Part 16
"Aww, did that hurt?" the voice mocked Buffy.
Sweat broke out on Buffy's brow, down her back and chest. Shooting pain streaked across her hand. Buffy couldn't stop the tears that fell from her eyes. She knew the bones in her right forefinger had just been snapped. Why else would it hurt so much?
Her unknown captor took a step back and walked in a semi-circle around Buffy. The woman chuckled and came to stand in front of Buffy again. She cocked her head and stared at her prisoner. Such a pleasing sight, the woman thought. All that pain and fear. It sent shivers through her body.
"Why so sad, Buff?" she asked. "Is your wittle finger making you cry?"
Buffy didn't dare answer. She would not give away anything to her tormentor unless absolutely necessary. Admitting her pain would only give the woman pleasure. That was something she would not do. Her tears may be unavoidable – one could only handle so much pain – but actually saying it out loud wouldbe playing into the shadowed figure's hand.
"Not gonna talk to me?" The woman tssked, turned and walked across the room.
The lack of decent lighting didn't allow Buffy to see what she was doing. That freaked her out even more. Who knew what the psycho was doing now? Buffy wasn't sure what could be worse than the intense pain in her finger. No, that wasn't true. There was something worse she could image, like being killed.
An image of Angel, asleep on her couch, popped into Buffy's mind. How long ago had it been since she'd left him lying there? Hours? Days? She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious. Did Angel know she was missing? Maybe he'd seen her note and thought she was just out getting his medicine. Who knew how long it would take him or Faith to figure out that something wasn't right. She could very well be dead by the time someone realized she'd been kidnapped.
If Buffy had to think about something as morbid as a last request, it was simply to see Angel one last time. She'd tell him again that she was sorry for all the trouble she'd caused him in Sunnydale four years ago. And she'd tell him she loved him. Buffy didn't know when or how that had happened, but she knew it was true.
When they'd first been together all those years ago, she'd been attracted to him, cared about him. To call it love then would have been pushing it. She'd been too lost in herself to truly love somebody. When she'd finally straightened her life out, she'd missed his company, his laughter, but mostly she'd just missed him.
Buffy never thought that he would pop back up in her life. But when he did, all the feelings from the past returned, and intensified. Somewhere along the way, those feelings had turned into love. Angel was such a good person at heart. How could she not love him?
Now she may never see him again. She wished she could tell him she loved him. He didn't feel the same way, of that she was sure. Angel tolerated her. She didn't think he hated her any longer, but there were no fluffy bunny feelings for her on his end. Still, she wanted to tell him how she felt, and that she was grateful to have had him in her life for such a short time. Knowing him had helped make her a better person.
"Whatcha thinkin' about?" interrupted her captor.
Again, Buffy refrained from answering.
"Not talking? Pity. I bet I can make you scream!" The woman lurched forward and laughed when Buffy jumped and cringed. "So you are scared? Good, you should be. The screaming will have to wait, though. I have something else in mind first."
Since the light was so dim, Buffy couldn't clearly see whatever the woman held up in her hand. All Buffy could tell was that it was long and maybe shiny. A knife? She shuddered, thinking of what a knife could do to her.
"It's a bit chilly in here, don't you think?" her loony kidnapper asked. "I think you're looking a bit too comfortable over there. We certainly can't have that."
When the woman stepped closer, Buffy was finally able to tell that the shiny object was in fact a large, metal pair of scissors. Her eyes widened in fear when they started snipping up the front of her shirt. She wanted to struggle, but knew it would be utterly useless. All she could do was sit there as her shirt fell open and then completely off when the arm holes were cut.
Her shorts followed her shirt onto the floor. Two long slices up the outsides, and they were reduced to scraps. Buffy shivered as the chill in the room became more pronounced. All she had on now was a tiny pair of panties and her bra. They wouldn't provide much warmth.
To her ever growing horror, those didn't last long either. A couple of cuts, and the skimpy material of both fell away, leaving Buffy naked. She wished her hands were free so that she could cover herself, though she supposed that being naked was the least of her worries right now.
"I'll bet the cement is nice and cold," taunted the female. "Isn't that just like a slut, standing around naked?"
Despite the rage building inside her, Buffy kept quiet. But she was furious. Who was this freak? Why did she hate her? What was she going to do? If she was going to be tortured and killed, the least this lunatic could do was clue her in on the very important details she was missing. She would not beg, though. She would not give the woman that satisfaction.
"Must be like old times for you, huh?" taunted the woman. "You used to love to flaunt yourself, wearing whore's clothes and throwing yourself at men."
"I saw you with him, you know?" she continued to ramble while pacing agitatedly. "I saw you all over him! He would still be with me if it weren't for you! You think you're so special and good now, don't you? Wearing fancy clothes, painting stupid pictures. You're nothing but lying, whoring trash!"
The woman lunged at Buffy, her anger making her entire body shake. Before Buffy could even blink an eye, the raging female had the middle finger of her right hand tightly gripped. With a violent twist, the bone snapped and Buffy couldn't stop the screamed that erupted from her. The lancing pain was brutal, not even her strongest determination to remain cool could have kept her silent.
"I doubt you'll be painting any more pretty pictures with broken fingers!" The woman took a deep breath and paced away from Buffy, seeming to regain some control.
"A life for a life, Buffy," she stated calmly. "I had everything until you opened your big mouth! You took my life away from me, and now I'm taking yours."
Again she walked over to a part of the room Buffy could not see. Last time, it had been scissors. If Buffy could think past the pain in her hand, she'd be worried over what was next. As it was, though, the throbbing in her fingers had her mind too muddled.
She drew in several deep breaths, willing the pain away. She had to think. There had to be something she could do! Buffy focused her mind away from the pain, which was just beginning to fade into very slight numbness. For now, she would not worry about the state of her fingers and what the injuries would mean to her future. If she even had one.
Something was niggling in the back of her mind. Something to do with the barbs her kidnapper had tossed at her. From the woman's words, Buffy was positive she knew her in some way. The loony bitch was too familiar with her life and her past to have not been at least an acquaintance. But that wasn't what was bothering Buffy. It was the woman's identity. Buffy tried to remember the words that had been said and how they related to things in her life.
There had been something about a man. The woman's boyfriend. No, she'd said something about them not being together anymore and blamed Buffy for that. The man had been someone Buffy had somehow been close too. But who? And how had she ruined the psycho's life? Something about opening her big mouth? Wasn't that what the woman had said?
Buffy tried to put the pieces together, but she could not form a whole. No matter which way she looked at the few facts she had, she couldn't put the puzzle together. She hadn't ever stolen anyone's boyfriend. She wasn't aware of ever doing anything to ruin someone's life. How could she understand any of this when none of it made sense?
Whatever the reason all this was happening to her, Buffy knew she couldn't give up. She had to stay strong. She wasn't dead yet. There was still a chance she would survive this. But that meant shehad to remain focused and not give in to the fear or the pain. If she let herself be overwhelmed, she was as good as dead. And she did not want to die! Not now, not after everything she'd already managed to survive in her life!
The shuffle of feet on the concrete alerted Buffy that the psycho bitch was walking toward her once again. Buffy stiffened her spine and forced herself to be calm. Whatever was coming next, she could handle it. She pictured Angel in her mind, thought of him sleeping on her couch, and told herself that he would find her. Everything would be okay. It had to be.
All of this would be so much easier to deal with if the room wasn't so dark. Then she could see what was coming at her and not be left guessing. Then again, being able to see everything might reveal things she didn't want to know.
"How are those fingers feelin'?" the wicked voice asked. "Stings a bit, doesn't it? Not half as much as it should considering all the pain you caused me!"
The woman paced around Buffy, her fury growing. "What will you do with yourself when you can't paint anymore? That pretty little life you made for yourself will be wiped away. Which is no less than you deserve. Who will care about a crippled artist?"
Buffy knew what was being said to her had a modicum of truth to it, but the last thing she cared about right now was whether her fingers had been injured so badly that she'd never paint again. The only thing that mattered was surviving. Her captor didn't seem to realize that, and Buffy had no intention of cluing her in.
A click sounded and through the shadows in the room, Buffy could see her kidnapper raise something up to her face. She squinted in the dim light, trying to see what was about to happen. It was no use. The glow from the candles just didn't reach that far.
Suddenly, there was a bright flash followed by a grinding noise and a series of clicks. The bright light made Buffy flinch and squeeze her eyes shut. After being in the dark for so long, the flash seemed to burn her retinas. Through her closed eyes, she caught the slight brightening and heard more clicks. It took only a second for her to figure out what the woman was doing.
Pictures. She was taking pictures. Buffy flinched again, her back pressing tightly against the wall behind her. Her clothes had been cut off, leaving her naked with her arms shackled above her head. And the lunatic was taking pictures of her. Not good.
"Shy, Buffy?" she taunted. "You never used to be. I bet those fancy new friends of yours will be quite shocked to see these. But really, they need to see them. They need to know what a lying slut you are. I'm just helping them to understand. These pictures will do just the trick."
Frowning, Buffy stared at the woman. She certainly didn't want naked pictures of her circulating among her friends, but Buffy couldn't understand her captor's intent. If people saw naked pictures of her all tied up, they would realize something wasn't right, that she was being forced. That would negate whatever effect the woman hoped to gain. The freak was even more loony than Buffy thought if her plans were so obviously ill-fated.
Another flash came, distracting Buffy from her thoughts. This time, though, her eyes remained open. And on her kidnapper. This time, through the illumination of the flash, she got a glimpse of who hated her so much as to do all this. She had only a split second to see, but it was long enough to show some of the woman's face and hair.
And finally, Buffy knew. The pieces fell into places and it all made sense.
"Oh God," she whispered. She knew who it was holding her captive and torturing her...
"Willow Rosenberg," the man at the door told Angel.
"What are you talking about?" asked Angel, grabbing the man's arm and dragging him into the room. Everyone else present was staring at them, waiting with baited breath over the possibility of finally getting a lead on Buffy's disappearance.
"My ex-girlfriend, Willow Rosenberg. I think she's the one after Buffy," the man explained.
"You mean the person who kidnapped Buffy?" Spike snapped, stepping forward.
"What?" The man paled and finally noticed all of the people present in Buffy's apartment. "Buffy's missing?"
"Yes, since early this evening," Angel replied tightly. He paused, trying to process what he'd been told. Whoever this guy was, he knew he'd seem him before. "I've seen you somewhere..."
The man nodded. "At Buffy's opening the other night. You were walking outside with her."
"Right," Angel thought for a moment. "Oz, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, so you know each other," Faith jumped in. "Can we get back to this Willow-person who may or may not have Buffy?"
"Tell us what you know," Angel demanded, arms crossed over his chest.
"Willow hates Buffy," relayed Oz, all the while trying to reconcile what he was inferring with the sweet girlfriend he'd once had. "And before you ask, I don't know why. I haven't talked to her much since we broke up about a year ago. But..."
"What?" Spike ordered, looking as stern as Angel.
Oz hesitated for a moment. He hated what he was saying, hated the possibility that Willow could have done all the things he read about in the paper, along with shooting Angel. And now Buffy was missing...he couldn't take the chance that he was wrong. He had to tell him the little he knew.
"Like I said, Willow hated Buffy...really hated her. I only know this from mutual friends we still have. They said she is always ranting about Buffy. Then..." he took a deep breath and continued. "I ran into her about two days after the opening...when Angel was shot.. She hardly resembled the girl I'd known. Her clothes were all black. Her hair looked like it had been dyed black, but it was fading to red again. And she said something about Buffy and me being best buds now and she got this look on her face...it scared me."
Faith pondered the story and paced across the room. It was a possibility...but she wasn't convinced yet. "Okay, so this chick hates Buffy, but that doesn't mean she is responsible for what's been goin' on."
"It's the only lead we've got," Angel shot back at her. Right now, he'd take anything because before Oz's visit, they'd had absolutely no clues. And if this guy was right...they might be able to get to Buffy before anything else bad happened to her. He turned back to Oz. "Do you know anything else?"
Closing his eyes for a second, Oz nodded. "After I saw her, I was worried. So I called some friends down in Sunnydale, where I used to live. They told me that Willow hasn't been around much, but that when they did see her, she was acting crazy and talking about revenge. Nobody understood what she meant."
"Well, I'm convinced," Spike said, looking to his group of friends for confirmation.
This new information was definitely promising, but Faith had her doubts. What if they went on a wild goose chase and something terrible happened to Buffy? On the other hand, Angel was right. It was all they had to go on so far. She looked to her friend and partner. "Well?"
"We've got nothing else to go on," he told her. Hope was lurking in him that this was the lead they'd been searching for, but he tried to temper it with the knowledge that the information might not mean anything. Looking to Oz, Angel asked, "Do you have any idea where Willow might be?"
"No," Oz shook his head. "She didn't tell me where she was living now. I think I might know a way you can find her, though."
"How?" Faith demanded, suddenly eager to get going. If this guy was right...
"Why, Willow?" Buffy inquired in a soft voice, feeling utterly shaken. She never would have suspected...
The sound of her name – Willow – caused the woman to stiffen. The hand holding the camera fell to her side and she took a step back.
"So you figured it out?" Willow growled, eyes narrowed. "Why? Was that the question? Are you that stupid? Then again, you are blonde."
"Please, Willow...whatever I did, we can talk about it," Buffy begged, her arms jingling the chains holding her captive.
"Talk? You want to talk about how you ruined my life?" snapped Willow, striding forward until she was right in front of Buffy, glaring down at her.
"I didn't ruin your life!" Buffy denied.
"LIAR!" screamed Willow, raising her arm and back-handing Buffy across the left side of her face.
The blow sent Buffy's head snapping sideways. Little bursts of light exploded behind her eyes and her vision grayed. She kept her head still for a minute, willing thenew pain to pass. She had to stay strong, Buffy told herself again. Acting weak was not an option.
As her head slowly cleared a little, she could taste the metallic flavor of blood in her mouth. Was her nose bleeding and running into her mouth? Buffy cautiously ran her tongue over her upper lip and felt a cut. No, her lip had been split from the hit, probably by her teeth. She turned her head and spit the blood on the floor. If only Willow was standing closer, she'd have spit on her.
"Wanna try that again when I'm not tied up, bitch?" Buffy ground out, her temper rising over the situation.
Willow reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a sharp knife and waved it in front of Buffy. "Call me a bitch again and you can kiss that pretty little face of yours goodbye."
Despite telling herself not to, Buffy swallowed hard. That knife looked wicked sharp. She didn't even want to think about what it could do to her face. Okay, so calling her a bitch probably hadn't been the best idea. Antagonizing a psycho was asking for trouble. She made a mental note of that.
"I'm sorry," she lied, and added on 'bitch' silently.
"Whatever," Willow muttered, but stuck the knife back into her cloak.
She turned away from Buffy and walked out of sight. Soon, dim overhead lights flickered on, illuminating the entire room. Buffy had to close her eyes against the brightness. Once her eyes had adjusted, she gazed around at her surroundings. There wasn't much to take in. She was in some large, empty room with a high ceiling and lots of concrete and stone. There was nothing else note-worthy that would help her figure a way out of this.
"Hmm, that's better," intoned Willow, blowing out the two candles she'd lit previously. "Now that you've figured it out, there's no sense in not having better lighting. Plus, it'll make the pictures turn out better." She held up the camera for Buffy to see.
Before she could start snapping pictures again, a shrill ring echoed into the room. Willow's head whipped around to stare at the doorway on the opposite side of the room. She grumbled something under her breath and put the camera down. As the sound came again, she marched out of the room.
A phone, Buffy realized. And it was somewhere just outside this room. She tucked that information away for later, in case it came in handy. Right now, her mind was too busy trying to get a full understanding of why Willow hated her so much.
Back when they'd been in high school together, they had really only been acquaintances. Willow had always been nerdy and quiet, while Buffy had been number one party girl. The only time their paths had ever really crossed was when Oz's, Willow's boyfriend's, band played at a party Buffy was at. They would say hi because Buffy and Oz were casual friends, but nothing more than that. Maybe if Buffy's life had been different, they would have been friends. But her life had been what it was, and she'd hung around with the wild people, not the studious ones.
Buffy hadn't even seen Willow for three years after leaving Sunnydale. Until that night at the Bronze. She was pretty sure that meeting was what all this was about, but the exact details were lost on her. Maybe if she understood it all, she could find some way out of this.
A few minutes later, Willow reentered the room. The red-head had what appeared to be a baffled expression on her face, though she quickly shook it off and turned her eyes on Buffy. The blazing hatred in them was not lost on Buffy. Whatever she'd done to Willow, it had made the other woman into something so completely different than she'd been.
"This is about that night at the Bronze last year, isn't it?" Buffy asked slowly. She didn't want to upset the lunatic anymore than she already was.
"No, this is about you opening your big mouth!" Willow shot back, throwing the camera on a table in the corner of the room. Seeing the blank look on Buffy's face, she explained.
"You told your uncle what you saw!" she shouted. "Your uncle worked at the library at the university and I talked to him often when I was in there. Imagine my surprise when he told me he knew! You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you!"
"But-"
"Shut up!" Willow screamed, picking up a heavy book from the table and throwing it at Buffy. It struck her sharply in the shoulder.
"Giles tried to act all fatherly, and when that didn't work, he went to my academic adviser," she rambled on. "My adviser is an old college buddy of my Dad's so he felt it was his duty to inform my parents."
It all was beginning to make complete sense to Buffy. She'd heard rumors about how strict the Rosenberg's were. Half the time, they didn't pay any attention to their daughter, but they always expected her to be absolutely perfect. Buffy thought she remembered hearing once that when Willow had gotten a B+ on a paper in high school, her parents had grounded her for a month. If they'd found out about what Willow was doing...she shuddered to think about what they might have done.
Even so, Buffy felt only slightly guilty for having set everything in motion. She'd only been worried about what Willow was involved in. After seeing her at the Bronze that night, Buffy had asked her uncle for advice. How was she to have known what would happen from there? She hadn't meant to cause an avalanche of problems.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and she meant it. Not for getting involved in the first place – she'd only been trying to help – but for obviously causing Willow so much hurt.
Oz snapped his cell phone shut and glanced at Angel. "I tried to keep her on as long as I could. Did the trace work?"
Holding up a finger for quiet, Angel spoke into his own cell phone. He listened for a moment, then gestured for someone to hand him something to write with. Faith quickly scrambled for a pencil and paper and shoved it at Angel. She couldn't help the sense of anticipation building. Their plan seemed to have worked. Oz had been able to keep Willow on the phone long enough for the computer geeks at the station to trace the call. Thank God the cell phone number Oz had for Willow was still current.
Angel snapped his phone shut and faced the eager expressions of everyone in the room. "Willow is in Sunnydale." He flicked his eyes down to the piece of paper in his hand. "1252 Crawford Street, Sunnydale, California."
"The old mansion?" Oz mumbled.
"You know the place?" interrogated Faith.
"Sort of. It's this huge old stone place that has been abandoned for years."
"Perfect if you're holding someone hostage," Angel muttered. It was looking more and more like this Willow person was who they were looking for. "We need to get going. Now. The longer she has Buffy..." He didn't want to think about that. Willow had already shown she was unstable and violent.
Marching toward the door, determination in each step, Angel was halted by Kate's hand on his arm. "What?" he snapped, annoyed at the action.
"I think I can get some of us there quicker than driving," she explained and yanked her cellphone off the clip on her belt.
Within five minutes, a group of Angel, Faith, Kate, and Oz were rushing out of the apartment up to the roof of Buffy's apartment building where a helicopter would be arriving shortly to pick them up. The rest of Buffy's friends were scrambling for their cars, insisting on going to Sunnydale themselves. And as the helicopter lifted off the roof and headed toward Sunnydale, Angel could only hope that they all weren't too late to save Buffy.
TBC!
