Chapter Three
"What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're not supposed to be here."
"That's ridiculous. Where else would I be?"
"But, you're dead."
"Willow, are you feeling alright?"
Starring blankly into the hollow eyes of a woman Willow knew should not be there she felt doubt, at the back of her mind, begin to push itself forward. Maybe the woman was supposed to be there – but this is a dream, Willow argued.
Is it?
The question throbbed in her subconscious, twisting her threads of reality and making her question her own existence. "Willow?" The hollow-eyed woman before her touched Willow's arm with icy fingers. "Do you really believe that I'm dead?" There was laughter in the woman's voice.
"I – "
"It's a simple question, honey." Willow nodded but still didn't respond. "Here," taking Willow's dreary-colored hand the woman placed it in her own. Grey atop grey; drab alongside drab; reality hazed in dream. "You see," the woman spoke, "you are no different than me. So if I am dead then that must mean you are as well. Which is absurd," the woman laughed.
Lifting her own opaque eyes Willow looked into the hollow depths of the woman's. She was right, Willow thought. I am no different then her. Smiling slightly Willow responded, "You're right. I'm just feeling a bit off today. I don't know what I was thinking – how can you be dead when you're standing right in front of me?"
"My point exactly," the ashen-skinned woman smiled back. "Now, Willow, how would you like a cup of coffee?"
"I'd love one Mrs. Summers."
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Confusion. Doubt. Skepticism.
Is it a dream? Should I believe it? Is my reality a lie?
Willow starred out into the colorless horizon watching the arid sky fade to a deeper shade of grey. Grey was all there was; all anyone had ever seen; all anyone ever expected. But Willow remembered color: blue, violet, gold. Remembered a sun and a moon; stars and clouds; light and rainbows. She remembered them.
Or did she?
Perhaps, her thoughts whispered, she had only dreamed of color and sunshine. Perhaps they were the dream, not this world of empty life. But, Willow argued with herself, how could I dream something I've never seen? As a child, her madness responded, you dreamt of monsters that you had never seen before so what makes this any different?
Nothing.
Closing her eyes Willow saw herself in high school, sitting in the library laughing with her friends and wanted to believe that the vision was real but couldn't. So entwined were her dreams and her reality that she couldn't pick one from the other. Reason told her that the world in which she found herself standing – a world devoid of colorful life and suspended between two barriers of shimmering, dry light – was reality. It was the world of true existence. How could it not be? Everything felt real, looked real, performed the tasks Willow's mind told her they should. Is that not, her mind spoke to her, a definition of reality?
Yes.
The twisted coil of dream and reality began to untwine. Reality began to fade into dream and dream to reality. The world of color and life Willow viewed behind closed eyes was being painted in doubt. Willow's own logic, which screamed at her not to believe in the world of grey, was silenced by her thoughts of madness which encouraged her disbelief in the absurdity of a color filled world.
Submission. Surrender. Delirium.
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"How long has she been like this?"
"All day."
Buffy felt as though she may faint. The air rushed from her lungs and her knees gave out. Falling into the chair beside the bed Buffy tried the hide the tears in her eyes. She needed to be the strong one; needed to give support to the others. If Buffy broke-down her friends would not be long to follow. Forcing air into her lungs Buffy pushed herself back up and looked down at Willow.
Pale, sweating and thrashing beneath her sheets the helpless redhead murmured beneath her breath and moaned painfully. It was easy enough for her friends to see that she was fighting something in her dreams. What it was, however, they could never hope to guess.
"Has she woken at all?"
Neither of them would meet Buffy's eyes. They blamed themselves. They were, after all, the one's living with Willow and they should have caught the signs earlier – her subtle hints for help, her unspoken fear of falling asleep. Willow had been pleading for them to notice but they, who were supposed to know her best, had seen nothing. Blame they placed upon themselves. "No," Tara finally answered.
Placing a hand over her mouth Buffy looked back at Willow once more before turning and leaving the room. It was too much, even for the Slayer.
"Has Giles found anything?" Spike asked.
"No," Buffy shook her head.
"We'll find something," Tara tried to reassure the struggling Slayer. "We have to."
Wiping away the tears that had managed to slip down her cheek Buffy nodded and tried to smile. "You're right. I mean, this is Willow. We can't give up."
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"Ugh. This place is never going to be clean."
"Cheer up, Cordelia. It's just a little dust."
Cringing at the pile of dust settling at her feet Cordelia cocked her head and looked at Wesley, "This isn't mere dust, this is son of dust. This is the kind of dust that spawns countless generations of little baby dust." Watching as the mounds of dust simply scattered from her rag and landed in a dozen smaller piles Cordelia sighed. "I give up."
"Very well," Wesley straightened, "we'll just move our offices back to your living room."
Snatching up her rag Cordelia turned back to the shelf, "And I'm dusting."
"Cordelia, do you – "
Crying out Cordelia clutched her head and collapsed to the floor. Behind closed eyes images flashed before her while a head-splitting pain surged through her skull. Wesley was at her side immediately and Angel was soon kneeling beside her as well.
"Cordy?"
Sitting up slowly Cordelia rubbed her temples. "Ouch."
"Here," Wesley handed her a glass of water a couple of aspirin.
After swallowing the pills she suddenly remembered the vision and turned panicked eyes to Angel. "We're going to Sunnydale," she said. "Willow's in trouble."