Angel started helping me out of the bed, not caring that I was half-naked. When I went to stand, I felt a painful tug on my hand. I looked back and remembered my IV. I paused, �Angel, wait,� I said. I grabbed hold of the huge needle, clenched my jaw, shut my eyes, and pulled it out. The pain made me want to scream, but I avoided it-remembering that there was someone there killing people, possibly to get to us. The last thing I wanted to do, was let them know where we were.
�Do you think that you can you stand on your own?� Angel asked me in a hushed voice.
I managed a nod that was barely there, and walked as softly as I could to the chair in the corner of the room, where my clothes were. It took me about forty five seconds to shimmy into my jeans due to the fact that my left arm was useless because of my shoulder, and my bleeding hand that stung so horribly after ripping out the IV needle.
Angel came over and lifted my hospital gown off, not seeming to care that I was embarrassed by standing before him in my jeans and peach-colored bra. He grabbed my peasant top, and slid it over my shoulder. I cringed at the thought of having that bloody shirt on, but it was all I had for now.
�Okay, there�s a back door that not many people know about,� Angel said, looking to the door the doctor had come through. �The only problem is that we have to leave the room to get there.�
�No!� I whispered harshly. �Angel, if we got out there, they could see us and kill us! What if we�re the ones they�re after? What if we�re not? What if we just get in the way and piss them off to the point where we become the ones they want to kill?�
Just then I spotted something in the doctor�s hand. It was gun. I couldn�t believe our good fortune. I crouched down next to the body, and picked it up. �Angel, look!� I showed it to him.
�Good. Now, Buffy, listen carefully. I want you to put your bad arm around my neck if you can. You need to have your good hand free for shooting the gun if you need to,� Angel whispered, ignoring everything I�d said as he lifted me into his arms despite my protests. I didn�t have the strength in my muscles at the moment, to put my arm around his neck, so I left it against Angel�s chest.
I gripped the gun tightly in my hand as he started walking towards the door, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to cry. I would be going out into a room that-at the moment-contained murders and possibly even dead bodies!
Angel pushed the door open with his foot, and stuck his head out. �It�s clear for the moment,� he said, and moved out of the room. He walked at a brisk pace, making sure he wasn�t pressing on my wound.
We were almost to the door at the end of the long, white hallway, when I heard someone exclaim at the top of their lungs, �there!�
I looked behind us, and saw a young man with a gun. �Angel turn your head!� I commanded, and pointed the gun over his shoulder at the man. I shut my eyes and fired.
I missed by a hair, but it confused the man enough to let Angel get us to the door.
As we exited the hallway, I heard a woman�s voice say, �Wesley, you idiot! You let them get away!�
Angel and I were now in a cement staircase. The steel steps made it harder for Angel to be gentle with me, and I found myself biting my lips until it drew blood, in order to keep from screaming. He went as fast as I could, and just as we reached the bottom of the second set of stairs, I heard the door open above us.
Gun shots were fired down through the stairs at us. It took all my courage, as Angel kept taking us down the stairs, to look up, and raised the gun. I aimed it a few feet before where the man-Wesley-was. I fired, and he walked right in to the bullet.
With a pained yelp, he fell forward and tumbled down the stairs at an alarming rate. The woman kept going though, running down after us, taking a moment to step over the crying body of her companion.
Angel reached the bottom of the four flights of stairs, and he used all his strength to kick open the steel door that led us in to an underground parking garage.
In this garage, there was one car, and one motorcycle. I knew that I wouldn�t be able to stay on the motorcycle, so I was so relieved when Angel ran to the car. The car was a 2000 Porsche. Angel went to the passenger�s side, and miraculously, the car was unlocked.
�Angel?� I asked as he opened the door and put me in the seat.
�Put on your seat belt,� he commanded, slamming my door and jumping over the front hood of the car, to jump into the driver�s side.
He reached across to the glove compartment in front of where I sat, and he pulled out a set of keys. He started the engine, and drove like mad towards the exit of the garage.
The door to the stairs opened just as we drove by, and I was about to get a good look at who the woman was, when Angel swerved the car for no reason that I could tell, and my vision was lost.
I sighed, and slumped in to the seat. I shut my eyes, leaning my head back against the head rest, and thought for a moment about everything that had just happened. I didn�t like that man because he shot at us, but I hoped to God that I didn�t kill him.
Kill him! My brain triggered to the gun that I held. I looked down at it, and freaked out. I opened the glove compartment, and stuffed it inside. What if the police caught me?
I suddenly remembered to a dinner party I had once been forced to sit through with my mother�s friend, Giles. Giles was a police officer, and he�d told us all about how a simple skin test from under your finger nail, can tell exactly when you fired a gun, and what kind it was.
But I also remembered how he�d said we could avoid failing this test. Hot wax! If we could peel the gun residue off our fingers with hot wax, then we could pass the test if we were ever caught. My mother had joked at the time, that this information would never be of any use to me, and I thought it was the most ironic thing in the world that this information could save me from going to prison now, if we were caught.
But where would I get hot wax in the next five minutes, before the gun powder had embedded itself in my skin permanently?
I looked all around the car. Then I found something I could use. It was a wax figure of a Hula dancer. But how would I burn it?
�Who�s car is this?� I asked Angel.
�The doctor�s. He obviously wasn�t going to use it, Buffy, so I don�t think our regrets should be that high.� He answered, focusing on the road ahead as he sped out of the city.
�Did he smoke?� I asked.
�I don�t know. I didn�t exactly check the bullet wound for smoke signals, Buffy,� Angel snapped; sounding upset and annoyed.
�I meant cigarettes!� I yelled back. �Did he smoke cigarettes?!�
Angel looked at me for a split second, and then back to the road. After a moment, he said, �I think so.�
I hoped to God that I was right about this next thought. I reached my good arm behind the seat, and strained to feel around the pocket on the back of the seat.
�Aha!� I announced, finding the lighter. I pulled it out, and stared at it like it was a gold medal.
�How did you know that would be there?� Angel asked me.
�My mother hid the fact that she smoked from everyone. I knew all of her hiding places. Naturally, doctors have to try to hide that they smoke-especially from the rich. My mother used to hide a lighter in the back pocket of the passenger�s seat in her Mercedes. She hid another under the back of the toilet.� As I explained, I pulled the glove compartment down again, so that the tray was right in front of me.
I leaned forward, and flicked the lighter on. It lit on the second try. Holding the wax doll in one hand, I started burning the wax on to the tray before me. It began to form a pool of burning wax. The bright colors of the doll were mixing together to make an ugly brown color.
�What are you doing?� Angel asked, glancing from the road to the tray, and back to the road again.
�I fired the gun twice. I shot that guy. I need to pull the gun powder off my skin, before it�s in far enough to stay where it is. This way, if we get caught, they won�t be able to run a GP-CCB on me,� I explained, focusing on the doll. It was getting harder to hold it without burning my fingers.
�What�s that?� Angel asked.
�A GP-CCB is a Gun Powder Cross Check Burrake. It�s a test the police can run that tells them if you�ve fired a gun, and what time you fired it. They can tell the make and model of the gun as well. If I pull out the gun powder remains, they can�t test me,� I explained, tossing the doll away. I had gotten as much off of it as I could without burning my fingers with the lighter.
�You�re dipping your fingers in the wax?� Angel asked; shocked.
�Do you have a better idea?� I asked him; exhasperated.
�Yes. Let�s find a candle. What you�re doing is too dangerous, and it�s going to be way too hot.�
I shook my head. �It�d be too late. If I don�t do this in about a minute�s time, it�ll be way too late.� I shut my eyes then, and took a deep breath. I lifted my right hand, and opened my eyes. �This is going to hurt so much,� I said with a sigh.
�God,� Angel looked away, feeling helpless to save me from this pain that I was about to endure.
I didn�t have long before the wax would cool and set. I took a breath, and submerged all of my fingers on my right hand, into the hot wax.
The pain wasn�t there at first. I felt the wax against my fingers, and recognized it as warm but not painful. Then my nerves kicked in their response, and I wanted to scream.
�Ah!� I couldn�t hold back a shriek of pain. I pulled my fingers out of the wax, and stared at my red fingers with the brown wax on the tips.
�Oh my,� Angel whispered, glancing at my red fingers.
I started peeling the wax off my fingers, after being sure that it had set properly. It hurt even more to have the cool air on the fresh layer of skin that had been hidden under the layer that the wax had taken with it.
I scraped all of the wax off the tray with a pen from the glove compartment, and rolled all of the wax from my fingers and the tray, into a little ball.
�Open the window,� I managed to form words despite the multiple pains on my body.
Angel pressed the button just as we crossed a bridge, and the window went down. I used my last ounce of strength, to toss the ball out the window and off the side of the bridge to the waters below.
I sat back in the seat, and tried to catch my breath. I could barely move at this point, and I was exhausted from the blood loss, the amount of pain I was in, and the traumatic events of the day.
I looked to Angel and asked, �what do we do now?�