suffered then, as a child. In response, the old anger rose up inside her, warming her, and she felt a little stronger. She realized with a start that her brain seemed to be working better, now. She knew who she was, and she remembered what had happened, more or less, but when she tried to move beyond that, to think about 'now', and what to do next, well; she couldn't seem to shift into that gear.

Where was she? She recalled fighting Buffy, losing, falling, and blackness. What had happened after that? Not Angel drinking her dry; no way was she going to go out like that, turned into some kind of vamp lameness. Any idiot could be a vampire, if they were dumb enough to let themselves get turned. But there were only two Slayers, and she was one of them. She was special; she mattered, and she would rather die than go back to what she had been before.

A series of flashes seemed to go off inside her head, and she winced. A moment later a line of razor-edged fire cut a jagged path through her mind, and after it had faded she was left feeling dazed and bewildered. Her head hurt so much; what had happened? She was Faith, the Slayer, and there had been a fight, but where was she...? It hurt to think, hurt to just lie there, but that was all she could do. Without warning, the blackness came and buried her.

* * * * *

The Twisted Man moved slowly down the dimly lit hallway, searching for prey. He had a name, a human name, but when he was like this he didn't use it. That person was someone else, someone who was still a man. Most of the time he could still pass for the human he had once been. It was only when the corruption inside him had been allowed to grow unchecked that he was unable to maintain his harmless appearance.

It was his own fault. He had put it off for too long, this time. As much as he hated what he had become, hated being reminded of it, the darkness could only be denied for so long before it made its presence known. He snarled quietly to himself as he stalked the hospital corridors, the shadows wrapped tight around him like a cloak. Despite the dim lighting, he avoided the areas of the hospital that remained active at night. He needed to find a vessel, a particular type of victim....

Entering a ward on the third floor, he slipped past the nurse's station. The lone woman on duty was sitting at her workstation, staring blearily at the glowing computer screen. Even if she had looked up, it was unlikely that she would have seen anything except a fleeting shadow. The mortal eye tended to slide off of him, when his... condition was manifest.

Inside the first room, he found an older man lying in the bed. He seemed to be in the grip of pneumonia, or some other respitory ailment. Even in his sleep he was wheezing painfully, and the IV bag hanging over his head was labeled as a powerful antibiotic. He leaned over the unconscious man, reaching out one gnarled hand to touch his chest, just over the heart. He found what he was looking for, an aura too damaged to properly defend itself from mystical attack... but he shook his head regretfully. The man was too weak; the foulness that he carried within would kill this victim, and that led to problems he did not care to deal with again.

He tried the next room, but the young woman there was suffering from a pair of broken legs. His touch revealed an aura that was strong and vital, denying him the access he needed. His frustration growing with every failure, he decided to try each of the remaining rooms in the ward. If no one here suited his needs, he would have to go upstairs. He was hesitant to do so; he had resorted to the coma ward too many times of late, and too many unexplained occurrences would lead to someone looking for a cause... or a suspect. Still, he had to do it tonight. There was no choice for him, not since the day, years ago, when he himself had been attacked by a creature as unnatural as he himself was now.

* * * * *

Better, now. There had been several times when she had been conscious, then suddenly... well the lights hadn't gone out, since she still couldn't see, but her brain had stopped like someone had thrown a switch. Even now it was hard to think about the recent past, but it felt like things were finally sorting themselves out, upstairs. Nice to know that the super-healing worked on the old central processing unit, as well as it did on the cuts and broken bones.

Speaking of which....

She was lying on her back, and a lot of things hurt. Okay, that was not surprising, considering what she'd done. What Buffy had done, to her. The important thing to do now, was to get gone. Even through the fuzziness, that thought was clear enough. The blonde Slayer hadn't been trying to capture her, there at the end. She'd looked Faith straight in the eye, and tried to kill her. She would have felt proud of her sister for finally breaking out of her bullshit girl scout code, if it hadn't been herself that had suffered the consequences of the other girl's new outlook.

Her eyes were showing her nothing but a blurry, swimming mass of glaring white, and there was a foul-tasting tube down her throat; neither of which made her happy about her chances of escape from wherever this was.

She groaned in frustration and tried to move, to sit up and feel around.

Bad mistake.

It felt like every joint in her body was screaming at her, and she was abruptly covered in sweat, despite the coolness around her. She held herself rigid until the pain began to ease, allowing her to relax slowly, uncontrollable shudders running through her.

Now what?

That question was rendered moot when everything started to fade on her; again. At least this time she saw it coming. She had enough time to feel depressed that this was still happening to her, and then it all went away.

* * * * *