#7: Shock to the System
"I'm gonna call it a night," Buffy says quietly. After the cemetery, the rest of the patrol had gone without further incident. Unfortunately that had left her to dwell on emotions she didn't want to have to deal with, her mind rerunning that moment over and over. She almost murdered Willow tonight. No matter what she'd done or said, she should never have let that happen. God, if Xander hadn't been there...
"Yeah, I don't think we'll see any more action tonight," Willow agrees, trying to keep up normality as she sees the stricken expression pass the Slayer's features. "Still, three more on the tally. It all adds up."
Buffy looks at her, finding nothing but friendliness in the double of her best friend. It's like it never happened for her. In a way it makes her feel even more guilty. She nods once. "Um... I'll walk you and Xander home."
Willow's thoughts return to the house she'd explored this afternoon. Going there wouldn't be her first choice or even her second. What she really wants is to check out Main Street, find out if her hangouts still exist here and maybe lose herself in something loud, forget about the latest mess the Hellmouth has made of her life. What's the alternative? To lie on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, staring at the ceiling as its the only damn thing that still looks the same? The only sight that could fool her into thinking that nothing's wrong with the world?
She looks back to the Slayer, imagining how well she'll take to the idea of her going off on her own. "Okay!"
Willow approaches the front door, having parted from her twin's friends at the driveway. That patrol was harder than it should have been, in more ways than one. She inserts her key in the lock, absently noticing the lighted front window but thinking little of it. Her mind is more focused on how she's going to fit into this alternate life she's fallen into. Xander seems a nice guy, but the Slayer and her Watcher? Maybe they just got off on the wrong foot, this has to have been as much a surprise for them as for herself. She needs to remember that.
Stepping through the open doorway, she swings the door shut and carefully locks it again. A habit. It's superfluous against the uninvited and won't stop a determined demon, but then the creatures that go bump in the night aren't the only evil in the world.
"Is that you, Willow? I thought you were upstairs studying."
Willow instinctively turns her head to the owner of the voice, then finds herself rooted to the spot, her heart almost stopping.
Her father sighs from his seat in the lounge. "I thought we agreed that it would promote positive development for her to socialise with her friends more."
"She shouldn't neglect her studies though, Ira. And I'm not sure I trust that new girl, Bunny. I've been told that she is a bad influence and you know how peer-pressure can adversely affect impressionable young girls." The woman turns back to look at her, a curious expression on her face.
"Willow is sixteen, she's responsible for her own behaviour. Besides which she's always been a sensible girl," Ira affirms. "You know that we can trust her."
The woman sniffs. "I suppose that you're right. Well, straight to bed young lady. It's getting late now and we wouldn't want to hear of you falling asleep in class tomorrow because you did not get adequate rest tonight."
Willow just looks at her, unable to turn any thought process to sound. She merely mouths one silent word, her lips barely moving. "Mom?"
"Was there something you wanted to ask us, Willow?"
Her father's question finally breaks through. Blinking rapidly, she tears her eyes away from the impossible sight. "H-Huh?" she stutters uncharacteristically.
"Was there something you wanted to ask us?" Ira repeats, showing a little concern.
Willow just shakes her head after a moment. Her feet become unglued and she races upstairs, shutting the bedroom door and collapsing to the floor moments later, her heart thudding like a drum. She isn't sure how long she's sat there when she hears whispered voices coming up the stairs. Her parents turning in for the night. The paper-thin crack of light at the bottom of her door disappears, the only illumination now the crescent moon shining through the glass separating her room from the outside world. Standing, she moves towards the light like a moth to a flame and swings open the doors. She hesitates at the threshold, then swallows and steps out onto her balcony, holding the railing and expelling the dead air she feels trapped in her lungs.
As she breathes in the night, deliberately calling on the centering exercise her sensei taught her, her nerves settle to a sensitivity approaching normal. Only then does she dare think about this new revelation. Mom... she's alive! An image from childhood nightmares flashes though her mind - the predatory sneer as mom lifted a twisted but still recognisable visage from her father's neck, crimson running from the corner of the mouth. Willow closes her eyes, banishing the memory. The creature had made a reluctant escape when Uncle Jack stepped in the house moments later. The next few hours had been a blur. The ambulance that took dad away, waiting outside his room, the relief when the doctor told them that his blood loss wasn't as bad as first feared. Then the utter confusion as the police department refused to listen to Jack, instead chalking the attack up to a gang member on Angel Dust. The same excuse given the week before when she learned mom had been murdered.
Her initiation into the realm of darkness. Gone in this world. Null and void. No gut-wrenching tears, no waking in the middle of the night screaming her throat raw. Willow lowers her head, suddenly feeling the weight of tonight crashing down on her. She looks back into her twin's room. Just pretend it's Delia's.
Reluctantly she walks back inside, closing the doors behind her. Tugging the sleeves of her jacket, she pulls it off herself and drapes it over the end of her bed. After taking off her boots and unfastening her belt, she starts to pull at the buttons on her jeans. They quickly slip to the floor where she leaves them. Running a hand through her newly cut hair, Willow pulls back the duvet and slides inside. Still uncomfortable with the strangeness of the room, she turns her eyes to the ceiling and lets her body carry her off into unconsciousness, hoping but somehow doubting that her dreams will be pleasant.