Face The Strange - Chapter 7/11: How Many Special People Change free porn video

FACE THE STRANGE by Crazy Baron Chapter 7: How Many Special People Change Mom's words instantly swept away all of my thoughts and feelings and plans for the immediate future, together with the remnants of my inebriation. Their place was taken by one single overwhelming emotion, anxiety. I had feared precisely this moment ever since I had been told my transformation was probably irreversible, and hoped that I might somehow be able to avoid it; but now there was nothing I could do anymore. Dad was home, and the time had come for his new daughter to introduce herself to him and brace for the impact. I followed Mom sheepishly into the house and took off my coat in the foyer. My legs and hands were limp and I felt an inert, cold hollowness inside of me, as though I were a criminal who had been proven guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt and was called back into the courtroom to hear his sentence. One part of me wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible, while another part wanted it to be over as quickly as possible. "Where is he?" I asked Mom in a half-whisper when I was rid of the coat and had changed from the boots into comfy sneakers. "In the living room," she replied in her normal conversational voice, "reading today's paper." "At least that hasn't changed," I commented and tried to smile. One of Dad's favorite ways of relaxing was to pick up a newspaper or a book and retreat to the living room, where he would while away the evening hours, reading and sipping beer or sherry. On the surface, that day was no exception to his routine. Finally at home after a long working trip abroad, Anthony Caldwell was sitting comfortably in one of the armchairs with the paper in his hands. The chair had been moved back to its proper position, that is, with its back against the wall opposite to the foyer so that the chair and the couch formed two sides of a triangle, leaving the coffee table in between and within easy reach from both. A tall beer glass, almost full of dark golden liquid, rested on the table and rounded out the scene that registered in my brain when I entered the living room waveringly and stopped in front of Dad, some two paces away from him. I was here. It was his turn to react and say what he had to say. Although my trepidation was, I think, understandable in itself, its magnitude is not easy to explain. Tony Caldwell was admittedly not the most open-minded person I had met in my life, but sheer overt hostility was not very typical of him. Regardless of his inclination to stubbornness and his general reluctance to reconsider his views once he had formed an opinion on any given subject, he could usually be reasoned with to a fair extent. I had nothing worse than a few harsh words to fear from him, and even so, I would much rather have faced an enraged Sathir'na demon or a pair of rowdy vampires than my father right there and then. He raised his head, and his blue eyes, gazing over the edge of the paper, landed on me. His eyebrows were slightly arched, as if to signify mild surprise, but the expression on his face was otherwise nearly blank. I swallowed hard and waited for him to open the conversation. Instead, he saw it fit to stay mute for a good five seconds more. The delay was pure torture for me. "Hi, Mike," he said in a colorless tone that revealed next to nothing about his true state of mind. He might have been simply stunned and shocked, or perhaps there was a small amount of malice and prickly sarcasm collecting its strength and preparing to air itself somewhere underneath his nearly unperturbed shell. "Hi, Dad," I responded. He paused for several additional seconds and pretended to skim over the newspaper, with the result that I almost told him off in frustration. "To get to the point," he spoke at length, "I don't understand this." The words came out of his mouth in a slow, measured manner. He lifted his eyes again to look directly at me, and at last there was a flash of genuine, unconcealed emotion in them, one of bafflement. "Well, it's---" I began, but he continued straight away with, "When I boarded the plane and left for Germany in October, I had a son who was studying for his Master's at a university. You're clearly a girl, or a young woman, but everyone keeps telling me you're actually Mike. I don't get it at all." "I am Mike," I said. "Or I used to be him, but a couple of days before Halloween, Kate and her friends talked me into putting on this costume that I'm wearing at the moment. It's stuck on me and cannot be removed anymore, from what I've been told." "Right," he acknowledged. "Your mom spoke about that on the phone, and she swore it was for real, but I definitely thought the whole story was some kind of an idiotic practical joke. It's kind of absurd, don't you agree?" "I won't insist it's not, Dad." "So it's still you on the inside?" he inquired. "You're in the body of a girl, but your mind is the same?" "Yep." "And you have your memories and skills and feelings and the rest?" "That's how it works, yeah. I know I'm Mike, and I remember everything I used to and feel like I used to. Nothing is really different about me, except my body. I have no idea as to how the costume actually performed the transformation, because obviously the whole thing should be impossible, but... it did. I can't explain that. It changed me into this woman, all the way down to cells and molecules." "Does that mean you had the, uh, essential parts rearranged? You sit down to pee now?" "Yes, I do." "Are you attracted to men?" "No!" I denied emphatically and felt a twinge of shame as soon as the words had left my lips. What I had said was perhaps not a through-and- through lie, but it certainly wasn't the whole truth either. As if on cue, a mental image of me sharing a passionate kiss with Angel the vampire came to the forefront of my mind, and even though I tried to push it aside, it refused to go away. "I see," Dad said bemusedly, folded the newspaper and put it down on the table. He took a deep breath, in an exaggerated and dramatic fashion, and rubbed his eyes. The trip had been taxing on the man, both mentally and physically, and the stupefying discovery that his adult son had been magically turned into a woman during his absence was unquestionably a very heavy additional load for him to bear. The light of the ceiling lamp revealed what I presumed were new streaks of faded color in his soft black hair, as well as in his well-groomed mustache. If the insanity was to keep going as it had so far, I figured, the man would be lucky to have any hair left on his head at the end of the year. "Be honest with me," Dad said after collecting his thoughts. He looked me in the eyes. "If this is just a prank, and I strongly suspect so, you can admit that now. Did Mike and Kate put you up to this? I won't be mad at you, Miss, or at them. I assure you I can take a joke as much as the next guy, but you have gone maybe a bit too far." "It's no joke," I said quietly and shook my head. "I wish it was." "Seriously?" "No joke." Dad rose to his feet. "You know," he said, "I've run into a lot of weird stuff in my time, but this takes the cake. I'm not the smartest person in the world and my education was pretty limited, but I'm perfectly well aware that the talk about Halloween costumes transforming people into other people is nonsense. It's bullcrap. You should know that; you're a scientist, for Heaven's sake--or my son is. I have no idea who you really are if you're not him." "Believe me, Dad," I pleaded with him, struggling to maintain an even tone and not to let my sorrow and desperation get the upper hand. "I'm being totally candid. I understand the story sounds crazy, but that's only because it is crazy. Things like that shouldn't happen, but they did. Don't ask me how, and don't remind me that I should know better. I... I can't explain it, like I already said." For a passing moment, I had to fight back tears. "And you want me to accept that?" "You can live in denial, if you prefer," I retorted, biting my lip. "I tried that, and a few others did too. Didn't turn out very well." "Hm," he uttered and strolled to the front of one of the living room windows. Immersed in his thoughts, he stared into the dusk twilight outside and rocked on his heels, with his hands behind his back. I waited for him to resume the conversation, but all he did was to mumble something under his breath. I had rarely seen him in such a condition. He retained his composure, however barely, but the quick-witted, cleverly sarcastic Tony Caldwell whom I had expected to meet was nowhere to be found that night. After a full minute had passed without either of us saying anything, I made my exit and slunk to my room. Dad had my sympathy, but I couldn't spare much energy for cheering him up when I was at pains just to get by. Feeling exhausted, I collapsed on my bed and lay on my back, gazing at the ceiling boards. Kate had suggested that I should put on some music and enjoy it, but I was too despondent and tired to get up and trudge to my stereo set. Instead, I listened to the sounds of life in our household. At one point, Dad answered a phone call, and he then engaged in one of his favorite hobbies, arguing and haggling with a telemarketer in a loud voice. Mom was doing something in the kitchen, and Kate returned home a little later. I noted these things in a disinterested, dispassionate manner. There was a void within my chest that sucked in emotions and left only a dull apathy behind. The women exchanged a couple of words, and Kate went to the living room to see Dad. Their reunion was happier than his and mine had been, judging by the tones of their voices. This observation did little to lessen my bitterness, and when Kate's footsteps began to carry from the staircase, I hoped she was only coming upstairs to go to the bathroom to wash up, or maybe to hang out in her own room. A few moments later she appeared in my doorway. Bowing to the inevitable, while also actually glad that she had come to see me, I bent my knees to make room for her on the bed. She sat down. "Am I in for a homily?" I asked. "Something tells me you're not overjoyed about how I behaved back there." She let out a small sigh. "I wouldn't say you're completely wrong when it comes to my feelings, but I wasn't going to lecture you. I wanted to see how you're doing, that's all." "I appreciate you taking the trouble." "I'm beginning to think you're angry with me and not the other way around, Cindy," she said with a smile. "You should know you're the most important thing in the world for me, bar none. Even if you sometimes act like a jackass, which you do, I'll always love you." "If you don't mind me saying so, you've been pretty snappy towards me lately." "Like when?" "The night before the last, for instance, when we were having the meeting." "To be perfectly honest, I get a little frustrated with you every now and again, and I guess then I say stuff that doesn't come out right or I lose my temper too easily. The thing is, you resist your changes endlessly out of some dogged conviction that you're supposed to be male and you make yourself and everyone around you miserable in the process. Maybe you don't see it in that light, but that's what it looks like to me. I'm going out of my way to help you get started with your new life, and Mom and Dawn and the others are doing their part too, but you're dead set against it. Why can't you simply go along and accept the fact that you're a girl? Why do you keep torturing yourself? I can't understand that, no matter how hard I try." "Then there was the sleepover last week," I reminded her. "You did have a fair amount of fun at my expense when the others came." "I'm sorry if I offended you," she apologized in a manner that left me no doubt as to her sincerity. "It was intended to be totally harmless, and, well, you were acting kind of ridiculous that day, what with the fuss you made over your new name and all that, so it wasn't totally undeserved." "Maybe you've got a point," I admitted. I swung my legs out over the side of the bed and sat up to be level with her. "Dad's home," I mentioned. "Yeah. I just met him." She was about to continue, but she fell silent when she saw the expression on my face. Her casual, unworried tone changed immediately. "What? Don't tell me he... Cindy, if that old bonehead said something to hurt you, I'll sure as hell let him---" "No, it's not that," I interrupted her and shook my head. "We talked, and that's it. He's terribly confused, which is completely understandable. I can't blame him for that." "Tell me what's wrong, Cindy," she prompted, her intense concern for me plainly showing. "What did he say to you?" "Nothing much. He asked me if I sit down when I go to the bathroom, and I told him I do. Things like that. It's not his fault that I feel this way. I'm... I can't..." Hot tears welled up in my eyes, and abruptly they began to flow. This time, there was no stopping them. I had been transformed into another person against my will, I had been transported into a parallel dimension, I had fought horrific demons and vampires, I had traveled through a frightening and surreal imagination world, I had witnessed my best friends being kidnapped, I had stalked a man with an assault rifle- -and I broke down when I was surrounded by my loved ones in the safety of my family home. I couldn't help but weep uncontrollably. The pain had become too great to contain. Kate pulled me into a fierce hug, and she held me as the sobs wracked my body. "It'll be alright, Mike," she whispered gently in my ear, making a point to use my old name. "You'll pull through. You have all of us standing by your side. We'll never abandon you, you hear me? Never!" "I can't..." I tried to speak again, but a gasp and a shudder, followed by more sobs, halted my tongue mid-sentence. "Shh," she hushed. Kate was crying softly herself. "It'll be okay. Brother or sister, boy or girl, we're family. Don't you ever forget that... Don't you ever forget that!" I longed for a good and refreshing sleep that would allow me to forget my troubles for a while, but when I went to bed later that night, the bothersome thoughts refused to leave me alone. I still had an apocalypse to stop, and on top of that, my family life was becoming more and more complicated. My road to Master's degree and a career, whether at the University or outside of it, was probably blocked for good. There was no one to give me guidance and answers, so I would have to sort this mess out by myself, and I had no idea how I could accomplish that. I tossed and turned between the sheets, waiting for exhaustion to come to my rescue. The general distress condensed into a physical sensation of cold, and I pulled the blanket to my neck to stay warm but continued to shiver underneath it. If only this was already over, I said to myself. If only I knew what to do. Our major problem was the portal, of course. With any luck, Willow--no, Jake--and Tara might be able to handle that. What then? Too early to tell. Anyway, if we succeed in stopping Angronok, maybe I can get my hands on some more of that anti- skinsuit potion. I have to plan and get more weapons. If I save the world, will Dad help me with the car? I need to dig it out from the mud before the North Korean vampires land on the moon so we can get away, unless that already happened yesterday. This flow of mismatched and fragmented ideas slowly crystallized and formed into a restless, nonsensical dream. I was out in the yard of our home, digging with a tiny toy shovel. My car had sunk into the ground, and I had to get it out as soon as possible; North Korea was about to invade, and the car was the only means of escape for me and my family. I worked feverishly, but time was running out and only the top of the car was visible. "You'd better hurry," someone exhorted me. "They've already bombed Missouri!" In desperation, I threw the shovel to the ground and decided to go indoors to find a better tool and some help. Once in the house, I found out that we had guests. There was a happily unconcerned group of people having tea and chatting in our living room. My both parents, Kate, Cinnamon, Rupert Giles and the militia platoon commander were gathered around the table, and my mother was showing everyone an album with pictures of me as a little child. They laughed and commented on the photographs, paying no mind to the threat looming over us. I was stunned at their nonchalance, or ignorance. "Hey, folks," I spoke up. "Could somebody give me a hand, please?" "Mike," my father said in an annoyed tone, "can't you see we're having a good time? Don't make a fuss over nothing, son." "Yeah," Kate accompanied him. "Be a good girl and go make us more tea, will you?" "I'm not a damn girl!" I spat out. "Why does everyone insist on treating me like one?" "Not a girl," Giles uttered and rose from the sofa. He and the other people and the room itself grew, or I shrank, until he towered above me. "Not a girl!" he repeated mockingly and menacingly in a booming voice. "I'd say 'Don't call me Buffy!' is a rather poor catchphrase, don't you think?" The others erupted in evil laughter. I was too shocked and insulted to protest, so I rushed back outside in blind anger. Let them die, I thought as I went to get a bigger shovel from the garage. I would drive away by myself. If they didn't care about their own survival, why should I? Then, the dream suddenly became a confusing blur of disjointed images and the previous setting was wiped out. A little later, as it seemed to me, my sleep was close to ending. With every second, I was becoming more aware of my surroundings and the fact that I was in my bed, about to wake up. However, when I opened my eyes, I realized that I was in a strange, vast room with white walls and bright lighting. The beginnings of a panic gripped me as I sat up in the bed, looking nervously around, but just then, a reassuring thought occurred to me and quelled my fears. This had to be another dream, I told myself. I was actually still sound asleep where I belonged. I could hear footsteps slowly approaching, and as I turned my head, I saw a black figure walk in a weird, jumping gait up to me and stop a few feet from the bed, which was standing alone in the middle of the otherwise empty room. I immediately recognized my visitor as someone I had seen before, at least in a dream: a human being covered from head to toe by a horse costume, complete with a shiny black bodysuit, a tail and a mask that hid his face entirely. He had a pair of tall riding boots on his feet. "Hi there, horse boy," I hailed him with a wry smile. "Fancy seeing you again." "Evening, Mikey," Derry Darkmane replied in his deep masculine voice and tilted his masked head. "How've you been, pal?" "You're not catching me at my best," I said. "Anyway, what's the occasion?" "I reckon it's pretty much the same as last time. I want to show you something." "Sorry, but I'm not decently dressed. Maybe I should change first." "No worries. Just follow me." "God does move in mysterious ways," I mumbled to myself. "I've got a furry spirit guide." With marked reluctance, I clambered out of the bed and stood on the floor barefooted. The perfectly smooth stone floor was cold, but not so much so to make me uncomfortable. Derry turned and began to bounce forward in his signature goofy gait, and I walked in his wake, completely naked aside from my boxers. My body was again entirely male and that of my own, down to my chest hair and the small scar on my left arm. The dimensions of the room were impossible to estimate since the walls and the ceiling were just as featureless as the floor and, on a quick glance, there appeared to be no furniture or any other objects whatsoever in this space, apart from my bed. After a while, however, I saw what seemed like a painting hanging in mid-air a few yards away. A closer look revealed that it was affixed to the wall. Derry stopped in front of it, and so did I. The picture was an extremely lifelike full-body portrait of a young boy, aged maybe ten. He had light brown hair, roundish cheeks and a bright smile on his lips. With a surprise, I understood the boy was none other than me. The face in the painting was a faithful recreation of my class photo from the fourth grade, with the rest of the body added in. "See who that is?" Derry asked me. "I think I do," I responded. "Good. Hnnrr." "This is shaping up to be interesting, as far as dreams or hallucinations go," I added. "Can I ask you something, Derry?" "Go ahead." "Is any of this real? I'm pretty convinced you're something my subconscious has made up, but what about the rest?" "Do you mean you and me seeing each other here?" he returned the question. "That, and the other things--the skinsuits, the wormhole, Sunnydale and Angronok. Do any of them actually exist outside of my mind?" "You could ask that about anything and everything, pal. Like I said before, I'm just a horse and I ain't got all the answers, but if you want my take on it, chances are they do exist, and not just in your head. This is darn complicated stuff, with the reality changing and whatnot, so you oughta be prepared for anything and reckon that things don't always work like you expect them to." It was only then that I noticed there was actually a series of paintings on the same wall. Some ten feet away to my right hung another large picture. It was also of me, but it depicted the person I had been around the time of my high school graduation, with closely cropped hair and lips pursed together. The look in the young man's eyes expressed mild dismay at having to pose for the photographer or the painter. This and a few nights spent drinking modest amounts of beer with my friends had been more or less the extent of my rebelling during my teen years, I thought with a small smile and a subdued chuckle. The next painting showed me as I had been about ten years ago, and the one after that was a splitting image of myself in the present day. These were followed by the odd one out, Buffy Summers in red faux leather pants and a black top, staring intently in front of herself. Every single image was more akin to a photograph than a painting in its astonishing level of detail and crispness. I even thought I could discern a measure of depth in each of them, as though they were holograms of some sort. As I walked slowly past them, the persons in the frames almost appeared to follow my movements. Soon, I was hit by another realization. The pictures were indeed not paintings, but mirrors showing still images of myself. Their surfaces were metallic and reflective, and although the iterations of me appearing there didn't move their limbs or change the looks on their faces, they did follow me with their eyes. A shudder went through my whole body. "What's the meaning of this?" I asked Derry pointedly. The horse fetishist had accompanied me to the Buffy picture and was now standing by my side stiffly. To my annoyance, the horse mask covered every square millimeter of his face and made it impossible for me to read his emotions. "Are all of these images supposed to be me?" "So I reckon, pal," he said and punctuated his words with a nicker, "Hnnrr." "But why? What are you trying to say with this?" "If I had to guess," he commented, "I'd wager the higher ups are givin' you another hint here. Like you said, these people are you." "Yeah? And?" "Well, faces change and looks deceive, but what's behind can stay the same. That goes for both you and other people and things." "That's something of a truism," I pointed out, unsure whether I should have been amused or frustrated by Derry's roundabout and abstruse fashion of dispensing information. "Why won't you tell me something I don't already know?" "You think you know it," he said, "but you also gotta understand it. That can pay off in the end, in more ways than one." "How? What's going to happen?" Derry merely nickered softly at this and turned to leave. He began to trot quietly away, and I remained standing in front of the Buffy picture, fervently trying to decipher and comprehend the meaning of this vision, dream or whatever it might best be called. "Hey, wait!" I called after him. Another thought had occurred to me, and I wanted to hear what he had to say about it before he disappeared. Derry stopped and pivoted slowly on his heels so he was facing me, and I was again looking at his unmoving mask that kept his identity and emotions secret. At any rate, I had his attention, so I asked him, "Derry, who... Who am I?" There was a long silence before the man's voice replied, "You're the experiencer, Mike. You're the narrator." Derry and the strange white room dematerialized in a flash as I opened my eyes in my own bed. The transition was more akin to the reality shifts that I had gone through than the usual process of waking up from a dream, even though I was certain that I hadn't been physically moved anywhere this time. Another point that I grasped without delay was that my original form being restored to me had only been a pleasant fantasy. The body that got up from under the blanket and stood on the floor by the side of the bed was petite, slender, nimble and altogether womanly. It sported long blond hair, a pair of perky, delectable breasts, a beautiful face, a flat belly and well-balanced curves, combined with hidden abilities-- agility, reflexes and power--which no mere human could match. However, I took this predictable disappointment in stride and didn't agonize over it. Being a man again and free of the madness was too good to be true, anyway. I did my morning routine on autopilot. I washed up, brushed my teeth and my hair and changed into my indoors clothes. Mom was waiting for me with breakfast (tea and sandwiches, as usual) downstairs, and I dug in eagerly. It was already a little past 10:30, but because today was a Sunday, I presumed I could eat in peace and disregard the lateness of the hour. No pressing engagements were supposed to be on the agenda. "The weather is incredible, by the way," Mom noted as I was busily consuming the food and the tea. "The forecast was something along the lines of rain showers and near-freezing temperatures, but it's well over 50 degrees and bright sunshine out there. You wouldn't believe it's November already; the air feels much more like in late September." "It's curious alright," I agreed and nodded, taking a bite of my sandwich and washing it down with a sip of the sweet tea. It had occurred to me at once that the unpredicted heat wave might have been more than a simple freak of nature--that is, literally otherworldly--and a sign that we would have to hasten our efforts to close the portal. Regardless, my misgivings did not presently concern Mom, and I wholeheartedly hoped that they never would. "You really have to go out today," she suggested emphatically. "There's no guarantee we'll get days like this anymore before next April or May." "Where's Dad?" I inquired, changing the topic and attempting not to show the apprehension that the thought of another less than harmonious run-in with him aroused in me. "He and Kate went to see the car she's thinking of buying," she replied casually. "The seller is in Madison, so they most likely won't be home until some time in the afternoon." "What kind of mood was he in? Was he grouchy or depressed?" "By no means. He was pretty excited about the car, and I also think he was thrilled to be able to spend a full day with Kate and do something nice together with her. Not that he said it out loud, mind you, but I could tell, with that fussing and blathering. That's how he is." "Did... Um, did the subject of me come up?" "No. They were both too busy to talk about anything other than the car, he in particular. He was almost like a kid on Christmas morning and kept prodding her along so they could get on the road faster. I actually thought she'd lose her patience with him, but fortunately she didn't. It was close, though." Dad was considerably more guarded than Mom or Kate when it came to displaying emotions openly, and very often he would raise a barrier of snideness between his inner self and the outside world when he was at a loss or undergoing turmoil. He might well have been attempting to deal with his angst about my fate by putting it out of his mind and concentrating on Kate and the car instead. Nonetheless, I felt a tiny bit of relief on hearing the news. With any luck, he would be in reasonably good spirits when the two returned from their trip, and perhaps he and I could have a fresh start later. "How come they're going to a faraway place like Madison?" I queried. "Chesterton and Bedford have a couple of used auto dealerships, if memory serves." "It was Dad's idea, actually. Ever since Kate mentioned that she'd like to have a small, handy car, he's been all over it. He wants to make absolutely sure no one sells his little baby girl a clunker." "I have to hand it to him," I commented. "He's been eager to help me too whenever I've had trouble with my car, and he knows a fair deal about that stuff. Wonder if that's going to change." "What do you mean?" Mom asked. "Well, me," I said. "I'm no longer the son he used to have. He probably sees me as a total stranger who claims to have been Mike and who's trying to infiltrate his family. It does sort of make sense, from a rational point of view. I don't think things will ever be the same between him and me." "You know him," Mom reassured me. "He takes his sweet time to come around to anything new, but he will, in the end. To be frank, I'm not completely over your change myself. Don't get me wrong; I don't doubt for a second that you're my Mike deep down and you do make a lovely girl, but I still have some soul-searching ahead of me before I can accept it entirely and learn to live with it." "That goes for me as well. I haven't been able to come to terms with this damn thing yet, and chances are I never will." "Then again, given that it's not possible for you to undo the transformation, it doesn't make much sense to fight back or pretend nothing has changed. The main thing for me is that you're happy. The rest is just details to be worked out." "Like my sex?" "Yes, like your sex, for example. You're the same person as you always were, only a woman. I won't let that stop me from loving you, Mike." "Thanks, Mom," I said and got on my feet to hug her. Overall, I was extraordinarily, almost incomprehensibly optimistic, at times outright serene that morning. The unresolved state of affairs between my father and me was admittedly weighing heavily on me, and the upcoming quest to close the portal, which might include a pitched battle versus fearsome monsters from other dimensions, was an even greater source of disquiet--not to mention the prospect that we could fail and draw immeasurable destruction upon our unsuspecting world. Regardless, the previous night had been indescribably cathartic for me. Crying in my sister's lap and allowing the hurt that had accumulated inside of me to pour out had done my soul a tremendous amount of good. Kate had been right from the beginning. The strict control I had maintained over my emotions, as opposed to letting them run their natural course, had most likely not been in the best interests of my mental health. Despite the tears, I had neither devolved permanently into a hysterical bundle of nerves nor finished the potential transition into a Buffy Summers who was prepared to put poor Mike Caldwell behind her without a second thought. In contrast, I had to concede the battle over my sexual preferences to my feminine side. The Chad encounter and my reluctance to kiss Faith would have been pretty persuasive proof of that by themselves, but there was in addition the indelible mental image of me kissing Angel hungrily and enjoying every second. As a matter of fact, I would have been entirely willing to go further with him. The only thing that had prevented a night of steamy passion was his curse, which would remove his soul and turn him into a sadistic, bloodthirsty monster if he were to experience a moment of pure bliss. While it was easy for me to give credit to Kate for her sound advice, I was loath to admit Faith had been right as well when it came to my carnal desires. I did want a man, even needed one in my life. Nevertheless, this was still a more or less tolerable compromise between the best and worst outcome: staying as myself and becoming Buffy through and through, respectively. The Slayer persona had thankfully remained buried in the background, and it had left me in full authority over my actions. A little after dinner, around 1:30 p.m., Mom and I were once more sitting at the kitchen table. She was doing a crossword puzzle to pass the time and I was keeping her company by chatting about this and that. When I happened to glance through the window, I saw movement in the front yard and a human figure approaching. An instinctive alarm went off briefly in my mind before I recognized the person. She was Dawn, clad in her pure white duvet jacket, which shone brightly in the sun and had first attracted my attention. "There she comes again," I commented on the observation. "What?" Mom reacted, raising her eyes from the magazine. "Who?" "Dawn. Maybe you and Dad should get it over with and adopt her, seeing as she's hanging here pretty much all the time anyway and eating your food. Then you'd have the complete collectible set of the Summers sisters." "I don't think we have to go that far," she said with a subdued laugh. "She's a nice girl and always welcome to visit us." The nice girl in question let herself in without delay. She called out from the foyer, took off her jacket at the coat rack and walked into the kitchen, making herself at home straight away. "Hi, guys!" she greeted us gleefully and went on to hug Mom and then me. I didn't think anything of this way of saying hello anymore and hugged her back. Joking remarks aside, having my other sister pay us a call was the highlight of that day for me. "How's my newest niece?" Mom asked her. "No complaints," Dawn said. As she was inclined to do when she was particularly glad or excited, she swayed slightly on her feet and simultaneously lifted her shoulders. "I got my sentence commuted." "Your sentence?" "The two weeks' grounding for kissing Brett at the mall," she explained. "My folks finally relented, and so I'm basically free to go where I want, as long as I'm back at home no later than 11 o'clock every night and let them know about my plans in advance." "Are they okay with your plans even if you intend to go chasing boys?" I chimed in. "You know my parents," she said with a smile. "They're, like, a bit overprotective of me and would rather have me under close supervision, but what they don't know doesn't harm them." In her delight, she had apparently forgotten that my mother was included in this conversation, and she hastily added, "Not that I'm planning on doing things they wouldn't approve of. I only meant that if I really wanted, I sort of could." "They're putting their trust in you," Mom pointed out. "You should show them you're worthy of it." "Yeah, of course," Dawn agreed. "It's just that I'd like to get out and have fun when I'm still young and don't have to worry about my studies or work." "About that," I said. "Are you going back to school, or is Mandy going to provide a fake diploma for you?" "As a matter of fact I am going," she announced with a certain amount of pride in her voice. "Mandy's contacts are pulling a few strings and dealing with the paperwork, but when that's sorted out, I'm starting 10th Grade at Greensville High. It'll probably take until after the holidays, though, but come New Year and the spring semester, they're going to have one more student in class." "That's marvelous!" Mom enthused. "I'm positive you made the right choice. Good for you, Dawn!" "I was kinda sitting on the fence at first when Mandy and my parents asked me how I felt about it," the teen said. "Scott went to school and graduated, so it's redundant, in a way, for me to do the same because I know everything he did. But then I gave it some more thought and realized I'd just be hanging around home until I'm eighteen with nothing much to do if I wasn't enrolled anywhere. What's more, I get to socialize and make friends with people my own age, which is a big plus, obviously. And, last but not least, let's not forget the eligible bachelors to be found in the high school environment." The last point brought a wide smile on her face. "Sounds great," Mom commented. "You've got everything figured out, I see." "Any news from the home front?" I asked Dawn casually. "Quiet and routine, for the most part. Erica did drop by a couple of days ago. She had baby Tom with her, and he was so adorable!" "How old is he now?" Mom inquired. "Seven and a half months. I got to hold him and play with him and also feed him a couple of times, and we got along really well. I could tell he likes me a lot, and Mom said so too. He's absolutely precious, a real bundle of joy." "I can imagine. You've always been in tune with people." "It's a shame Erica was there only for one night," Dawn continued, and a crestfallen look came onto her face. "She didn't flat out admit it or anything, but she cut her stay short because of me." "What makes you think that?" Mom asked the girl. "The way she acted when she was around me. She was, like, awkward and restrained and clearly trying to keep me at an arm's length. She didn't say that she didn't want me near her and her baby, but it was plain to see she felt pretty ill at ease when I was there, especially if Mom or Dad wasn't in the same room with us." "I'm so sorry for you," Mom expressed her condolences. "Maybe she was just confused. She doesn't know how to react to the change in you." "My old man is going through that phase at the moment," I added in hopes that it would lift Dawn's spirits. "I'm not sure whether or not he disinherited me yesterday, but other than that, we're close as ever." "Mike!" Mom admonished me. "It wasn't that bad!" "You're right, it wasn't. He took it relatively well, considering the circumstances." "Look, kids, you have to understand how we as your parents and family feel about this. We were dumbstruck when we learned that you have transformed into different people, and we're still only recovering from that bombshell. Even though we want what's best for you, it will take time for us to adapt, lots of time. We'll get there, eventually, but not right away." "I guess," Dawn sighed. "I'm not holding it against you." My cell phone interrupted the conversation by sounding out its ringtone. I needed a few seconds to remember that I had left the thing in my jacket pocket, so I had to jog to the coat rack to pull the phone out of its hiding place. "B--- Mike Caldwell." "Oh, hi," Willow's voice hailed me from the other end of the connection. "Are you busy right now, Buffy? Was this a bad time?" "No, not at all. I'm just hanging around at home, and Dawn's here, too." "Ooh! That's good!" Jake brightened up. "I just thought I'd tell you the news. Tara's feeling a lot better, totally okay in fact, and we're ready to do the portal closing spell." "Already? That was lightning fast, as far as recoveries from mental illnesses go." "Yeah, well, the healing spell kinda did the trick," he reminded me. "In any case, she's completely lucid and knows who and where she is. She remembers this Cadrian ritual, called Telf Neid Faruuth Dool, and says it should work if we cast it together, she and I." "Excellent." "There's just one teeny catch, though. We have to be as close to the portal as we can when we do it. The spell won't work from a distance." "I don't see how that presents a problem. We'll meet up, drive to the woods, and I'll protect you against anything coming through the portal while you cast the spell with Tara." "Right. Could we ask Faith and Riley to come along too? I-it's not that I don't think you can basically handle any baddie, but if there are several attacking us at once, it would be better to have more slaying power available." "Sure, why not. I'll see you in half an hour, okay?" "Okay, fantastic! Bye!" "Bye, Jake." I slipped the phone back into the jacket pocket and returned to the kitchen. Before I could give my report, Mom asked, "Who was it?" "Jake," I said. "He invited me over to their house." "Are you continuing to play the role game? Does this have to do with that?" "Yes, sort of. I'll help Jake with something and check up on Tara." "You mean Jud?" Mom queried keenly. "Is he doing any better?" "Apparently she--uh, he is. A great deal better. I don't know what happened, but it seems he's fine now, by and large. So, anyway, I'll get changed and go there right away." "I'm coming too," Dawn announced. "This is going to be so cool!" I went up to my room, and Dawn simply followed me there. Evidently the idea that I might like some privacy hadn't occurred to her, and I was too polite to tell her to wait for me downstairs. She was indeed a sweet and lovely girl who had made her affection for me abundantly clear, and I found it difficult to deny her anything. In the past, her puppy dog eyes had been the undoing of a critical plan by Jake and me, and it was hardly unimaginable that these events might repeat in the future. Most of my Buffy clothes were still in the moving boxes Amanda Elkins had brought them in, and the boxes entirely occupied one of the corners of my room. Due to its modest size, the room had the shortcoming of not having proper storage space for clothing, and the majority of my wardrobe had usually been kept in the big closet of the master bedroom or elsewhere in the house up until this point. There were only socks, underwear and a bare necessity collection of jeans and sweaters in the multipurpose cabinet, on what I called the "ready rack", with typically some more piled in a carefree manner on the swiveling chair when I was at home. This had worked tolerably well so far, but a young woman's extensive clothing collection could simply not be accommodated in this way. However, solving the problem properly required cooperation and input from Mom and Dad. They naturally had a say in any major rearrangements since the house was theirs. Dawn looked around and ran her fingertips lightly along the backs of the books in the cabinet. Scott had been to my room on countless occasions, but I didn't recall him ever showing that much interest in the furniture and decor specifically. "You've got all of Mike's old stuff," she noted. "Have you considered revamping and cleaning out?" "Haven't really had the time," I said succinctly, lifting another pile of trousers out of the box and racking my brain to decide what to wear. "Yeah, I understand," she responded and sat on the bed, leaning back. "But you've got to get around to it at some point. Take this bunk of yours, for example. It's ridiculously narrow and uncomfortable." "I beg to differ." "I mean, I guess it's fine for someone like a teen boy, but a woman needs more luxury. Besides, when you bring a guy in here, you'll both get bruised or fall off if you try to cuddle with him on this. There's not enough room for two." "I haven't gotten around to that, either." "You will. Speaking of beds, I already asked my dad to get me a new double size one, and he promised I'll have it before December begins. Then I'll invite Brett over, and we'll make out on my new bed. And if he gets too shy, I use that leg trick Faith taught me and totally have my way with him!" In a shock, I dropped the pair of trousers that I was holding in my hands. "What!? What did you say?" "Just kidding!" she giggled. "Got your attention, though, didn't I?" An open-necked sweater, lavender pink in color and with a sequined hem, was lying on the top of the pile of shirts in the next box over, and it promptly caught my eye. A small shiver raced down my spine as I recognized it. I had worn a garment exactly like it on the Breakers Woods mission to save Dawn, the very same girl who was now lounging on my bed in my room in Greensville. Although there was probably nothing more to this discovery than Amanda's meticulousness with detail and her having chanced upon a sweater that was a precise match to one that existed in the TV Buffy's wardrobe, it nevertheless further emphasized the surreality of my recent experiences. In the end, I decided on the lavender sweater and a pair of blue jeans. I took off the sweat pants, the flannel shirt and the white t-shirt of my casual outfit and changed into a spaghetti-strapped top before pulling on the jeans and the sweater. Perhaps the latter worked as a good luck charm, I thought with an internal chuckle. I had emerged from the confrontation with the vampires and demons almost unscathed, and if my hunch was correct, anything to give me an advantage, no matter how theoretical or unlikely, would soon be in high demand yet again. "Hey!" Dawn spoke up with a smile and got on her feet. "We've got matching pants!" Apart from the jeans, which really were similar to mine, she had selected a gray light sweater with navy blue sleeves from her closet and added a white beaded necklace to fill the need for accessories. "Good thing the weather's so fine," I noted. "What Mandy gave us would be ideal if we actually lived in California or if it was summer here all year round, but we probably have no choice but to hit the clothing stores in earnest before snow starts to fall." "Yeah," she voiced her agreement. "Hooray for the November dog days!" Dawn went quiet, and her expression became pensive and serious. She spent a few seconds staring into distance with her head turned to the side, searching for the words to convey her feelings. "This could be it, right?" she spoke in a steady but low voice. "The end of the world. If we don't succeed, we could get killed and the Earth could be destroyed." "We don't know that," I argued. "The portal is a threat while it's open, true, but I'm not sure how likely a real demon invasion is." "You don't have to sugarcoat it for me," Dawn said. "I understand what we're up against and what the stakes are, and I also know it has to be done so we and everybody else on this planet could hope to live. I don't have a problem with that. It's just so unfair, if you ask me. We should have our lives ahead of us, but they could be over in a matter of hours. I... I haven't even lost my virginity yet." "Neither have I." "Buffy," she continued and looked me in the eyes, "you must promise me something. If we get through this, I want you to live your life to the fullest. Make every single day count. And if you find a man who deserves you and who is good and kind to you, don't push him away and run from love only because you were a man yourself once, long ago. No matter what happens, I want you to promise and remember this." "Carpe diem," I quoted. "It's a good philosophy, regardless of what body I end up staying in." "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "I'd still change back into a man if I could." "But why?" Dawn exclaimed in disbelief. "What's the point? It doesn't make any sense!" "We've been over this, Dawn. I'm not happy as a girl, like I've told you multiple times. It's---" "I'm not buying that," she contended. "No way. You just think you're supposed to hate being a girl, and the more you keep telling yourself that, the more you actually hate it. How about you stop, look on the bright side and see where that takes you?" "If only it was so simple for me, Dawn." "It is! You're the one who's making it complicated." I failed to come up with a suitable and appropriately inoffensive counter, so I let the matter drop. We headed for the upstairs bathroom, where I applied some eyeliner, mascara, lipstick and perfume. In addition, I gave my hair another cursory brushing. Meanwhile, Dawn rifled through my stash of cosmetics, commented on the items and borrowed the lipstick tube to coat her own lips as well. My intention had been to talk her into staying at our house or alternatively offer to drop her off at the Anderson residence on my way to Jake's, but she tagged along and shrugged off my suggestions. "I'm not missing this for the world!" she said and sat down on the right front seat of my car. "Nothing interesting ever happens around these parts anyway, so if there's going to be some action, I want to see it." "It would be a lot safer for you to stay away from Ground Zero," I remarked as I started the engine and put the car in gear. "You shouldn't risk your life for no reason." "I've got you to protect me," she responded and smiled. "By the way, who else will be there? Willow and Tara, I'm guessing, and you and me, but is that everyone?" "Jake told me he would call Faith and Riley to ask them if they can come." "Oh yeah, Faith," Dawn mused. "Two Slayers are better than one, probably, if worst comes to worst. Anyhow, she does freak me out a little as a person. She's got this attitude thing that could get her into major trouble someday, and she's... I kinda admire her confidence, but she takes it way far." "To be blunt," I commented, "she's a loon, and no different from Larry Simmons in that respect, but I agree it's better to have her inside the tent pissing out than the reverse, like the other Scooby Gang did." After a leisurely drive through the town, I turned onto the Whites' driveway. I parked in front of the house, conscientiously making sure to leave plenty of room for the Whites and possible other guests to come and go with their vehicles, and walked up to the main door with Dawn in tow. I pressed the doorbell button and heard the bell chime inside the house. Footsteps approached on the other side of the door, and the lock let out a series of metallic clicks. The door swung open, and we found ourselves face to face with Tara Maclay. For a split second, before she recognized us for certain, her expression and slightly hunched posture signaled diffidence and even a measure of nervousness, but they instantly changed into relief and content. She didn't go so far as to initiate the conversation, however, and instead waited for us to introduce ourselves. "Hi!" I greeted her. "I'm Mike, and this is Dawn. You must be Tara, am I right?" "Yeah," she replied cheerily, but suddenly her prow furrowed and a puzzled look crossed her features. "I-I'm sorry, I must have misheard you or s-s-something. What did you say your name was again?" "Uh, it's... Buffy," I corrected myself and drew my lips into a smile that was perhaps not completely genuine. Tara's bewilderment melted away, and she perked up instantly. "That's what I thought," she said. "I remember you. Willow's in the living room, so if you... Come on in." At least outwardly and on a quick glance, she was restored to normal functioning. Her eyes were focused and lively, without the feverish glint that had been shining in them, and her movements were purposeful and coordinated. Her general appearance had undergone a marked change for the better as well. She was wearing makeup and a new outfit that consisted of a turquoise long-sleeved shirt with sequins arranged into the shape of a flower or a leaf on the front, a purple ankle-length skirt and a pair of clunky-heeled boots. A beaded necklace was the icing on the cake. Her long hair was up and neatly arranged with bobby pins. With Tara leading the way, we entered the foyer and took off our jackets. She hovered nearby, undoubtedly pleased to see us, and even gave Dawn a little hug, which the teen girl returned. Both curiosity and politeness compelled me to broach the topic of Tara's mental health, although I was fully aware that I would have to choose my words carefully. "So, Tara," I began, "I was told that you had... that you were not feeling all that well recently." "It's true," she confirmed with a nod. "I don't know what happened exactly. The last couple of days are a blur to me. I can only recall a few random images and faces and something else, but other than that, there's just this... disarray. Darkness. But that's behind me. I've found my way back. My mind's totally clear, thanks to Willow and you guys. She said you cast a spell together and it cured me." "Good thing it worked," Dawn interjected. "Yeah, definitely. I never want to go through something like that again. I was shattered to pieces." The fact that she had plainly regained her sanity and was feeling fine soothed my guilty conscience over having helped trick the unwary and gullible Bucko into the Tara skin. The sense of exoneration, although not quite complete, was in any case so great that when I next opened my mouth, I blurted out something that would have been preferable to leave unsaid: "Talk about a career change. Mister Judson Griffin, student, has hereby officially joined the ranks of the Greensville Scooby Gang!" The confounded expression returned to Tara's face immediately, and it also stifled my premature, out-of-place levity. "Who?" she asked. "What do you mean, Buffy?" Jake came into the room right when the resulting awkwardness had reached its peak and I was fumbling for an explanation or an excuse. "Oh, you're here," he said with a warm smile as he laid his eyes on Dawn and me. "This is great! We can get to work now." Jake, like Bucko, was a picture perfect representation of his character. Every detail from his makeup and hair to his clothing was very much in keeping with Willow's style. His outfit for that day consisted of a pink sweater with white horizontal stripes, khaki pants and green-gray sneakers, all of which could have been taken straight from her collection in Sunnydale. "By the way, Dawn," Tara interjected, "Willow told me you're interested in magic and spells. Would you like to see what we've put together for this mission?" "Sure!" the girl said excitedly. "Count me in!" "Yeah, well... We've got the stuff over here," she explained and led Dawn into the kitchen. Whether this was an intentional ploy to give Jake and me a moment in private or merely a convenient coincidence, we took advantage of it and went into the living room, where I had chatted with Mrs. White during my previous visit. That day, though, there was no large woman lying on the sofa, bemoaning the various unconventional adversities she was forced to grapple with. "Is your mother home?" I asked Jake offhandedly. "She's... out," he said tersely, and the dejected look in his eyes convinced me not to pry any further. Bucko, however, appeared to be a more approachable topic, and I brought him up next. "End of the road for the Buckster, I reckon. He's completely gone, isn't he?" "That's how it seems to me," Jake confirmed. "The spell may have something to do with it, and some of the stuff she's forgotten may come back to her later. I don't think she'll ever want to return to being a man, though." "I suppose things could be worse," I remarked and wondered in passing who would have the questionable honor of breaking the news to Bucko's parents. "He does come across as pretty well adjusted to being Tara, and we have a mystical dimensional gateway to shut down, so that much the better." "Yeah. It's one of these peachy win-win situations where you get what you want and the world at large gets what it wants, which in this case means saving it with our awesome witchy superpowers." "About that," I said and steered the conversation towards more interesting territory. "Of course, it's way too early to tell how everything will turn out, but let's assume for the sake of argument that we manage to pull this off and close the wormhole and beat the daylights out of the Big Bad if he shows. I'm thinking we should do more detective work and find out if anyone else has some of that skinsuit antidote. The fake Tina had a bottle of it, so there's got to be more out there. Then it's time for another road trip adventure." "Didn't you hear what Mandy told us?" Jake rebuked me. "The antidote's poison. I-it will kill us if we use it!" "Most likely not, if we know the right dosage." "No, Buffy!" he burst out in an almost anguished tone, as though my idea had thoroughly scared him and he were unconditionally determined to convince me not to go through with it. His reaction was such a surprise to me that I didn't even pay attention to the name he had referred to me by. "It won't work, and I'm not coming on a stupid a-and insane and dangerous and fruitless, fear-and-loathing kinda outing with you!" "You didn't have a problem with it just a few days ago," I reminded him and went on, "But if you'd rather cast a gender changing spell on us, feel free to do that instead. Totally okay by me. I'm under the impression you've got Willow's powers, and I'll take whatever I can get." "No. I won't do that either." Alarm bells were now going off in my head; something was seriously amiss with him. "Jake," I addressed my girl-shaped male friend. "What's wrong, buddy? You sound---" "It's Willow, if you don't mind," he said quietly and cast his eyes down. The whole excruciating truth finally sank in at that moment. It was like a hard hit to my gut, shocking me to muteness. I had deluded myself into believing that despite everything, my best friend Jake White was still alive inside this young, attractive woman and that the instances of her feminine, in-character behavior were, in the end, nothing but isolated moments of the skinsuit influencing him when he was distracted. I had been wrong. The person standing in front of me was not Jake White, a he, but Willow Rosenberg, a she. The last of my friends, and the last of my trusted comrades-in-arms in the battle to retain our own personalities, was irrevocably gone. He had left me just as Charlie, Scott and Larry had. I was alone, helpless, betrayed and devastated. I knew I was supposed to say something to her, but I had lost my ability to form intelligible speech, so Willow assumed the task of carrying on the conversation: "I know this is going to be a lot to take in for you, but... it's for the best. I'm happy the way I am. It's as if I was always meant to be her--meant to be Willow. Me. Maybe this is my calling. And there's something else too." "Something else?" I uttered haltingly. "Yeah. Me and Tara... You see, now that she's got her marbles back, we get along really well. She's this wonderful, sweet person who's everything I'd ever want in a girlfriend, a-and if I'm not totally mistaken, she might like me back. I don't know if we'll work out or not in the end, but I want to give it a shot. I hope you understand, Buffy." "Don't call me..." I began instinctively but trailed off. A heavy lump had formed in my chest. "Call you Buffy?" she completed my sentence for me. "I-I don't want to hurt your feelings or anything, but you are her. You are Buffy Summers, and you should be. The world needs you, as her." Tara peered into the living room a few seconds later, before I had time to form a half-way sensible reply. "Hey, guys," she said. "I think we, uh, should be going. I've got our things ready, and Riley just messaged me that they are there." "Okay," Willow agreed. "We'll be right along." The two Wiccans put on their coats and, assisted by Dawn, loaded an assortment of magical items (candles, jars with whitish powder inside, a wooden ornament of some kind) into the trunk of my car. My part was limited to watching the excited bustling and trying to reconcile myself to how things evidently stood now. The ride to the roadside park was both short and uneventful. Willow and Tara, who sat in the back, chatted casually with each other and Dawn. They studiously avoided mentioning the momentous task ahead of us and talked about everyday matters, which only added to the eminent sensation of unreality. I was taking three Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters in my car to close a magical portal in the woods near my hometown on a warm and beautiful November day. I was virtually oblivious to their chatter and remained silent for the whole time. Being forced to face the completeness of Jake's mental transformation had undermined my tranquility, and it had been replaced with a roiling mix of predominantly negative emotions that threatened to go out of control. As if by some miracle or through the intervention of some unseen, external benefactor, I nevertheless managed to rein them in for a while; and when the roadside park came into view, they begun to form into a kind of grim resolve. I would see this through and do what I could to save the world. The hurt I would deal with afterwards. If I was to die today, it was infinitely better to go down fighting with determination and fury than cowering in the background, feeling sorry for myself. Amanda Elkins' car was parked there, and when I pulled up next to it, Faith and Riley got out of the Jaguar. The latter had exchanged his biker jacket and trousers for a green wool Army sweater, camouflage pants and a utility belt, a more appropriate attire for going into battle. I also noticed that he had a pistol in a holster on his belt. Where and how he had gotten hold of an actual firearm would have been interesting to know, but I decided to save my questions regarding the weapon for later. "Evening, guys!" he hollered to us as Faith collected a pair of axes from the trunk of their vehicle and handed one to me. "Looking to join the party?" "We wouldn't miss it for anything," Willow declared on behalf of the four of us. "We figured it's high time to set things right." "Couldn't agree more," Riley concurred. "Great to have you on board." I was gripped by a sudden, irresistible impulse to say something, and so I cleared my throat. "Guys... friends; I think I can call every one of you my friend, no matter what differences there were between us in the past." I paused and looked at the others, privately satisfied and delighted to see that I had their undivided attention. "It's probably no secret that I hate this. I hate to have to be here, I hate to have to be in this body, and I hate that the fate of the world is in our hands, for real. It's a mystery to me why we, of all the people on the planet Earth, were chosen. Possibly we'll never know. But the important thing is that we're ready. We have a chance to finish the threat that's attempting to devour us and destroy the very reality around us. I believe we can do it--I need to believe that, and so do you. Angronok wants to fight? Fine, we'll give him a fight. We will fight him wherever he attacks, be it in these woods, out there in a cornfield, on the streets, on a mountaintop, or in another solar system, anywhere. We will go on to the end, no matter what the cost is going to be." There was a short, respectful silence. The little oration had surprised me nearly as much as it had the others, and I had no idea as to where the thoughts or the words had actually come from. Nonetheless, they were relevant and well-chosen in my opinion, and none of the others seemed to disapprove of them, either. "Inspiring," Tara commented courteously. "I'm not sure if I'd rate that one alongside the classics by Winston Churchill or JFK," Willow added with a half-smile and in a manner and words that perhaps carried one last echo of good old Jake White, "but it wasn't too shabby." I turned my attention to my sister. "Dawn," I addressed her in a final attempt to persuade her not to accompany us to the portal site, "I really think you should stay here and guard the cars, or something. We may want to leave this place fast." "Don't worry, Buffy," she said in a cheerfully carefree manner. "Nothing's going to happen to us. We'll win and live forever. I just know that." "I wish I had your confidence, Dawnie." The dimensional portal and the clearing in the woods had not changed visibly since my previous visit. The ghostly pale blue ring of light was hovering in the air quietly and steadily as before, ominous in its extreme unnaturalness and strangeness. It was hardly any less eerie to behold in full daylight than in total darkness, I thought as we reached the opening. Because of the rough terrain, it was most convenient to walk in single file, and so Faith and I had been leading our group, Dawn and the pair of witches had followed us, and Riley had served as the rear guard to protect us from that direction. Once in the open, we spread out, with the three fighters taking up positions in front of the mouth of the portal, some ten or fifteen yards away from it, and Willow and Tara setting up their magic circle further back. They put a blanket on the ground to stay dry, knelt on it and started placing their arcane items on it. I glanced uneasily over my shoulder at Dawn, who stood beside the Wiccans, eager to see what they were doing. It had definitely been a serious lapse of judgment to allow her to join us. She wouldn't be able to help and was merely another person whom we would have to shield from demon assaults. If our attempts were to fail spectacularly and result in the worst possible outcome, her being here instead of having stayed at home would make little difference, but even so, I would have been able to breathe much more easily if at least a few miles had separated her from this cursed location. Riley unholstered his sidearm and pulled back on its receiver to cock it. It was certainly a pistol of some kind, but I couldn't recognize the type as it had peculiar ridges of plastic around the barrel, in addition what seemed like an oversized accessory rail below it. "Any second now," he said and took up a wide, prepared stance. "If they're going to attack, it happens as soon as they notice someone is interfering with the gate." "Let 'em come," Faith commented briskly and smirked. "We're ready here. Whoever tries to get through is in for one wicked ass-kicking." Tara began an incantation in a low, steady voice and a language that was alien to me, and then Willow joined in. I resisted the temptation to look at them, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the portal, but I noticed a rush of warm air from behind me. The blue light of the outline of the gate wavered and flickered slightly. A fast ripple seemed to move around the circumference clockwise, followed by another and soon yet another. Straining my vision, I thought I could see that the light ring was beginning to shrink, almost imperceptibly gradually. Willow and Tara continued chanting, and their voices blended together into a monotonous melody in my ears. Suddenly, a blinding glow of electric blue light shone from the portal and filled the entire ring. In the center, my eyes caught a large moving shape, lit from behind by the harsh glow of the wormhole. The object was nothing but a fuzzy silhouette at first, but it promptly resolved into a humanoid monster, and then the dread creature barged out of the gateway and emerged fully. Countless other shapes were milling around in the light behind it. "Watch out!" Faith cried out, and I raised my axe to take on the first attacker. It was only a few yards from me, almost within striking range. Just then, to my abject horror, my strength drained from my limbs. I stood immobilized, and time itself appeared to decelerate and stand still with me. The demon's movements slowed down until the being was only barely inching forward. The horrendous sight of its open mouth and crooked fangs filled my mind, and there was nothing else in the world. I never made contact with it. A fraction of a second before either its bite or my axe would have found its mark, my consciousness drifted away. For a heartbeat, I thought I could see myself and the others from the vantage point of an observer floating high above the battlefield, but then the vision shrunk and collapsed into nothing.