Spike studied the huddled girl in the corner. She looked like Buffy, sort of. Basically she looked like he would image someone who had been tortured and was insane would look. He had no interest in her what so ever. He couldn't even be bothered to torture her. What was the point? He turned and went back to where his Mate stood a few feet away. "She looks as though she's been dragged through Hell. Does she even know who she is anymore?" Willow smiled at him. "Of course, she just needs to be reminded."

Willow went into the cell and approached Buffy. "Buuufffyyy, Buuufffyyy. Come on now, we have company. Don't you want to say hello?" The Slayers eyes snapped open and she looked at Willow with a confused statement. No one ever came here except this version of her friend, who only came to torture her and drive her mad. "Wh..what?" Buffy croaked out the one word response. She was unused to speaking, usually her voice was used only screaming in pain and defeat. Spike walked into the cell and looked down at the Slayer. "Ello pet. Miss me?" Buffy screamed.

The Slayer screamed and screamed and screamed. She only stopped when Willow took her voice away. "I'd take that as a yes." Willow smirked at Spike who was watching the now silent Slayer with interest. "Well at least she remembers me. It's no fun torturing someone when they don't know who you are." Spike walked a little closer to Buffy and squatted down in front of her. He watched her face to see what she would do. "Can you give her voice back? I thinks she wants to say something." Willow returned her voice and went to the furthest corner of the cell and watched.

Buffy looked at Spike for a few minutes without moving or speaking. He stayed completely still and waited for her to do something. Finally she spoke. "Spike? Is it really you?" She continued to study his face as if she could figure it out by looking. "Yeah luv, it's me. I came back for you." She smiled. "This is Hell, you came all the way to Hell for me." Spike chuckled. "Nah, Hell wouldn't be this cruel. This is Just Red's house of Horrors. You've been her special guest." He leaned in closer and whispered to her. "This is real, you are alive, Red has been torturing you and nobody cared to look for you." Tears rolled down Buffy's cheeks. "Are you going to help me?" "Why should I do that pet? You broke it off with me, never loved me. Said I was beneath you at one point. Didn't mind having me beneath you later on though did you?" She just stared at him unsure if what to do. Was he telling the truth? Was he real? Was all this real? Was Willow real? This whole time she thought she was in Hell. Was she really being held captive? "Because you love me. Please Spike, I want to go home."

Oh this was rich. He was enjoying this. She actually thought he was still in love with her, and that he would rescue her. This was too good not to enjoy it. He extended his hand toward his witch. "Come 'ere pet." Willow went to him and he pulled her into his arms. He kissed her until she was breathless and then turned back to the Slayer. "Funny thing ducks, I don't love you anymore. I got me someone better than you. Someone who loves me, who isn't ashamed of what I am. Someone who is so powerful that she broke Angelus' claim on me just so she could have me all to herself. Now why would I risk all that just to help you?" Buffy knew in that moment that she was never going to leave here. She wasn't sure if this was real or if she was actually in Hell. It didn't matter. One place was as good as the other. Spike wasn't going to help her, Willow wasn't the same girl she had befriended in high school, and no one cared what happened to her here. She closed her eyes and withdrew into her self again. In here everything was good. Everything was sunny and warm, she had her family and friends. She had no fears or worries. She could escape the nightmares of being out there, of being beaten and tortured. Of having images of violence and horror burned into her brain. In here she was just Buffy. Not a Slayer, not a superhuman freak, just a normal girl with a normal life. Vampire's and demons and Hell mouths don't exist in here. She liked it here.

Spike watched as the Slayer withdrew into herself. He knew what she was doing, Dru used to do it to. When Angelus would torture her she would retreat into her mind. It was an escape. He turned to Willow. "Well, that was fun. Can we do again tomorrow?" Willow laughed. "Any time you want lover. But tomorrow we need to do the spell. I should have everything else I need by the end of the day. You up for your part in it?" "Yeah, I'll do it. Don't see why I have to pretend to be him though. Bloody wanker!" Willow rolled her eyes at him. "Because Spike. She's done this before, she'll think it's just a memory that it's not really happening." Spike pulled Willow out of the cell and she cloaked it again. "Fine! But do me one favor?" "What?" "Get her cleaned up first. She stinks! I can't eat something that dirty!" Willow laughed at him. "Well aren't we suddenly the gourmet?"

Back in LA Angel investigations was in full research mode. Ever since finding out that Spike was involved, rather intimately, with the creature known in the underworld as 'The Crimson Death' Angel had been trying to learn more about it. He assumed that it was female, Spike was never too keen on shagging men. Well other than himself. Also, Spike had said that he found himself a new 'girl' so it fit with the theory. The woman Connor saw him in the bar with was another piece of the puzzle. If Spike truly belonged to this Crimson Death then why was he in LA at a bar with another woman? Spike was always a little reckless but this would be outright suicide. He had been claimed by something so powerful that it broke a Sire's claim on a Childe. If he pissed this 'woman' off he would be in for a world of hurt.

Cordelia and Fred had been all over the internet trying to find some information on the Crimson death. Even the more unbelievable demon sites had nothing on her. It was as if they were afraid to even print her name. They probably were. They'd be smart to be. Wesley had poured over his books and even went so far as to contact the council. They hadn't heard of her. In fact they didn't even seem concerned. Typical of them, they never had a clue as to what really went on in the world. Gunn and Connor were in the training room sparring. Neither one being big on reading big dusty books or surfing the net. Angel himself had tried several times to access the link he used to share with Spike. It was really and truly severed. He went over their last meeting in his mind. Spike was as usual cocky, arrogant, rude, and annoying. Of course that was until Angel mentioned his master. Then he was angry, pissed would be more likely. He ranted and raved, got physical, and then fled the bar and took off in a very nice car.

The car! Of course. If he could remember the license plate number he could track down the owner of the car. It wasn't much but at least he would know where Spike had stolen it from. Maybe then he would be able to find him. Angel tried to concentrate on the image of the car as it pulled away. He had it. He ran out to the lobby and grabbed Cordelia. "I remember the license plate number on the car he was driving! Can you look that up?" Cordelia gave him one of her patented 'Duh!' looks and handed him a pen and paper. "Write it down. Also the year, make and colour of the car." Angel looked at her funny but did as he was told. He handed the paper to her and she glared at him. "Angel! This is a brand new Corvette! Geez, why couldn't you remember to tell me that in the first place? Not a lot of those would have been sold in the LA area. Go away and let me work, I'll call you when I know something."

Half an hour later, Angel was startled out of his thoughts by a loud "OH.MY.GOD!" from Cordelia. He rushed out to her desk and looked over her shoulder to the computer screen she was staring at. The car was registered to Mr. William T. Bloody. And the address given was that of the Restfield Cemetery in Sunnydale. It was a dead end. Spike actually owned the car. If he was driving something like that there was no way he was living in some crypt or burned out warehouse. This was going to be more difficult then he thought.