*The wind is really starting to howl around them now. Wesley isn't certain whether it's the wind or something more sinister causing his head to ache, but he is certain the woman approaching him is in serious distress. He calls to her, his voice whipped away on the wind. She looks terrible, frantic and ill, and he steps back as she reaches him.*

We're here to help

*Wesley tells her. She's slight and is having difficulty even standing erect in the gale. Wesley wants to offer assistance, but experience has lent him a strong sense of paranoia and distrust.*

Tell us what we can do to help you.

*The woman wails as she wrings her hands and thrusts them out before her in appeal. "Just hold me," she sobs, "I just want to be held again. Close. In someone's arms. So strong, so comforting... please, just hold me..."

Wesley pulls back, instinct repelling him and remorse crippling him.*

I can't, I'm sorry, Miss, but you're not the one-

*The gale strikes a new high, and the woman is whipped away from their sight. They, too, are drawn into the storm, and there is nothing either one of them can due to prevent themselves from being swept entirely into Level Two of Hell.*