SIX
* * *
"Buffy?"
She could feel her own breathing, in and out, in and out. Softness, against her face, her cheek. Her blankets; her pillow.
"Buffy?"
Am I?
Something touching her shoulder, poking her. Urgent.
"Buffy, wake up."
She moved, raised her head, felt the bedcovers slip from over her face. She blinked and looked up.
Dawn.
"What is it?" she mumbled.
Her sister looked down at her.
"Are you all right?"
Buffy blinked again. "What do you mean?"
"You've been asleep all day. The Doublemeat Palace just called. They want to know where you are. You were supposed to work this afternoon. What's going on?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing. I'm fine." She pushed back the bedcovers.
"Why are you sleeping in your clothes?"
Buffy looked down. Still in yesterday's clothes. Even her shoes.
The thought came to her then.
Demon poison.
"Willow," she said. "Where's Willow?"
Dawn took a step back, then another. Her voice trembled.
"Why?"
Buffy stood, her legs weak. "Dawn, please. I need Willow."
"She's not here. I haven't seen her."
Buffy raised her hand to her hair; it was mussed. She remembered tugging at it.
No. Not that.
Demon poison.
"I have to find her, Dawn. We have to find her."
Dawn had her arms crossed. Her face read fear and suspicion. "I checked her room when I got home," she said. "Her bed was made, like she always makes it."
Buffy tried to think, but it was hard, like her thoughts were swimming through something thick. After a moment she shook her head, rubbed at her temples.
Xander. Call Xander. He'll know where she is. It's Saturday and she should be here.
Is it Saturday?
Buffy slumped down on her bed. lowered her head into her hands.
I was there. I remember the room. It was a different doctor but I remember the room. He was talking to me. I liked the way his voice sounded but everything was so strange, like the world wasn't right.
I can't be going back there. I took the antidote. I took it all.
Mom. Her face, looking at me. Her fingers, coming up toward my face.
Demon poison.
Dawn's voice again, more urgent.
"Buffy ...."
Buffy had the sudden urge to curl up, just to bring up her knees and bring her arms close, just to sit, to sit.
"Buffy .... Please .... You're scaring me."
She looked up. Dawn. Has your face always been so afraid, Dawn?
Buffy stood again. She would call Xander, find Willow. Willow was probably just over at the university library. She would find her friend and Willow would make more antidote and it would all be all right again.
It had to be.
#
Such fun.
At first, it had been such fun. "Lords of Darkness". Archvillains. Nemesiseses. And Buffy had been the perfect target; a worthy opponent, a level 25 slayer with 200 hit points. Plans could be hatched, magics could be worked. And she would never know who they were, and it would all be like a great game, and in the end even better, the stories of it even richer, to be spread among your friends.
Such fun, indeed.
Yet it was no longer. It was wrong now, deeply wrong.
Katrina.
Warren.
Why did he pick her? Why did he ...?
A sex slave?
The words had been merely words, merely an idea, not fully formed in Jonathan's mind, until those moments had come when she had actually faced them, dolled up like a French maid, yelling about rape.
And then madness, struggle. Death. Reality.
A sex slave means rape. Didn't you think about that?
Nightmares.
And fear.
Because it wasn't a game anymore. It wasn't even like it had been when he had remade the world, when he, Jonathan, had been the savior, the hero, the level 30 one with a thousand hit points. No, now it was Warren, and his reassuring words, his hollow words and promises and that tone in his voice that said beware.
I have killed, and I will kill again.
I am an archvillain.
Jonathan stood now, with Warren and with Andrew, looking down at the woman tied, gagged and blindfolded at their feet. He remembered her, from those days in high school when they had shared the common exile, from those days when Cordelia and Harmony and the others had cut at each of them with their sharp, expert tongues.
He had shared American history class with her.
Warren looked at Andrew.
"She still has power?" he asked.
Andrew nodded. His eyes were dark, different now.
"She'll do," he said. "Geyrz will take her."
Warren nodded. Without a word he turned and walked away; Andrew followed.
Jonathan looked down one last time at the bound and unconscious form of Willow Rosenberg and fought off the urge to scream.
* * *
"Buffy?"
She could feel her own breathing, in and out, in and out. Softness, against her face, her cheek. Her blankets; her pillow.
"Buffy?"
Am I?
Something touching her shoulder, poking her. Urgent.
"Buffy, wake up."
She moved, raised her head, felt the bedcovers slip from over her face. She blinked and looked up.
Dawn.
"What is it?" she mumbled.
Her sister looked down at her.
"Are you all right?"
Buffy blinked again. "What do you mean?"
"You've been asleep all day. The Doublemeat Palace just called. They want to know where you are. You were supposed to work this afternoon. What's going on?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing. I'm fine." She pushed back the bedcovers.
"Why are you sleeping in your clothes?"
Buffy looked down. Still in yesterday's clothes. Even her shoes.
The thought came to her then.
Demon poison.
"Willow," she said. "Where's Willow?"
Dawn took a step back, then another. Her voice trembled.
"Why?"
Buffy stood, her legs weak. "Dawn, please. I need Willow."
"She's not here. I haven't seen her."
Buffy raised her hand to her hair; it was mussed. She remembered tugging at it.
No. Not that.
Demon poison.
"I have to find her, Dawn. We have to find her."
Dawn had her arms crossed. Her face read fear and suspicion. "I checked her room when I got home," she said. "Her bed was made, like she always makes it."
Buffy tried to think, but it was hard, like her thoughts were swimming through something thick. After a moment she shook her head, rubbed at her temples.
Xander. Call Xander. He'll know where she is. It's Saturday and she should be here.
Is it Saturday?
Buffy slumped down on her bed. lowered her head into her hands.
I was there. I remember the room. It was a different doctor but I remember the room. He was talking to me. I liked the way his voice sounded but everything was so strange, like the world wasn't right.
I can't be going back there. I took the antidote. I took it all.
Mom. Her face, looking at me. Her fingers, coming up toward my face.
Demon poison.
Dawn's voice again, more urgent.
"Buffy ...."
Buffy had the sudden urge to curl up, just to bring up her knees and bring her arms close, just to sit, to sit.
"Buffy .... Please .... You're scaring me."
She looked up. Dawn. Has your face always been so afraid, Dawn?
Buffy stood again. She would call Xander, find Willow. Willow was probably just over at the university library. She would find her friend and Willow would make more antidote and it would all be all right again.
It had to be.
#
Such fun.
At first, it had been such fun. "Lords of Darkness". Archvillains. Nemesiseses. And Buffy had been the perfect target; a worthy opponent, a level 25 slayer with 200 hit points. Plans could be hatched, magics could be worked. And she would never know who they were, and it would all be like a great game, and in the end even better, the stories of it even richer, to be spread among your friends.
Such fun, indeed.
Yet it was no longer. It was wrong now, deeply wrong.
Katrina.
Warren.
Why did he pick her? Why did he ...?
A sex slave?
The words had been merely words, merely an idea, not fully formed in Jonathan's mind, until those moments had come when she had actually faced them, dolled up like a French maid, yelling about rape.
And then madness, struggle. Death. Reality.
A sex slave means rape. Didn't you think about that?
Nightmares.
And fear.
Because it wasn't a game anymore. It wasn't even like it had been when he had remade the world, when he, Jonathan, had been the savior, the hero, the level 30 one with a thousand hit points. No, now it was Warren, and his reassuring words, his hollow words and promises and that tone in his voice that said beware.
I have killed, and I will kill again.
I am an archvillain.
Jonathan stood now, with Warren and with Andrew, looking down at the woman tied, gagged and blindfolded at their feet. He remembered her, from those days in high school when they had shared the common exile, from those days when Cordelia and Harmony and the others had cut at each of them with their sharp, expert tongues.
He had shared American history class with her.
Warren looked at Andrew.
"She still has power?" he asked.
Andrew nodded. His eyes were dark, different now.
"She'll do," he said. "Geyrz will take her."
Warren nodded. Without a word he turned and walked away; Andrew followed.
Jonathan looked down one last time at the bound and unconscious form of Willow Rosenberg and fought off the urge to scream.
