Chapter 39 – A Visit from an Old Friend

The darkness fades as soon as it falls. I open my eyes warily, and I'm almost blinded by sunlight. Heaven?

I open my eyes further, looking around. Sand. Blue sky. Blazing sun. Mountains in the distance. The desert? My memories of heaven might be a bit vague, but I'm sure a desert didn't figure anywhere in it. Then, again, neither did the discomfort of sand in my hair and inside my shirt.

I sit up carefully, noting the slash on my wrist which seems to have stopped bleeding. So, apparently, I'm not dead. I'm also not in the Senior Partners' dimension, which leaves me without ideas.

She appears out of nowhere – the First Slayer – crouching over me, beckoning me to follow her. A dream then? I didn't know you dreamt when you were dying.

I get up carefully, and follow her to a fire on the other side of an outcropping of rock. She motions to me to sit and I do. She sits opposite me, and directs me to stare into the flames.

"You are not finished yet."

The words don't seem to come from her, but I don't see anyone else around. And then I do. Tara's face appears in the flames.

"Tara? How? Why?"

"The powers allowed me to be your guide."

"My guide? To what?"

"To what you need to do. You can go back, Buffy. If you want to enough. The others – they need you. You understand now, they don't. Do you have enough love in you to go back?"

I think about the people who're depending on me. Never mind the countless strangers, there's Wes and Gina, Willow, Dawn, Xander – wherever he is, and there's Spike. For his sake alone I've got enough love if that's all it takes.

"How? I've lost blood before - I know I'm in bad shape."

"The ritual the Hart was going to use - it's primed to use the power of your spilt blood. You can use it to keep yourself alive long enough to make a difference."

"Tell me what to do." It sounds like I'm still not going to make it, and I'm saddened by that fact, but if the others survive, if Wes and Gina survive to bring up their child, if Spike gets a chance to live a full, human life? Then I'll do whatever I can. Because that's who I am. I'm the Slayer, and it's my job to keep others safe, even if it means I don't make it.

"You need a circle that encompasses as much of your blood as you can manage, and you, of course. Make sure no other body is included, or the energy from your blood will be shared."

Sharing my energy with the Hart? Not something I want.

"That's it? I don't have to say anything?"

Tara smiles that quirky, one-sided smile she had. "You can say something if you'd like, but it's not necessary. I'll cover the words. I'm not so much with the physical these days, but words I can do."

"Are you really her? Tara? Or just a projection the Powers thought would be acceptable to me?"

She shrugs. "I feel real, you know? I feel like me."

"And you're happy?"

"Yes. I can understand why going back was so terrible for you. I think, maybe, they let me do this to make up for my part in bringing you back."

"It's ok, Tara. Then? I wasn't so happy about things. Now, I'm glad I got the chance to live a bit longer. She still misses you," I add. "We all do, but Willow? She misses you so much."

"I know," she replies, smiling gently. "Tell her, … tell her to live while she's got the chance."

Her face fades, and once that's gone, the fire fades too. The air turns cool, and the sun seems to go out.

And then I know exactly where I am. I'm on the floor of the room where I fought the Hart. I lie there for a moment, marshalling my strength, no longer sure that I'm up to what I've got to do.

I manage to sit up, despite the waves of giddiness that threaten to overwhelm my effort. I notice that my wrist is still bleeding or bleeding again depending on how real my dream was. My shirt has been slit on the other sleeve and I have no memory of when it happened, but I take advantage of it, ripping it the rest of the way, and removing most of it. Then, I use it to bandage my wrist as tightly as I dare.

Once that's done, the dizziness seems to have receded a bit, so I try to get to my feet. That idea seems doomed to failure, so I reconsider. I can shuffle on my knees well enough, and use my hands to keep my balance when it gets too much. Now, how to draw the circle? I look around, and spot a bulging pocket in the Hart's shirt. With a certain trepidation, I approach. If he was going to do this ritual, stands to reason he'd be prepared.

I prod the pocket, and it gives, grittily, so I put a hand in and remove a bag filled with sand. It looks like the stuff Willow uses for the same purpose, so I grab it, tearing open a corner with my teeth.

I take a good look around, noting where the Hart's body is, and trying to work out the best place to inscribe the circle. Of course, some of the blood is his too, and there's no way to tell it apart from mine, so I've got to assume it doesn't matter. I choose a path, and start to pour the sand, stopping every couple of feet to steady myself before continuing. My hand's shaking so badly, it seems impossible that I'll be able to manage anything approximating to a circle, but I know enough of what Willow's taught me over the years to know that the critical thing is that it's sealed. The more perfect the circle, the stronger the barrier, but it's the completeness that's the key.

Two feet to go, and the waves of blackness are worse than ever. I feel so cold, like I'm freezing to death, and my fingers don't want to do what's needed. I conjure up Spike's face in my mind, that grin he has, so full of life, and with a final effort, I close the circle.

I collapse again, spent by the effort, and the floor starts to tremble.

The trembling in the floor becomes a throbbing, and I feel the power coming back to me. I'm breathing heavily, just trying to keep up with what's happening. I think I even lose consciousness a time or two, but when the throbbing stops, I find I can stand easily. Now, the only problem is how do I help the others?

I take a look around, intrigued to note that I seem to be glowing. I push that fact out of my mind for now, and take in my surroundings. I'm in a large room which is luxuriously decorated. I had no sensation of movement, so I'm not sure how it happened, but that really doesn't matter.

The room appears to be an office in a very rich and probably not terribly practical style. After a quick glance around, I move towards the door, opening it cautiously, but there's no one in sight, so I move out into the hallway.

It looks like part of a mansion. There are doors placed at regular intervals along the corridor, and I force myself to think about where the others might be. I can hear no sounds to imply that any of the rooms are occupied, so I try the door nearest me. I find another office in a rather different style, but still no clue about the whereabouts of the others. I continue along the corridor, but all I find are bedrooms and another office.

I reach a staircase then, and go downstairs quietly. Imagine the sort of staircase from which you can make a grand entrance. And then imagine it even more impressive. Well, that's what it's like. There are two identical flights of stairs coming from opposite ends of the hallway above to meet in a landing in the middle before branching off again. From my point of view, the openness this provides is a good thing, since I can see there's no one in sight.

There are more doors on the lower floor, and again, there's no sound from any of them, so I open them. This time, I find some formal sitting rooms, libraries, dining rooms, and a ballroom. Still no one around, though, and I start to feel like I've found my way into a game of Clue.

I've pretty much exhausted the floor I'm on, but I find another staircase leading down. This is much less grand than the first, and, as a result, much more dangerous. I creep down carefully, all my senses extended. I feel a strange tickling sensation, not my demon sense, but something else that I don't remember feeling before. It's sort of an emotional push, but I ignore it for now, concentrating on what I do understand, and get to the bottom of the stairs, to find more doors, but they're still of no use to me, as they seem to lead to just a kitchen, a laundry room and some storerooms.

I creep further, and come to another door at the end of the corridor. I open it without difficulty, and find myself faced with another stairway going down into darkness.

Again, I creep down, alert and watching, but I see no one. There are several more doors here, and I try the first of them, which opens easily.

Inside this small room, which looks remarkably like a dungeon with stone walls and a dank, musty smell, is Wes, chained to a wall and looking like he's been there for a while. I approach, and he watches me warily, as if he doesn't trust me.

"Wes? You ok? What've they done to you?"

"You're dead. You're not going to fool me, you know. Not sure what you want from me anyway."

"Wes, it's me, Buffy. I'm real, honestly. I'm going to break the chains, and you can tell me what's happened to you."

He laughs at that, an almost hysterical sound devoid of joy.

"You made a mistake, you know. Buffy doesn't glow."

I approach anyway, and manage to break the chains holding him.

"I only glow because of a spell I did. Don't worry about it." I cast an eye over his appearance. If he's been here as long as his appearance suggests, there's something wrong with the way I've perceived time.

"What happened? How are you? Can I do anything for you?" I ask, touching his cheek in an attempt to make him know I'm real.

He seems to have to think about that for a moment, but then nods. "I'm ok, I think. Are you really her? I saw Buffy die."

"They showed me you dying too, but you look real enough to me. They can put things into your mind, make you feel despair, and they showed us the things they thought would make us more susceptible."

"You mean, … Gina's ok? I saw Lilah, and she told me Gina was dead."

"I can't promise, Wes," I tell him, a hand on his shoulder. "But I don't believe she's come to any harm while we've been here. I don't think Lilah's really here either, since I saw her killing you."

He takes a deep breath at that, letting it out slowly.

"So what happened after you saw the show? Did they just put you down here?"

"Yes. Seems like a long time ago, but if they can affect my mind, then maybe it's not been that long. Just left me stewing down here, softening me up, I expect."

"Do you have any idea where the others are?"

"Spike and Angel? No, I thought they were gone too."

"You ok to come with me?"

He gets to his feet, and seems surprised at how ok he is.

"Yeah. It seems that physically, I'm fine."

I tell him about the rest of the house as we move out to the corridor again.

"So you were upstairs, but you found me down here?" he asks. "And you've only seen the Hart."

"That's right. I haven't seen hair nor fleece of the other two. Or anyone else, for that matter."

The next door opens to show another dungeon, but this time there's no one there. What there is, though, is chilling. It's a short, leather jacket that I recognise as being the one Angel was wearing.

We turn to leave the room, and then hear something for the first time. It's the sound of a voice, and it's coming from a room at the far end of the corridor. We approach quickly, and then listen carefully. I recognise enough of what I hear to guess what's happening. It sounds like another Carnolan, although which is hard to tell, and he's getting ready to fight.

Motioning Wes to stay behind me, I lift one leg and kick the door down. The scene before me is almost exactly the one from my own fight with the Hart, although the Carnolan this time is clearly the Ram, and he's facing up to Angel.

"Angel!" I call. He looks beaten already. I try to approach, but find a barrier between him and me.

"Ah, I knew his impatience would get the better of the Hart in the end." The words are forced into my mind, but despite his stated assurance, he seems surprised. "Angel can't see you, Miss Summers. He won't be able to hear you either. You get to watch while I destroy him, but you don't get to interfere. Your companion is irrelevant."

I glance at Wes, but by the look on his face, he hasn't heard.

"Did you get that?" I ask.

When he looks blankly at me, I add, "Did you just hear the Ram in your mind?"

"I didn't hear anything," he confirms. "What did you hear?"

"Just that we're going to have to stay here and watch. He seemed surprised to see me, though."

"He looks like Clinton, doesn't he?"

"They all look alike, it's one of their traits."

"So how do you know it's the Ram? Did he tell you?"

Angel and the Ram are still circling one another, each looking for the ideal position to attack. I think about Wes' question.

"I'm not sure how I know, I just do. It's like I can see two different things when I look at him - a Carnolan with overtones of Ram. It's hard to explain."

"But how do you do that?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me about this spell you did – the one that's making you glow."

Eyes glued to the two who seem to have tested one another enough to get into the fight, I explain the ritual in as few words as I can.

"But there was Carnolan blood in the circle?"

"It looks just like mine, so it's hard to tell."

"I'm not getting anything that suggests 'Ram', but you are. It could be something to do with the blood, I suppose. Is that why I didn't hear him too?"

"I think you not hearing him was intentional. You haven't had any problem understanding Clinton, have you? I don't know about the rest."

"That's true. So, he decided not to talk to me. That sort of makes sense given the history we know - this particular group of Carnolans consider humans to be beneath them. I assume that you, Spike and Angel merit something more."

"Could be. And I fought the Hart, and Angel's in there with the Ram. That implies that Spike's going to have to fight the Wolf."

"Could be he's already there," Wes suggests, so we both leave the room, and move to check the other rooms close by.

Wes shouts a couple of moments later, and sure enough, there's another identical room, and this time Spike's there with the Wolf. This pair aren't circling, but already fighting furiously. To my surprise, I can feel Spike's emotions quite clearly. He's hurting so badly I desperately want to comfort him. I try to draw back from the feeling because it's threatening to overwhelm me, and when I do, I realise that if I switch my attention away from Spike, I can feel Angel too. He's also in pain, but with him, it's a slow boil, almost just another pain to add to many others.

"I can feel them," I tell Wes. "I can feel that they're both hurting. They're so different, but the pain's real for both of them."

"I assume they still believe we're both dead."

"Yeah. If only we could take that away from them, it'd give them a chance to succeed."

I can't tear my eyes off Spike, he's trying so hard, putting everything he's got into the fight, but I can see the changes as they happen. His reaction time's gone way up, and his aim is off. It seems so like what I experienced, and I remember hearing Spike's voice in my head telling me it's not real. Without realising it, I'm screaming at him, yelling for all I'm worth that I'm alive and to ignore the other feelings that're being forced on him.

"Angel's weakening," Wes calls to me. I hadn't even realised he'd gone, I was so involved in watching Spike. "We've got to do something."

"I know, Wes, but what? I just want to tell them we're here and watching them."

I scream the words again, but this time, I get a faint echo back. It's Spike, and the thought was my name, but said as a question.

I yell again, desperate to try to recreate the effect. This time, the response is clearer, and along with it is something else, something that's telling him to ignore my voice telling him that it's just a figment of his imagination. I try harder, this time just trying to project the thought.

"I'm getting through to him," I tell Wes. "I'm getting through to Spike. Can Angel hold on for a minute and I'll try to get to him too?"

"I don't know, Buffy. He's really slowed down in the last minute or so - it's as if everything's too much effort."

"Ok, I'll try to get to both of them," I offer.

And I do. I concentrate on the thought that Wes and I are alive and watching them, and I push it as hard as I can. Spike seems to be wavering, desperately wanting to believe me, and I can feel him trying to throw off the other influence.

"It's helping Spike, any sign of it helping Angel?" I ask.

"Not yet," Wes replies. "But if you don't get through to him fast, he's not going to make it. The Ram's got a stake, and he's already been too close to the mark a couple of times."

I redouble my efforts then. I can feel Spike's growing confidence, and I can see the effect that's having on the Wolf. His confidence is falling as Spike's increases, and the whole flow of the fight has reversed. I change tactics a bit then, concentrating on giving Angel the message.

It's so different trying to get through to him compared to Spike. It's like there's a closed door in his mind, and I feel like I'm battering at it to get in. I keep hearing a litany, words repeated again and again, telling him he doesn't deserve it, he doesn't deserve anything, he doesn't deserve happiness. It's almost heartbreaking to hear it, but I ignore that and just keep pushing.

The fight between Spike and the Wolf has changed completely now. Spike's injured, but his injuries are minor compared to those sported by the Wolf. He doesn't even seem to have enough energy left to heal himself, and he's so slow, I almost feel like Spike's playing with him. And then, he isn't. In a move that takes even me by surprise, Spike's sword slices through the Wolf's neck, and I hear the head hitting the floor, and then the whole room seems to wink out of existence, leaving behind a small storeroom.

Eager to see what's happening with Angel, I run to join Wes, while still keeping up my mental pushing at Angel's mind. It's not any easier than it was, and when I reach Wes, it's obvious that my efforts aren't doing any good.

"The Wolf's gone," I tell him, then turn my attention back to Angel.

I desperately want to know what's happened to Spike, but I know that Angel needs me too, so I stay, watching, and trying even harder to get through the walls he's built in his mind. I've no idea why I can do what I'm doing, but it's a fascinating thing that I wish I could understand more. Right now though, there's only time to concentrate on getting the fact that I'm alive into Angel's brain. Once that's there, maybe he can fight the other thoughts, but grief seems to open his mind to the predations of the Ram.

One obvious thing I see is that the Ram is also struggling. If I'm not getting through to Angel, then maybe I'm making things difficult for the Ram, so my attempt isn't wasted. With one last push at Angel, I change direction, searching for the Ram's mind instead. I find it fairly easily, at least, I find the outer, almost public parts easily. Trying to dig deeper proves difficult, but difficult's never deterred me before. I push, and gradually, I find a crack which I open further. I hadn't really thought in advance about what I was going to do if I got into his mind, but once I'm there, it's obvious. I just tell him that he's not going to win, and that his two friends are dead. I keep pushing it, and the fight between the Ram and Angel turns again, becoming more equal. The fact that they're both doing badly is beside the point.

Then, Angel lands a blow, seriously cutting the Ram's throat with his sword, but not severing his head. Blood's pouring from the wound, but then everything changes. The room flickers, and becomes another storeroom like Spike's did once he'd killed the Wolf. Except, this time, the Ram isn't dead, and he lunges again at Angel who seems confused by the changes. There's a stake in the Ram's hand, and I don't see how it can miss. Instinctively, I jump towards them, forgetting about the barrier, but it's gone, so I'm close to Angel, actually level with the Ram, and my eyes are on that stake, determined to make sure it doesn't hit its target.

I realise that I'm going to be too late, but I continue my dive towards it, desperate to try. To my amazement, the stake doesn't make contact with Angel's heart. When I glance over my shoulder to work out why, I see the headless body of the Ram dropping to the floor and Wes standing there with the sword I hadn't even realised I'd dropped in his hand.