Face The Strange - Chapter 6/11: Normalization Of Deviance free porn video

FACE THE STRANGE by Crazy Baron Chapter 6: Normalization of Deviance "He's there now," I spoke in Faith's ear, just loudly enough so she could hear me over the music in the nightclub, and pointed her mark out to her as unobtrusively as I could. Bucko, blissfully unaware of what we had planned for him, had made his way into the Rock Room and was standing alone, looking characteristically cloddish and scanning the crowd for his date. "Where?" she inquired. "Over there! By that column, on the other side of the dance floor." "Alright," she said as she detected him as well, and her lips drew into a salacious smirk. "I'll take it from here." "Good luck, Faith." "Thanks!" I stood up with my drink and scurried to another, unoccupied table that was not adjacent to Faith's but within visual range nonetheless. Our plan called for me to monitor the situation and then follow Faith to the nearby motel where she had booked a room for herself and Bucko so I could give her a hand, but I was not to interfere, unless something disastrous happened. She waved to him across the room, and in a few moments, Bucko Griffin arrived at her table, having taken a shortcut and almost tripped over the low step that led from the sunken dance floor to the rest of the room. He sat down and shook hands with Faith, who apparently took over the responsibility of keeping up the conversation. She was talking to him in a lively and flirty manner, and he was saying something in response, but they were too far away and the music was much too loud for me to make out any words. Bucko had remained a gawky and bony teenager, although he was fast approaching his high school graduation, and his movements had a tendency to be clumsy, like those of a boy who has just passed his final growth spurt. Nonetheless, he exhibited an extra measure of physical awkwardness tonight, I observed. He was extremely nervous, moderately drunk or probably both already. "Hi!" a male voice hailed me, giving me a start. I swiveled around in my seat at lightning speed, fully expecting to see a vampire preparing to bite me or a demon poised to attack. "Hi there," he repeated. The source of the voice was standing behind me, and it turned out to be a neatly dressed man of perhaps 30. He had short, dark hair, and bristly stubble covered his chiseled chin. Inside his clothes--dark trousers and a plaid blue and white shirt with two topmost buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up--was a trim, healthy body, I surmised immediately. He was holding a beer in his hand. "Uh, hi yourself," I managed to reply and added a goofy smile, not knowing what else to do or say. "I saw you around and thought I'd come over and talk for a bit, if you don't mind," he continued. He gave off an air of friendliness and openness, but I could sense that he was also very confident in himself and had no problem chatting up any woman whom he found interesting. "I don't think I've seen you here before. Are you from these parts, or...?" "'Passing through' is more like it," I said and smiled again. It dawned on me that he probably interpreted my fidgeting and uneasiness as a feminine invitation to come on to me but I was unable to pull myself together. "I'm with a friend of mine, and, um, she suggested that we should go out. Check out the nightlife of Chesterton." "You've found it, what little there is," he quipped with a smile of his own and a chuckle. "This is where it's at when you're in Chesterton. So, how do you like it?" "Like what?" "The nightlife," the man said with another polite laugh. "Oh, right," I said and followed his example. "It's... fun." "That was sort of terse," he remarked. "You don't have to be polite with me. I'm not that sensitive when it comes to people pointing out this place isn't exactly a busy big city. By the way, what's your name? I'm Chad." "Pleased to meet you, Chad," I said. "I'm Jen." "Okay, Jen. Any last name?" "Just Jen." "Nice to meet you, Just Jen," he said, and we shook hands in a touch of mock formality. "So, you and your friend--how long will you guys be staying?" "Not very long. We'll be on our way to... um, see her parents and relatives... tomorrow or the day after that." "Oh, that's too bad. I could've shown you around town, you know, take you to see all the major tourist attractions. There's the water tower, the church, the Bachmans' chicken coop, the waste processing plant..." I rewarded his joke with genuine laughter. "Jeez! I'll be missing out on a lot!" "Yeah. I really think you and your friend should consider spending another day or two here." The single most impressive feature about Chad were his eyes. They were olive green, not overly large but very bright and attentive. When he looked straight at me, their gaze was scrutinizing, as though he were trying to find out everything he could and shed light on my secrets, but at the same time, there was nothing threatening or intrusive in them. I soon caught myself staring at him and those eyes in a semi-mesmerized, dreamy state. "What do you do, Jen?" he asked. "If I had to guess, I'd say you're a college sophomore. You major in... economics. That, or journalism. Was I even close?" "Pretty close." "What college do you go to?" "I'm... Well, actually I'm sort of taking a sabbatical year at the moment, so technically I don't go anywhere." "When you get to a certain point in your life, it's often the right thing to do," he remarked. "Maybe you travel, get a temporary job, see the world outside your dorm room, spend time with your loved ones. The books will be there when you come back." "You're reading my mind." "And besides, I'm glad you're not going anywhere right now," he added, and we shared a little laugh. I had caught his drift and realized where our conversation could lead, but the thought didn't bother me. Chad seemed to be a jovial and self-assured man who was in tune with my sense of humor and personality. I enjoyed his company a lot. He took a big gulp of his beer and leaned sideways a little, allowing me to see the two neighboring tables behind him. To my consternation, Faith and Bucko were gone. They had made their exit without fanfare while I had been talking with Chad, and I had no idea whatsoever how much time had passed since they had left. The only thing I could do was to run after them. "I'm really sorry," I spoke up, "but I have to go. The girl who was at that table over there"--I gestured in the general direction of said table--"is the friend I was talking about, and, uh, I'm thinking she might be getting herself into some kind of trouble." Chad was instantly alert. "Do you need help?" he offered gallantly. "Because if she left with some creep who doesn't know how to treat a lady, me and my buddies will be happy to give you a hand." "No, no, nothing like that. It's more along the lines of me rescuing the poor guy," I explained and punctuated the sentence with a slightly strained laughter as I got up. "It was my pleasure, Chad. Maybe we'll see each other again at some point and then you can show me the water tower, the chicken farm and the rest." "That'd be great," the man said and smiled, but with a hint of disappointment and sadness in his eyes. "It was nice talking to you, Just Jen." I smiled back at him, equally if not more disappointed. "Right back at you, Just Chad. See you around." I headed for the lobby and the coat check in a hurry, exchanged the plastic token for my leather jacket and went out of the main door. The bouncers opened it for me and one of them wished me good night in a colorless voice that expressed well how indifferent the man was towards the customers. Curbing the desire to air a prickly comment on their manners or lack thereof (one such barb had once landed Scott and me in minor difficulties with them), I marched past them and into the cold night, took a detour around a bunch of merrily intoxicated partygoers talking and smoking in the front of the nightclub and crossed the street, bound for the motel where Faith had taken Bucko. The motel was past its prime, and the same applied to the old man behind the reception desk. A superficially unremarkable individual approaching retirement age, clad in a brown sweater vest, a white shirt and a black tie, he had a potbelly and a large round head with an extensive bald spot at the top and long silvery hair growing around it. A voluminous mustache, identical in color to his remaining hair, covered every bit of skin between his massive nose and his upper lip. His eyes looked at me somewhat wearily but inquisitively from beneath his heavy, drooping eyelids and through the thick lenses of his brown-rimmed glasses. "Evening," he called out to me, to my dismay. I had hoped to be able to slip past him and into Faith's room without being asked difficult questions. "Uh, hello," I replied. "I was supposed to meet my friend here. She's booked a room, and she called me just---" "What's her name, Miss?" the receptionist asked. "Ellie Jameson," I responded. This was Faith's alias for our operation, and mine was, in full, "Jennifer Gleaves"; the forged IDs had these names printed on them. Even though I had duly memorized both, I was still at a loss for a second and had to stop myself from blurting out any of Faith's actual names. "A brunette, around twenty?" "Yep, that's her." The receptionist held me in his gaze, and I felt distinctly uncomfortable, regardless of how inoffensive and harmless he otherwise seemed to be. "She went to her room with a man. Number 221. It's up those stairs and turn left. If you want my advice, though, I wouldn't disturb them." "Thank you," I said and took off in the direction he had given me. The stairs led to a dimly lit corridor with a row of doors on each side. Room 221 was the second on the left, as dictated by whatever logic the owner of the hotel subscribed to, and I stopped in front of it, wondering if I should call Faith on her cell first or simply knock. However, before I had the chance to try either option, my ears picked up sounds coming from the room through the door. The moans, cries and grunts, combined with the rhythmic creaking of a bed, left very little to imagination. I cursed under my breath and glanced at the clock on the staircase wall. It showed 10:22. I decided to give them 15 minutes, and then I'd knock on the door, whether Faith and Bucko were done in there or not. I spent the quarter of an hour pacing skittishly back and forth in the corridor, all the while hoping that no one else would come and peeking at the clock every now and then. The minute hand was moving so ridiculously slowly that I began to doubt if the timepiece was actually working. At long last, however, it had crawled to 10:37. I pressed my ear against the door and held my breath. As far as I could tell, the room was silent, and so I rapped my knuckles on the wood after hesitating for another couple of seconds. Nothing happened at first, and I was about to knock again when the lock rattled and the door opened. A sweaty Faith, with her cheeks flush and her brown hair disheveled, peeked out. She had no clothes on, aside from a blanket hastily wrapped around her waist. It left her shapely breasts bare. "Good," she said simply. "There you are. I was starting to wonder if you had skipped this party and run off with the dude." I stepped into the room. Faith pulled the door closed and let the blanket drop to the floor. She was a spectacle: her legs, bottom, breasts with their enticing red nipples, her flat belly, delicate neck, beautiful face and almost hairless crotch, and the musky scent of passion emanating from her--an incomparably attractive and seductive creature, if I had still been a man with male desires. She had just the right amount of curves to make her utterly womanly and desirable, and they perfectly concealed the superhuman physical power within. Even so, no erotic thoughts stirred in my mind, and I realized that I was only thinking back to Chad, and also Angel. To me, Faith was just another girl. As a matter of fact, I only wanted her to take the time to get dressed so we could leave for home. "Second base, you said," I reminded her. "That sounded more like a home run to me." She shrugged. "He was okay looking, so I thought, like, 'Hey, why not.' He and his penis are parting ways for good tonight, so he might as well put it to good use. Seemed only right to let him enjoy it one last time." "Wait a minute," I interjected. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't the plan to let him out of the skinsuit after the portal's closed?" "I see no need for that," she countered in a carefree tone. "He's destined be a total no-hoper with no meaningful future, right? What's he got to lose? Apart from his cock, that is, but it's a pretty minor detail. Tara won't be missing it." "That's not what we agreed on, Faith." "I'm improvising. Now, watch over him as he transforms and make sure he stays put. I'm gonna wash the jizz off of me and get my clothes on." From Faith's perspective, our problems were solved and the discussion was over. She marched into the bathroom and locked the door. A moment later, the shower was turned on behind the thin interior wall. Bucko Griffin was lying on his back on the double bed, atop a messy pile of bed sheets, pillows and a comforter. The Tara skinsuit was already on him. The features of the suit were stretched, which was especially visible on her face and chest. Tara's chin extended downwards, her nose seemed misshapen, and her navel was strangely elongated, along with the rest of the skin on her chest and stomach. The eyeholes and the lips of the suit were only roughly where they should have been. Bucko's own eyes were closed behind the mask, and he was completely still, apparently asleep. Then the changes began. The outer surface of the Tara skin took on a subdued sheen, and almost imperceptibly slowly it started to reshape itself and the body that it covered. Tiny bulges, crests and troughs appeared in the gelatinous, skin-colored mass, and gradually, moving only millimeters at a time, they traveled over the form of the woman-to- be, smoothing out the imperfections and inflating her breasts and hips. All the while her appearance retained a very close resemblance to Tara Maclay, or Amber Benson the actress as she had been when she had played Tara. The process looked as though it were merely a series of very fine adjustments, not a radical and total metamorphosis that entirely reconstructed its subject and rewrote his DNA. Bucko was a skinny young man, and so the skinsuit didn't have much excess bulk to remove, but otherwise the transformation was no less miraculous than any of the other ones I had seen or undergone myself. It was impossible for me to tell precisely when the skinsuit finished its task. The sheen disappeared slowly, and the little waves that had been carefully and gently modifying the shape of the person on the bed seemed to die out. The corner of her right eye shifted slightly, her legs twitched a little, her nipples reacted to the cool air by hardening--and Judson Griffin was no more. Instead of the blundering teenage boy, a peacefully sleeping Tara was now resting on the bed. She had an angelic look on her narrow, makeup- free face. The corners of her full lips were turned up by a tiny amount, giving me the impression that she was smiling in a happy dream. Her naked body was unquestionably very feminine, but her femininity and allure were subtly different from Faith's and mine. Tara appeared less trim overall, and her curves were, for the lack of a better term, softer and more filled out. She was the lovely girl next door whereas Faith was born to play the role of the predator of the night, both in personality and bodily form. The bathroom door flew open and Faith came out, still toweling herself. She had taken care not to get her hair wet. "How'd it go?" she asked me. "Fine, I guess," I said. "She seems to be done transforming." "Did she try to get up?" "No. Actually, I'm wondering if she's even conscious. How much did Bucko drink beforehand?" "I don't know. He was kinda drunk when I first saw him, but not really hammered, and he only fell asleep after I rode him. Anyway, that's not our concern. I'll get dressed, and then we'll dress her up and haul her into your car." That was easier said than done. Faith picked up her discarded clothing items from the floor and donned them quickly, but Tara posed a problem. Neither of us had thought to bring suitable women's clothes for her, so we had no choice but to pull Bucko's boxers, t-shirt, jeans, polo shirt, socks and shoes on her. Thankfully, she didn't resist actively--the only proof that she was indeed not entirely out cold was some incoherent mumbling and one feeble attempt to sit up--but forcing her limp body into the ill-fitting jeans was a chore nonetheless. As soon as Faith had made a final check to make sure that we hadn't left anything valuable or incriminating behind, we walked the brand new Tara Maclay out of the room and down the stairs together. Her eyes were partially open but glazed over, her legs were only barely supporting her weight and her head lolled back and forth torpidly on every step. I let out a long sigh when we reached the first floor landing without anyone falling down the stairs. The aging receptionist was still at work, and he aimed an intense stare at us the second we came into his view. His suspicion was palpable, and he was most likely only seconds away from calling the police. My nervousness returned at that instant, and I was desperately trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for the situation as we neared his desk. Faith, however, was made of sterner stuff. She put one of Tara's arms around my shoulders so I could keep her on her feet by myself and went to the desk, handing the room keys back to the receptionist. "Thanks a bunch," she said in a counterfeit casual tone. "I've got to go early. A change in plans." "If you want a refund," the old man began, "we---" "No, that's not necessary," Faith interrupted him. "Keep the bread. Plenty more where that came from." "Thank you," he said slowly and tentatively, looking at Faith over the rim of his glasses. "Okay, so that's settled. We'll split now. Good night." "Wait," the receptionist called out as Faith turned to leave. "Not that it's really any of my business, but didn't you come here with a man?" "I don't know," Faith responded. "Did I?" Not about to give the befuddled receptionist time to recover, she walked off and out of the door confidently. I followed her as fast as I could with Tara, who again mumbled something unintelligible. Steering the fresh addition to our ranks through the night and into the parking lot was an adventure in itself, but we did eventually reach my car safely. Faith held Tara up while I fumbled with the keys and unlocked the doors of the vehicle, and then we switched places. We had anticipated that we might need either to restrain Tara or to tend to her during the return trip, and accordingly Faith sat down on the back seat and prepared to take care of our charge so I could focus on driving. "Alright," Faith declared. "I'm all set. Bring her in." I lifted Tara's arm off me and turned her so that she would be easier to seat in the car, but she suddenly regained the ability to move of her own volition. Before I could react, she flung both of her arms around me, crowed "Hey-yy, pretty girl!" in a slurring voice and planted a forceful kiss on my lips. She pushed her tongue in, and I was treated to the warmness, wetness and the alcoholic taste of her mouth. I fought back until I managed to separate myself from her, and my wig slipped off my head and fell to the ground in the commotion. "Get in the car, you twit!" I hissed and pushed her, none too gently. She nearly landed on her bottom a little short of the car, but Faith seized her from behind and guided her in. I picked the wet wig up from the asphalt, threw it onto the right front seat and sat down behind the wheel. I had to close my eyes and draw a couple of deep breaths before I felt able to start the car and begin the drive home. I navigated out of the parking lot and onto the street. The Happy Town and a few other isolated hotspots of nightlife aside, the vast majority of the good people of Chesterton were already going to bed and closing their doors to the cold and dark early winter night. Only a handful of cars were still moving on the streets and roads in and around the town. Inexplicably, the traffic lights on the all but empty main street held us up for a full minute until they let us continue towards Greensville. The town ended and the peaceful countryside began only a little further down the road. Faith sat quietly in the back, and Tara had slumped forward languidly, resting against her seatbelt. "I don't feel too good about this," I said, breaking a long silence. "I know Jake agreed to arrange with his family to take her in for a day or two, but---" "What's your problem with it?" Faith asked from the back seat. "We're unloading her on him and his parents, just like that. She's a total stranger to them." "So you'd rather ask your folks to give her a place to stay?" "Maybe I should've done that." "If Jake--and by that, I figure, you mean Willow--says it's fine by her and her folks, then it's fine by us. Let her do her part, and we do ours. We're a team." Probably spurred by our conversation, Tara decided to have another surge of activity. She grunted, straightened her back and began to hum to herself indistinctly, as if she were about to launch into song. Instead of that, she abruptly paused for a few seconds and then started to repeat, "Tit, tit, tit... Tit, tit, tit, tit." As I glanced in the rear view mirror, I saw her cup her breasts with her right hand, first one and then the other. She added in a clearer and louder voice, "Seems to me I've got tits. Girls got tits, not guys." There was a long unexpected silence before she opened her mouth again. "Why have I... got tits? Tit, tit, tit. I'm a guy. Tit, tit, tit... I shouldn't have tits. These are tits." "Yeah, they're your tits," Faith confirmed with a snicker. "You're a smart girl." "You know what else, guys?" Tara went on. "I think... Shit." "What?" "I think I've got a pussy too!" Faith erupted in a genuine, loud laughter at this. For most of the time, she had concealed her true feelings with smugness and cynicism, exhibited sardonic joy at best or had been reserved, on occasion even downright openly hostile towards people around her; but for once, the hard-as-nails character she had made herself into had completely lost control, and she guffawed nigh on hysterically and held her stomach with her hands. I had never seen her so filled with pure, unadulterated glee, be it that she was having her fun at another person's expense. "You're a sharp one!" she commended Tara and gasped for air. "That's perceptive of you, girl!" Faith was promptly overcome by another giggle fit. Tara, for her part, continued to grope herself, with an introspective and bemused expression on her pretty face. She was lost in her thoughts and trying hard to make sense of the perplexing observation that she was apparently no longer a male. Sadly, neither her calm reflection nor her relative mental clarity was to last. I steered through the sleeping center of Greensville and finally took a left turn onto the Whites' driveway. Lights were on in the house, and the bright yard lamp was doing its share to keep away the darkness. Jake and his parents were waiting for us, I thought and felt another pang of remorse and also pity and compassion towards them. They had probably not yet fully processed and come to terms with what had happened to Jake, and I was bringing one more transformed and possibly unstable individual to their home. I bit my lip as I pulled up opposite to the main door of the house, shut the engine down and got out of the car. "We're there," I announced and opened the rear door for Tara. "Step out, if you would." She gave me an amused, cunning look and let out a loud, high-pitched yelp without warning. I took a step back in surprise, which brought an insane smile onto her face. More weird animal noises followed as Faith and I began to drag and push her out of the vehicle, and when she was outside and standing on her own feet again, she raised her eyes to the sky and howled like a wolf. In response, a dog began to bark furiously in the yard of a nearby house. "We've got to take her inside," Faith stated the obvious. "Thank you! Thank you!" Tara yelled at the top of her lungs. "You're a lovely audience! O watchers in the night, hear ye my call anon!" She let loose another ear-shattering cry that ended with a piercing, outright inhuman screech. I was dumbstruck by her ability to emit a sound like that in the first place. I had assumed her to be a soft-spoken, quiet girl, much as her fictional counterpart was. "That's it!" Faith snapped and took the new girl by the arm. "You're going in the house, Tara. As in right now." "Tell the Whites I wish them good luck," I said in a tired tone, unsure whether I wanted to laugh or cry. "And a happy Thanksgiving. And merry Christmas. Something tells me they're getting a very special gift that's going to keep on giving." ***** In terms of debauchery and insanity, the next day began much like the previous day had ended. The ringing of my cell phone cut through my sleeping mind at around 10 a.m. I had been having a blurry, unpleasant dream where I was desperately running away from someone or something, and my brain took several seconds to clear up enough to figure out where the melody was coming from and what its purpose was. The phone was on my nightstand, so I reached for it, pressed the answer button and uttered my name in a sleepy voice, suppressing a deep yawn. "Mike Caldwell." "Mike! Mike!" an agitated woman was speaking on the other end. "Are you up?" "Not really." "We've got a big problem on our hands," she fussed. It was only then that my drowsy consciousness recognized her as Jake White. The voice itself was Willow's, or Alyson Hannigan's, but the tone bore a striking resemblance to his own and signaled that he was very upset. "Do you know what happened? She ate a candle!" "Who did what?" "Tara!" the ersatz Willow almost shouted in my ear. "She ate a freaking scented candle this morning! Mom's having a seizure over her." I still had difficulty trying to comprehend his message. "What? What kind?" "Vanilla! It was Mom's favorite! She just swiped it from a holder and took a bite of the damn thing! Mike, this can't go on. She's looney bin material, totally messed up." "Your mom?" "Not my mom, you dimwit! I'm talking about the girl you and Faith brought to our house last night! The former Bucko Griffin, remember?" "Yeah, I remember." "I'm coming over with her, and then you can worry about her for a change!" "You promised to take her in," I pointed out, "and I was also opposed to the whole stupid plan from the get-go, so I sort of fail to see how I'm responsible for whatever's going on in your house." "We said we could take in a girl," he retorted, "not a basket case who can't dress herself or go to the toilet unassisted. My folks aren't taking care of her anymore. They've got enough to deal with as it is." "Can't you wait until I've had breakfast?" I pleaded. "We'll talk after that." "Make it quick," she fumed. "We're close to the breaking point here." Jake fortunately had the patience to wait until I had had a speedy shower, again with a hair cap, and breakfast. To make myself somewhat presentable, I threw on a variation of my casual girlish at-home attire: clean underwear, black sweatpants, a white t-shirt and a pair of sneakers. I assumed that I could skip cosmetics, so I merely put on some deodorant and brushed my hair carefully before tying it into a loose ponytail. No sooner was I finished than Mom called from downstairs that we had visitors. When I scurried to the foyer to meet them, I saw that the outside door was open and both Mom and Kate were on the porch, exhorting and giving instructions to someone. Standing side by side where the gravel-topped driveway turnaround ended and the lawn and the concrete tiles leading to the porch began were Jake-as-Willow and Tara Maclay. A red Ford Winstar van, which belonged to Jake's mother and which had seen better days, was parked in the background. Tara was now as much in character as Jake was when it came to clothing. Bucko's garments were gone and replaced with a pale blue, very loose- fitting, ankle-length skirt, a flower-themed baby blue shirt and a dark yellow winter coat. By way of accessories, she had a beaded necklace on. Nonetheless, it took me no time at all to discern that despite the superficial improvements, not everything was fine with her. The others pleaded and begged her to move, but she stood in place like a marble statue, refusing to budge. There was a look of despondent, frozen panic on her face, and her eyes flitted nervously left and right. Her mouth was a stiff horizontal line under her nose. "Come on, Tara!" Kate tried to encourage her. "We're waiting for you!" "Don't look down, sweetie," Mom instructed. "Just step forward! It'll be okay." "What's going on?" I asked in disbelief. "What---?" "She has trouble walking across a line on the ground," Jake explained in a resigned tone. "Here's gravel, and there's grass and concrete tiles, so she's stuck at the edge." "For real?" "Does this look like a joke to you?" he grunted testily, and I realized at once that a clever little witticism or an "I-told-you-so" type of comment was best saved for a later time. Mom, a veteran nurse, was the person who found the solution. She went to Tara, took her gently but firmly by her left arm and walked her slowly into the house, telling her choice words of assurance on every step. The new girl closed her eyes and smiled faintly as she allowed Mom to lead her. Jake followed on their heels, ready to lend both moral and physical support. Jake's outfit attracted my attention in passing when the three women, and Kate, were inside the foyer at long last. On a quick glance, there was nothing particularly unusual about his clothes; he had combined a pair of blue women's jeans with yet another very Willowesque fluffy sweater (he seemed to have a practically unlimited collection of them) and then thrown his old brown leather jacket over his new petite body. However, I instantly did a double take. The sweater was absolutely identical to the one she had worn to Sunnydale High on the day of the Breakers Woods excursion. Maybe it was the very same garment and had somehow traveled between dimensions, along with the soul or mind of its wearer. I was never able to investigate this detail, however. Tara had spent the first few seconds after entering the house simply gazing around, as though trying to fathom what this place was. Then, without warning, some inscrutable impulse took hold of her and she sprang to action. She marched to the coat rack and the downstairs bathroom door with purposeful strides, with the heels of her boots clopping on the wooden floor, and she pulled the door open. She peeked inside and shouted, "Bang!" The rest of us looked on irresolutely, not knowing what to do, so it remained for Mom to take charge for a second time and sort things out. She helped Tara shed her winter coat, put her arm around her back and guided her to the kitchen. "There we go, sweetie," she said to Tara. "It's alright. Easy does it. Let's sit down and chat for a while, shall we?" "Yeah," Tara commented and flashed a reflexive, inappropriate smile to no one in particular. She stopped at the edge of the large carpet, genuinely aghast at having to cross from one part of the floor to another, but Mom distracted her by saying, "Oh my, what fabulous hair you've got! What do you wash it with?" Before the surprised girl could answer, my mother moved forward, deftly bringing Tara over the imaginary barrier along with her. She seated her at the dinner table and then sat down herself. Kate, Jake and I pulled out a chair each and joined them. "So," Mom opened the conversation, "you're Tara, right?" The girl nodded and directly contradicted herself with, "No. I'm the victim of a crime." "How is that?" Mom asked her. "These two guys came and stole my body and they won't give it back to me and I saw a barn owl or maybe two barn owls on the way there and it has something to do with, something to do with the thing that what they fed to me tasted funny and I always said to them and everybody else I didn't want to go to college, so that means my folks and the other dude, you know the other dude, the one from Portland, and I don't mean Portland, Oregon, 'cause that's of course different, they could be behind this and their firm is not doing well, but they're just a bunch of assholes to blame me for it because I know, like I said, I know about their bookkeeping and the money they conned from their customers and I even told them so and that's why they've always hated me and tried to find a way to send people and that bird to mess with me." Almost all of this came out in one breath, amazingly enough. Tara spoke clearly and without stuttering much, in a soft voice which was lower in pitch than Willow's or mine, but the contents of her speech made no sense. "She's Tara Maclay," Kate explained on her behalf, "a witch from the Buffy show." Mom furrowed her brow in patent disapproval of what she thought was the continuation of our role play. "I see," she said. "What's your real name, Tara?" "She's... She used to be Bucko Griffin," Jake answered. "Dear God," Mom said and let out a heavy sigh. She closed her eyes briefly, as if overcome by fatigue, and then continued in a very no- nonsense manner, "You people are legally adults and what you do is ultimately your own business. Nevertheless, I don't like this fantasy game thing, not one bit. It's gone way too far. You must put an end to it right this minute and let him out of his suit." "I-it's not quite that simple," Jake attempted to argue. "You mean the suit is stuck on him?" "I'm not sure, but it could be." "In that case, you have to take him to the hospital. I never specialized in psychiatric nursing, but I've worked with mental patients from time to time. Believe you me when I tell you that Jud will definitely need professional help unless you reverse his changes, which I suggest you do pretty damn fast if you can." "She's got no valid ID," Jake pointed out. "Jud's well-being is more important than whether or not he's got a driver's license," Mom retorted. "When someone is in that kind of condition, they'll take him in regardless. Are his parents aware of this?" "I'm under the impression they're not," Jake said very quietly. "Honestly!" Mom exclaimed in angry disbelief. "You're fooling with another person's health and identity just for fun! Haven't you guys learned anything from your own experience? I don't even know what to say anymore. You should be ashamed of yourselves!" A minute passed in silence. Mom was sullenly quiet, trying to rein in her indignation and irritation, while Kate, Jake and I either cast our eyes down or stared awkwardly out of the kitchen window. Only Tara herself was unaffected by the drama around her. She puckered her lips and chuckled for no apparent reason. "Have you had anything to eat today?" Mom finally asked Jake and Tara. "I could make you some tea and sandwiches." "I had breakfast," Jake recounted, "and Tara did too, but it was before the candle episode." "What candle episode?" Mom inquired. "She," Jake explained, "ate one half of a scented candle and then threw up on the living room floor. My mom's sorta-kinda genuine Kashmir rug got pretty severely punished in the process." "That's no good," Mom said and got on her feet. "Being in hunger will only make things worse for you, Jud. I'll get something for you to eat, and some milk." "No, don't give me the barn owls," Tara reacted and laughed again incongruously. "Don't give me those fucking creatures! Eh! Love awaits in the kitchen sink, you know that? Fucking birds." "I guess you see now why me and my family are at our wits' end with her," Jake said and glanced sideways at Tara. "We can't go on like this much longer." "What would our friends in Sunnydale do?" Kate chimed in. "Maybe that's the answer." "Oh, please!" I groaned. "It's only a damn TV show, and they're fictional characters, nothing more. They'd do precisely what a gaggle of second-rate Hollywood screenwriters with swollen heads would have them do." "You're not contributing, Buffy," she admonished me dryly. "You could be onto something there," Jake voiced his opinion. After the fleeting moment during our phone conversation earlier in the morning, I noted, my friend was for all intents and purposes back to acting like Willow Rosenberg once more. "I-I think that I have a faint recollection of, uh, a spell that just might do the trick, but I can't guarantee it. When we were in Sunnydale, I---" "Come again?" Kate interrupted him in astonishment. "You actually went to Sunnydale? That's news to me!" "It's far too complicated," I interrupted them, lest the conversation get unsalvageably sidetracked. "Let's talk about it some other time." "Fucking ridiculous owls, watching over me!" Tara cried out so loudly and abruptly that we were slightly startled. "Let's talk, but not about them! Let's not give them the pleasure!" "Um, so, anyway," Jake continued when Tara's outburst was over, "the spell could be worth a shot if the words of the incantation come back to me. It was in Latin, I'm sure of that. Yeah, and we're going to need some pretty unusual ingredients for it. It's on the newt-y and smelly side of things, if memory serves." "I bet Mandy can help us out with that stuff," Kate pointed out. "You should call her and give her the shopping list. Do you have her phone number?" "I think so. Ooh, and there's more. We have to get as many people as possible to attend the casting of the spell and form a circle so our powers can work together." "That's doable," my sister said. "If you can take care of the basic arrangements, I'll get in touch with a few people and we'll meet at your parents' house when you're ready." "Sounds good." Mom brought a sandwich, a mug and a carton of milk for Tara and placed the plate and the mug in front of her. "There you go, dear," she said kindly to her and then commented on our discussion in a decidedly stricter tone, "Kids, I'm still voting for professional psychiatric care if the suit can't be taken off post haste. I don't want to knock your hobby and I'm positive it's entertaining, but there's a difference between that and reality. When someone's actually unwell, you'll be way better off putting your faith in the modern Western medicine than pretend TV magic." "If all else fails, we'll resort to that," Kate promised. "You'll do the right thing and nothing but that, as soon as humanly possible," Mom declared sternly. "I'm not telling you this twice." Kate opened her mouth to say something, probably to reassure Mom, but she happened to look out of the window and her eyes instantly widened. "It's Tina!" she burst out in surprise and exhilaration. "Tina's here!" Following her gaze, I saw a fat, bespectacled young woman, whose long hair was dyed blue and green and who had on a tent-like padded black overcoat, waddle towards the house. Kate got swiftly on her feet and sprinted to the foyer and out of the door, leaving it ajar. I briefly debated with myself about what to do. Finally, curiosity won out, and I excused myself and went after her, albeit only at a slow and deliberate walking pace. I arrived on the porch at the same time as Tina, who had apparently come on foot. She was welcomed by an elated Kate. "Great to see you again!" my sister said to the visitor, and they shared a friendly hug. "What have you been up to?" "Taking care of stuff, mostly," she replied and then greeted me with, "Hi there, Mike." I nodded in response, delighted that she had used my real name. "I went to see my mother and was in the neighborhood, so I figured I'd pay you guys a visit. I haven't seen either of you since Halloween." "That party was really something." "You can say that again! Things didn't go quite as planned, I've got to admit, and I kind of regret the way I split without telling anybody. Not one of my best moments." "You took the Riley skin off?" Kate went on in a tone that conveyed her eagerness to know more about this clearly unexpected twist. "How come? I thought you---" "Yeah, well, he's a man, after all," Tina said and chuckled scoffingly at the idea. "I'm not one of those tryhard fake feminists who secretly wish they were men and only support the cause because of that. Having a penis can be a fun change of pace, but I wouldn't want to stay that way." "Me neither." I was struck by a powerful feeling of d?j? vu as I watched the reunion of the two friends. This had occurred before, I was sure of that. Tina had come to our house just as she had now, to talk to Kate, and I had chased her away with a rake after my Slayer instincts had warned me that she was in actuality a disguised demon. "Anyway," Tina continued, "I've been hearing some people around here are stuck in skinsuits they'd like to get out of. Like your brother, for instance." "Amen to that," I interjected. "So, I brought a little gift," she said with a wide smile. "From me to you." Tina pulled a small glass bottle out of her coat pocket and held it up for us to see. My heartbeat picked up when I understood what the cherry red liquid inside the bottle most likely was. I had a quantity of the priceless skinsuit antidote within my reach again--and this time, I would absolutely not let anyone deny me the chance to use it and restore my own form. "Wow," Kate uttered. "What... what is that?" "A solution that forces open a stuck skin," Tina declared proudly. "I used some myself to get out of our friend Riley Finn. Worked like a charm." "Where did you get it?" Tina never had the opportunity to answer. Even as she and Kate had been talking, an intensely rumbling car had been approaching us in the distance. Abruptly Amanda Elkins' Jaguar rounded the curve in our driveway. The driver slammed down the brakes barely in time, and the wheels of the large vehicle gouged deep, ugly marks in the gravel as the car came to a halt. Tina's expression had morphed into one of unadulterated terror, but she was petrified and did not move a muscle as a tall, athletic man got out of the car. The man--whose brown hair was styled in a crew cut and who was wearing a black biker jacket, a dark brown turtleneck sweater, black trousers and combat boots--dashed towards the porch and reached us with only a few running steps. He held something in his right hand, and just when Tina regained her ability to move and spun on her heels to flee, the man touched the back of her neck. A sharp crackling noise sounded out, Tina's eyes rolled back in their sockets and she collapsed on the porch floor. "I cut it too close," Riley said and exhaled. The object he was holding was a flat, yellow and black rectangular box with two protruding spikes, evidently an electric stun weapon. "W-what the heck?" Kate stuttered, taking the words out of my mouth. "Who... What's going on? Who are you?" "The person you thought that faker was," he replied and gestured at the unconscious woman. "Riley Finn, the former Tina Mills. I don't blame you for thinking that was me, though. She's pretty convincing." There was movement behind me, and I instinctively prepared for another nasty surprise until I looked quickly over my shoulder and saw Jake join us. He watched the unfolding events quietly, but he was equally shocked as Kate and I were, if the expression on his face was any indication. "Who's she, if you're Tina?" I queried Riley. "An imposter," he said as he bent down and snatched the antidote bottle, which had dropped to the floor but remained intact. "Someone whose job was to ruin our plans. I might add that she, or he, damn near succeeded." "Hey!" I shouted. "Give me the bottle, will you?" "Hell no!" he refused point blank and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Do you know what's in there, Buffy? It's poison that's meant to kill you and the skin symbiont you have on. No, I'm not letting you have it, believe me." In an outstanding demonstration of strength, he gathered the limp body of the counterfeit Tina from the floor, slung her arm over his shoulders and began to drag her inert mass towards Amanda's car. "I'll get rid of her," he told us, grunting due to the exertion. "You guys just hang on tight. Mandy will be in touch with you some time later today." "Okay," Kate said hesitantly. She was still at a complete loss. "See you, Tina--sorry, Riley!" "See you, guys!" he said and pushed the massive fake girl onto the back seat of the Jaguar with some difficulty. Closing the car door, he gave us a satisfied grin, sat on the driver's seat and started the engine. In no time, he had disappeared from our view, leaving the three of us to contemplate this latest development in stunned silence. The whole incident had lasted no more than three or maybe four minutes from start to finish. "I guess," Kate mused at length, "this is what you should expect when you've got a transdimensional portal in your home town, but I don't know how long I can personally handle it. Makes me kind of have second thoughts about ever getting involved with the skinsuits." The opportunity to poke fun at her was too good to pass up. "That would be what I call a belated realization," I remarked. "But better late than never, I suppose." "Only it might be too late now for everybody," Jake observed. "If we can't cure Tara and close the portal, things may go sorta baddish for us and the world at large. Oh; not that it's your fault, Kate. I don't mean it like that." "Don't worry, Wil," Kate said and gave her a friendly smile. "I didn't think you did." Mom's whole being gave off an air of acute concern when we returned to the kitchen. Although she didn't appear outright alarmed yet, the unusual events of the past several days had obviously made an impression on her, and she was certainly intelligent enough to perceive at least something of what was going on in spite of our efforts to keep her in the dark. She vividly reminded me of Joyce Summers once more, and as soon as this thought had entered my mind, I had to fight it by telling myself that she, Gail Caldwell, was my real mother, whereas Joyce was nothing but a fictional character. "What happened out there?" she began her interrogation. "I saw a car pull up in front of the house, and someone was on the porch in addition to you three. It almost sounded like there was a scuffle or something. Where's Tina? Why didn't she come in?" "That's... a bit hard to explain," Kate spoke. "It's alright, though. She, uh, had to leave in a hurry and a friend of hers picked her up." "Whoever it was, he or she ought to drive more carefully," Mom criticized. "They could and probably sooner or later will kill someone, barreling madly down the road like that. Besides, those skid marks have got to disappear. They're an eyesore, and if they're still there when the man of the house comes home, he'll spend an entire evening bitching about them, which I'm incidentally not looking forward to." "I'll take care of them," I promised. "What about back here? How is Tara doing?" Mom didn't say anything; she didn't have to. With a concerned expression, she turned her eyes to Tara, who was bent over the table and licking milk off her plate like a dog. "We really need to do something about her," I breathed. "Yes, I sincerely believe you do," Mom said. ***** Either Jake's organizational abilities were truly remarkable or we simply had an enormous stroke of luck. In any case, he called me a little after 4 p.m. to tell that the preparations were complete and that we should come to his family's home to help with the spell. Upon hearing the news, Kate began to get herself ready, and she shooed me to my room so I could do the same. "We can't keep them waiting!" she called excitedly from the bathroom as she was busily applying makeup. "We're going to get to be in the most mind-blowing thing ever!" Since the outfit I had worn at home the day before--the button-down cardigan and the dark pants--was available and clean, I decided to save time by choosing it. As chance would have it, right after I had changed my clothes I laid my eyes on the vodka bottle that I had once stashed in my room. The bottle stood on the top shelf of the bookcase, flanked by a couple of souvenirs and other small items from days gone by, and suddenly I was tempted to have a proper stiff drink. I had stayed conscientiously away from alcohol ever since Halloween in hopes that total sobriety would help me cope with the madness going on around me, but things only seemed to get worse with each passing day, whether I was sober or not. I might as well have a little sip to take the edge off. A smile came onto my lips as I went to the bookcase and grabbed the bottle. "And now for something completely different!" I said to myself, opened the cap and poured a good gulp down my throat. The harsh-tasting liquid burned mercilessly on its way to my stomach, and I grimaced and grunted, but the warmth that started to spread in my body was more than worth the inconvenience. I quickly took another mouthful and then put the bottle back where it belonged so as to avoid a sermon by Kate, my mother or both. I applied my usual makeup when Kate was finished with hers, brushed my hair, and then we both scooted downstairs. She took my red jacket from the coat rack, I selected the long black leather overcoat, and finally I changed into the Buffy boots (which had been cleaned after their previous outing) while she did her best to get me to move faster. I gave her my car keys, and she took them and almost ran out of the house to the vehicle, too thrilled to ask why I was letting her drive. I followed her with less enthusiasm into another depressingly cloudy and clammy early November day outside. Kate knew the way to the White home, and she wasted no time in putting the car in gear. More often than not, I would give her driving advice, especially when she was behind the wheel of my car, but on this occasion I decided to lay back and enjoy the short trip, together with the effects of the vodka. The first waves of pleasant lightheadedness were making themselves felt, and they elbowed my anxieties and chagrin aside nicely. However, we had scarcely left our own driveway when Kate finally noticed signs of alcohol in my system. "I smell booze in here," she observed and turned her head to look at me. "Buffy!" she exclaimed. "Have you... Don't tell me you've been drinking!" "I won't tell you I've been drinking," I repeated back and grinned at my own stupid quip. "Oh God," she huffed and shook her head. "Promise me you won't start mouthing off when we get there! We don't need any more problems." "What do you mean, mouthing off?" I inquired, pretending to be offended. "I'll be the life of the party and provide comic relief with my brilliant jokes. I'm a veritable latter day Oscar Wilde, only straight. And smarter. I bet I could give the old fudge packer a run for his money!" "That's exactly what I meant! Please, Buffy, don't cause a scene. For my sake, please?" "Please stop calling me Buffy," I shot back petulantly, "and I'll consider it." It was plain to see that the White home was hosting an unusual event that day. The driveway was serving as a parking lot for a total of five cars and vans, and the crowd in the front yard would have led almost anyone to believe that an unannounced cast reunion was set to be held there. Kate found a free space next to the other vehicles, and we got out and strolled to join the people who had congregated in front of the porch. Amanda Elkins was chatting with Dawn and Cordelia, while Riley and Faith formed another subgroup, standing slightly apart from the others and engaged in a lively conversation. Kate made a beeline for the latter two. "Hi," she greeted them cheerfully, and they responded in kind. "Are you alright, Riley? What happened?" "Nothing much," he said dismissively and shrugged his shoulders. "I took care of the imposter." "What did you do?" "I took care of her," he repeated, and the flash of determination in his eyes convinced Kate and me not to inquire about the details. Even so, he didn't deter me from cracking a joke or two at the expense of the magic believers, and I would have done just that had it not been for Jake who appeared on the porch. "Okay, everyone," he announced. "We're good to go. Tara's waiting upstairs, and I have the circle and the mixture ready. If you'll come with me, I-I think we can get started. It's just up the stairs and to your left." Led by Jake, we all made our way through the porch and foyer to the staircase and up the stairs. The White home was a one-and-a-half story house, somewhat smaller than ours, and Jake's parents had reserved the ground floor to themselves and their guests. Only one end of the upper story had been made into completely habitable rooms, while the rest, including the upstairs landing, was kept as an attic-like storage space. An inner wall separated Jake's old room, as well as his brother's, from the attic, with the doors leading into them on the right of the stairs. There were cardboard boxes, old pieces of furniture, a clothing cabinet and whatnot littering the poorly insulated, cold and seldom-cleaned part of the house. Someone, probably Jake, had carefully made a circle on the attic floor with off-white powder, placed four candles at equal distances on the circumference and lit them. Tara, too, was already present. She was sitting at the center of the circle, rocking slowly back and forth, playing with a strand of her hair and smiling a disturbed smile to herself. She appeared mostly oblivious to her own condition, to us, the ritual and the outside world in general. "I'd like you to sit down," Jake instructed us, "just outside the line of the circle there, and hold hands. I'll do the spell, a-and you concentrate your minds on Tara and sending positive energy her way. This shouldn't take more than a few minutes if everything goes well." "Where did you get your ingredients?" I asked him. "You said you needed something made of newts, didn't you?" "Luckily it turned out I didn't," he said. "A handful of newt eyes would make the mix more powerful, though, but what I've got ought to work fine. Mandy helped me with the rest." "So we have to make do with just some unicorn poop and dark matter, right?" Jake sat down first, folding his legs underneath him, and the others followed his example. Amanda Elkins and Dawn found their places on his right, and Cordelia, Faith, Riley and Kate on his left. I ended up seated between my sister and Dawn and so completed the circle. Tara, for her part, laid herself down on her back, as if following some unspoken instruction. Jake had a cup next to him on the floor, and he reached into it with his fingertips, picked up some fine powder and sprinkled it around him. Tara giggled at the performance, and I badly wanted to do likewise. My brain, whose functioning was affected by a light touch of drunkenness, was mulling over the incredible and frankly ludicrous fact that we were going to try to cure an insane woman with magic. "Hold your tongues, cleanse your hearts," Jake recited solemnly and took both Amanda and Dawn by the hand. "And after all," I added, "you're my wonderwall." "Buffy!" Dawn hissed angrily, and I compliantly closed my eyes and held hands with her and Kate, but not before suppressing a giggle. A crashing noise, like a dish breaking, came through the floor from somewhere inside the house. Jake's concentration was interrupted. He opened his eyes and asked in an urgent manner, "What? Who was that?" I couldn't resist the devilish, vodka-inspired idea to inject some more humor into the situation. "Who the fuck was that?" I intoned loudly, paraphrasing a favorite line from a movie. "Who's the slimy little communist shit twinkle-toed cocksucker down here who just signed his own---?" Jake aimed a stare at me, as did everyone else. There was a distinct look of sadness and frustration in his eyes. "Buffy," he cut me off in a soft voice but with an air of determination, "if you don't want to participate, maybe you should leave." "My thoughts exactly," Kate accompanied him pointedly. Her impatience with me was palpable. "Be quiet or go downstairs if you can't stop yourself from ruining everything on purpose." "Whatever," I said and clambered to my feet, giving out a sarcastic chuckle. They might not have appreciated my jest but they and their silly ritual were still laughable, as far as I was concerned. It was hardly my fault that they failed to realize it themselves. I turned my back and walked to the staircase but, out of sheer curiosity, glanced one last time at the circle before I began to descend the stairs. The others were again holding hands with their eyes closed, and Jake was chanting, "Mater dea, in luce vivens benevolens, te nunc his verbis invoco..." The candle flames flickered. For a split second, I thought I saw an indistinct, foggy, reddish light gather in the air above the circle and Tara's supine form. Astounded, I blinked and looked again, but the strange light was gone, if it had been there in the first place. Not really knowing what to make of any of this, I let out a little huff of mild contempt and walked down the stairs. On a whim, I went to the doorway leading into the Whites' living room and peered in. Lori White, Jake's mother and the lady of the house, was lying down on the massive brown leather sofa with an arm over her eyes, clad only in a beige bathrobe, a voluminous, loosely fitting pink t- shirt and a pair of women's boxer shorts. She was breathing slowly and heavily, as though recovering from intense bodily exertion. I was about to leave and go outside to get some fresh air when Lori abruptly seemed to become aware that I was there. She raised her arm off her face, craned her head and looked at me. "I broke a vase," she informed me. "It was the big, sky blue one I kept on the windowsill over there. A gift from my aunt. It's in a million pieces now. Goddammit." She let out an exasperated harrumph. "Sorry to hear that," I said and entered the room a bit hesitantly, not sure if I was welcome or not. My uncertainty didn't escape her notice, and she promptly made a point to invite me to keep her company. "Come on in and have a seat, honey. Two forlorn women fit in this room the same as one." If I had to describe Lori White with one word, my choice would in all likelihood be 'large', in the sense that the adjective is typically used of and by men. She was an imposing character in every way. Jake's mother was easily taller than him, over six feet, and she was comparable to him in weight and, no doubt, in physical strength. Her voice was roughly similar in pitch to that of an average woman, but with the volume scaled up to match her body size. As I sat down in one of the armchairs opposite to her, she stretched her legs on the sofa. They were long, straight and sturdy like concrete bridge piles, proportionate to the rest of her form. She had a wide face, blue eyes and curly, shoulder-length strawberry blond hair that had retained its natural color and had held up better than her body in general. Lori had had Jake in her late teens and was more than ten years younger than my mother or Charlie's, but the years of tedious three-shift work at a printing house in Winton, raising three children and occasional health problems had caused her to age somewhat prematurely. Her personality was no less overwhelming than her appearance. She was blunt to a fault and strongly emotional, fiercely loyal to her friends and always ready to confront anyone who had wronged her. Lori had an artistic side, and she had once told me about her stint at the local amateur theater. After hearing that, I had been unable to shake the mischievous mental image of her in a flowing gown and horned helmet, holding a spear in her hand and singing the part of a valkyrie in a Wagner opera. "By the way, who are you?" she asked me without preamble. "Mike," I replied and smiled. "Mike Caldwell." "Mike Caldwell!" she exclaimed. "Jesus H. Christ! So they put you in a suit too." "Yeah, they did. Or actually, my sister talked me into wearing one, and I was dumb enough to go along with it." Lori laughed. "Oh boy, I guess she really messed you up! How do you like being a girl, Mikey?" "I don't. If I could have one wish, it would be to get out of this body and back into my own, but I've been told it's not possible anymore." "So, life without dick and balls is not tempting to you?" "Most definitely not," I said and added hastily, "No offense intended." "None taken. I get your point." She continued, "My Jake's the same way. He says he hates being a woman, and that sickly sweet redhead chick in particular. At least I can take comfort in the knowledge I raised him right and he didn't have any issues with his sexuality." I could think of no entirely safe response to this and kept quiet. If my observations had any merit, Jake was unquestionably not fully at ease as Willow Rosenberg, but it was equally certain that he didn't flat out hate living as her anymore. Perhaps Lori was in denial about her son, much as Scott's mother Ellen had been about hers, or Jake had simply told her what she wanted to hear. "What are they doing up there, anyway?" she asked me and gestured at the ceiling with her index finger. "I don't know the specifics," I explained somewhat evasively, "but they said something about casting a spell to make Tara better." She burst out in bellowing laughter. "Oh boy! Are they really that nuts? A spell! For fuck's sake!" I tried to chuckle along with her out of politeness, but my joy was mostly fake; and I could sense that hers was mixed with exasperation and also misgivings about what the future held for her and her family. Her hilarity did subside before long. "Mike," she said with a sigh, rapidly returning to her previous dispirited state, "I'm out of answers. I used to think you could overcome every problem by doing your best and just punching through. It worked for me. It always worked, ever since I was eight. I had it all figured out. My kids were grown up and had moved away from home, and I finally had some time for myself. It was supposed to be that simple. But now I don't know what to do. I don't have a fucking clue." "You're not alone," I consoled her. "This skinsuit debacle has been a lot to deal with for everyone who had the misfortune to get involved." "I've got Jake to worry about, and that new girl too, although I already had my hands full with my brother Zack. You know him, right? Oh, that reminds me." The story was so personal and disquieting to her that she sat up. "Have you heard what he did yesterday? They let him out of the ward the day before that because he was supposedly so much more lucid. Bullshit! It's all about money. They just wanted him out of the way, no matter how sick he is. Can you imagine? They showed the door to a guy who's totally out of it, and to hell with consequences!" Lori went on to lambaste public healthcare roundly and passionately and to recount Zack's latest misadventure for me, and I had no choice but to listen and express my sympathy. A few minutes earlier, I would have been in an ideal mood for having fun, and all that was missing was a like- minded friend and some more alcohol to consume, but here I was, forced to limit myself to nodding and muttering affirmative platitudes to a flustered Mrs. White. What little buzz I had was squarely wasted, as I had to restrain it instead of being able to enjoy it. Footsteps and dragging noises began to carry from the attic through the ceiling, and soon the sounds moved to the stairs. The witching session was apparently over. Both Lori and I were curious, even if not outright anxious to hear the news, and we waited in silence until Jake in his Willow guise, followed closely by Kate and Cordelia, came into the living room a minute later. The three girls had somber and simultaneously entranced looks on their faces as a proof that they had participated in an extraordinary experience. "What's the word?" I asked them. "It's done," Jake replied in a quiet voice. "Tara's asleep now in the guest room." "Did you get her head straightened out?" Lori inquired in her characteristic plainspoken manner. "It's too early to tell, b-but I think we should know by tomorrow." "What happened?" I probed in my turn. "It was intense," Cordelia reported in an excited fashion. "We sat there and then--I don't have the words to describe it. It was like there was this energy flowing from all of us and combining in the middle. That was an incredibly cool feeling." "I've never seen anything like that," Kate accompanied her, and I almost regretted having missed whatever they had witnessed. "I mean, I've always believed that some kind of magic might exist, but... Wow." "Which reminds me," Cordelia added, once more in a chipper mood. "I have to call someone." With that, she departed the living room. "So we just wait and see what happens to the Cuckoo Girl, is that what you're saying?" Lori blurted out. "I don't have to load her into the van and take her to the hospital right this second, or do I?" "Yeah, we wait and see," Jake said. A trace of his feelings being hurt was evident in his tone and his eyes, but Lori didn't pay it any mind. There was little else we could do at the moment, so the meeting broke up shortly afterwards (Mrs. White made a half-hearted offer to make us some coffee, but everyone declined tactfully, doubtless to her relief). At any rate, Amanda volunteered to remain for a few more hours and monitor Tara's condition, and Jake gladly accepted. As Elkins had driven Riley and Faith, who were temporarily staying at her house near Chesterton, Kate took up the task of giving them a return ride. She would drop me off first and then take the two former diehard Buffy fans, presently Buffy characters, to their temporary residence. I winced as I estimated how much gas she would burn on the way; it goes virtually without saying that no one even mentioned compensating me for the fuel. I was in an increasingly bad and quarrelsome mood during the short trip home. The mild inebriation had been short-lived and had passed without giving me much fun. I had had no one to share it with, and I had only made a fool of myself and annoyed the others with my attempts at humor. My moderate embarrassment over my own behavior and the waning effect of alcohol combined into a general vexation and overall disgust with my life as it currently was. "Easy on the gas!" I castigated Kate as she took a left turn near the town center. "Don't rev the engine and then release the clutch suddenly like that!" "Don't worry," she said. "I know how to drive this thing." "Judging by your performance, I'm not convinced." "Look, Buffy, I'd be happy to let you drive, but you decided to get smashed. You've got yourself to blame." "I'm not smashed. I had one lousy gulp of vodka before we left home." "I suppose you're not cranky either, but I'm still not allowing you to take the wheel." A few minutes later, she pulled up on the turnaround in front of our house. I unbuckled and got out, grateful that at least the nutty Wiccan magic episode was over and I could spend the rest of the day relaxing and stewing in my own private misery without interruptions--or so I thought. "I'll get some fresh air too," Faith announced and stepped out of the car, as did Riley. She yawned and stretched her arms. "What are you guys up to next?" Kate inquired the two. "Patrolling looks to be on the cards," Faith replied. "Someone ought to keep an eye on the gateway until we can close it." "We've got our work cut out for us," Riley added with a dry smile. "But as long as things stay reasonably quiet, I think we can handle it." "Buffy will be happy to help, if you need reinforcements," Kate said on my behalf. I narrowed my eyes at her but kept my mouth shut. "Thanks. We'll give her a call if something bigger comes up. Luckily she's got a car in her possession so she can get to the roadside park fast." "Let's hope the spell works and Tara gets on her game," Faith commented. "That's our best shot." "Yeah," my sister concurred. "I'm just so concerned for you." "Hey, don't lose your sleep over this," Faith reassured her with a smile. "We'll pull through. This is what I live for, Kate. The Chosen One and all that." "If you say you're okay, I---" "I am," she said. "Five by five." Something snapped in my head upon hearing her last three words. The combination of disbelief, consternation and frustration that I felt due to the weird events of the last few weeks boiled over in the blink of an eye and began to pour out. "'Five by five!'" I mocked Faith in as venomous a tone as I could muster. "You couldn't even come up with an original catchphrase, could you?" "It sure beats 'Don't call me Buffy' hands down, if you ask me," she retorted. "Christ!" I exclaimed. "People, can't you see what's going on? This town is turning into goddamn Sunnydale and you think it's just fine! The whole reality around us is a mess and getting worse every day, and you-- you don't even see anything wrong with that!" "What would you have us do?" Kate asked. "Don't take this shit lying down! Protest! Fight back or... or whatever! It's not normal; it's deviance from normal, if anything. You're treating the bizarre as the standard, and it's driving me absolutely crazy!" "Can't argue with that last part," Faith remarked. "Look at us!" I continued my bitter but ineffectual outburst. "Just look at us! We're copies of TV show characters, and on top of that, we're forced to act out this hare-brained fairytale that doesn't belong in the real world. It's like a bad Twilight Zone episode or something. I'm the only one who can't accept it as if it was nothing, and you sneer at me for that!" "We don't sneer at you," Kate said firmly, "and you have to calm down, Buffy. Freaking out will do you no good." "For the final fucking time, don't call me Buffy!" I shouted. "There it was again!" Faith said and smirked. "You never disappoint, B." "Go inside and chill for a bit," my sister suggested. "Take the night off and forget about saving the world for a while. Listen to some music in your room. Fire up your stereos and put on Radiohead or other depressing stuff. What do you say?" "Radiohead won't cut it," I argued. My anger was slowly ebbing and letting desolation once more take its place. "I'm thinking something more like Barber's Adagio for Strings." "Relaxing with some nice classical music doesn't sound like a bad idea," Riley commented in a conciliatory manner. "I'd kick off my shoes and take a breather if I were you. I'm sure that's exactly what you need, but lay off the booze, will you?" "Alright, fine," I relented. "If you're not perturbed by all this crap, what can I do about it? Let's pretend we live in the Buffyverse and enjoy the hell out of it. I'm totally with you. Wholesome family fun for everyone! Hip fucking hooray." There was a brief silence, which was not broken until Riley suggested, "How about we get going? I'd like to get to Amanda's place before dark, in case we have to move out later tonight." "Sure," Kate said. "Just hop in. Oh, and Buffy, I was serious about you needing some rest. Nobody knows what's going to happen tomorrow, and you have to be ready in case there are demons to slay. It's not like I can do it, or Willow, or most of the other people in this town." "Okay," I agreed and sighed, too worn out to protest against the name by which she had referred to me. "I'll go to bed early." Without further ado, she, Faith and Riley reentered the car, and then Kate started the engine and drove off, waving at me through the front window when she had managed to turn the vehicle around. Even after the red taillights had disappeared into the night, I remained standing on the gravel of the driveway, collecting my thoughts and trying to stave off the gloom. The front door opened and Mom came out. She descended the steps from the porch and headed towards me. There had to be a reason for her to want to see me urgently since she could have simply waited until I came in. I noticed that while she had pulled her jacket on, she was otherwise in her indoors clothing. The expression on her face, together with her deliberate, almost tiptoeing manner of walking, caused my worries to flare up instantly. Something was wrong, I thought as she walked up to me. "Mike," she said in a sympathetic but apprehensive tone, "your father's home, and... he wants to see you. Right now."