"This is going to be great," cried Willow, fighting for her voice to be heard over the strong gust of wind and the loud music pumping through the large speakers.

"Yeah," Oz responded. He did not smile with his mouth, but Willow knew when he was smiling. His big blues eyes would shine through, so she knew he was smiling on the inside.

Willow and Oz were very much in love. He had been with her, the instant that he saw her walking past his van, dressed in a Halloween costume no less. She with him the moment they first spoke. Everything seemed perfect. He was a werewolf, she a witch. Her way of life was that of dark mystery and danger, and he understood that, and accepted it, from the moment he first discovered this. Countless nights Willow had lain awake dreaming of their future together, and believing that nothing could ever tear them apart.

They both attended college now. The University of California in Sunnydale. Oz had his band, Dingoes Ate My Baby. And Willow had her Craft, as well as her friends. They were never closer than at this point.

Oz' hair was blonde on this occasion. It did not remain one set colour for any paticular length of time. Willow's hair had stayed consistantly red since she had taken up witchcraft. Her new hair colour somehow personified her choice to rebel against the conservativism forced upon her by her Orthodox Jewish parents. She was at last free of them the moment she met Oz. Willow knew that it could not have been more perfect, so gorgeously flawless that he was a musician. Her parents would hate that!

"What track is this?" she asked.

"You don't need to be so nervous," Oz said, hardly moving his face at all.

"What are you talking about. I-I am NOT nervous," Willow told him, her lower lip trembling unconvincingly.

"We don't have to do it tonight if you don't want to," Oz said. "We don't even have to sleep in the same bed.

"That's absurd," Willow laughed.

There was a brief pause.

"What's wrong, Will?" asked Oz.

"I have no idea. I mean, we've done it before. Lot's of times. Lot's and lot's of times. It's just ... we've never hired a room before. It just seems so ... so..."

"Seedy?" Oz offered.

"That's the word," Willow said. Though his expression did not change, Willow knew that Oz was laughing at her. "It's like ... Okay, I almost feel my breasts shrinking and a penis growing as I say this, but, it kind of suggests -"

"Okay, Willow," Oz broke in. "You don't need to say it. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"Wait. Maybe I want to."

There he went again. His blue eyes mocking her. She wanted to pluck them out and stamp on them. But then she decided that that may be inappropriate. Slightly.

"Just relax," Oz told her. He had said this in his 'concluding' tone, as if he were beginning to engange more fully in his driving.

"Yeah, 'Just Relax'", Willow muttered under her breath, "Easy for you to say."

By the time the Dingoes van pulled up to the silent little old motel, discreetly tucked in between a Gas station and a turn-off, it was night fall. However, a far cry from Sunnydale, on the out-of-the-way street, not one scream or growl could be heard. Heaven. Or at least, not Hell.

Willow had dozed off leaning against Oz's shoulder. He had had to have been especially careful driving, as he could not have swivelled off the road had an emergency arose, lest he injure his lover. Though it had taken them a while, their timing could not have been better. Willow rose, stretched and yawned, hearing every vertibrae in her back awaken with a satisfying crack. Oz had already begun to unpack the bag. In reflection to the ambiance, Oz and Willow were completely silent, awe- struck by the pure history of the place.

It took a while for their tired eyes to finally strain and adjust to their surroundings, but once they did, they found themselves face to face with a crooked old building. The design was what Willow called "pre-sexual revolution". The windows were not double glazed, and some were planked up. The looming sign bearing the sign: "HEARTBREAK HOTEL" in withered, rain-washed letters, sent a chill down Oz' spine. Thanks to his animal instincts he was able to sense when something was not right. It something most definitely was not right.

"So much for the romantic weekend then," he said, as sullenly as he could manage, but his voice just ended up sounding even more toneless than usual.

"No," Willow assured him, "I'm sure it's lovely inside."

And it was. They were met by a cottage-like interior, completed with roaring log fire, and ornaments scattered around everywhere to give the place that air of history. As Willow dumped the bags in the lounge, and began to toss through copies of Playboy form 1967, Oz went to check in at the desk. However, in stead of finding Mrs. Bright, a 69-year old widow who now ran the motel, he was greeted only by a note, with Oz's real surname, OSBORNE scrawled hurridely across it.

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Osborne," Oz read aloud. "I-*"

"Whoa down a minute," Willow halted him, stepping into the foyer. "'Mr & Mrs'?"

Oz shrugged. "What was I supposed to tell her. We were two randy teenagers on a trip to see if we can out-rock the kasbah?" He almost managed a smile. Almost.

Willow sighed, and ushured for him to continue.

Oz cleared his throat, and then gladly went on with the letter. "I waited for you for an hour-and-a-half after we were supposed to meet at 4pm, but it was nearly 6'o clock and I live fifteen miles down the road. I wanted to get home before it was dark. I hope you enjoy your stay. Your keys are in your room, which is no. 6. The phone in the lobby is broken. Blah - blah - blah" He crumpled up the letter and tossed it onto the ground.

"So, we have the entire motel to ourselves?" Willow asked, the obvious butterflies in her stomach nearly fluttering up and advancing out of her quivering lips.

"At least for the night," Oz responded, a mischevious glint in his eye.

A silence befell the entire building at that point, marred only by the loud ticking of an out-of-place grandfather clock which stood in the corner. Quickly though, this was interjected by sudden hooting from an owl outside.

"Well, I sure am tired!" Willow said abruptly, feigning a quick yawn, and stretching her arms out unconvincingly. "I'm just about ready to fall a sleep."

A look of relief spread across her face as Oz agreed, and opted to carry both their bags up the stairs.

When Oz returned from washing in the en suite bathroom, he found that Willow was already in bed. Aside from her nonchalant inhaling and exhaling, she was completely motionless, her Playboy lying askew on the floor from where it fell.

"Willow?" he asked gently. "Are you asleep?" There was no answer. "Okay, I guess that's a yes, then. It makes what I'm going to say all that easier. I know that sometimes I can be like 'silent guy', but ... God! The crazy lives we lead, it's like ... I love you, Willow. I always have - from the minute I saw you - and I always will. You're my everything, Will. You make my life worth living. I just wish ... I wish I knew how to tell you. Well, goodnight then."

He clambered into bed and pulled the covers over his semi-naked body. He wrapped his arms around his lover, and snuggled into her, totally unaware that she had been awake, and listening, all along.

Oz and Willow awoke in unison. At that point, there was no paticular reason for them to awaken, but they still did. Then, there was an illumination. It did not appear to stem from anywhere, but was just there, it's long hands stretching to every corner of the room. Yet, it did not light the surrounding area. Every aspect of it was illogical.

Breathing heavily, Oz and Willow grabbed each other for support. The light was so brilliant, yet they still could not make out each other's faces in the darkness. Then, the most weird thing happened. They both heard, quite clearly, no mistaking, the cackling of a woman.

"Willow?" Oz asked hopelessly. "I don't suppose that was you, was it?"

"'Fraid not," she answered tensely. "I don't suppose there's much point in me asking if it was you?"

Then, the light seemed to spread out across a vast area, and then it's radiance finally began to light up it's surrounding area. Yet, the brilliance of this effect was not in accordance with the brilliance of the light itself. In fact, it's surrounding blanch was very dim indeed. Oz and Willow could hardly make out the features of the room around them. However, they could see well enough to ascertain that it was not the room they went to sleep in.

In fact, the only thing similar about this room, was the bed that they were lying in. The bed was pushed right up against the end of a long hallway. They could not quite make out what was at the end, but they could see pretty clearly their surrounding walls. Every inch of them was covered with paintings; ancient paintings of dark, dreary, dismal figures, which stood gauntly in un-natural positions. They were twisted round on themselves - through themselves. It was like nothing they had ever seen before.

"Okay, I think we're a little bit out of our league, here," Willow stated finally.

Oz grunted in agreement.

"Well, we don't have Buffy with us," Willow decided, "So let's just try to make our way out of here!"

Oz pulled back the covers and leapt out of bed. Willow was soon to follow. They began to walk towards the end of the hallway. Strangely, though they walked and walked and walked for quite a time, they appeared not to cover any distance at all. They looked back to see that they were only a couple of metres from their bed. They decided to try going toward the bed again, but found that the bed must have been much farther away from where it appeared, because they made no progress in that direction either.

"Willow, this is freaky," Oz told her.

"Yeah," Willow said. "Like some kind of dream paralysis brought on by a voodoo curse charm. I'm sure there is a spell. Let's see ... we can sleep naked in a pool of euchalyptis juice, or drink chicken's blood in the forest during harvest time!"

"Or we could just use that," Oz offered, pointing to a hatch in the ceiling. "C'mon, I'll give you a leg up."

Oz cupped his hands, and allowed Willow to use him as a stepping stone. She grabbed onto the edge of floor above them, but cried out, as she felt herself slip. From Oz's perspective, she was about to fall. Then, suddenly, a dark figure appeared. It's icy hands wrapped around Willow's and pulled her up. Willow kicked and screamed to be unhanded, but all to no avail. Oz loosened his grip on her ankle, lest he pull her right down and she fall and hurt herself. He saw her dissapear round the corner of the room above, and then all was silent

"Willow!" he hollered after her. "Willow, are you there?"

It was the response that he had dreaded. Resounding reticence. He looked around for an alternative, but eventually settled upon the plan to ascend into the room above. After a short struggle to mount the ledge and shank himself up, Oz arrived in the room.

In a split second, Oz was overwhelmed. The noticed several things: The air was thin, and at first it nearly suffocated him. He became used to this. The next thing he noticed was the coldness of the room. It was not a logical or physical coldness, but one that was even more powerful. It chilled him to the very core of his being, and he knew that deep inside the dank recesses of his heart, his lyncanthropy side - the wolf inside of him - was howling. As he covered he tried to fold into himself to keep warm, the next unsettling thing donned upon him. The room was dark. So dark that he would not have been able to see, unless it were for the fact that there was a window at one side of the room. However, no light came in from the window, and it still lit up the room.

Oz soon brushed these nonsense thoughts aside, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Once they had done so, it became clear what was in the room. Sitting on the large inside window ledge, was Willow. She did not look at him, yet he could tell she knew he was there. She had her back to him, and was peering out, onto the vast emptiness.

"Willow, thank God you're safe!" Oz exclaimed.

She did not stir.

"C'mon Will!" Oz continued. "We have to get out of here!"

"My mother was right about you," Willow told him. Her voice was callous and unfeeling. If the words had not come straight from her lips, Oz would not have believed it were Willow's voice at all.

"Willow," Oz responded worridely. "If we're going to have an argument, can you at least wait until we figure a way out of here?"

"You leave me. You always leave me. No man ever stays. No man ever cares," came the uttered, melencholy words from the window sill.

"Are you ... okay?" asked Oz, slowly approaching his girlfriend. He stretched out his hand to touch hers, but found that it was deathly cold.

"What's wrong, lover?" Willow asked him, as he fell back. Slowly, she turned around. For the first time, Oz was afraid of Willow. He did not know her. He did not want to look, but he was mesmerised. Eventually, she twisted right around to face him, her eyes settled on him in a terrifying glare.

"W-Willow!" he screamed. "Your ... your eyes ... they're ... blue!"

With that, Willow rose to her feet. She started to make her way towards the cowering Oz, who was being pushed back against the wall.

"You never let me die," she screamed at him, arms suddenly beginning to flail wildly. "Now, feel my wraith!"

"STOP IT!" Oz hollered. "Willow, you're scaring me!"

She lifted her hand to strike him, but he gently pushed her away. To his surprise, she fell right back on the floor. Convulsions started to ripple through her body, like little electric shocks. Oz stood in horror, not knowing what to do. Then, all was still.

"Willow?" he asked meakly, falling onto his knees next to her. "Willow, please be okay!" He placed a hand to her sweaty brow. She had only marginally increased in body temperature - she was still far too cold to be alive. Franctically, Oz searched for a pulse on her neck, but could find none. Nor did he discover a heartbeat or any sign that she was breathing. "Oh, Willow!" he cried, in grief. "Please ..." he broke into despair. Slowly, he leaned over to give her a gentle kiss on her forehead.

As if it had always been that way, the room lit up. Oz could clearly see where the exit now was, and knew that that was the only way that he could escape the prediciment he was in. He turned to look at Willow's still lifeless face.

"I will never leave you!" he declared tearfully, and lifted her body against his, and held her.

With that, as if a bolt of energy had been shot through the roof, Willow began to warm up. Oz did not notice at first, that colour was coming back to her cheeks, and that her chest was gently heaving with it's new found ability to process oxygen. He actually only realised, as her arms moved up his back to clasp him in a loving embrace.

"Willow?" he asked. He drew his face away, and looked into hers, tears still streaming down his face. Willow opened her green eyes and looked into his.

"Yeah." she responded.

"Ohmigod!" Oz cried with joy. "You're al-*" his words were cut short by Willow, who was now kissing him. And this was no ordinary kiss. She was kissing him as if she had come back from a long journey.

"I know what's going on!" Willow told him, suddenly breaking off their embrace. "I have already had an experience like this before - in High School." And after Willow had lectured Oz about the events which took place during Buffy and Angel's respective possesions:"So, you see, in order for the ghost to play out the activity; the unfinished business, it must take possession of someone else."

"And what exactly was this ghost just playing out?" Oz asked, suspicously.

"Well," Willow said. "I got a chance to see the world through her eyes. In her time on Earth, which I gather was some time ago, she had a very unhappy time. Her father was a preacher, and a total ... poop-head, and her mother wasn't exactly with it. The only friend she had in the world was the guy called Malcolm. Actually, I think it was Maldwyn, but you can see my reasons for changing his name. Anyway, this Malcolm guy took advantage of her sensitive state, and ran away with her. Then, they ran out of Benjamin's and needed to get some pretty fast, because they had borrowed money. So Malcolm started doing a Burke'n'Hare with little girls, but when the time came, he couldn't take the rap, and pointed the police in the direction of his so-called girlfriend."

"Oh, and now she's roaming the world as an unhappy spirit because she was executed unjustly and wants revenge, right?" Oz asked.

"Hold your horses, buster," Willow said affectionately. "What actually happened was this; she was going to be executed, but she managed to prove that it was Malcolm because she gave them the address and details of Malcolm's good old Dr. Knox. Malcolm went on a runner with all her belongings, but swore to find her and kill her. With no one to turn to, she, kind of tried to kill herself. But just as she was about to, Malcolm nabbed her, and killed her. Worst yet, the same fate had beffallen the doc., so Malcolm saw the oppurtunity to clear his name. He placed their bodies in a comprimising position with the corpse of a little girl. Malcolm's claimed that he tried to perform a citizen's arrest, but they responded violently, and he accidentally killed them. His name was completely cleared, and he even received a medal for honor and bravery!"

"Never mind her father, I think he was a major poop-head!"

"That's too good a word."

"So what's this girl's connection with this building?" Oz asked.

"This was where the building was that she tried to jump off before she was nabbed" Willow told him.

"I still don't get it," Oz answered. "What was going on with the blue eyes and everything?"

"Malcolm left her in the gutter, Oz. She had been used and abused by every man in her life. And now that she is destined to walk the face for all eternity, she blames all men. And, no offence to your choice of romantic location, but we are not exactly the first couple to come here. In fact this is quite a popular destination among couples, if you know what I mean. So, basically, she's taken it upon herself to show all women who come here that their men are no good swine who care for nothing except sex. She did this by showing them that if something serious happened, a man would run to save himself instead of staying to help his girl." Willow began to massage Oz's shoulder. "But you stayed."

"That's right," Oz said, "So am I right in saying that her curse has ended?"

"Unfortunately not," Willow went on to explain. "She must have a dignified end, if she is to rest peacefully.

"I don't think I like where this is headed", Oz said.

"She must have someone to help her die, Oz," Willow told him. "I'm going to go onto the roof, and ask her to let me help her."

"Do you realize what you're saying?" Oz asked her. "You'll ... you'll die!"

"Oz, not be so anti-penis, but maybe this is just a thing a guy can't get. I mean, I am a woman and a witch, so I feel that it is my responsibility to help her. Please try and understand."

"I understand," Oz returned, "That you think that because your childhood sweetheart does not recipricate your feelings, and that you're parents a little bit stricter than most, and that because your boyfriend occasionally changes into a werewolf that you think you've had it hard, and you have an affinity with this girl."

"Don't be like that," Willow said.

"Look," Oz answered, "I'm just worried about you. I'm not saying I like this, but if this is what you want ... then ... then ... you have my support. And my love."

There was a pause.

"You are a good man," Willow said blankly.

"I know," Oz laugh uneasily.

"No, I mean it. You are ... a really, REALLY good man."

Oz looked at her in bemusement.

Surpirsingly, Willow chose this moment to initiate a kiss. In doing so, it became clear what had happened. A stream of white energy seemed to rise out of them and into the air. It swirled around from one end of the room to the other, and eventually settled in the centre of the room, near to where it had first appeared.

"What's happening?" Willow asked fearfully.

The energy gradually began to manifest itself, tiny particles transforming in order to form something new. It came as no surprise to Oz that it was Deborah, the ghost, who appeared before them. However, it did surprise him that Willow seemed so shocked.

"I apoligise for the disrubtion I have cause you," she said. Her voice was like a gentle wisp of the wind, and echoed throughout the room until it faded into nothing. "It was neccesary for me to fulfill my ... 'unfinished business'. Every couple who have come here, I have put through the same tests that you have endured today."

Willow and Oz exchanged looks.

"But now that I have found a man that is not a swine," Deborah rasped. "That is not a ... poop-head." She allowed herself a giggled before carrying on. "I thank you, Willow for allowing me to use your body. And I thankyou, Oz, for showing me that I should no longer wander the Earth in such a vengeful, directionless way. I will bid you farewell, and again apoligise for my actions."

And with that Deborah was gone.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" Willow said.

"So you were possesed by her the whole time?" Oz asked, starting up the engine.

"Not the whole time," Willow, answered, clambering into the passenger seat. "From when I entered that room right up until she appeared."

"She must have really hated men, huh?" Oz asked.

"Until she might you, that is!" Willow exclaimed, merrily exchanged pecks with her boyfriend.

"So, how do I know that you're not Deborah right now?"

Willow shrugged. "I don't know, you just know!"

"Really?" Oz asked slyly. "How about when we get back we enjoy some hot illegal sex?"

Willow turned a distinct aubergine colour.

"Okay," Oz said. "I know that it's you."

Later on, at Willow and Buffy's room, after a well deserved sleep, Willow had risen from bed and was dressed.

"Will?" came a voice from the hallway, and a knocking on the door.

"C'm'n, honey," she said.

"Hey," Oz clamoured upon his entry.

"Hey," Willow responded. "I thought you'd be sick of me by now."

"Don't be stupid," Oz said, wrapping a warm arm around her shoulders. "Listen, I've been thinking. About everything that happened last night. Now that Maldwyn guy, despite having the coolest of cool in terms of names, did not have a lot going for him in other aspects."

"Yeah," Willow responded. "But, y'know, hon, you don't have to do ... this ..."

"No, I want to," Oz told her. "If only for my own peace of mind."

Willow agreed.

"Well, I just want yo to know that no matter what happens, I will never ever treat you like that. I will never ever betray you or renounce what we have together."

"I know," Willow assure him, wrapping her arms around him. "We're perfect. No one will ever stand between us. We will last forever."

Do I really need to tell you the rest?