SEVEN

* * *

She could feel the sunlight on her face, her legs, her arms, even some of it leaking through the protection of her limbs to her body. It was warm and it asked nothing of her. There was a window, too, through which the sunlight flowed; the window was crossed by metal bars, and the glass was dirty and scratched, but you could still see vague shapes and forms outside. It was a parking lot and from time to time a car or a truck would move around in it.

Warm good.

It was quiet for a time. Out of the corner of her eye she could see people moving and sitting. There were chairs in the room, and a table, and high in the back corner a television set that flickered a bit, the volume just a bit too low to make out.

Warm good. Quiet good.

It seemed strange.

Where was she? Where had she been?

There was motion, then, just to her left. Someone in the room, moving. Toward her. As the someone approached Buffy didn't respond at all; it was too easy, too normal somehow, not to, rather to simply sit and stare out the window

I don't remember the window. When was there a window?

The someone was close. A woman. Out of the corner of her eye Buffy watched her.

She was middle aged, her face showing the beginnings of it, eyes watching with a hot intensity, almost frightening. Her hair, blonde, seemed almost electric, like someone had singed it just enough to kill the life in it.

For a time she just crouched there, beside the chair, watching. Buffy gave no notice of her. Then the woman spoke.

"You aren't my daughter."

Silence. In the parking lot outside a sedan backed out of its spot.

"I burned her up. My daughter. I burned her up. I had to."

A sight came to Buffy then. Somewhere, far away.

A girl burning, screaming. Consumed. It was real, as real as the room and the window and the woman. Screaming screaming screaming.

And she heard herself whimper, pulled her arms closer to her chest.

"I burned her up," the woman said again. "I burned her up."

Buffy felt herself tremble. She still had not looked the woman in the eye.

Screaming screaming screaming.

Another voice then. Another woman's voice. Buffy recognized it from somewhere, saw her through the blaze. Dark skin, big. In a white shirt and white pants. She heard her words.

"All right, Annie. Let Buffy alone. Come on."

There was motion again, the sense that the two were moving away.

But the fires remained, and Buffy heard herself whimper again.

#

Have to find her. Have to find her.

Demon poison!

It was there and it was real. It was like she could feel it inside her, burning. Eating her up. Before, it had made her attack her friends, had lied to her with false images of Mom and Dad and the mental hospital.

You remember the clinic? The first time?

Never tell! Never tell! They think you're crazy!

Have to find Willow. Willow can help. She's smart.

They had searched the library, the campus. There were students there, walking to class, to meals at the dorm. And with each of them Buffy felt a little stab, a little reminder that what they did every day, what they could do, she could not.

I have to work. I have to raise Dawn. I have to hold Willow and Xander together. I have to find Warren and his friends and stop them. I have to save the world.

No Willow, anywhere.

Just Tara.

She's gone? I'll try a location spell. When did you last see her?

They talked, she and Dawn and Xander, and Tara listened, nodded.

We looked. We looked everywhere.

The magic shop?

Would she go there?

I hope not.

And then it was late and Tara sent them home. She would call.

#

They stepped inside, closed and locked the front door. Buffy could feel Dawn watching her but it didn't matter. She was tired, so tired, like she had been running and couldn't stop, like the universe was speeding ahead in fast forward but leaving her behind. Have to keep up.

She stepped into the living room, sat down.

Still Dawn watched her.

"Are you all right?"

Buffy nodded.

"Just tired."

A moment passed and Dawn didn't move.

"You going to make dinner?"

Buffy lowered her head into her hand, rubbed her brow.

"Can we call out, maybe get pizza?" she asked.

"Do you have any money?"

Her purse was right there but it was too much trouble to reach it. And she knew the answer anyway.

"No."

Dawn took a step closer. Her voice was tinged with urgent fear.

"Willow. I'm sure ...."

Buffy looked up at her. She wanted to mention Tara, to say that it would be all right, because Tara was a powerful witch and that she could find Willow. It's going to be all right, she wanted to say.

But words didn't come.

Quiet instead. Buffy lowered her head into her hands again. The urge to just curl up on the couch was almost overpowering.

The couch. Mom, lying here. Staring up at nothing.

Oh, God ....

Then Dawn, again, speaking from far away.

"It's happening again, isn't it?"