Chapter Six
Silence. Dread. Abandonment.
A sticky sense of absence coated her tongue – a sour taste in her mouth. Absence of sound, of color, of life, of self. There was no feeling of self left in her body – Willow was a part, a piece of the abstract – of the ungraspable conception.
Her hazy world grew more and more distant as she tumbled down, down into, what exactly? Death? Hell? Nightmare? There was no sense of time – no way for her to know how long she'd been lost in that puzzle of confusion. All around her pulsed the bleak, emptiness – yet how could she be enfolded in emptiness when 'emptiness' implies simply the absence of something and Willow somehow felt that where she was, was absence itself. So how could it be empty?
Her mind whirled and ached. It was far beyond her comprehension to understand where, exactly, she was and what it was she felt inching through her veins. Draining her, slowly draining her strength and consciousness, that 'virus' had sunk its fangs into her flesh and Willow was too entrapped in the blackness of her own mind to fight it.
Submission. Weakness. Surrender.
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There was a knock at the front door, jarring Buffy from the fretful nightmare she had stumbled into her. Still gripping Willow's hand in her own Buffy had rested her head in the crook of her arm, tears staining the white sheets. Sitting up and brushing the hair from her face she heard another knock. Looking behind her Buffy saw Tara open her bedroom door and descend the stairs. Glimpsing Spike follow his lover towards the front door Buffy turned her attention, once more, to Willow.
Lying still as death; heart beating only softly; breath inaudible. If not for her Slayer senses Buffy would have thought Willow dead. The puncture marks on her neck had begun to heal but none of the Scooby's could explain them. Giles had been at almost constant research for the past, god how many days had it been? Buffy starred into Willow's troubled face and tried to soothe her friend with words of comfort. Whether or not Willow heard her didn't matter – it comforted Buffy to know that she was somehow attempting to help her friend. Even if she wasn't.
Almost two weeks. That's how long it had been since Willow first fell ill. Ill wasn't what she was but it sounded better, to Buffy at any rate, then saying spellbound or cursed. How much longer could Willow survive in the condition she was in? Buffy didn't want to think about. She wouldn't.
Hearing footsteps behind her and Xander's voices speaking her name Buffy lifted her eyes from Willow's face. "Oh my god."
"They're here to help," Xander said.
Buffy starred, disbelievingly. "Angel?"
"I'm so sorry, Buffy."
Nodding miserably the blonde Slayer brushed Willow's forehead, attempting to smile. Instead she choked on her tears. "I can't help her."
"Shh." Kneeling at Buffy's side Angel wrapped his arm around her shoulders and cradled her against his chest.
"Angel, I can't help her," Buffy sobbed. "She's my best friend and I can't help her."
"I brought someone who can," Angel whispered.
Pushing away gently, Buffy looked into Angel's eyes. "Who?"
"Should I sing to her, my Angel? Mummy would sing me to sleep and all the fairies and sprites would bite at my heels."
Buffy leapt to her feet, horror and confusion seething from her eyes. "What the hell's that loony bitch doing here?"
Smiling eerily Drusilla steps around Buffy and touches Willow's cheek. "I can't see her," her voice was barely a whisper. "It's dark where she is. I don't like it, Daddy. It hurts Princess."
"Hush, Dru," Angel drew the trembling vampire into his arms.
"So lost," Drusilla murmured. "Daddy's redhead is so lost."
Forcing her eyes to meet his Angel asked, "Can you reach her, Dru? Can you bring Willow back?"
Shaking her head gently Drusilla pressed her palm against Angel's chest. "Only you, my Angel. Only you."
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Someone was reaching out to her, pulling at her, urging her. Closing her eyes Willow tried to push the feeling away. She wouldn't be forced away again. She wouldn't go back to that vortex of absence.
"No," she said aloud. "I won't let you take me. I don't want to go back there. I don't want to dream anymore. Just leave me alone. Leave me alone"
Behind her, set in a row, sat six headstones along a low hilltop. Taking one last glimpse to the reality and shaking away her dreams, Willow said goodbye to her friends, reading silently the names etched into gray stone.
Xander, Giles, Anya, Tara, Spike, Buffy.
As she walked away from the pain filled memories a voice, deep in her mind, laughed deliriously. Willow's madness has finally consumed her last spark of sanity and left her to spiral in her own nightmare.