He approaches the window again, this time finding himself curious with the rope. Like a snake, it slithers beside the tracks, never interfering with the train, but constantly there. He follows it with his eyes, forward. A small dot appears on the horizon, directly over the tracks. This dot creates a sense of unexplained anxiety; impossible to ignore or place, but when he looks away from the window, the feeling is gone. He finds himself again lulled by the noise of the train making its way across the world.


Panic has broken out at Wolfram & Hart. The law firm buzzes with activity, phones ringing off the hook as the more informed people of Los Angeles call in the disappearance of their loved ones. Some with more information than others-notes, rooms in disarray, a fingerprint left on a windowsill-the only thing each case has in common is the gender and age of the victims.

"We assume the perpetrator-or perpetrators-are male. We're seeing a pattern that indicates clumsiness, and yet the police are finding no leads, even the fingerprints show nothing," Angel explains to his crew. "Gunn, you're on book duty until we have anything, then you head the external investigation crew. Wes, you take phone calls, your notes are the most legible. Lorne is interviewing those who have come to the office, and I'll see what we can find through through the Wolfram & Hart connections. And can anybody phone Fred? We're going to need her in the lab today," He looks at the two men in front of him, feeling the unspoken and tense knowledge that Fred fits the averaged description of each victim perfectly.

"I'll phone her now," Wesley breaks the silent tension before heading out of the glass office. Gunn follows before turning off towards the library. Angel sits at his desk, the fleeting moment of fear dissipating from his mind.


It becomes clear that the approaching shape is bound in some way to the railroad tracks. The rope ends around the clouded object, no longer following the tracks. The obstacle is forming a shape, though the sudden fog doesn't help in determining what it is. Nothing looks the same in black and white. A chill runs through the train; the machine shuddering as if it had a spine. The wind blows the fog in swirls around the track and the object is revealed for a brief moment as a person. The train rapidly approaches.


"She's not picking up her phone," Wesley's voice is even, calm. Unnatural.

"Try again," Angel has less control of his emotions.

"Don't you think I have?" He becomes a shade angry, but still cool. Collected.

"Have you been to her apartment?" Gunn sounds more frantic than either of them.

"Yes," Wesley's voice patronizes the other man, because that's who Gunn has always been, the other man in Fred's life. Lorne is slumped in a chair, responding only with infinitesimal shakes of his head. Spike sits in the chair opposite him, a passive look on his face.

Save for Spike, everyone in the room acknowledges the other's emotional attachment to Fred. Spike doesn't play their game of Who-Loves-Fred-The-Most because he has known her for the shortest amount of time. This makes him believe that he is, as always, the champion of another's game.

It becomes increasingly evident that Fred is among the many victims whose family members and friends are outside of the office, lining the halls of the building, crying their accounts to unknowing employees. Nobody knows where the missing people are except those who are lost in their midst.