Chapter 4:

   "Willow," A voice whispered  to Willow in the darkness. Willow reached around, trying to grasp something, anything. She felt as if she were in the air, made of air. Like she had no substance and if she didn’t latch on to anything she would float into an abyss of nothing.

            An orange light burned bright to her left, and she looked towards it.

            It was Alicia  engulfed by flames. Her hair blew in the wind that wasn’t there. The flames created no smoke, just licked the empty air and flew around Alicia as if in a dance. It touched Alicia’s body, but didn’t burn her. Alicia’s eyes were the same color as the flames as she glared at Willow.

            "Why don't you join us?" Another voice whispered, which sounded a lot like Chelsea’s.

            Alicia, as if by the click of a light switch, disapeared along with her flames.

            For a moment, Willow lay again  suspended in darkness, trying to find her body.     Her eyes finally focused on a blue light and saw  that Chelsea was surrounded by ice. The ice was an unnatural shade of bright blue. It cracked and coiled and crystallized around Chelsea. The girl’s eyes were as piercing as the ice itself. The frozen blue crystals crawled up her feet and wrapped around her fingers before she disappeared abrutly. 

            "It'll be fun." This time it was Michael’s voice. He was right behind her, and she could feel his breath at the back of her neck. It seemed she could finally find her body, her feet felt sudden ground beneath them. She turned to look at him and for a split second she wasn’t in darkness, but in a ball room.

            And there was a little boy standing in front of her, a small little boy with a round face and a proud smile dressed in a little tux. He had blond curls that fell around his forehead and green eyes that looked at her as if she were a saint. He had a bright smile that lit up the world around him and his chest was buffed out proudly as if showing off.

            Then the image disapeared and she was in darkness and standing in the little boy’s place was Michael, with the same shade golden hair. She felt her body next to his, the heat radiating from him. Smoke rose and fell and danced around them. His light hair stood out so brilliantly she couldn’t help but reach her hand up to touch it—and then he disapeared.

            “Let’s go,” said a voice, and it sounded a lot like her father’s.

            "Where are we going?" Willow heard herself ask. Her voice was different and high-pitched, it rang through her head as if she were in a cave. It wasn't her voice, but yet everything about it screamed her name.

            "To your worst nightmare." A voice came behind her. It was Chris, and he was wreathed in sparks of blue electricity. The blue electricity was the exact color of his eyes, dark, violet purple. They seemed to pound with power and she felt herself get jerked back.

            She fell back into a pair of arms. Michael was looking down at her, his eyes now a neon green so bright it hurt her eyes.

            "And your best dream." Michael whispered. Abrutly Michael disappeared and Willow started to fall, she fell and then everything flashed all at once: her father’s face, a devilish grin on him as he held out his hand and wrapped it around her neck…

            Willow woke up with a jerk to the sound of knocking on the door. She quickly looked over at the clock. It was one in the morning. Her heart was beating so loud it drowned out almost any other sound.

            They were here.

            She cautiously walked over to the door, ready to strangle a mugger. But what kind of mugger knocked? Her small hand grabbed the handle slowly, as if she were in a scary movie. She wondered what happened: A few hours ago she was ready to face these people and follow them. Now she was quivering with fear?

            "Would you hurry up, Ms. Glasspiers? We don't have all night to open a door."  The voice was recognizable. She looked through the peephole and saw him.

            Recognizing the wave of blonde hair and green eyes, she flung the door open, still cautious. She remembered the dream, the way she fell into his arms. Without thinking, she shuddered.

            But there he was. He seemed to be wearing the same black clothing, with all the belts and weapons.

            Willow opened her mouth, but closed it again. What was she supposed to say? Yeah, so you're the creepy hooligans who carry dangerous looking weapons, murder men, and told me you were going to see me tonight.

            She felt instantly nervous of the current situation she was in; he still had all his weapons, he could kill her at any moment. Or even worse, he could kill Gretel!

            Why hadn’t I thought this through? Why hadn’t I told Mom? She could still wake her mom up, scream at the top of her lungs. She willed herself to do it, but no noise came out from her mouth, just a slight breath.

            Looking at Michael for a moment she knew that there was no way to trust him. But she also knew there was no way to not trust him. He might be an evil ax murderer, or he might be like some lovely young man trying to better the community by protecting the world from evil things (Both would explain the weapons...). Though, from her experience, there weren't very many good natured guys that existed in this world. After a split second of unsureness, she decided she was going to trust him. He looked familiar; like an old song she heard a long time ago that was just a hum now. His eyes reminded her of someone, and the way he was looking at her did too. She knew it was a stupid reason to trust him, but she couldn't help it.

            Michael cleared his throat, snapping her out of her reverie. He pushed her aside and waltzed into her house as if it were no big deal.

            "Excuse you." Willow snapped, rather harshly. He had no right to come into her house. Why didn't she kick him out? She didn’t even know herself.

            He seemed unaffected by her snapping, only amusement glinting his eyes. "Ms. Glasspiers—“

            "Call me Willow. Not all that Ms. Glasspiers nonsense," Willow replied. He was walking around the house, looking into the rooms. She followed him, unable to do anything else. More than anything, she was curious.

            He didn't turn around as he said, "Okay, Willow it is. Now, we don't have much time. Where's the kitchen?"

            Willow stopped in her tracks, baffled she said, "The kitchen?" Why in the world would he want the kitchen?

            He finally turned around and looked at her, really looked at her. Examining her expression, her toes and waist and head. As if he were calculating her strength. "Yes, the kitchen. A place where you cook. Also known as a cuisine, or—“

            "I know," Willow interrupted him. "What a kitchen is." She continued.

            "Then do you have one?" He had started walking around again, and before she could respond, he entered the kitchen. "Ah, here it is."

            He went straight to looking in the cabinets and pantry, and taking random things like spices, potato chips, cookies, fruits, and all those sorts of things. Willow noted he didn't take anything from the fridge.

            "What are you doing?" Willow asked.

            "Stocking up on non-perishables and sweets," Michael replied. He said it as if he was discussing the weather, not stealing someone's food. "You'll thank me later." He stuffed everything he took in a large bag he was holding that Willow had not paid attention to before. Pretty soon, the bag was full.

            "Alright. Now, where's the bathroom?" He asked, exiting the kitchen.

            "The bathroom?" Willow asked. They were back to where they started.

            He looked over at her, "Do you really want to go through this again?" Voicing her thoughts. He started walking again, looking into each room. Before Willow could stop him, he opened the door to Gretel's bedroom, where Gretel was curled up on her bed. Her stomach twisted, and she positioned herself into a half crouch. If he laid a finger on her, she was ready to attack. Something in Michael's expression saddened, but he didn't make a move toward her, just silently closed the door.

            "Ah, the bathroom," He said, strolling into the bathroom. He went to the cabinet over the sink and dumped all the perfume, cologne, medicine, and bandages into his bag as well. "Okay, I'm done. Let's go."

            "Go where?" Willow squeaked, remembering her dream. Everything was happening too fast. Just seconds ago he had knocked at the door, now his bag was full of stolen food and he was asking her to go somewhere. Self-preserversation instincts were sending red lights inside of her, and she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t as much kicked him out yet. She felt like those dumb blonds in those movies that would stroll right into trouble, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know what was going on. She wanted to know where they were going, who these people were.

            So it really led to the final question,  was she against him or for him?

            "Oh, yes. We shall go to the UnderWorld. My name is Michael, and I am a Ganash of the Ganash Headquarters of RiverPlain. I am assigned to bring you with me, either by force or persuasion," he said with a dramatic air, as he was reciting in a play.

            Willow narrowed her eyes. "We're going to Hell?" She thought of the Greeks, how they called Hell the Underworld. She might want an adventure, but she did not want to go to Hell. Maybe this guy was a demon that was ready to send her to Hell. But, she didn't remember ever doing anything to get sent to Hell before even dying.

            Michael doubled over in laughter. "Going to Hell! Nice one. But no, we are not going to Hell.”

            He casually strolled into the living room looking around curiously. It aggravated Willow how he seemed to think what he was doing was perfectly normal.

            "Let's go." He broke the silence, turning on his heels to face her.

            Willow stared at him dumbfounded. "Will I get to come back?" It was the way he said it that surprised Willow; so casually, he didn't sound like he wanted to hurt her.

            "Yes. If you come with me, Cirestain will explain your situation, and you will decide whether you want to go through with it, or return home." Michael said.

            Willow took a step back. She wasn't scared now, more worried. Was she just going to leave? Could she just trust him? Willow was known not to be a trusting person, which explained the lack of friends, how was it she trusted him? “Do you promise?"

            Michael looked at her gravely, with no amusement at all. "I swear on my own life."

            Dammit, Willow thought. Why am I so naive? She was definitely going to go with him.