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Late

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The sun is setting. You stare at the empty parking lot. Cordelia's car is gone. You'll have to walk.

Main Street is empty. You want to run but know it'll draw attention. You walk as quickly as you can. Your eyes are on the ground: if you don't see them, maybe they won't see you. You crash into someone. “Excuse me. I'm late.”

Your way is blocked. It's a little nobody from school. “Willow?” She's wearing leather. Why would she be wearing... Wait. Didn't she die?

“Late? Oh, I don't think so.” Her face becomes a monster's mask. “Not yet.”