Part 15
A loud crack jolted Angel from sleep and he lurched to a seated position on the couch, immediately regretting the motion as pain shot through his shoulder. He clasped his left forearm with his right hand, keeping the injured area still to prevent further movement. As he did so, he scanned the room, searching for the source of the noise that had rudely torn him from the dream he'd been having that involved a secluded cove, a white sand beach, and Buffy in a teeny, tiny bikini.

His first scan of the room revealed nothing. The apartment was mostly dark, only the glow of the TV on mute and a small table lamp provided illumination. The sun must have set, Angel realized, from the sight of the black sky through the window. None of that, though, told him what had woken him up. He frowned, brows lowering over his eyes.

A flash followed by another crack finally revealed what had pulled him from sleep. It was thundering. Angel pushed himself up off the couch and wandered to the window. Heavy rain spattered against the glass and more lightning flashed. The following rumble of thunder was so loud it vibrated the glass of the window. Angel was immensely glad he wasn't out in such a wicked storm.

Turning away from the window, he studied the apartment again. Aside from the storm, it was quiet. Too quiet. The lack of noise, or even movement, unnerved him. Where was Buffy? He strode over to the kitchen and peeked inside. No Buffy. Flipping on the switch for the overhead light in the living room, his worry grew. There was no sign of her.

"Bu-" he started to call out when a loud knock on the door interrupted.

Angel quickly rushed to the door and peered through the spy-hole. He could see Faith standing on the other side, shaking water off her hair. Yanking the door open, he asked anxiously, "Where's Buffy?"

"What do you mean, where's Buffy?" Faith repeated, her hands immediately stilling in the act of brushing rain off her leather jacket. Worry reached up and gripped her heart. Angel looked frantic.

"I don't know where she is," he answered, pacing back into the room. "BUFFY!" he shouted.

No answer came.

"Shit!" Faith cursed, stalking after Angel. "How the hell can she not be here?"

"I don't know!" he growled back at her. "We started watching a movie after we got back from the hospital. I fell asleep on the couch. I don't know how long I was asleep, but the storm woke me up, and when it did, she wasn't here!"

"Okay. Calm down, Angel," she put a reassuring hand on his arm, though it did little good. "She's probably around here somewhere. Maybe she went to do laundry or something."

"She knows better than to go off on her own!" Angel roared, turning to eye every inch of the apartment as if Buffy had to be somewhere nearby.

"Umm, yeah," she somewhat agreed. Faith hoped Buffy had better sense than to go somewhere without one of them. But then, she wouldn't exactly put it past Buffy to give a symbolic finger to the situation by doing whatever the hell she felt like doing.

"Where the hell is she then!" he yelled at Faith.

Wow, Angel really had a pair of lungs on him, Faith thought, taking a step back from an irate Angel. "First off, you need to stop screaming. It won't do a damn bit of good." And she really didn't needAngel busting her eardrums.

"I'll do whatever the hell I want to do!" he shouted to no one in particular.

Faith rolled her eyes, though she wasn't feeling much amusement. Truth be told, she was freaked out. Where in the world could Buffy be? She knew her friend was growing more and more frustrated with the situation, especially after Angel had been shot, but she didn't think Buffy would do anything to put herself in danger. Would she? Faith cracked her knuckles and shook her hands, a useless gesture in hopes of relieving tension. She had to think.

"Think," she mumbled to herself. Her eyes wandered the room and lit on the little table just inside the door. What she saw, or rather didn't see, caused unease to run down her spine. "Her keys are gone."

"What?" Angel snapped, whipping around to look at Faith despite the pain it caused his shoulder.

"She always leaves her keys on that table," she pointed to it, "so that she won't lose them. She was always leaving them in random places before."

Marching over to the table, Angel felt his worry growing to epic proportions. Something wasn't right. He could feel it in his gut. His heart sank like a stone when he saw a sheet of paper, with a few lines written on it, lying on the table. Reaching for it, he picked it up with shaking hands, and scanned the few sentences scrawled on it.

"Damnit!" he growled, hands clenching on the paper.

"What's wrong?" Faith asked, walking up to Angel and leaning over him to read whatever he'd found. Instantly, she saw what had caused his distress. Buffy had indeed decided to do something stupid, regardless of the danger she was in. On the note paper, their worst fears were confirmed.

"Angel -

I found your two prescriptions in the bag from the hospital. Went to the pharmacy a few blocks away to fill them.

Be back soon!

Buffy"

"Fuck!" Faith cursed heartily.

"How could she do something so stupid?" Angel bit out, tossing the note back on the table.

"She's Buffy," answered Faith, as if it explained all. "She'll probably be backany minute." She hoped.

"I don't like this," he muttered, pacing across the room. "Something isn't right."

"What?"

Angel didn't answer. He strode to the couch and picked up his coat. Checking the pocket, he made sure he had his cell phone before pulling it on over his right arm. His left still hurt too much to push it into the sleeve so he simply pulled the leather over his shoulder. All set, he walked quickly to the door, completely ignorant of Faith's worried stare.

"Where are you going?" she asked, exasperated at his behavior.

"To look for Buffy," he replied shortly and then was gone.

Faith watched him go, feeling helpless and worried. She had a bad feeling that Angel was right. Something had happened. She just didn't know what yet. Picking up Buffy's cordless phone off the end table by the couch, she quickly dialed.

"Kate," she greeted the person who answered. "We got trouble on the Summers case. You and Miller get your asses over here ASAP."


The first thing Buffy became aware of was the pulsing pain in her head. It was like there was a heavy metal band playing at full decibel in her skull. Not even a good heavy metal band. A royally bad one with relentless bass, drums and screaming, nonsensical vocals. She had the vague thought the she wished it was Metallica. At least she didn't mind their music.

Why did her head hurt so bad? Must have been some party she'd been at. No, that wasn't right, Buffy corrected herself. She didn't party anymore. She only ever had an occasional glass of wine. There was no way she had one hell of a hangover. Unless she'd done something truly stupid. Had she?

God, why wouldn't her head stop pounding? At least just a little? She shifted her arms, intending to press her hands against her aching head. Nothing happened. She tugged more at her arms and felt resistance. They were somehow stuck above her head. How had that happened? She twisted and pulled, this time feeling something biting into each of her wrists.

Realization hit her. Her arms were bound!

And that's when the memory returned. Angel's prescriptions. Walking to her car. Feeling...something..behind her. Then pain.

Buffy's eyes snapped open, only to be met with darkness. Her heart pounded and her head throbbed. Oh God. Oh God. She knew with a sickening clarity what had happened.

Whoever was after her had finally got her. And it was all her fault. She'd been stupid. So fucking stupid! She should have listened to Angel and Faith. Why couldn't she just do what she was supposed to for once? Now she was as good as dead. Her lips trembled and tears formed in her eyes. She didn't want to die.

A cold shiver worked through her body and Buffy shifted her legs. They were left bare by the shorts she was wearing and the floor was hard and chilly. Concrete? she wondered. What did it matter anyway? She was being held hostage. Her arms were bound. Her head was splitting. Those were the important facts. And they meant she was completely screwed.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, Buffy rested her head on her legs, feeling mild relief of the pain radiating through her brain. What was she supposed to do now? She had no doubt in her mind what her stalker's final intent was. This person wanted her dead. Shooting at Angel had proven that. And now it was her turn.

The thought of her death that was surely upcoming sent another chill down Buffy's spine. She did not want to die. Not now. Not when her life was finally making sense. Not when she had finally put her past behind her and was moving forward. Not when Angel was back in her life, for however short a period that would be. She just couldn't die now.

No! Buffy shook her head, the motion making her nauseous. She was not going to die. Or at the very least, she wasn't going down without a fight.

Buffy pushed herself up on her knees. She had to get her hands free. Groping around, she tried to find a way out of the bindings around her wrists. There was no use. The cuffs around her wrists were metal and seemed to be attached to chains. No way she could break them. It didn't stop her from trying. She twisted and pulled, hoping that they would break loose. It would help if she could see what she was doing, but the room was pitch black.

"You can try all you want," came a disembodied voice.

"Wh-Who's there?" Buffy asked, her fear obvious. She couldn't see who was there. She could only hear...her?

"Now that's an interesting question," the voice said. "Isn't it?"

The sound of her captor shot a shiver down Buffy's entire body. Her – Buffy was sure it was a female – tone was so cruel and cold.

And familiar.


Inside the living room of Buffy's apartment, numerous police men and women were standing at attention, all their focus on their colleague, Angel Callahan. Water dripped off Angel's clothes and hair as he stood in the center of the room, his face pale and tired. His left arm was cradled against his body, pain from his shoulder wound obvious in his expression. He looked at each of the officers present, barely seeing their faces, as Buffy's gentle smile and shining green eyes flashed in his mind. He knew the others were waiting for him to speak so he took a deep breath and briefed them on his search for Buffy.

"Buffy's note said she was going to a pharmacy a few blocks away. There are two pharmacies within a ten block radius of her apartment. I went to both," he explained, completely oblivious to his soaked clothes and the chill that was causing him to shiver. "Neither pharmacy recognized Buffy's picture, and neither had record of my prescriptions being filled."

"She never made it," Faith concluded, her fear ratcheting up yet another notch. This was not good. Not good at all.

"It doesn't look like it," agreed Angel, forcing himself to be objective though he was petrified. "I drove up and down the roads between here and the two pharmacies, and saw no sign of her."

"Fuck!" Faith threw the notepad in her hand across the room. It seemed as though their worry was entirely valid. Something had happened to Buffy. "If only I hadn't been late!"

"Why were you late?" he asked, his tone neither accusing nor comforting.

"I had to interview someone for a case. Guy was a fucking chatterbox. Then when I came out, the damn front left tire on my car was flat," she relayed, pacing anxiously around the room. "And my cell phone has fallen off the face of the earth so I couldn't call."

"About that tire," another officer butted in, "we got a call from the car guys at the station. The tire was punctured, probably by a knife."

"What! How the hell...never mind," Faith shook off the questions of how and why for now. They needed to find Buffy. "Obviously this fucker had a plan, and this time everything fell into place."

A loud knock sounded and everyone's attention turned toward the door. An officer nearby opened it and found himself facing a group of worried faces. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" the officer asked, blocking the doorway.

"We're friends of Buffy's," the man at the front of the group answered.

"I'm sorry-."

"Let 'em in!" Faith shouted from inside the apartment.

The officer scowled at her but allowed the group to enter, closing the door behind them. Soon, the living room was crowded with five more people. Angel recognized all of them. Faith's boyfriend Spike stood in the lead, and behind him were Fred, Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn. All the people who were close to Buffy. But what were they doing here?

"How did you know what's going on?" he asked more harshly than he probably should have.

"I called Spike and told him," Faith answered.

"And I called everyone else," Spike added with a nod to the people behind him. "They deserved to know."

"Fine, just don't get in the way." Angel said sharply. A sudden thought occurred to him. "What about Buffy's family?"

"Don't worry, I talked to Giles," assured Faith. "He wanted to come up right away, but I told him he and Jenny should stay in Sunnydale in case Buffy tries to contact them. Or the person who took her."

"Good, good," nodded Angel. "We need to-"

"We found something!" Officer Kate Lockley shouted as she burst through the door, holding a small bag.

"What is it?" Angel snatched the bag from her and stared at it. Inside the plastic was a gold keychain of an artist's palette and paintbrush. The little hook that would attach the charms to a key ring was broken. "Where was it?" he asked quietly.

"Just underneath her car in the basement garage." Seeing Angel's distressed look, Kate put a hand on his shoulder. Despite whatever tensions existed between them, she didn't wish harm on him or the young woman who seemed to mean so much to him. "It might not be hers."

"It is," Faith interjected, taking the bag from Angel. "Dawn – Buffy's sister – gave it to her when Giles got her the car before her first show in Los Angeles."

"Maybe it broke last time she was down there," Kate tried again to ease the sudden increase in tension in the room.

No one called Officer Lockley on the blatant attempt to divert worry. They all knew what she was trying to do. And none of them believed the excuse.

Another officer dashed into the room. "We found something else in the garage!" In his hand was a Polaroid photograph. "Blood, on the concrete a few feet away from the car. Lab guys say it's fresh."

Angel ripped the picture out of the officer's hands and stared at it. The image showed the concrete floor of the garage. In the center, several nickel-sized spatters of red glared brightly at Angel. His hands shook. All the fears he'd been fighting off since he'd awoken were coming to fruition. Buffy had been taken by the sick freak that seemed intent on destroying her.

The photo was tossed haphazardly on the coffee table as Angel walked slowly out of the living room, toward the bedroom Buffy had given him to stay in. He felt as if something was clawing his heart right out of his body. Buffy was gone. He was supposed to have been protecting her. Some bodyguard he turned out to be.


Though the room, or wherever she was, was still pitch black, Buffy could sense her attacker drawing nearer. It made the hair on her arms stand up. She pressed herself further against the cold wall at her back. There had to be a way out of this! She was not going to die!

"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," the female voice said. "You might as well give up. You're stuck here."

The last sentence was spoken so close to Buffy that she could feel the person's breath against her face. She fought to keep from whimpering and tried to move as far away as possible from her unseen assailant. There was something utterly sinister about the female's voice – for she was sure it was a female. And someone she knew.

Who? she screamed in her head. Buffy focused on the voice, trying to remember where and when she'd heard it. It was so familiar. She was positive she somehow knew whoever the woman was. Which made sense. Why would a stranger do this to her? It had to be someone she knew. But Buffy couldn't figure out the owner of the feminine voice.

"Who are you?" she whispered to the so far faceless female.

An evil laugh greeted her question. "So you haven't figured it out yet?"

Buffy felt a whisper of air move past her, then heard a scraping sound. Soon a small glow could be seen to her right. A match? The flame moved and Buffy squinted to try tofigureout what the woman was doing. Soon, the match illuminated a candle, and then another. The two now lit candles provided some light, but not much. It did allow Buffy the opportunity to see the shape of a person, but that was all she was able to make out.

"Please? Why are you doing this?" Buffy begged, not caring that her voice trembled.

Another laugh met her plea. "Please! Why are you doing this!" the female mocked Buffy. "Give me a break!"

The figure moved closer to Buffy, but she was still unable to see any features. It seemed as though the person was wearing some sort of covering. Like a cloak, with a hood over the head. Whatever it was, it kept Buffy from seeing the woman fully, even in the dim light of the two candles.

"You want to know why?" the female said, then leaned close to Buffy's face. "Figure it out."

The cloaked woman backed away and studied her quarry. "Poor, poor Buffy," she teased with a sarcastic chuckle. "All tied up and nowhere to go. I feel so, so sorry for you." She laughed yet again.

Buffy thought the laugh sounded a bit mad, as if whoever this woman was, she wasn't functioning on all her brain cells. That didn't bode well for Buffy. A crazy stalker was much worse than a debatably sane one, if there was such a thing as a sane stalker.

"I'll do whatever you want," Buffy croaked hoarsely.

"Hmm, you'll do whatever I want?" the voice repeated. "What I want, is for you to pay!"

"I don't understand." Buffy felt tears begin to trail down her cheeks. She couldn't stop them, and she was too scared to worry too much about it.

"You ruined my life," she snapped, moving close to Buffy once again. She trailed delicate, feminine fingers up Buffy's arm until she reached her hands. "And now I plan to ruin yours."

The contact and the threat made bile rise in Buffy's throat. "Please, I'll do anything."

"I already told you what I want," the female told her, leaning close to Buffy's face again. She cocked her head and studied Buffy. "I hear you're an artist these days. Can't paint if your fingers don't work, now can you?"

Buffy felt a strong grip on one of her fingers and her heart begin to pound. With a quick twist and snap, searing pain shot through her hand.

Her anguished scream echoed throughout the darkened room.


Angel spent five minutes sitting on the bed in Dawn's room. He knew he should be out with the others forming a plan, but he'd needed a few minutes to himself. His shoulder was throbbing, but he barely felt the pain. It didn't matter if he was hurting. Whatever pain he felt was nothing compared to what Buffy was going through right now.

His eyes drifted to the night table where a picture of Buffy and her sister sat in a shiny silver frame. He picked it up, never taking his eyes off Buffy's smiling face. So beautiful. Angel pressed a hand to the ache in his heart. It felt like part of him was missing. And it suddenly occurred to him why that was.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Angel drew in a deep breath. Why, of all times, did he have to figure out now how he felt about Buffy? He tucked the revelation away in the back of his mind. He would deal with it later. Right now, finding Buffy was what mattered most. When she was back home where she belonged, he would make things right with her.

With a last look at the picture, he set it back on the nightstand and stood. Time to get to work. They couldn't waste anymore time if they had any hope of finding Buffy alive. He walked with false confidence out of the room and down the hallway. Once in the living room, everyone stopped what they were doing and eyed him.

"Okay, have we found out anything new?" he asked, coming to stand next to Faith.

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "We're canvassing everyone in the area to see if they saw anything, but so far we haven't found shit."

"We sent the blood samples to the lab," Kate relayed. "DNA match will take a while, but typing matched it to the blood type we have on record for Buffy."

Angel nodded. He'd figured as much. "We have to assume that Buffy went down to her car to go to the pharmacy. She probably meant to drive considering it's raining," he reasoned, striding the few steps to the window. "So she goes down to her car. Taking into account where the key chain was found, it's possible she was standing at the driver's side door when her assailant approached."

"Buffy had to be subdued somehow, and since there was blood, it's likely she was hit in the head and knocked unconscious," Faith postulated, taking over from Angel.

"How do we know whoever it is just didn't kill her?" Cordelia interrupted. The mention of killing Buffy made everyone stare at her. "What? It's a logical question!"

"Killing her would have been too quick," Angel mumbled half to himself. "This person wants her to pay for something. Buffy was probably knocked out and taken somewhere."

"The question is by whom, and to where," added Kate.

Someone knocked on the door and Faith scowled at it. "Who the hell could that be?"

Angel waved Faith off and moved to answer the knock himself. He opened the door, seeing a young man standing tensely on the other side. The man was vaguely familiar, Angel thought, but he couldn't place the unknown male.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yeah, I...umm," the visitor looked down, drew in a deep breath and returned his eyes to Angel's. "I think I know who is after Buffy."


TBC!