Lost

 

Disclaimer ~ Joss is God here, I am but one of his excessively frustrated minions.

Rating ~ NC-17 – i.e. smut alert!

Notes ~ The song featured in this first chapter is ‘I dreamed a dream’ from the musical Les Miserables.

 

* * * * *

 

“I dreamed a dream in time gone by,

When hope was high and life worth living.

I dreamed that love would never die,

I dreamed that God would be forgiving.

 

“Then I was young and unafraid,

And dreams were made and used and wasted.

There was no ransom to be paid,

No song unsung, no wine untasted.”

 

* * * * *

 

               A strange magical energy hisses in the air and I can feel the evil surrounding me and seeping into my bones. A shiver of pure terror runs down my spine and I feel like a rabbit trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car. There is nothing I can do, nowhere I can go. This is it. This is my final moment. This is Death.

 

               Then I turn. I see Angel standing there and sweet relief fills me. My love, my champion – he will save me. Everything is all right now that he is here. But when I meet his gaze, his eyes do not show their usual concerned expression. Instead they are completely blank. His mouth twists in a smirk and he lifts the heavy broadsword he carries in his right hand.

 

               “Close your eyes.” He jeers.

 

               “No!” I cry out and try to back away. “No, please!”

 

               But it is too late; I glance over my shoulder to see the vortex opening up behind me. Then my whole body explodes in pain. Angel has thrust his sword through my stomach and I look down to where the hilt of the weapon protrudes, a red river of blood dripping from it.

 

               “Angel…” I extend my hand out to him, still blindly hoping he will save me. He only smiles.

 

               I feel myself being dragged backwards, downwards. Unseen forces pull at my body, drawing my limbs in all different directions. I fear I will be ripped apart with the strain of it all. An abrasive wind whips around me, stinging my eyes and burning my skin. The world disappears and nothing exists but the pain and the blood and the howling wind.

 

               Then even I am gone. All that is left is Hell.

 

* * * * *

 

               I wake from the dream breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my chest. Tears streaming down my face, I take the few short steps across the room to the bathroom and vomit in the toilet. I have no problem finding my way because I always sleep with the light on now. Well, in truth, I actually try not to sleep at all, because when I do the dreams always come. And they’re always like this. There’s always Hell and there’s always Angel.

 

               Sometimes he mocks me in the dreams. He is Angelus at his absolute worst and he tortures me with his words and his manic laughter. He calls me every name under the sun. Murderer. Slut. Whore. He tells me I never loved him, because if I did then I wouldn’t have been able to kill him.

 

               Other times he is soft and gentle, pure Angel. He takes me in his embrace and murmurs words of affection in my ear. He kisses me tenderly and tells me he forgives everything. These dreams are the worst, because I know that I don’t deserve him. I know that soon our precious moments will be ripped away and Hell will intrude. But worst of all, I know that he won’t be there when I wake up.

 

               My lover, gone forever. Not to a peaceful death, but to burn for eternity in the fires of Hell. And I was the one who sent him there.

 

               I look up in the mirror at my sallow skin, greasy hair, hollow cheeks and wide eyes ringed with dark smudges. And I practice my mantra. Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne. That is who I am now. There is no Buffy; she died with her beloved. There is only Anne now.

 

               Anne is a single girl from Idaho. She never killed her lover. She doesn’t have a Sacred Duty; she has a job waiting tables and a low rent apartment in LA. She has no worries and no cares (and no friends and no family…). She doesn’t see guilt and pain when she looks in the mirror. She sees blonde hair that needs combing and pale eyelashes crying out for a coat of mascara.

 

               I like Anne – she can still smile. I just wish Buffy would leave me alone and let me be her.

 

* * * * *

 

“But the tigers come at night,

With their voices soft as thunder.

As they tear your hope apart,

As they turn your dream to shame.”

 

* * * *

 

               After being awoken by the dream I didn’t even try to get back to sleep, instead I showered and dressed and went to sit out in the park to watch the sun rise. I go there a lot: it is quiet and peaceful and nobody bothers me. I can just sit and watch the world go by.

 

Early in the morning it is mainly joggers I see. They run to their steady rhythm, lost in their own little worlds. I often wonder what they are thinking about. I sometimes make up fantasies about their lives. The young man with the personal stereo and the curly brown hair – he is an actor. He jogs so he’ll look good for his promotional shots.  He has a beautiful daughter with green eyes and freckles dotted about her face. She has her mother’s looks and her father’s serious gaze. They all live together in a house in the suburbs.

              

               And the woman with the long blonde ponytail, which swings from side-to-side as she runs, she is a businesswoman in the city. She works in PR and wears smartly tailored suits and spike heels that make tapping sounds as she rushes from office to office. She is single, but she’s happy. She doesn’t need a man; she has a tastefully decorated penthouse apartment and girlfriends whom she meets for cocktails each night after work. They swap amusing stories about the bad dates they have been on and laugh away the hours.

 

               Then there’s the boy in the lettered sweatshirt. He is there every morning and always wears a look of utter focus and concentration. He is training for his college track team. This month is the state finals. His girlfriend will stand in the bleachers and cheer him on. Then when he wins she will run down and hug him and he’ll spin her around in the air. They’ll be so excited because they’re young and in love and they have their whole futures ahead of them.

 

               I often wonder what it would be like to be someone else. To slip into their life, to feel their feelings and have their memories. To see the world through completely fresh eyes – eyes whose vision hasn’t been clouded by blood and pain and death. Then I suppose this is what I’m doing. I am a different person now. I’m Anne. But it doesn’t feel anywhere near as liberating as I thought it would. Because these eyes are still my eyes and the memories I have still belong to Buffy.

 

* * * * *

 

               I arrive early for my shift, as usual. The manager is impressed with me so far. He thinks I’m a good worker, but what he doesn’t know is that as long as I’m keeping busy then I don’t have to think. As long as I’ve got a table to wait on and a counter to clean then I can concentrate on that and block out the screaming in my head.

 

               But the more proficient I become at my job, the less this tactic works. Now the work is so mundane that my mind begins to wonder. It slips off to Sunnydale and the mansion. It sees the betrayed expression on Angel’s face over and over again as it replays the moment I killed him.

 

               Close your eyes…

 

               “Miss, hello? Excuse me, Miss?” I hear an irate voice and I turn.

 

               A customer. Good. A distraction. A means to drag me out of my nightmares and back into the present. I like it when they call me ‘Miss’. It means they don’t know my name, not even the false one I’ve assumed (though it is embroidered on my uniform for everyone to see). It shows they don’t care who I am or what I’ve done in the past. To them am just a stranger passing through. I’m just another girl who brings them breakfast and serves them coffee.

 

               It is strange how most people hate to be made to feel insignificant, but I love it. Because it negates my past, it makes me feel like nothing that went before matters. If no one cares about my history then I can truly make a fresh start. When people look at me now they don’t even see Anne. They see nobody. And if I’m nobody then I can also be anybody. Maybe this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. The chance to finally be free, to follow my own heart and my own dreams. I don’t have duties as a Slayer or responsibilities as a daughter or a friend anymore. I’m living for myself and I can do anything or be anything I want.

 

               So, what am I doing waiting tables in some run-down part of LA, then?

 

* * * * *

              

               Eight hours later I have finished my shift. I am practically dropping on my feet and all I want to do is sleep for a month. But with sleep comes the dreams, and I just can’t face those. They are just so vivid, so immediate. Even more so for the fact they’re mainly based on memories. I can feel every sweet kiss, every flame of Hell that burns my body, and when I wake, Angelus’ taunts still ring in my ears. Somehow the dreams are more real to me than my fatigue-blurred existence. I sleepwalk through the days and it is only at night that I come alive.

 

               But the life I live in my nightmares is one I would not wish upon anyone. The emotions and the memories I deny myself at all other times come flooding back and it is like a dam breaking. A sudden rush of feeling drowns me, and my rational self spends each period of sleep struggling to break the surface of wakefulness. Battling to return to the conscious world where it can deny my past and at least pretend everything is all right with my future.

 

               No matter how hard I try, though, the dreams and their haunting reality continue to possess me. Images, I otherwise desperately try to suppress, play themselves out in sequences of bright colour and blinding clarity. The blood that runs though each of my visions - like a macabre motif - is a deeper, purer red than I have ever seen it in true life. It seems almost to call to me, to sing with a primal rhythm as it flows over my body and over Angel’s and over the bodies of hundreds I have never met before, but each of whom are screaming. The blood passes between us all, linking us, joining us in our suffering. The screams rise in a crescendo no orchestra could rival, until I can no longer pick out my voice from the rest of them.

 

               And that’s the world I fall into every night. Those are the dreams that plague me. I cannot sleep without them, so I try not to sleep at all. I have become a classic insomniac. I sit up every night watching the infomercials on public television. By now I can recite verbatim the voiceover from the ‘WonderSlim: The Pill that Sheds Pounds’ advert. I’d send off for some, except I’ve got no money and I’m all skin and bone already.

 

               Speaking of which, I can’t remember the last time I ate. Was it lunch? No, I skipped my break to work. I’m always trying to be the model employee – but then I have to be, because I can’t risk being fired. The pay may be pitiful but I need all the money I can earn. And where else could I get a job where I get paid cash in hand and don’t need a social security number? OK, so I know where else, but I’m not stooping that low. I’d rather collapse from malnutrition first.

 

               I remember now that my breakfast was a cup of coffee, black because I had no milk or sugar to go in it, but still worth drinking for the caffeine (I hardly drank coffee at all before, but now I live off the stuff). So, the last time I ate must have been dinner last night. I dredge up a vague recollection of a turkey sandwich on stale bread and decide it’s about time I had some more food. The only reason I eat now is because I think I should. I don’t feel hungry anymore and everything I put in my mouth is tasteless now. But I go through the motions, like I’m doing with the rest of my life. I don’t want to be ill and I don’t want to die. I just want to forget.

 

               I count the money that has just been pressed into my hand. Twenty dollars in wages for the day, plus an extra five’s worth in tips. I need the twenty to go towards rent and electricity, but I can spend my tips on some dinner. The only problem is, I don’t want to go back to the apartment yet. I don’t want to be faced with those four blank walls, which speak of a personality that doesn’t exist. I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts and I don’t want to sit quietly for hours trying to fight sleep. I need company, noise, a distraction. I need to wear myself out, so that when sleep does come it will be deeper and the dreams will be fewer.

 

               This thought in mind as I gather together my stuff, I turn to Julia, one of the other waitresses. She is about ten years older than me, with a crooked nose and kind brown eyes. She reminds me of a caring big sister, like the sort I never had. Maybe Anne had an elder sister – someone to take her on shopping trips and give her advice on boys. I’d have to think about that one. But if Anne did have a sister it’d be someone like Julia. She’s the one person I’ve met so far in this city that I’ve actually felt I can relate to. She’s the only person who’s said anything to me other than ‘More coffee please, Miss’, or ‘Clean the oven, Anne’, or ‘Rent’s due on the first of the month’. I know I came here to be independent. To be a different person who didn’t get attached to people or places and who didn’t let her emotions get the better of her. But, that doesn’t mean I want to be totally alone.

 

               “Jules,” I say tentatively. It has been so long since I’ve had a friendly conversation with anyone, I think I’ve forgotten how. “D’you wanna, like, grab a bite to eat, or something?”

 

               She smiles back at me brightly. “Sure. Anywhere but here, though. I spend enough time in this place as it is.”

 

               “I know the feeling,” I reply with a slight smile of my own.

 

               We find a small diner a little way down the street. Julia says she eats here a lot; the food is good and the price reasonable, plus it’s near work. I just listen quietly as she chats away, pushing my fries around the plate and nodding in response occasionally. Julia finishes the last bite of her hamburger and leans back in her seat. Somehow she’s managed to talk and eat, whereas I have done neither. She regards me appraisingly.

 

               “You’re gonna have to tell me someday, Anne.” She says in her gentle southern accent. Did I mention she’s from Tennessee? I don’t think I did. 

 

               “Tell you what?” I ask lightly, then stuff a few fries into my mouth as a cover for further speech.

 

               “The story of your life.” She says completely seriously and I feel like I’m trapped in a bad movie. You know the type, like Mystic Pizza or something, where this poor girl is stuck in a dead-end waitressing job. Then she meets the man of her dreams and suddenly everything is better. Except I’ve already met the man of my dreams, only now he belongs to my nightmares.

 

               “There’s nothing to tell.” I reply defensively, avoiding her eyes.

 

               She smiles ruefully. “I’ve seen a lot of waitresses come and go, kiddo. And believe me, there’s always something.”

 

               “Not with me.” I answer and my tone sounds unconvinced even to my ears.

 

               “Then why are you here?”

 

               “Excuse me?”

 

               “You’re what, eighteen?” She asks.

 

               “Twenty-one.” I respond reflexively. She raises her eyebrows, disbelievingly, but doesn’t comment. I’d lay money on the fact she’s lied about her age at least once in the past.

 

               “What are you doing working a shitty job in LA, living hand to mouth, when you should be at home with your parents, or in school?” She continues.

 

               I open my mouth to give a plausible answer. Plausible meaning not involving references to finding your friend with her throat slit then being the prime suspect in her murder, or having your Mom throw you out because you neglected to mention you slay vampires as a hobby, or sending your lover to Hell in order to save the world. I wish the world had ended. What’s the point in preserving everyone else’s happiness if your own gets shattered in the process?

 

               I look up into Julia’s eyes, so warm, so understanding, and I get a sudden urge to confess it all. I want to unburden my soul. I want somebody to tell me it’s all OK and that I did the right thing. I want to be told that it’ll get better soon, that the pain and the dreams will all go away and I’ll find peace once more. If I tell Julia then she’ll be sympathetic. She’ll nod and smile and pull me close in a hug, and I’ll be warm and protected again. That’s what big sisters are for, right?

 

               But Julia isn’t my big sister. She isn’t Buffy’s and she isn’t Anne’s. She’s just some woman I work with. She may have kind eyes and a warm smile, but that doesn’t change the fact that I barely know her and she doesn’t know me at all. And as soon as I mention vampires or Slayers or demons that are called in order to suck the world into Hell, then she’ll write me off as needing psychiatric help. Poor, insane little Anne. Been sniffing the oven cleaner again, have you? I’d be a fool to think anyone would understand. Not even the friends I left behind. I killed the one person I loved most. Who would do such a thing? What sort of a person does that make me?

 

               One who doesn’t deserve to exist.

 

               “Anne?” Julia prompts me.

 

               Yes, that’s right. I think. Anne. I had forgotten for a moment. I’m wiping the slate clean. Buffy had her chances and she messed up. So, I’m starting again with Anne. And this time I’ll do better, I promise. I know now not to let people in. To stay away from them. I’m bad news.

 

               You always hurt the ones you love…

 

               “It’s none of your business.” I blurt out finally. I have to keep her at a distance. I have to protect her from the things I know. They can only hurt her. Never mind the fact that I’m also protecting myself and the only connection I’ve made in this city filled with strangers. If Julia knew about who I am – was – then she’d want nothing further to do with me. If anybody knew then they’d just be appalled. They’d hate me as much as I hate myself.

 

               We sit in awkward silence for a short while. Then Julia upturns her palms in a defeatist gesture. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me anything now.” She says. “Not before you’re ready. It’s only your life you’re wasting here.”

 

               She was right – it was my life and I was finally going to take control of it. No more being left to deal with things I couldn’t possibly have any influence over. I was sick and tired having surprises thrown at me. First I was Called as the Slayer. No interview. No ‘Buffy, would you like this gig?’. Just, ‘Here’s your destiny. Deal with it’. Then I met Angel and I didn’t get a choice in that either. I fell for him – hard. I couldn’t help how I felt. I just loved him. And that became the one universal truth in my world. Me. Angel. Forever. Then he lost his soul and that was something else sprung on me. And my world fell apart at the seams.

 

               Feelings don’t change, or at least mine haven’t. I still love Angel with every fibre of my being, even though he terrorised me as Angelus. Even though I know he’s dead and gone for good. I love him. I try not to, but I can’t stop.

 

               Feelings don’t change, but beliefs do. Thoughts, ideals, they alter in your mind like shifting sands. Whereas I once believed in the power of love – that the fairytales were correct, it would conquer all – in fairness – that all the service I put in for the forces of good would be rewarded – and in freewill – that people actually have a choice in their actions. Now I pay lip service to none of it. You can love someone with all your heart and soul, you can devote your life to them and they can do the same in return, and yet it will make not one iota of difference in the end. You will still be torn apart in the cruellest of ways. Life is, by its nature, unfair. There is no cosmic scale to be balanced, no karma. What you give isn’t what you get in return. The evil flourish and the ones fighting the good fight get squashed at the bottom of the pile. And freewill is a joke. You don’t get to choose who you are or what happens to you, but here I am still trying. Maybe that’s predetermined too. I’m a warrior, so it is fated that I contest my destiny.

 

               I don’t know anymore and I can’t think it through because it’s all too confusing. All I know is how I feel and I feel awful, like I go to Hell and back every night in my dreams. Chances are I probably do.

 

               I get up from the table and walk out of the diner, without even saying goodbye to Julia. My heart is weeping, but in on my face is an expression of utter blankness. I’ve cried all the tears I have. There are no more left.

 

* * * * *

 

“He slept a summer by my side,

He filled my days with endless wonder.

He took my childhood in his stride,

But he was gone when autumn came.”

 

* * * * *

 

               I sit shivering on Angel’s bed, my clothes soaked through and my hair hanging in damp waves down to my shoulders. He turns away as I undress, a new tension stretching between us that I don’t quite understand. Emotions churn within me; I have gone through so much in such a short time. My worries for Angel’s safety, then him almost leaving, then our near deaths. It makes me feel that nothing in life is certain. Everything we take for granted can be snatched away from us at any second. Existence is just a series of moments, each one different. The same feelings, or people, or chances may never come around again, so opportunities must be taken or else they will be lost forever.

 

               I glance at Angel’s back, his shoulders are hunched and his posture is awkward. I want him to turn around and take me in his arms. I want to be close to him while I still can, because tomorrow neither of us could be here. I wince involuntarily as my top catches on a cut on my shoulder. Angel flinches and the tension between us soars. He comes and sits behind me and brushes my skin with his cool hands. I sense that our relationship is changing, or about to change, and I don’t know whether it’s because of me, or him, or both of us. But his hands feel so good and my heart pounds in my chest.

 

               The whole world seems to fall away and nothing exists but him. I don’t understand anything that’s going on. I don’t understand how it is my skin burns underneath his touch and my body aches for his. I don’t know why I’m trembling, not from the cold, but from fear and anticipation. I don’t remember ever being so sure, and yet so unsure, of anything before in my whole entire life.

 

               I lean back into him and I feel that he is shaking too. We both know what is going to happen tonight. Choice has nothing to do with it. It is time; our moment has come. His arms slip around my waist.

 

               “You nearly went away today.” I say in barely a whisper.

 

               “We both did.” He returns.

 

               The words mean nothing. They are a formality. They are a way of reassuring our rational minds that this is the right decision. But our hearts, our souls, they already realise the inevitability. And they rejoice in it. Time seems to slow down. Minutes take years to pass. I remember no history before now and can envisage no future after it.

 

               “I…” He begins then trails off.

 

               “You what?” I ask, but I know. Of course I know! I have always known. I knew the very first minute we met and every day I see it in his eyes and I feel it in his kiss. How could I possibly not know?

 

               “I love you.” He tells me and my heart leaps to hear him say the words. It is like our final resistances have been dropped. We are at last acknowledging the strength, the rightness, of our feelings. We can betray our emotions no longer. “I try not to, but I can’t stop.”

 

               “I can’t either.” I reply and we kiss. It is a desperate reclamation of each other. It is an affirmation of our love. But most of all it is a promise of what is to come. I let him know with my eyes that I am ready and he understands immediately.

 

               “Buffy…” He makes an attempt at a token protest, but I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. We passed the point of no return long ago. From the single second our eyes met it was too late. Everything since then has been leading up to this. This night, this moment.

 

               We sink back on to the bed together. Fingers tangling in hair, lips meshing. His hands move down my body, over skin and clothes still damp from the rain. My breathing becomes heavy and ragged and butterflies dance in my stomach.

 

               “Are you sure?” He murmurs in between kissing my neck.

 

               “Yes,” I answer, tears springing unbidden to my eyes. “I love you, Angel…”

 

               He peels up my top and I raise my arms above my head to aid in its removal, biting my lip nervously as my bare breasts are exposed to him for the first time. My nipples already stand proud due to the cold and he gazes reverently down at me.

 

               “So, so, beautiful.” He breathes. He lifts a hand up to my hair, brushing it away from my face then gently tracing my facial features. His fingers brush over my eyes, my cheeks, my nose, my lips, and down my neck to my chest where they outline light patterns. I hold perfectly still underneath him, silently giving him free reign to explore my body. Presently, his lips take over from his hands, and follow the path his fingers have just taken. As he takes one of my nipples in his mouth, pleasure causes me to shiver involuntarily. He ceases his attentions and looks concernedly up at me.

 

               “Come under the covers, where it’s warmer.” He tells me and I obey silently, crawling underneath the heavy velvet comforter and in between the smooth linen sheets. As I do so he quickly strips off his clothes and shoes, so that he wears only his underwear when he joins me underneath the blankets.

 

               I run my hands over his bare chest, enjoying the smoothness of his skin underneath my palms. He smiles encouragingly and I gain in confidence, lowering my mouth to run my tongue over each of his well-defined muscles. I take his hand in mine and bring it up to my mouth, kissing each of the digits in turn. Then I work my way up the inside of his arm, until I reach the shoulder. There I follow across the line of his clavicle, moving towards the centre of his chest with my lips then advancing up his throat until we are face to face once more. He kisses me softly and begins to run his hands down my back. 

 

               His fingers dance down my spine, the sensation making me tingle all over. I close my eyes and tip my head back, exposing my neck for more kisses. As he nibbles at my skin with blunt teeth his hands cup my behind and I instinctively arch my hips towards him. He takes this as his cue to divest me of the rest of my clothing and I wriggle awkwardly to help him, finally kicking the offending garments away with a slight giggle. He swallows my laughter with another kiss, however, and I gaze seriously into his eyes, nearly falling into soft pools of melted chocolate.

 

               Still with his eyes locked on mine, Angel drags his hands slowly down my body. His fingers softly knead my abdomen, then my buttocks, then the insides of my thighs, always keeping his movements smooth and circular. My legs automatically separate for him and he gently brushes his hand over my soft curls, before returning to my legs and stomach. He continues this teasing for a little while longer, each of his strokes becoming firmer and more insistent, until, what seems like an eternity later, his fingers finally dip into my centre.

 

               A small whimper escapes my lips and he edges a little closer to me. At some point in the recent past he has removed his underpants and now his naked erection presses against my thigh. I gasp a little and my eyes widen. He notices my reaction and silently urges me to touch him, to learn more about his body as he is learning about mine. I tentatively reach out with my fingertips, both nervous of the new experience and awed that I could possibly provoke such a physical reaction. As I gain in confidence, I use the whole of my hand to explore him, encircling him in my palm and scratching lightly down his length with my nails.

 

               Then suddenly, with a small smile, he takes hold of my questing hand and brings it too his lips, kissing the fingers lightly once. With this motion I sense a change of pace, the relaxed mood of gentle fondling has gone, to be replaced by a more serious atmosphere. I feel my pulse rate increase and heat builds at the base of my belly. Angel lifts himself on top of me, supporting his weight on his arms and knees, so that he doesn’t crush me. He lowers his head to my neck and buries his face in my hair while my now heavy breathing slows and steadies back to normal. Then he guides himself gently into me, allowing me time to accommodate myself to the feeling, before beginning to move in a leisurely rhythm.

 

               The heat within me grows and I slide my arms up underneath his, wrapping them around his shoulders in order to pull myself closer to him. I close my eyes, aware only of the sensation of skin sliding against skin, as gradually a crescendo within me is reached and the pressure that has been building releases itself in an explosion of pleasure. Angel reaches his peak shortly after I do and collapses back onto the bed next to me, ending with a chaste kiss to my damp and sweaty forehead. I snuggle up close next to him, pillowing my head against his broad chest.

 

               “I’ve never felt like this before.” I whisper.

 

               He entwines our hands and brings them up to his mouth, briefly touching his lips to the Claddagh that newly adorns my ring finger. “And you never will do again.” He says in a harsh voice. His eyes assume a golden glow and his face shifts into its vampiric countenance. I try to shrink away from him, but he still grips my hand tightly and I am trapped.

 

               “Angel…?” I ask nervously.

 

               “I’m not Angel,” he replies. “You killed him, remember?”

 

               “No,” I whimper. “Please, I’m sorry – it wasn’t my fault. I had to do it…”

 

               “What?” He accuses in a low, threatening voice. “You had to shove a sword through his belly. You had to kiss him and tell him you loved him, before betraying that love and pushing him into Hell?”

 

               The not-Angel rolls on top of me, painfully pinning me to the bed. “Now, Lover,” he jeers. “Why don’t you close your eyes?”

 

               I flail out with my hands and legs catching the creature in the shin with my foot and scratching at his face with my nails. He cries out when I draw blood and I use the opportunity to forcefully push him off me, fighting my way out of his tight grasp. I blindly run across the room, wanting only to get as far away from him as possible. But on my way, I trip over something solid and soft. I land heavily on the floor, the thing underneath me, breaking my fall. When I look down to see what it is, a pair of blank, staring eyes gaze back up at me.

 

               I jump quickly away from the corpse, disgusted to find that its sticky blood now covers my naked body. I turn abruptly on my heel, only to find another figure standing right behind me. This one also has pallid, grey skin and protruding eyes. Blood drips from a wound on its neck into deep red puddles on the floor. Suddenly I am surrounded by these walking apparitions. They clutch at me with hands slippery from their blood and I can’t get away from them.

 

               “No!” I scream. “Help me, please! Angel…”

 

* * * * *

 

               I am catapulted into consciousness, with the familiar sensation of nausea combined with utter panic. Hysterical tears flood down my cheeks as I scan the room for the zombies that had seemed so real in my dream. There are none there, only the long shadows cast by my nightlight. But I remain convinced of their presence, anyway. They are always there, haunting me – I just can’t see them when I’m awake.

 

               I want to switch the television on and turn the volume up loud, so that it feels like I have company. The noise, and the colour, and the laughter, will keep the ghosts away. But the walls of the apartment building are paper-thin and other people are still trying to sleep. The last time I watched TV at three a.m., the supervisor banged on my door and threatened to evict me. So, now I sit in silence, brandishing a knife from the kitchen. The next time they come, I’ll be ready for them. I won’t let them get me. I won’t.

 

* * * * *

 

               The days slowly pass in a sleep-fogged haze and the nights continue their acute torment. The dreams have been getting worse, if that is even possible. Now I can no longer get a moment’s peace from them. Angel is there as soon as I close my eyes and so is the blood. I hate it. I hate that the dreams are destroying all the good memories I have of the man I love. Everyday is a struggle to remember the feeling of safety in his arms and his soft voice speaking words of love. Sometimes I think these recollections of happier times are the only things that keep me going through the despair and the loneliness and I fear what will happen to me when I lose them completely.

 

               But part of me wants to let go. Maybe if I start to forget the good times then the bad times will fade away too. Maybe I will truly become Anne, with no history apart from that I make for myself. I like that idea, that I can change the past. It can be whatever I want it to be. Anne could have had two parents that love each other and never split up. Anne could have had a normal boyfriend, who took her for walks in the sunshine, or made love to her during long languid nights of passion. Anne could have had an adolescence free from vampires and demons and darkness.

 

               I’m afraid though, I’m afraid that if I let go of Angel I’ll lose him forever. I’m scared that he’ll die in my heart as well as my reality. And I don’t to lose him. I love him. I want him with me forever. And my friends, I don’t want to forget them either, because they are still the only ones I have. Anne’s past may be filled with many tales of loyalty and friendship, but her present is lonely. And I’m not sure that I can cast away the people who loved me in the past, because then I’ll be completely one my own. And I can’t face that.

 

               Quite honestly, it’s not the dreams or the memories I fear, it’s their cessation. Because, once they’re gone then it’ll mean Buffy’s gone too, and I’m not ready to say goodbye to her just yet.

 

* * * * *

 

“And still I dreamed he’d come to me,

That we would live the years together.

But there are dreams that cannot be,

And there are storms we cannot weather.”

 

* * * * *

 

               The next night after work, Julia asks me if I’d like to come out with her and a few friends. Things were a little awkward between us for a while after our aborted conversation in the diner that day, but they soon returned to their usual light camaraderie. I still get the sense Julia has made me her pet project, through, which I resent slightly. My problems are nobody’s business but my own and I don’t need anyone poking their nose in trying to save me from myself. After all, what right has she to judge me when she is in exactly the same situation as I am? She works in the same crappy job as I do and her apartment is no better than mine. Shouldn’t she be sorting out her own life before interfering with mine?

 

A little voice in the back of my head suggests that maybe all she is trying to do is stop my fate becoming what hers already is, but I quickly silence it. I am not in the mood to listen to reason. Neither am I in the mood to go back to my empty apartment and stare at the walls for hours, until sleep finally overtakes me and the nightmares intrude once more.

 

So, I agree to her plans and we arrange to meet in a bar downtown. I go home and eat the smallest of suppers – a few mouthfuls of canned soup are all I can keep down without the nausea overcoming me. Then I change into my all black outfit and twist my hair up in a messy knot. I am strangely nervous about going out amongst real people again. For the past two months the only company I’ve experienced has been my own and that of the dreams. So socialising with others again will come as a welcome, if not a little anxiety producing, change. It will also be my first chance to really test out my new Anne persona.

 

My stomach lurches slightly at this thought. What if Julia’s friends ask me all these questions about myself that I can’t answer? Like where I grew up, or how I came to be living in LA. I can’t just walk out on them like I did to Julia. I have to learn to adjust, to talk to people again, if I want a proper chance of a new life. But do I really want a new life? Or do I just want rid of the old one?

 

I arrive early at the bar and sit quietly nursing a glass of diet coke. As the minutes drag slowly by I become more and more apprehensive about the meeting. Just as I convince myself this is a bad idea and start to bolt towards the door, Julia appears with two guys in tow. They are both around 25 years old and quite good-looking. Julia has her arm around the waist of one of them and he whispers something in her ear. I freeze in my tracks. Somehow, when Julia had mentioned meeting some friends of hers I’d assumed she meant girlfriends, rather than what could only be construed as a double date type scenario. I sink deeper into my chair, hoping I won’t be spotted, the desire to escape soaring to new heights. But Julia has already seen me, she smiles and waves and I have no choice but to stay where I am.

 

Julia’s boyfriend is named Michael and his friend, with the slightly mussed blonde hair and the piercing blue eyes, is called Daniel. Dan offers to buy me a drink and I hesitate, staring down at the last mouthful of cola in my glass. What would Anne say? Anne is twenty-one, she isn’t afraid of strange men with faded jeans and cute smiles. She doesn’t have a mother who would literally tear her limb from limb if she knew Anne were sitting in a bar accepting the offer of a drink from a guy she’s only just met. Anne hasn’t had her innocence stolen and her confidence shattered, she still seizes chances in life and she still takes risks. She is still able to have fun.

 

I nod shyly, forcing myself to punctuate the exchange with a smile and a word of thanks. Dan comes back with vodka shots for each of us. I study the clear liquid warily; unsure as to whether I should be doing this. But the others have already downed theirs and are looking expectantly at me. I lift the glass up to my lips and tip its entire contents into my mouth at once. I choke as the burning liquid hits the back of my throat and my eyes begin to water. Dan pats my back reassuringly, but his eyes dance with laughter. Julia just looks concerned and I blush furiously.

 

Already the warm glow from the alcohol is beginning to suffuse my body and it takes the edge of my inhibitions. Suddenly I want to prove to them that I’m not just a little girl who’s never tasted vodka before. I want to be Anne, sophisticated, mature and cosmopolitan, Anne. So, when the next shot comes I down that as well, this time taking more care with the liquor, holding it in my mouth for a few seconds before calmly swallowing. I feel lighter already and further away from the dreams. They cannot touch me here where there is only Anne and no Buffy. The situation – the guys, the bar, the alcohol – is so far away from anything that Buffy would have done that she begins to slip away and I am free of her.

 

The vodka keeps appearing in front of me and I keep drinking it, the burning becoming reduced as my mouth acclimatises itself to the foreign taste. I find myself remembering less and less of what went before and concentrating only on this moment, this now. Michael and Dan tell jokes and I find them hilariously funny, laughing for the first time in months. I actually feel happy and relaxed – it is amazing, I had forgotten what those emotions even felt like. I try to thank Julia for arranging the evening, but I can’t seem to form the words. All that comes out is a string of giggles.

 

We move on to a club and Dan leads me out on to the dance floor. He holds me up in his strong arms and I feel so safe, so protected, like someone is finally supporting me after I’ve been alone for so long. But the feeling doesn’t last for long as the pounding music and the flashing lights start to make my head spin. I collapse against Dan, mumbling something about not feeling well. He half-drags, half-carries me outside and we sit down on the edge of the kerb together, the cool night air beginning to clear my head and alleviate my nausea.

 

He asks me if I’m feeling better and I say yes. Then his hand strays over to my thigh and rests there. I look down at it then back up at Dan, faintly shocked. The next thing I know, his lips are moving towards mine and he captures my mouth in a soft kiss. I am breathless when we break apart and I smile slightly, leaning in to kiss him again. But when my eyes meet his I see not clear blue orbs, but brown voids, tinged with gold. I jerk away slightly and study the face that now glares at me. It is Angelus, his mouth twisted up in a smirk, fangs showing slightly between his lips. I pull away, but Angelus grips my wrist, his face suddenly changing to its full demonic appearance.

 

“Get off me! Get away from me!” I scream, jerking my arm away from him and leaping up off the sidewalk. I back away, but he also stands and follows me.

 

“You shouldn’t be here.” I accuse hysterically. “I killed you!”

 

“You think you can forget me that easily?” Angelus taunts. “You think you can kill me and I’ll just leave?” He laughs, a coarse, harsh sound that cuts through my heart like a knife. “Well, you’re wrong. I promised you eternity, Lover, and I always keep my promises.”

 

“No!” I cry and launch myself at him, assaulting his face with my fists. He falls to the ground, almost immediately, under my attack and I drop back, staring down at the prone body. After a few moments Dan stares back up at me, blood pouring from his nose. Like the blood in my dreams. I gape at him in horror as the fog that had covered my brain slowly lifts. My stomach flip-flops and I turn away from him to vomit in the gutter, just as Julia and Michael rush out of the club and I hear her usually gentle voice raised in drunkenness and consternation.

 

“Oh my God, what happened?”

 

* * * * *

 

I sit crying in the bathroom of the club, tears I cannot control pouring down my cheeks, my body jerking as I rasp out each loud sob. I can only form two words and I repeat them endlessly.

 

“I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-”

 

All my fault. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…

 

               Julia is making meaningless shushing noises and stroking my hair, but I am barely even aware of her presence. I am just wrapped up in my own world, my own nightmares. Angelus was there – I know he was. And yet he wasn’t, he can’t have been. Angelus doesn’t even exist anymore. There is only Angel and he’s dead: gone to Hell where I sent him. God, I must be going mad, seeing things that aren’t there. What’s the matter with me?

 

               In a short while I cease crying and climb up off the floor in order to splash cold water on my reddened face. Julia watches me with a critical eye and when I have finished and turn back to her, she launches straight into her questioning.

 

               “What happened? Did you do that to Daniel?”

 

               I desperately try to think of some excuse, some plausible reason, but I can’t. “I thought…” I mumble. “I was confused… I made a mistake.”

 

               Fortunately Julia jumps to a conclusion of her own. “Did you think he was trying to take advantage of you?” I merely hang my head in response to her statement and she accepts that as an affirmative answer. “Oh, Anne…” She hugs me tightly and it is all I can do not to lean into her embrace. But I pull away. I don’t deserve this comfort. Look what I did – I drew more blood.

 

               “You understand that Daniel would never do anything like that, don’t you?” Julia asked softly.

 

               I stare at her though confused eyes, blurred with tears. I don’t know what to say, how to respond. I don’t even remember exactly what happened. I just remember pulling away from the kiss to see Angelus’ face taunting me. I remember his harsh words and his grip tight on my wrist. And I remember months ago being slammed up against the wall in a similar kiss, Angelus’ mouth hard on mine, my body limp and yielding, pressed against his.

 

               “A-are you saying I led him on?” I choke out, not entirely sure to what ‘him’ I am referring. “Do you think I encouraged him, that I caused this?” I collapse back against the wall, fighting back sobs once more. Everything seems so unreal. Am I awake or am I dreaming? Or am I doing both?

 

               “Anne?” Julia asks in a concerned voice. “Has something like this happened to you before? Did somebody hurt you? A guy?”

 

               I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. “He loved me,” I mutter insensibly. “And I destroyed him. It wasn’t his fault. It was me – I did it to him…”

 

               I sink down to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees, rocking my body back and forth in time with my weeping. I continue to mumble incoherently, not sure whether it is the alcohol or the emotional distress causing me to do so. Julia just looks on in shocked silence, unsure of what to do as I keep shrugging off her comforting embrace. Finally when I have finished crying she walks me home and sees me safely tucked up in bed. I sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow and for once the dreams don’t come.

 

* * * * *

               The next day at work I try to avoid Julia as much as possible, but finally she corners me in the back room.

 

               “Are you all right, Anne?” She asks.

 

               My cheeks flame bright red, I feel awful this morning, not only because of the guilt and embarrassment from my actions, but also due to a hangover. My stomach aches and my head feels like it will split apart from the pain in it. I just want to curl up in a warm bed and never rise again.

 

               Just want to curl up and die…

 

               “I’m fine.” I lie. “I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” I turn away from her, refusing to meet her eyes. “Will you apologise to Dan for me. I really shouldn’t have…” I trail off as my voice begins to fail me. Julia places a warm hand on my back.

 

               “Anne, you should really tell me what’s going on.” She says. “You can’t deal with this on your own. I can help you.”

 

               I whirl around and flash her an intense, haunted glance. “Nobody can help me.” I tell her and sweep past her out into the kitchens where I grab the order for table six and carry it out to them. I feel the truth heavy in my heart. I am beyond help now. There is nothing anybody can do for me, except leave me alone to my nightmares.

 

               I walk automatically towards table six, without paying much attention to my surroundings. I am too lost in my own thoughts.

 

               “Breakfast special?” I ask in a bored voice.

 

               “Buffy?”

 

               I jerk in shock at the familiar and yet so unfamiliar use of my given name. One of the plates I was holding crashes to the floor, smashing in a mixture of fried eggs, beans, sausages and broken crockery, as I gaze into Oz’s startled eyes. The manager of the café looks up angrily.

 

               “Anne!” He shouts.

 

               “It’s all right, I’ll pay for it!” I stammer back.

 

               I put down the remaining plate, before my shaking hand drops that as well, and as I bring my hand back up from the table Oz grasps it.

 

               “Anne?” He asks questioningly.

 

               I extract my hand from his grip and back away from him, nervously. “I can’t do this now.” I say in a small voice.

 

               “Then when?” Oz responds with a quiet insistence.

 

               “How about never?” I reply shortly, turning away from him. He follows me, however, as I fetch a mop and bucket and start cleaning up the mess on the floor.

 

               “You can’t carry on like this anymore, Buffy.” He tells me.

 

               “Don’t call me that!” I hiss. “It’s Anne now. Buffy’s gone. I don’t want anything to do with her anymore. Please just leave me alone.”

 

               “No.” Oz replies. “I can’t do that. Everyone’s really worried about you, Buffy. Your Mom won’t even leave the house in case you call.”

 

               “She was the one that told me never to come back in the first place.” I answer bitterly then curse myself for letting the old memories and hurts intrude. I was supposed to be forgetting that part of my life. I was supposed to be Anne…

 

               I finish clearing the floor and dump the mess of broken china and spoiled food into a large bin, Oz still trailing at my heels.

 

               “Please…” I beg him, tears springing once again to my eyes. I don’t need this. I don’t need a reminder of all that I left behind. I just want to get on with my life without all these complications, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to be possible.

 

               Oz just looks at me, determination and a slight sadness showing in his eyes.

 

               “OK,” I say. “I get a break in about half an hour. We can talk then”

 

               He nods and goes to sit back down with his friends, his eyes watching my every move for the next thirty minutes. When my break comes, I consider escaping out the back entrance of the restaurant, but I knew that if I did that then I’d never be able to come back. Oz would get straight on the phone to Giles and the whole gang would be here in three hours time. I didn’t have much time as it was. So, I grab my coat and bag, leave a message that I will be back in twenty and go to meet Oz.

 

               We walk the short distance to my favourite park and sit on a bench to watch the children feeding the ducks in the lake. I smile at the sight, wishing that I am one of them. Wishing for my innocence and naivety back. Wanting their promise of a future laid out before them in all its untouched glory.

 

               After a short while I turn to Oz.

 

               “What are you doing here?”

 

               He smiles slightly. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

 

               “I think your answer will be slightly easier to explain.” I say neutrally.

 

               “Alright.” He replies. “Me and the band were in LA for a gig. We’d pulled an all-nighter and were just getting some breakfast before heading back to the ‘Dale.”

 

               I nod. “And you just happened to walk into the same café where I was working?” I ask him sceptically.

 

               “Must have been meant to happen.” Oz shrugged.

 

               I laughed bitterly. A victim of fate once again. Why couldn’t my destiny just leave me alone?

 

               “So, your turn.” Oz prompted. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

 

               I gaze straight past him, back towards the children playing. This is my chance to tell someone, to unburden my soul, to maybe escape this Hell I’ve been living and go back to some semblance of a normal life. But how can I go back? How can I return to being the person I was when I’ve changed so much? You can’t recapture innocence and I can’t go back to being one of those children with a bright future. For once I have chosen my path, instead of it choosing me, and now I must stick with that choice.

 

               “I won’t go back, Oz.” My voice carries a hard edge. “I can’t and I won’t. There’s nothing left for me anymore.”

 

               “What about your friends, your family? People miss you, Buffy – they love you. And you’re just running away from them.”

 

               “They don’t love me, they love her.” I tell him.

 

               “I don’t understand.” Oz looks confused as I get up to leave.

 

               “I’m not Buffy.” I say coldly. “You’ve made a mistake. I’m not your friend. Now leave me alone.”

 

               I head back towards the café, but change my mind at the last minute. I hated the job, anyway, and there’s no way I can stay in LA now. I was stupid to think I could – it’s just too close to Sunnydale, I was bound to be spotted sometime or other. I check my watch. It is half past nine in the morning. All I have to do is tie up a few loose ends then I can be out of town by nightfall. I hope that will be soon enough. People at the restaurant have my address and they might give it out to concerned friends if they are persistent enough. And they will be persistent. I stride past the entrance to my place of work, bidding it a silent and thankful goodbye, then hurry home to my apartment, mentally listing things that need to be done.

 

* * * * *

 

“I had a dream my life would be,

So different from this Hell I’m living.

So different now from what it seemed,

Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.”

 

* * * * *

 

               I zip closed the holdall containing my few meagre belongings and survey the empty apartment. It looks no less lived in now I have vacated it, than it did when I was staying here. My first place away from home, I think sadly. And I shall be glad to see the back of it. I was never happy here, but maybe I will be somewhere else. Leaving this place marks a new phase in my existence, perhaps even more than leaving Sunnydale did. I accept now that I have become transient – always moving on to some new place, always chasing that dream.

 

               Or am I running away from it?

 

               I called up the café and explained that I would not be coming back. My announcement was greeted by a string of expletives, some if which I have never even heard before. I put the phone down quickly, shocked but uncaring. So what if I have let someone down? I will never see them again. I am solitary now, relying on no one and with no one relying on me. It is better that way, safer. I can’t hurt anyone and neither can they hurt me. I will be independent, self-reliant, confident… Lonely.

 

               But whatever lies in store for me now, good or bad, I will have to face it anyhow. I can’t go back to who I was, so I have to go forward. I have to tread this path, because it is the only one left to me. I don’t think about the future or the past. I think only of the present, of what I am doing at this exact minute. I realised long ago that life is a series of moments; only then I saw the moments as part of a bigger picture, each weaving into each other to build up the tapestry of our existence. Now I take each moment as it comes, unravelling the threads, because I don’t want to see the picture – it was never a good likeness of me, anyway.

 

               I quickly check over the small room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything, then I drop the keys off with the building superintendent and slip out into the night. I am determined to disappear without being noticed, to fade away like the shadow of a person I am. That is my goal from now on, to be unnoticed, to impact as little as possible on people’s lives, so that when I leave them or they leave me it doesn’t matter. I want to be able to quickly forget and be forgotten. But as I am stealing out of the front entrance of my apartment building, I run straight into a familiar figure and consider that perhaps my stealthy retreat still needs a little work.

 

               “Julia.” I sigh exasperatedly. “I can’t talk now, I have to go.” I start to walk away.

 

               “Wait, Buffy!” She cries. “You can’t just run away again like this.”

 

               I whirl back around to face her. “What did you just call me?”

 

               “Buffy.” She answers. “That is your name, right?”

 

               I refuse to reply to her question. I am a shadow; I don’t have a name. I am the figure that exists in the periphery of people’s vision. I am the stranger you never get to know. I am not even Anne anymore. Even that identity was destroyed for me.

 

               “You’re friends came looking for you today.” Julia continues. “They sounded worried about you, wanted to know where to find you.”

 

               “Did you tell them?” I ask anxiously, looking up and down the street, half-expecting to see the flash of Willow’s red hair or Giles’ disapproving glare.

 

               Julia shakes her head. “I held off saying anything. I figured there had to be a reason you ran away.” She pauses. “Well?” She asks finally, “aren’t you going to tell me now.”

 

               “There’s nothing to tell.” I reply. “And anyway, I’m leaving.”

 

               “Where are you going?”

 

               “I don’t know.” I tell her truthfully.

 

               “And even if you did know you wouldn’t tell me, right?” Julia says bitterly.

 

               I move to walk away from her then turn back again. “Thank you.” I smile warmly at her. “Thank you for caring.” I pause briefly, thinking for a second. “If you see my friends again, tell them…tell them I’m sorry.”

 

               With that I really do walk away, leaving Anne and Los Angeles behind me.

 

* * * * *

 

               I am running through the sewers, my pounding feet splash in the ankle deep filth, spattering droplets of the mucky water all over my clothes and skin. But I don’t care. I don’t notice the dirt or the stench or the dank darkness. My mind is focused on one thing and one thing only. Angel.

 

               I have to find him. I have to track him down in this labyrinth of tunnels. But, I realise as I glance back over my shoulder, I am also running from him. I run to escape his pursuit, but I cannot stop running until I catch him myself. We chase each other round and around in circles, the hunter and the hunted, the predator and the prey. Each one of us both, and yet, neither.

              

               The logic of it all eludes me. I have been running forever and I stopped trying to figure out why a long time ago. All I know is that I must keep going, it is an eternal truth that sings in my veins. My breathing is laboured, my heart hammers wildly in my chest and my muscles ache with the effort but I don’t stop and rest. I can’t stop, if I do he’ll catch me, or I’ll lose track of him, or… I don’t know. I am confused, all I am certain of is the flight, the chase, the endless need to keep going…

 

               I round a corner and see the flash of a familiar figure in front of me. He is here. Leather coat tails billow out behind him briefly, then they are gone. I redouble my efforts, running faster, pushing my body harder. I use the last of my breath to scream his name and it echoes eerily back off the blank brick walls.

 

               Angel… Angel… Angel…

 

                    Then the sound fades away and the nothingness returns. Empty silence broken only by the pounding of my feet and the drumming of my heart. The sewer tunnels widen and open out into a large cavern. The floor is dry and the walls are rough-hewn stone. In the centre of the chamber there is a large wooden cross and hanging from it – his face twisted in agony – is the object of my search, my love, my Angel.

 

               I stop (dead).

 

               I walk towards him slowly, his presence drawing me ever closer.

 

               “You shouldn’t be here.” He says in a strangled voice.

 

               “Where I am I supposed to be except at the side of my soul mate?” I ask.

 

               “You should go back.” He tells me. “You don’t belong here.”

 

               “I belong with you.”

 

               “Go!” He orders emotionally, glancing furtively around him. “Go, before they start to torment you too.”

 

               I follow his gaze and see that the space is full of shadowy figures, ghosts of the same creatures that have been haunting my dreams. Faceless victims covered in their own blood, now out for the revenge they are owed. Angel is protecting me from them at the moment, but he does not have the strength to do so for much longer.

 

               “I won’t leave without you.” I tell him, tears burning my eyes.

 

               “You have to.” He hisses. “It’s not safe for you here.”

 

               “It’s not safe for you either.”

 

               “I deserve it all.” He answers blankly. “This is my punishment. God knows, I’ve done enough to earn it.”

 

               “What about me?” I ask. “What did I do to deserve this? All I did was love you.”

 

               Angel shakes his head, blood tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. “Just forget about me, please.” He implores.

 

               “I can’t.” I sob, my panic rising as the ghostly figures take more solid, lifelike forms and their blood pours from them, streaming towards us in dark red rivers across the dirt floor. “I can’t stop loving you and I can’t leave. Fight this, Angel – for me. I need you.”

 

               He hangs his head, the tears streaming down his face now. “I’m not strong enough.” He mumbles.

 

               “No!” I cry. “I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you suffer here alone because of me. Either you come back or we stay here in Hell together forever.”

 

               He does not reply and I drop to my knees, weeping. The blood begins to pool around me, soaking into my clothes and matting my hair. The screams begin loud and long, their intensity enough to pierce my eardrums had the normal rules of physics applied here. I cover my ears with my hands and squeeze my eyes tightly shut (hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil) but still it is not enough to keep the horrors out.

 

               The blood catches alight, burning more ferociously than any accelerant. The flames form a circle, surrounding Angel and I, drawing ever closer to us. I feel the heat a short distance away, already strong enough to make my blood boil. Then the fire envelops me. My clothes quickly burn to ashes and I am left aware of only the searing flames on my naked skin. The pain is greater than any I have ever experienced before. It fills my every sense. I seem to see the pain, to taste it and smell it as well as feeling it twist at my every nerve ending. I hear Angel roar in agony and open my mouth to allow my screams of pain to merge with the thousands of others still reverberating through the cavern.

 

               The thought of escape never even crosses my mind. I condemned Angel to an eternity of Hell, thus it is only fair that I should be there to share it with him.

 

* * * * *

 

               I awake to the sounds of my own screams in my ears. My skin still tingles from the recent sensation of being burnt and I check my arms for scars, almost surprised to find none. Memories from the dream rush vividly through my mind and I curl tightly up into a ball. It had all seemed so real, like I was really there with him, like I was actually talking to Angel. But I know that it wasn’t true, that it was just my subconscious playing tricks on me. Angel is dead. I killed him. And now I have to stop seeing him around every corner.

 

               I almost laugh at this thought. It is rather hypocritical of me to tell myself to get over Angel considering my present location. I am lying on his bed, in the mansion, wrapped in one of his shirts. That, although last worn by Angelus, still carries his scent, sweet and earthy. The place still holds so much evidence of his presence. Possessions scattered about, books with pages still marked that would now never be read, discarded items of clothing and half-drawn sketches. It is all covered in dust now. Abandoned, unloved. Nobody lives here anymore. The sketches will never be finished, the details filled in and their subjects revealed. The fire that once burnt in the grate will never be re-ignited.

 

               My decision to come to Sunnydale was born out of practicality as well as perversity. My former hometown was the first destination I could catch a bus to and I reasoned that none of my friends would be looking for me here. They will all be too busy scouring the streets of LA for me – they would never consider the possibility that I might come back here, not after I’d put so much effort into avoiding the place. 

 

               There is also another, more personal, reason for coming. I want to say goodbye. I’d left so abruptly that I never got a chance to do that before. So, I am here now, walking through the empty rooms of the mansion, thinking of all the things I will shortly be leaving behind forever. And most of all I remember Angel. I think of the kisses and the words of love we used to share. I imagine feeling his arms around me again and I recall the look on his face when he suffered my ultimate betrayal. I hug his shirt close to me, inhaling its scent and I cry for everything I have done and everything I have lost.

 

               My broken heart pulls me in the direction of the room where it happened. The place where I sent Angel to Hell. I gather together the last vestiges of strength that I have and gingerly push open the door. I gasp when I see the sight that greets me. A large burn mark covers the floor and in the centre of it I see a flash of silver. I advance into the room to investigate further. The silver glint turns out to be my Claddagh ring. I gaze at it in wonderment. I thought I had lost it months ago. As I slip the ring onto my finger I hear a small sound coming from the other side of the room. I glance upwards, gradually allowing my eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.

 

               In the corner of the room I see a hunched up figure. Its bare skin glows palely in the dim light and its large form is curled up into as small a position as possible. I take a few tentative steps towards it – him – almost afraid to breathe. Afraid that what I was seeing wasn’t real. Afraid that it was. Dark, confused, haunted eyes, red-rimmed and dewed over with tears look up at me. My heart leaps up into my mouth.

 

               “Buffy…?” Angel speaks my name in a hoarse, throaty whisper.

 

               I stare at him for a long time. It is a trick. It is my mind running away with me again. The visions are beginning to intrude into reality, like they did on that night when I saw Angelus outside the club. I thought I was going crazy then and now I realise I was right. This is not Angel in front of me. This is just my imagination taunting me. Angel is gone. He is in Hell. I should know – I sent him there.

 

               I blink a few times and still the vision persists. I turn and run out of the room in horror, silent tears running down my face. I have to get out of here. I have to leave this place, this town, these memories, before they drive me completely over the edge. I must go, I’ve got to keep moving or else the nightmares will catch me. Like today, like they did in LA. Whatever I do, I can’t stop running.

 

               I grab my bag with a shaking hand and dash out of the mansion, towards the bus station, ignoring the looks of concerned passers by. I scurry away down Crawford Street and I don’t look back. I am leaving nothing behind but hurt and pain.

 

               Farewell, Buffy Anne Summers. May you rest in peace.

 

Chapter Two