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Part Six
Joyce Summers awoke with a gasp. She was lying on an unfamiliar bed, her hands and feet tied tightly — but not as tightly as they’d been tied in the past. For that matter, her mouth had a gag on it. The room was darkened, the only light available coming from the door crack to the hallway.
Hallway? Where was she?
And who’d brought her — oh my God.
That voice. She’d recognized that voice. It had been TED! But Buffy’d driven him off …
Once Joyce found out her daughter was the Slayer, for a few minutes she’d feared that Buffy had killed Ted. Then, thinking about what the man had done to the both of them — and what it might mean if he ever decided to come back — she feared that Buffy HADN’T killed him. And it seemed as though that fear was being realized.
She looked around. Of course, since the room was dark, she couldn’t tell if there were any Ted-sized shapes moving around in the shadows. Carefully listening for the sound of breathing other than her own, she heard nothing and assumed she was safe.
But as Joyce began removing her gag, the light flicked on and a pair of very strong hands reached out to encircle hers. “You know, Joycey,” Ted said, “in my day women never spoke until they were spoken to. I think that’s the first lesson you’re going to learn.” And without warning he slapped her hard across the face. Twice.
It took every ounce of self-control she had, but she wasn’t about to give this psychotic the satisfaction of crying out. “Good,” he said. “You’re learning.” He walked around the bed and leaned down over her. “You know, Joycey,” he began. “I chose you to be my wife because I thought you had potential. I mean, you already knew how to do most of the things a real woman should. All I needed to do was separate you from that daughter of yours — a real bad seed, that, but she’s not a problem anymore, is she? At least, she won’t come between you and me …”
Joyce would sooner kill herself than do anything Ted wanted her to do. If it came to that, she’d do it, too — but it didn’t look like she was ever going to get the chance.
On the other hand, he couldn’t keep her in this hotel room forever …
… could he?
No. Best not to think on that possibility at all.
While Joyce had been thinking, Ted kept talking. Joyce only half-paid attention to what he was saying but did her best to keep the wide-eyed look of horror on her face. She sat up partially, flipping her legs off the end of the bed, and while Ted eyed her suspiciously she just sagged and cowered as best she could. He kept speaking.
“ … ah, it’s a great world, isn’t it, Joycey? I mean, just LOOK at it out there.” He threw open the curtains leading to the balcony and opened the sliding doors. Joyce looked through them and, from the lights and the signs in the background, guessed that they were on the third floor. It bugged her that she couldn’t figure out what hotel they were in — it wasn’t like Sunnydale drew in the tourist or convention crowd and NEEDED a lot of hotels — but maybe that wasn’t important at the moment. Ted was caught up in the rapture of their upcoming life together, and wasn’t really paying attention to her at all. But Ted was a controller, and like a lot of controlling types, he was arrogant.
Ted continued, “And this time I won’t make the mistakes I did last time. First thing we do is get out of Sunnydale and that superhumanly strong daughter of yours —” You don’t know the half of it, you arrogant bastard! Quietly taking a few deep breaths — quietly, so that Ted wouldn’t hear her, and turn around —she shifted position and drew her feet down to the hotel room floor.
“… halfway tempted to find your daughter and beat my revenge out of her, but that wouldn’t fit into Ethan Rayne’s little plan —” he turned around to come in. Now was as good a time as any. Joyce pushed off the floor and threw herself as hard as she could into Ted. She hoped to lock the balcony door and somehow get out of the room.
What happened horrified her. He went sprawling backwards, and as Joyce reached for the latch he tumbled over the balcony rail. Quickly she undid the gag, and then reached down and — ignoring the pain in her legs — untied her feet. Then she went out and looked down into the hotel parking lot …
… and what happened next horrified her even more. Ted was getting to his feet … with WIRES coming out of his head!
Joyce turned around and ran.
* * *
Faith got to the hotel where Ethan Rayne had been spotted and began looking around. Dude was not defenseless, so definitely got to go the sneaking route. She crept around to the fire door and was about to pry it open when she saw a body plummet to the ground … and then stand up with wires protruding.
Whoa, hold it. Wires? Geez, what was this, old home week for Buffy’s enemies or something? That couldn’t be anyone but the long-since-thought-ripped-to-tiny-pieces Ted Buchanan, who’d nearly killed both B and her mom. Good thing she hadn’t, too, because now she could take the bitch down herself.
Anyway, robot here, so why not seize the moment and try to get a few answers out of him? She ran across the parking lot and confronted the, um, guy, though real hard to take serious with wires coming out of his face.
“Excuse me, little girl,” he said harshly. “There’s a woman up there who needs some serious discipline.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll let you at her once you answer a few things. How many of you old enemies of the Buffster did Ethan bring to town, and what do you all plan to do?”
“What business is it of yours?” he said, and tried to walk around her.
Faith grabbed Ted’s arm and brought him to a halt. “I work for a guy who isn’t interested in a big showy display of out-of-town talent and power about now. So is this a get-in-and-get-out kind of job, or are you here for the long haul? Tell me everything.”
He pulled out of her grip — surprisingly strong, shoulda remembered what B’d said about his muscles. “Still none of your business, little lady. In my day —”
Faith wasn’t interested in a speech about the values of the ’50s. Far as she was concerned the only good thing to come out of the ’50s was the leather jacket. She grabbed back onto Ted’s arm, and the next thing she knew she was sliding ass-backwards on the gravel of the hotel parking lot.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I was waiting for you to do that.” It’d be a different kind of fight, but hey, she was up for it! She was a Slayer!
Only thing she’d have to make sure of … is that the dude could talk once she was done. Otherwise she’d be pounding the crap out of him just for the exercise.
Not that that wasn’t fun, too …
So, hey, let the fun begin!
* * *
Wesley Wyndham-Price was in fairly good shape — one could not be a Watcher without meeting certain physical requirements, and he had more than passed every single one of them — but he was built more for distance than speed. He rounded the corner Willow had just disappeared around and saw her walking towards a car out on the main road. He shouted out her name again, but again got no reaction. The person in the front seat — he couldn’t make out any details at all, really, at this distance, but he noted the car as a small silver sedan, an American model definitely. There was no way he could possibly catch up to her now, and running after the car would be rather an exercise in pointless futility.
However. He had his own automobile, even now parked in the students’ parking lot. Mr. Giles HAD grudgingly consented to provide him with a student parking sticker so that he would not have to continue feeding quarters into a parking meter. Keeping one eye on the car as Willow crawled into the back, Wesley ran for his own. An interminable thirty seconds later — a good fifteen spent with the car out of sight and slowly pulling away — the Watcher pulled his own automobile out onto the main road.
The gray car was nowhere in sight.
Alright then, no time to panic. This was NO TIME TO panic! Wesley put his foot on the gas and sped towards the side streets, hit the brakes, looked down, and moved on. He was rather proud of his ability to drive on American roads, something his predecessor had apparently had the devil’s own time doing.
Finally, he saw the silver car under a streetlight a distance down Onion Boulevard. He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned onto the road, then wondered what the bloody hell he was going to do next. His long and thorough training as a Watcher had not covered surveillance techniques. He settled for trailing the car at what he hoped was a discreet distance. Fortunately, there was some other traffic on the streets of Sunnydale at this time of night, so he didn’t look completely conspicious … or at least he hoped he didn’t.
But the driver of the silver car, whoever it was, didn’t suddenly begin tearing off like a character from an action movie, and the auto didn’t vanish from his sight for more than a few seconds at a time. As he drove along, he began to wonder what he’d do when he finally confronted Willow’s abductor. Odds are it wasn’t a vampire or demon, but that didn’t mean he could necessarily take it easy, either. He’d learned a modicum of humility in this town, where there had been all kinds of monsters masquerading as human beings, and an equal number who actually were humans, many of whom could quite readily take him in a fair fight.
Should be back off once he discovered the locale and wait for assistance?
But who knew how long that would be in coming? And while he would have no compunction about sacrificing someone in a good cause, THIS WASN’T IT.
Ultimately, the silver car came to a halt by an abandoned warehouse, unfamiliar to Wesley. He pulled up fifty feet away and waited. Then out came the driver — a rather short person, probably female, and not very physically imposing, though of course that meant nothing here in Sunnydale.
She barked something at Willow and the young witch screamed, a scream of shock, not of terror.
Then the driver pulled a gun and they both walked inside the warehouse.
Tentatively, cautiously, he began following them.
* * *
Willow stretched as she woke up from a comfy nap, with someone yelling at her.
What was she doing in the back of a car?
Then the memory of being hypnotized hit her as the car door sprang open and a familiar voice barked, “Okay, little pagan, out of the car.”
Willow looked up at the face connected to the voice and yelled involuntarily.
It was —
It was —
It was ANYA!