Hell Bound

Part One

The flash of Cordelia's camera went off - blinding in the darkness - as she took yet another photo of the latest murder victim. They seemed to spend their lives attending demonic crime scenes now and they were no nearer to discovering what was doing this. There was no clue, no pattern - it was just random, mindless slaughter. The same story - over and over again. So here they were, on yet another night, trying to figure out yet another death.

'This guy -' Doyle said, from down near the ground where he was examining the body - what was left of it anyway, 'he was a Roishnik demon.'

'Yeah?' She took another photo - the flash blinded them both again for a moment - and even when it faded, little glowy blobs seemed to dance in front of her eyes. 'Do you know anything about them?'

He shrugged, 'little, harmless - mostly. Talk in riddles a lot. Real hard to get a straight answer from a Roishnik. But they're not bad guys.'

'You know - that does seem to be one of the few things any of these kills have in common,' Cordy noted. She put her camera into her purse and went to crouch beside Doyle so she could get a better view of the Roishnik's wounds. 'All the demons we've found - that girl, Xandra - her distant relative, Arnie - that guy they found in pieces … none of them seem to have any particularly noteworthy powers, they all seem to be peaceful…'

'Y'think someone's taking out easy targets?'

'Could be.'

'Like who … a slayer we don't know about, working the joint? Not knowin' the difference between bad and good demons 'cause they're too new to the gig?'

She frowned. 'Maybe a slayer … or maybe Gunn's old gang? They did this before, remember?'

Doyle nodded - he remembered. He remembered finding his old friend, Kizzie, shot to a thousand pieces in his own home, and then being chased, himself, for several blocks - on a broken leg - by the gun toting maniacs. He'd escaped by vaulting a chain link fence and hiding behind a dumpster. If only it had been that easy to escape for the Roishnik - or for Xandra or Arnie - then they wouldn't be dead in an alley, and Doyle and Cordy wouldn't be investigating. 'I dunno,' he frowned. 'I think whatever's doin' this…' he glanced around at the devastation in the alleyway, 'I think they're bigger, scarier and better organised than Gunn's old gang. Besides - we're in the wrong part of the city. They don't cross Venice Boulevard no more.'

'Unless they got bored defending their turf and went back to hunting, again.'

'I don't know, darlin'.' He got back to his feet and brushed his hands off, 'if it was just Gunn's friends… I had a vision about this death,' he pointed out. 'The Powers directed me to this alley - but they did it too late. I knew it was too late when I saw it, knew it had already happened … if it's just a few street kids gettin' rambunctious - why wouldn't The Powers just tell me straight?'

'I guess,' she stood back up, as well. 'But that means we've had another death and we still don't know any more. We're getting nowhere… is the tarp in the truck?'

'Yeah.'

'I'll get it.' She left Doyle alone in the alley - with the mutilated corpse of the Roishnik - and went to get the tarpaulin from the bed of the truck. Then together they wrapped up the body and carried it back to the car.

Doyle was quiet as they drove away, and Cordy - in the passenger seat - glanced across at him. 'You OK?' she asked him.

'Yeah,' he said, though his voice was heavy. 'I'm just ... worried. When The Powers start sendin' me visions of people I'm too late to save, it's never a good sign. And it usually means it's my fault - what's happenin' - one way or the other.'

'Well, then, 'fess up, stop murdering all these defenceless demons in alleyways and we'll say no more about it.'

He gave her a look. She just smiled at him. 'This isn't your fault, Doyle. There is no way this is linked to you. The Powers are just … being The Powers. Unknowing. Ineffable. And not a damn bit of use to anyone.'

'That sounds like them, all right.' He stopped by a red light. Across the block there was a twenty foot billboard attached to the side of the building. The advertisement splashed across it was for the fragrance 'Unleashed' - the photo was black and white and depicted a girl who looked very much like Cordy … but wasn't Cordy. It was Doyle's turn to look across and check she was OK.

'I'm fine,' she said a little sadly. Doyle smiled sympathetically. 'Hey, Princess - I know you're thinkin' that should be your face up there - but it really is better this way.'

'Being poor and passing up my biggest chance of fame and wealth?'

'Being free - that poor girl up there,' he nodded at the billboard, 'her soul belongs to the lower realms now - and she might not even know it. No one wants that. You gave up all your family and passed over the offer to join the ranks o' Wolfram and Hart - and all the wealth and power that goes with that - so you didn't have to align with the dark side. Seems a bit silly to then sell your soul for a modellin' contract.'

'I know, you're right.'

'I always am,' he smiled, as the light turned to green and he stepped on the gas.

'It's just - nothing's been going right for us lately,' Cordelia said, quietly.

'Ah - things'll pick up. You'll see.'

Fred walked down the darkened corridor, headed for her lab. Her nose was stuck in her research papers and she was ignoring the prickle down her spine that told her she was being watched. She entered her department, which was in darkness - the last of her scientists having just left, and put her papers down on one of the benches - still reading it through. Then she stiffened up, the sense of being watched becoming overpowering. She turned round - looking back at the door - but there was nothing but darkness. Frowning, she turned back again - and screamed and dropped her notes. Spike was standing right in front of her. He wasn't looking convinced. 'How long did you know I was there?'

'Since the lobby,' she said, apologetically. 'But that popping up behind me was really scary. Look! I dropped my papers.' She bent down and picked them back up.

'Nice touch,' he said,

'Thanks.' She giggled and pushed her glasses back onto her nose. Then she put down the papers and picked up her scanner. Spike stood still as she scanned around him. 'Oh,' she sounded worried, 'your radiant heat temperature's dropped another 02 degrees.' She turned the scanner so he could see the reading on the screen. He folded his arms, defensively across his chest. 'Thought it felt a bit nippy.'

'Is everything … are you…?' She didn't know quite how to finish that sentence, didn't know how to say it tactfully. Spike wasn't bothered for tact thought. 'Feeling the tug of eternal damnation?' he asked, 'yeah - it's taking everything I have to stop me slipping into hell.'

'I won't let that happen,' she promised. She was working on a theory - well, maybe it was closer to a hunch … but the good news was that she thought she was getting close.

'To making me a real boy again?'

That made her laugh. 'Well, as real as a vampire with a soul can be. It won't be like Angel's thing with the prophecy but…'

Spike furrowed his brow. He didn't know what she was talking about. 'What prophecy?'

'Oh you know,' she said, airily - not noticing his change in demeanour. 'The Shan shoe- ha somethin' or other. Says that if Angel helps enough people he gets to be human again.'

'Oh really?' He nodded, bitterly, 'goody for him.'

But Fred had stopped listening - did not notice the tone of jealousy in his voice. She was too busy looking at her research - and she thought she finally had something. 'Ah, that totally makes sense!'

Her excitement made Spike forget the news about Angel and his shiny promised reward - for now. 'It does?' he rushed to her side. 'What does?'

'The fluctuations in your readings. Lack of particle cohesion. It's almost as if your essence is straddling a dimensional void, which may be the key, assuming that the amulet that you used to save the world is some sort of trans-reality amplifier capable of focusing massive quantities of mystical energy.'

Spike was looking utterly bemused. 'And what - in the King's English - does that mean to the dearly almost departed?'

'It means that if I can defy most of the laws of nature,' she took a deep breath and beamed at him, 'there's a good chance I'll be able to anchor you to this plane and make you corporeal.'

Spike's face lit up - and then his smile became flirtatious. 'Well…' he said, reaching his hand out and attempting to lean on the lab bench. But he never got to finish his sentence. His hand went straight through the hard surface and the rest of him followed suit. He fell through the bench, through the floor and kept on tumbling.

Fred frowned after the vanished vampire. 'Spike?'

He landed - flat on his face and quite hard - down in the basement. He had no idea how or why he'd just fallen through several storeys of law firm, but it was lucky he'd stopped in the basement. He didn't really feel much like falling all the way down into the sewers … or down to the earth's core … or right the way through the other side and popping up in Australia.

He got to his feet and looked around - it was dark and dank, like most basements. He'd spent a lot of the last year in one basement or another - crazy, chained up and sometimes both at once. He wasn't looking to take a trip down memory lane. He needed to get back up to Fred … he just had to find the stairs. Bloody pain is what it was. You would think that if a bloke … a ghost was incorporeal, unable to spirit the knicknacks about or willy the locals, then he shouldn't be bound by the laws of sodding gravity either. If he could fall through the floors then he should be able to float up through them as well. But could he? - bloody right he couldn't. Royally screwed - that's what this whole ghost caper was, the universe right royally screwing him.

He began to make his way through the gloom. He could hear a noise - a strange, repetitive, chopping sound. He made his way towards it and found a man sitting at a table, completely alone in the darkness. The man had his back to him. 'Don't mean to interrupt the sitting in the dark basement, mate,' Spike said, 'but could you point the quickest way back to the lab? As the ghost flies.'

He took a step closer - and then he could see the source of the strange sound. The man held a large carving knife - and was chopping his own fingers off one by one. Even as a vampire ghost, who had done some pretty nasty stuff in his time, that made Spike pull up short. The man turned and looked at him, then - and Spike saw his face. His lips had been cut off as well - and there were deep, bloody gashes all over his eyes and cheeks. Spike stumbled backwards - and then the man disappeared; vanished as if he had never been there at all.

Spike looked around the dark space, unnerved and disconcerted. 'I'll take that as a no,' he muttered to himself.

They parked the pickup in the underground parking lot and entered Doyle's apartment through the connecting, sliding doors. Doyle took his jacket off and headed straight into the kitchen, filling the teakettle and popping it on the stove to boil, but Cordelia was stood in the middle of the room, staring upwards, frowning. 'I think there's someone upstairs,' she said.

'What's that?' Doyle turned away from his tea making to look at her.

'Upstairs - I can hear … something.'

'It's a bit late for clients,' he said, checking his watch.

'That's what I was thinking, yeah.'

Silently, Doyle switched off the stove, picked up a sword and handed it to Cordy and then picked up his fighting axe. He gestured to the stairway with his eyebrows and she nodded. Cautiously, they made their way up the steps, Cordelia in the lead - and, on finding nothing in Angel's old office, crept through the darkened space towards their own. She pushed the door open and snapped on the lights. 'Angel!' she exclaimed, for it was he - sitting in the dark, with Connor on his knee. 'What are you doing here?'

'I was just - you know - in the area, thought I'd drop in and say 'hey'.'

'Hey,' Doyle said. Angel just gave him a look, 'and I thought maybe we could, maybe, talk as well.'

'Are we in trouble again?' Cordelia asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

'What?'

'When Gunn dropped by a couple of weeks ago to say 'hey' and maybe talk - he came to tell us off for killing some vamps that worked for a snooty client of yours. Threatened us with escalating the situation if we didn't rein it in.' She put her sword down on the desk and held her hand out for Doyle's axe, taking it off him and putting that down as well.

'He said that?... To you guys?' Angel looked genuinely surprised and not at all pleased to hear this news. He looked up at them, they had both remained standing - Doyle leaning against the side with his arms folded and Cordy over by the desk. 'I didn't tell him to do that - you know that right? I'll speak with him. Thing is … Gunn … he, he's been through some… changes.'

'You mean lettin' Wolfram and Hart turn him into a lawyer? Yeah, we know about that, man.'

'Yeah,' Angel leaned back on the sofa. 'He didn't tell us that was going to happen until after it was already done. The rest of us … we don't know what to think about it. But he gets real defensive if you bring it up. I don't know…' he shook his head, 'it's just hard, you know?'

'The deal with the devil is turning out to be devilish? Huh - who'd've thought?' Cordelia raised an eyebrow, but she also quirked a smile at him. She went to go sit beside him and took Connor onto her own lap.

'Yeah - everything's just … did Gunn tell you about Spike?'

Cordy and Doyle shot an alarmed glance at each other. 'What?' Cordy asked, just as Doyle said, 'the Spike?'

'Yeah,' Angel said, glumly. 'He's back - sort of.'

'And you're not killing him because - why?'

He glanced at the woman sat beside him. 'Because he's already dead. More so than usual. He died helping Buffy save the world - and now he's back, as a ghost. And a giant, bleached blonde pain in my ass.'

'Why did Spike help Buffy save the world?' Doyle asked, sounding utterly bemused.

'Because he's in love with her. He has a soul now. He's a champion.' His voice became bitter.

'And you're not,' Doyle nodded, understanding in his eyes, 'least not any more - and that's why you've come to slum it with the good guys? Hopin' we can make y' feel better?'

Angel smiled ruefully, 'am I that obvious?'

'You've always been an open book, my friend. But, truth is…' he shrugged, 'the good fight isn't actually goin' very well at the moment.'

'We've been stuck on this one case for weeks,' Cordy explained, 'we keep getting mired in deeper but we can't seem to solve it.'

'Well - you wanna tell me about it? Maybe with all my new resources I could… pull some strings, find stuff out for you?'

'I don't think so. The Powers are sending chicken little visions about it now. They'd be mucho unimpressed if we let The Senior Partners muscle in on their turf.'

Angel looked even more despondent. 'I hate this,' he told them, 'I hate being on the opposite side to you guys. I'm not really - you know? And if there's any way I can ever help you out, without pissing off our respective higher power bosses, then all you need to do is let me know - and I'll be there.'

'We know,' Doyle nodded, 'and the same goes for us. We're always here for y', bud - even if we can't be there every day.'

Angel nodded, he looked grateful - but also depressed. As if the weight of his agreement with Wolfram and Hart were pressing down on him, crushing him slowly. 'I just keep thinking - there must be a way out - but I can't see how without endangering Connor. And if I have to fight on the side of evil in the apocalypse … how can my reward be to be made human? How can I get a reward at all?'

'Yeah … especially now there's another champion vampire with a soul out there to take the shiny prize instead.' Both men frowned at Cordelia. 'What?' she asked, seeing their expressions, 'come on! I can't be the only person thinking it!'

'Well that's just great,' Angel muttered. 'All these years I've been working towards atonement - and then Captain Peroxide swoops in at the end and gets made human in my place. Of course he does.'

'Atonement isn't about the reward, though, bud,' Doyle said to him, gently. 'It's about the journey, it's about seeking forgiveness.'

'I can't be forgiven for the things I've done.'

'And neither can I. But we can still work to make the world a better place than we found it. We can't change the past - but we can make the future safer for everyone.'

'Except my future's been signed away.'

'For now,' Doyle smiled. 'But one of the perks of immortality? Future is one thing that you're in no short supply of.'

'You'll get through this, Angel,' Cordy squeezed his leg. 'You'll see.' He nodded, and then took the baby back off her. 'I better get this little guy home,' he said, 'thanks for the pick me up.'

'Any time.'

...

The vampire and his son collected their things and then left, Cordelia ushered them out of the office, shutting the door behind them. 'Well - I guess I better be going too,' she said.

Doyle looked surprised. 'You're leavin'? It's late - you could just stay here.'

'Yeah, but Dennis will be worrying. I need to get back to my ghost - commune with the dead.'

Doyle suddenly frowned. 'Commune with dead,' he repeated, half under his breath. She glanced up at him, 'what was that?'

'Nothin' - it's just,' he shook his head, clearing his thoughts, 'stay awhile, Princess, I think I've had an idea.'

'Look I didn't know she was going to pull out!' Lorne said, walking down the hallway chatting into his cellphone. 'I thought it would be right up her street - a big campaign like that. Don't know what got into her. But isn't it just the way? You negotiate a deal for a friend and end up getting kicked right in the horns.' Fred stormed past him, her nose buried in her papers. He waved a green hand at her but she didn't even look up. He shrugged and carried on his conversation, as he stepped into the elevator. 'But this new girl - how's she working out? I saw the billboard…'

...

Fred hadn't even noticed him, she walked through the lobby and into Wesley's office. Without looking up, she ripped the top sheet of paper from the pad and thrust it into his hand. 'I need these as soon as possible,' she said and turned and walked back to the door.

'Hello Wesley, nice to see you,' Wesley said, smiling wryly. She came to a stop and looked back at him, slightly abashed. 'Oh, sorry. Little preoccupied.'

He looked down at the note she had handed him and read the list that was scribbled there. 'The Magdalene Grimoire, Necronomicon des Mortes, Hochstadter's Treatise on Fractal Geometry in 12 dimensional space. 'Preoccupied' might not be the word we're looking for.'

But Fred just wanted to know how fast he could get them. He got to his feet and walked round his desk, speaking slowly. 'Well… half of these antiquities are of the rarest order. If I exploit every contact I've made in the last month as the new head of research and intelligence…' Fred's face fell. '...Twenty minutes,' Wesley told her, smiling slightly. Her face lit up. 'Great, let me know when they're in.' She headed back to the door.

'On one condition,' Wesley said, stopping her in her tracks once more. She turned back to look at him expectantly - and he leaned against his desk, folding his arms. 'Dinner,' he said. She looked flustered, 'oh - uh…' she didn't know where this had come from. Sure she knew he'd always been interested - back in the old days at the Hyperion… but they saw so little of each other lately, and she'd never done anything to suggest...

'I mean you,' he clarified, 'having one. A real one. When was the last time you had anything besides day old takeout? Or had more than a nap up in your lab?'

She nodded. 'I'm OK,' she assured him, 'really. Twenty minutes? Thanks. And don't worry - I am totally, completely …' she turned around and came face to face with Lilah, 'aah!'

'You know I often get that reaction,' Lilah smirked. 'Shouldn't you be up in the lab? Running your pet project?'

'I - I'm going there now,' Fred said, looking slightly unnerved. Lilah always made her feel uncomfortable. Especially knowing that she and Wesley had …

'Well you'd better run along then. And whatever you're doing - it had better work. You're over your quarterly budget … by 800 000 dollars - and peach pie, the quarter aint over yet. Angel was supposed to talk to you about it - but he's disappeared … again.'

'Well - uh - I'll just be…' she glanced back at Wesley, who was watching the unfolding conversation, and then back to Lilah, who as always wore that superior smirk, as if she knew something you didn't… which was probably true. Fred wondered if Lilah was really there to talk to her … or if she was hanging around Wes' office for other reasons. 'I'll just be running along then.' She edged past Lilah and scurried away, up the stairs to her Lab.

The other woman watched her go, the smirk never moving from her face - and then headed into Wesley's office.

...

'What brings you here, Lilah?' Wesley asked, his voice curt and stiff. She smiled wider - though now there was a bit more warmth to it. 'I was supposed to be in a meeting with Angel. But the champ sandwich has taken himself off - wherever it is that he goes when he's not here.'

'Isn't it your job to know that sort of thing - where Angel goes?'

'The company tries to keep tabs on all its more important employees … but you know the Dark Avenger. He's sneaky. So...' she clapped her hands together, 'I'm not in my meeting… I was crossing the lobby and I saw you - in here - talking… to little Winifred.'

He sat down behind his desk and leaned back in his chair. 'Jealous?' he asked her.

'Of Gidget?' She gave a bark of laughter. 'I was watching, she barely looked at you.'

'She's busy.'

'Too busy for Wesley.'

'So … there really was no purpose to this little visit, other than to snipe at the state of my relationship with Fred.'

'You don't have a relationship with Fred,' Lilah pointed out, she walked deeper into his office and sat down on his desk. She crossed her long legs. 'Chances are, you'll never have a relationship with Fred. So the question is,' she ran her fingers down her leg, slowly and sensuously, 'why abstain from what's right in front of you for a dream you can never achieve?'

His eyes were locked onto her fingers, watching them trace up and down her thigh. 'It's about what's right and wrong, Lilah,' he said to her, still not looking away from the mesmerising tickling movement of her hand. 'We work on opposite sides.'

She laughed - and slid off the desk. 'Funny,' she tossed the words over her shoulder as she walked out, 'and here was me thinking we both worked for the same company now.'

Having finally found his way back to the laboratory, Spike found it empty and in darkness. Whatever it was she was up to, right now, Fred appeared to be doing it elsewhere. 'Never a fetching mad scientist around when you need one,' he muttered. He saw some of her notes resting on the bench. He squinted down at them - but they made not one iota of sense to him, and he couldn't turn the page to see if the rest of it was any less mystifying. 'Whatever you're cobbling together, pet, you better hurry it along.'

A dark shadow passed over him, just then, but when he looked up there was nothing there. He frowned - a spook. 'Done chopping your feelers off in the basement are you?' he called into the darkness. 'Floating upstairs for a few chuckles now?'

The light outside the lab began to blink on and off - plunging the surrounding hallway into darkness and then lighting it up again before swamping it once more in black. 'Right,' Spike made a scoffing sound at the back of his throat, looking out towards the flickering bulb. 'Vampire ghost here, mate. Sodding invented afraid of the dark.' But he still walked out into the hall.

The light above him went off - and then the next one further down the hall, and then the one after that. It was like they were directing him down the corridor. 'Bugger this,' he called out. 'I'm not playing follow the blinking light for the rest of the…' he cut himself off as he heard a woman crying in the darkness. He walked towards the sound. 'Alright - lured me in with the creepshow. Now what?'

He saw the crying woman, she was crouching on the ground. She was dressed the way maids had dressed back when he was alive - wearing an apron, a shawl and a mob cap. As he got closer she stood up and turned around to face him. 'Hold me,' she held out her arms - but as her shawl fell back he saw that her arms were gone, leaving only bloody stumps. She staggered towards him. 'Please. Hold me, please … it's coming.' And then she vanished - as if she had never been there at all.

Angel finished singing his lullaby. He reached out and stroked Connor's hair as the little boy slept, clutching his stuffed bunny. His cheeks were flushed and rosy, his breathing deep and even - and Angel had never seen anything so beautiful. It was hard to tear himself away. Everything at Wolfram and Hart was hard and confusing, the shades of grey and the bigger picture were tearing him apart - eating away at his soul. But Connor was the reason he was here. He signed that contract to bring Connor home and he was only honouring it to keep Connor safe.

Watching his infant son sleep helped remind him of why this sacrifice was necessary, why nothing mattered more - it reminded him of what was truly important, and brought a kind of peace that he didn't find elsewhere. But he would be lying if he said his situation didn't still weigh heavy on his heart. Everything he had fought for, everything he had hoped to achieve, the future he had so desperately wanted … it all seemed so impossibly out of reach right now. And he didn't know when - or if - he would be able to get back on the right track.

With a deep sigh, he walked out of Connor's room into his living room and poured himself a glass of blood from the decanter. With an even deeper sigh, he realised that Spike was in the room. 'What did I tell you about being up here?' he closed his eyes wearily. 'Shop's closed, Spike, come back and haunt me tomorrow.'

The other vampire sniffed. 'Air's too rarefied up here for my tastes anyhows. Down with dregs is where I belong, isn't it?'

'And yet he's still here,' Angel muttered under his breath - though loud enough for Spike to hear. He walked over to the window and stared out at the view - at the twinkling lights, made tiny by the distance - trying to ignore his unwanted visitor.

Behind him, Spike shuffled his feet, uncomfortably. 'Just thought we could hang, is all. Couple of vampires from the old days - doing our … hangy thing.'

'You're beginning to feel it, aren't you?' Angel asked, still gazing out of the window. 'How close you are, now … to hell.'

Spike looked annoyed. 'What if I am? Not like it's such a big deal, is it? If a ponce like you could break out…'

'I never escaped from hell. All I got was a short reprieve. Not even sure how I managed that.'

But that annoyed Spike even more. 'Oh put your martyr away, Mahatma,' he snapped. 'Fred told me about your great shining prophecy. Pile up your good deeds and get the big brass ring handed to you...' he looked around at the luxury penthouse suite, '...like everything else.'

Angel finally turned and looked back at his old … friend? Enemy? … Brother. Blood Brother. So Spike knew about the Shanshu … and after what Cordy had said earlier, that knowledge left him more rattled than he cared to admit. 'The trouble with prophecy,' he said, 'is that they don't allow for free will. Stupid, human free will - messing up the finest of plans. And there's so many of them - floating around - that they bang up against each other, cause collisions - and then new things happen. And then - hey - just 'cause something's prophecied, set in stone and meant to be, doesn't mean a higher power won't step in and alter the entire fabric of reality. Meant to be the promised one? Die in a blaze of glory? No problem - the PTB will save your neck and suddenly prophecies that weren't even written about you become about you - and look at that, you're the messiah of an alternate dimension and all the priests are power freaking because a boy cow can't perform the Com-shuk.'

Spike was frowning, 'I'm not sure I'm following…'

But Angel wasn't listening. 'And that's assuming the prophecy was ever accurate in the first place. 'Cause you know, a time travelling demon could've flitted back in time and rewritten the ancient scrolls to say something completely different. And your transcribing guy ends up translating the lies and - wham - your whole family's blown apart and you end up doing something monumentally stupid to try and make it right. And then you save the world - but you owe a debt - and look where you are,' he waved his hands around to encompass the room, 'CEO of an evil law firm. And that prophecy that was written just for you? Your reward … well it's hard to see how you can fulfil that now. And maybe - just maybe - it wasn't about you after all. Because guess what? - just up the coast another vampire has himself an attack of the wiggins, gets himself a soul - if you please - and suddenly you're not the only vampire champion in the club. So yeah - don't take anything that's written with more than a grain of salt, because nothing is actually set in stone. Everything is subject to the whims of the higher powers, the lower powers, the powers in between, cryptic technicalities and the occasional mistranslation.'

'Huh.' Spike arched an eyebrow. 'I see this is a sore spot for you.'

'I've just seen my fair share of prophecies come to pass - and not - to know not to set much store by them. I've seen enough to know that none of it matters. What we do. Not now. The things we did - the lives we destroyed - that's all that's ever gonna count. So yeah. Surprise, you're going to hell.' He sat down on the couch, heavily, 'we both are.'

'Then why even bother?'

'What else are we gonna do?'

'So that's it then,' Spike realised, 'I really am gonna burn.' He sat down next to Angel.

'Welcome to the club.'

'Least I got company, eh?' Spike said, looking sidewards at him, 'you and me, together again. Hope and Crosby. Stills and Nash. Chico and the…'

'Yeah, are we done?' Angel asked irritably.

Spike shook his head, and looked away at Angel - now facing forward. 'Never much for small talk were you? Always trying to perfect that brooding block- of- wood mystique. God I love that.'

'Not as much as I loved your non-stop yammering.'

'Always having to be the big swingy, swaggering around, barking orders…'

'...never listening.'

'Always interrupting.'

'And your hair - what colour do they call that? Radioactive?' He raked disdainful eyes across the peroxide.

Spike tutted and folded his arms. 'Never much cared for you, Liam. Even when we were evil.'

'Cared for you less.'

'Fine.'

''Good.' There was a moment of silence, and Angel shifted, uncomfortably. 'There was … one thing about you…' he admitted.

Spike raised an eyebrow in surprise, 'yeah?'

'Yeah … I never told anybody this but…' he leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. 'I liked your poems.'

The eyebrow became sardonic. 'You like Barry Manilow!' He sounded distinctly unimpressed. But then he went quiet when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look - and saw a man hanging from the ceiling, a noose around his neck.

'What is it?' Angel asked, noticing his expression.

'Don't you see it?'

'See what?'

He shook it off, 'nothing,' he turned away, 'too much talk of fire and brimstone…' He turned back to Angel - and saw the hanging man now standing directly behind the vampire. He stared.

'What?' Angel asked him - completely oblivious to the third dead person in the room.

Cordelia sat on Doyle's couch, flipping through a magazine. She was tired and wanted to get home to bed - but Doyle had insisted she wait. And - would you believe it? The magazine only had an 'Unleashed' advert among it's glossy pages- a double spreader. She tossed it aside with disgust and then looked up as she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Doyle appeared in the apartment, followed by a young and very busty blonde woman in a skin tight, red dress. Cordy raised a suspicious eyebrow at her boyfriend, but he only smiled - shaking his head at her implied inquiry. 'Cordy, this is Sheila,' he said indicating the woman, 'she's a medium. I think - ah - I think she might be able to help us with our little problem.'

'Her?' Cordy asked, her voice was unbelieving. She turned to the woman, 'you? You speak with the dead?'

'For a reasonably priced fee,' Sheila replied, tilting her head to one side and pouting. 'And I believe Francis is in need of my services.'

'Nobody calls him that,' Cordelia snapped.

'Aw, sugar, maybe you just don't know him as well I do.'

Cordelia's eyes flew to Doyle. He squirmed. 'I know her,' he said, 'but I don't you know … Know her. You know I know a lot o' guys.'

'I don't think Sheila's a guy.'

But Doyle only gave her a pointed look. 'Look, she's a medium - she can talk to departed spirits, or whatever. She gets in touch with our Roishnik, asks him who offed him - you go slaying.' He shrugged and then grinned, 'I can't believe I didn't think o' this before.'

'And can you really do it?' Cordelia asked Sheila suspiciously. 'You can really contact the dead and speak to them?'

'All I need is for you guys to back off - give me space - and let me do my sweet funky,' Sheila assured her. 'But it better not take too long. I have Pilates at obscene o'clock in the morning.'

'Huh,' it was Cordelia's turn to tilt her head, 'where do you go to Pilates?'

Spike was pacing up and down the room, frustrated and agitated - he pushed his hands through his hair and grunted in annoyance as Angel questioned him, 'right now?'

'Yes right now, right here!' There were three ghosts now - prowling the room. He and Angel had been joined by Wes and Fred, and the three spectres laced their way around the group - getting right up close, though everyone else remained oblivious to them. And they were trying to talk to him - the spooks - saying cryptic messages in creepy voices. He grunted again. 'Piss off!' he yelled, 'I'm trying to have a conversation here, shut up!'

Wesley glanced around the room, perturbed, 'who's he talking to?' he asked Angel.

'Ghosts.'

Where?' Fred looked around as well. As Spike watched she stared straight into the face of the ghost with no arms … but she saw nothing.

'Everywhere!' he shouted in exasperation, 'the blighters are coming out of the bloody woodwork!' He switched back to talking to the spectres. 'No - I'm not talking to you. Go away!'

Gunn and Lilah arrived - Lilah had a smirk on her face which suggested that, whatever was happening, she was enjoying it very much. 'We just checked with security,' Gunn told the group.

'They do hourly sweeps with the mystics to secure against spectral intrusion,' Lilah added.

'So how many are we talking about ?' Angel wanted to know. But the simple answer was none. The last sweep had been only ten minutes ago - and Spike was the only non-corporeal in the building.

Spike watched warily as the armless woman circled him. 'It's coming for you,' she hissed at him. He looked back at the others, 'check again,' he demanded. He knew what he saw - knew what he heard. These mystics had it all wrong.

Fred looked troubled, 'maybe we should head back to the lab,' she suggested. But Spike was adamant they were right here in the room and this was where it needed sorting. They needed to check again - clearly something … very strange was happening. And it was happening to him. And he was right pissed off about it. And scared. Though he wasn't going to say that in front of Angel-breath.

'It's here,' the hanging man hissed at him. He closed his eyes for a long moment - and then when he opened them he walked towards Fred. 'Fred, please,' he put his hands together as he talked - the tips of his fingers were pointing at Fred, but there was something of a prayer in the gesture, 'you have to use that perfect brain of yours and get me…'

Fred frowned as Spike faded - going transparent and then disappearing completely. His voice just trailed off into silence. 'Spike?'

'Where'd he go?' Lilah asked. Angel only shrugged - he did this sometimes.

Spike - still stood in the middle of the room - stared at the other vampire. 'Does what?' he asked. No one answered him.

'We should spread out, see if we can find him,' Fred said - as Spike turned and stared at them all in bemusement. They were staring right through him. 'We just need to find him.' Everyone turned and exited the room - spreading out into different directions to search in different places.

Spike stood in the middle of the room and stared after them - not knowing which one to follow. 'What are you going on about?' he called after them, 'I haven't gone anywhere. Fred?' he took a few paces after her, 'I'm - I'm still here. Fred!'

'She can't help you know, William,' a dark, hollow voice echoed through the room - seeming to come from the very walls. 'No one can.'