A/N: I'm already thinking of a sequel for this. . . don't you ever wish the number in the hit count column was the same as the one in the review column?

(Chapter Four - - - - - - - -)

Wesley awoke curled in a tight ball in front of the window. The moonlight was fading and he figured it was nearing the early hours of the morning. Wesley concluded that he must have been out for a very long time. It was dark when he lost consciousness.

After laying on the floor in weakness for a minute or two, he dragged himself up and almost smacked himself in the head at his stupidity. He made his way to the window and banged on it loudly. It seemed unbreakable so he didn't have to worry about that and it wasn't a voice.

"This would be one of those moments when I regret not taking that Morse code class when I younger." Wesley lowered his fist, knowing he was getting nowhere.

"Laissez-moi dedans. . ." the raspy voice whispered. Wesley looked desperately around him, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Let you in WHERE!" he yelled, not caring if anyone could hear him or not. Wesley finally got his answer and it wasn't a good one.

"Vous. . ." the voice cackled and Wesley paled considerably and his hands began to tremble as well as his voice.

"W-w-why?" Wesley tried to stand but found he could not and sat on the floor. He sat on his hands feeling that was the only way to steady them. A minute passed . . . two minutes . . . three . . . Wesley had just about given up when he heard the voice again.

"Je dois sortir et vous devez être mon corps à faire ainsi. . . laissez-moi dedans. . ." it whispered, the voice echoing all around him, making it impossible for Wesley to tell where the voice was coming from.

"You need a corporeal body to get out. . ." Wesley began to piece everything together. "Dear lord . . . I have to get out of this house. . ." Wesley moaned as he took his hands away from underneath him, grasping the fact that sitting on his hands wasn't making much of a difference at all.

The moon finally sank away and streaks of early morning sunlight took it's place in providing minimal light, giving Wesley the chance to see what was exactly around him. A giant bookcase lined one wall, though the books that should have occupied it were scattered all over the floor. A large, cushioned and dusty chair was absent mindedly placed in a corner and a thick, hole filled rug lightly touched the floor.

The floor itself seemed to be deep oak and was rather beautiful. A broken chandelier hung from the ceiling and an ashen fireplace seemed to laughing at him. It was still freezing cold and Wesley was exhausted. He needed to sleep and searched the room for somewhere comfortable before having his eyes settle on the chair in the corner.

(-------)

Buffy whisked her eyes open when she felt herself drifting off to sleep on the surprisingly stable rocking chair. Giles and Willow had been trying spells and such all night and nothing was working. Buffy even tried kicking and punching at the window and door again, but only got a sore hand out of it.

Xander had left awhile ago to get everyone a cup of coffee and Buffy regretted not taking the offer to go with him. Just sitting there was driving her nuts. Willow awkwardly approached Buffy and yawned.

"Giles thinks that either something more powerful than the ghost is involved here or the ghost is beyond enraged. Sometimes the Powers That Be won't let something that angry out in the world." Willow explained.

"But this ghost found a loop hole, huh?" Buffy watched Giles lean back on the door and rub his face wearily. "Take a break Giles. Don't ghost's usually rest during the day?"

Giles sighed and nodded and walked over to Buffy and Willow. The wind still wasn't blowing and their faces felt dry. The temperature around the house still felt below zero, but nobody paid attention to it anymore. Xander finally came back, four steaming cups of coffee on a carry out tray in his hand.

"Any luck?" he asked and the sad faces of his friends answered his questions as he handed the coffee out. "Oh, Buffy. I stopped at your mother's house to tell her you spent the night at my house and you would be out the rest of the weekend. She told me that sometime last night it felt like the wind just stopped."

"Did you talk to my mom?" Willow asked.

"Yeah, same story." Xander nodded taking a gentle sip of his coffee.

"Could this be really making that big of an effect?" Buffy asked Giles, who yawned again. He drank a little of his coffee before answering.

"I'm not sure. I never thought someone could be that angry. Obviously I was mistaken."

Buffy finally asked the question that she was sure everyone was too afraid to know the answer of.

"What happens if. . . the ghost infects him?" Buffy couldn't think of a better word to describe what the ghost would do.

"It depends. It's possible he could be able to get the ghost out himself. The ghost could take him over, giving Wesley no control of his emotions or movements. He would still be inside but he wouldn't be able to do anything."

"You don't suppose he knows any spells to get the ghost out of him, do you?" Willow hoped the answer was yes, as she was sure everyone else was. Giles sighed.

"I'm not sure. Probably nothing strong enough for this ghost, anyway."

"What's the easiest way to get it out?" Buffy had an idea what the answer was, but she wished she was wrong. Giles paused in his answer, afraid to say the truth. He wished he could lie to them and say everything would be fine.

"Wesley would have to. . ." Giles paused yet again, finding the words harder to get out than he thought. He sternly told himself not to get too emotionally involved but feared it was too late. "He would have to kill himself." Giles turned his back on his slayer and stared at the floor.

Willow stared into her coffee and Xander sighed, unsure of what else to do. Buffy was glad she was already seated in a chair as she stared off into nothingness. Only one thought was going through her head at that moment: what have I done? What have I done? . . .

(-------)

Wesley slept fitfully, mostly because of the disturbing and emotionally draining dreams he was having. He dreamt of everyone he knew dying by his own hand and him not seeming to care what he'd done. He dreamt that he was being buried alive while everyone thought he was dead. His last one before he awakening wasn't scary as such but more along the lines of troubling.

In this dream, Giles kept apologizing to Wesley, or so it seemed, but whenever Wesley asked him what he was apologizing for, Giles wouldn't say. Wesley finally realized that Giles wasn't apologizing to him, but to Buffy. Buffy lay bleeding on the floor and Giles clutched a bloody knife in his hand.

"What did you do?" Wesley asked as Giles turned, his eyes now red and pulsating, and he raised his knife to Wesley.

Wesley jumped awake and wiped the sweat away from his face. The sun was still up and he wouldn't be surprised if he had only been sleeping for five minutes. He pulled himself out of the chair and walked to the piles of books on the floor.

Most of the pages in the book turned into the dust the moment he picked them up. They were all in French and looked incredibly boring anyway. Finally under the ruins was something that appeared to be a scrapbook of some kind. Wesley opened it to look at the brown and faded pictures but something slammed it closed.

"Mis cela vers le bas! Ne regardez pas cela!" the voice echoed. Wesley paled again and slowly put the scrapbook on the floor.

"I'm sorry. I won't touch it again." Wesley backed away and suddenly was overcome with a total feeling of aloneness and depression. He collapsed back into the chair and began to cry. A chill surrounded him and he recognized it immediately. The ghost asked to be let in. Wesley wiped his eyes and looked around.

He heard no noises outside which lead him to believe the horrifying lie that they forgot about him. The ghost asked to be let in. Wesley finally answered.

"Go ahead."

Please R&R, I don't want to sound desperate, but it really helps me when I know people are actually reading and enjoying what I'm writing!