Angel

The vampire was in the city - Doyle had found him, found out where he lived, watched him from afar. He had rented an office in a building, for what purpose Doyle could only guess - because there were no clues forthcoming as to what he intended to do with the space, but he seemed to live there.

He only came out at night - obviously. He spoke to no one, or at least to as few people as he could feasibly manage. He was keeping himself alone, apart. He slipped between the humans of L.A like a shadow, only intervening when someone's life was in danger and then melting away into the dark, as if he had never been there at all.

Doyle followed him on a couple of occasions - both times nearly being found out; the vampire was good, he knew he was being followed. It was only Doyle's vast experience in hiding, lurking and vanishing quickly that stopped him from being discovered before he was ready. But he had managed to follow this Angel a couple of times, successfully - watch him, get a feel for him.

Angel was on the edge - Doyle could see that from the haunted look in his eyes, he recognised it from his own years of desperation. When the fighting was done, the demon slain, the little human victim would grab at Angel; their eyes brimming with tears; their voices wavering and trembling as they tried to give him their thanks. Doyle remembered the woman he had saved himself, remembered her gratitude - how she would have gone home with him if he had asked her too, slept with him. He had had to push her away - lie to her so she wouldn't find out what he was … and Angel was now finding himself in the same position. He would wrench his arm away from the hopeless type he had just saved, shaking them off - being curt, rude even - trying to get the hell away from them as fast he could.

But it was more than just the fear of discovery, weighing on Angel - there was something beyond the pain and guilt and heartbreak haunting his eyes. There was hunger. He looked at these quivering, hopeless humans, bleating their heartfelt thanks - and he felt hungry. He had to tear himself away in case the temptation proved too much, in case he gave in to his bloodlust.

As he watched Angel's lone night time hunting - and the way he fled the scene afterwards, to protect those he had just saved from himself, to protect himself from his own gnawing hunger, Doyle began to understand exactly what it was he was supposed to do. What role it was he was supposed to play in leading this unlikely champion to his destiny.

Angel didn't care about the people he saved. Sure, he didn't want them dead - but they didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him. He was cut off, alone, with no real reason to fight. He did it because it was right, because it passed the time, because he could … but his heart was not in it - and one day the temptation would be way too much. One of those damsels would look way too appetising to pass up - and he would drink her - and then he wouldn't stop. And soul or no, he would be a killer again. Unless Doyle stopped him.

Doyle was being sent to give him a purpose and - more importantly - to give him a connection, make him care about the souls he saved, make him see them as more than happy meals on legs.

So now he knew the vampire's background, his hunting grounds and his home address, and now he knew what role it was he was supposed to play - all Doyle had to do was wait. Wait for the right time to make contact.

...

It happened on a Tuesday. October 5th. He was just sorting some long overdue laundry, when he felt a sudden twinge in his head, followed by a searing pain - like red hot pokers stabbing into his cerebral cortex. His eyes bulged and his hands began to shake, as the pain coursed through him, flashing images in his head - sending him a vision of a soul in need.

Once the blinding agony had receded a little, and he had control of his nervous system once more, he abandoned his laundry and sat on the sofa - scribbling down a note of the details the PTB had just sent him: Tina, Coffee Spot.

That was all he knew about the girl, other than she needed help. Not much to go on. But that wasn't his problem - he had bigger things to think about.

Tonight would be the night he made contact.