Reflections never lie. Exposing every flaw. Every imperfection. Under the bright bathroom lights, Buffy stared at the shell of who she once was.
Days had passed, nine to be exact, since she had set foot in Concentrico.
The first few were a blur. With her mind heavy and murky as the ocean depths, the line between sleep and wake ebbed, giving way to endless, hellish nightmares and memories. When the tide finally shifted and her mind cleared, then the questions came. Ruthlessly circling like sharks with a potential meal.
Who could she trust?
Not herself, apparently. In the past she’d relied heavily on intuition, almost more so than a partner or her Glock. Then intuition turned its metaphorical back on her. Leaving her ass hanging in the breeze and her doubting her sanity.
From the moment she entered the world of Concentrico, she excused away all she couldn’t explain. Then excuses became reluctant acceptances of what she saw, no matter how far-fetched. Things were what they were, and clearly, she was certifiable.
Yet the alternative of not being crazy was far scarier—fairytale monsters and the things that go bump in the night were actually real.
Buffy shed her sweat-soaked clothes and stepped under the shower’s hot spray. She hadn’t been in here since that night of haunting black eyes and a soul-shattering laughter.
Believing in the boogieman and what lurked under your bed explained the unexplainable. Explained that thing wearing her sister’s face.
She knew now that it wasn’t Dawn. And more importantly, this wasn’t her. She’d never hide or admit defeat. She was a survivor. A warrior. No matter in what ‘world’ she stood.
Buffy bowed her head, sighing while the hot water and suds flowed from nape to heels. Feeling her tension fading, she thought back to earlier when the outside world came calling and righted the wrongs in her mind.
~*~
Buffy stared at the ceiling. Or was it the wall? Didn’t matter. When the stiffness in her joints demanded she change position, she’d stare at the other.
A faraway tinny sound was just on the outskirts of her mind. Muffled and seemingly unimportant, only its persistence had her finally moving. At first she moved slow and unhurried. By the time she found the source vibrating across the kitchen counter, she had speed and a purpose. She only hesitated a moment before picking up her cell phone and answering with a weak, “Hello?”
“Summers?”
It was a man. That much she knew. His voice was strong and sure and familiar. But how he was, she didn’t know.
“Summers? Ya there?” His voice worked its way into her mind. Pushing and pulling until the flood gates opened and in rushed the outside world.
“Mulcahy?” His name was thick on her tongue. It felt wrong, like it didn’t belong.
“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for the last week and half for frig sakes. What the fuck is going on?” Before she could find the words to answer, he told her why he called.
Quinn was dead. Murdered.
Buffy clutched the phone like a lifeline while sliding to the floor. Her stomach clenched and roiled as Mulcahy spared no details of where they found Quinn and how her death almost mirrored the other victims. Almost. All except for one distinct difference—Quinn was bound and gagged with thorny branches.
Unable to hold back, Buffy christened the floor with bile.
Mulcahy waited while Buffy collected herself before he spoke again. For the majority of the conversation, she remained quiet, just taking everything in. The only time she’d actually spoken beyond a grunt or a ‘yeah’ was to tell Mulcahy, in no uncertain terms and despite his clear ‘hell no’ position, she was remaining on the case.
When the call ended, Buffy headed to the shower with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Find Quinn’s killer and solve this damn case.
*~*
Buffy felt like a new woman, or at least a cleaner one, after a long shower. Now dressed in workout gear, she stood in her living room, a sharpie in one hand and hand-made flash cards in another. On the first card she wrote Concentrico then placed it on the floor.
When the first light of the new day cast the room in a soft glow, Buffy eyed her handiwork. Throughout the night the questions hadn’t stopped. Actually, there were far more now since she’d allowed herself to admit monsters were real. This was clearly far beyond her expertise, but she had some ideas where she could find the answers. All accept one. There was still one piece of this puzzle she hadn’t a clue how to make fit. Eyeing the card in hand, she reread the name…
William