Chapter 5: To the Past, Present, and Doyle
Wesley paced.
He'd gone past sleepy some time ago. Now there was only focus. His brain had fixed itself completely upon his friends, and his emotions had shut down almost completely.
After Cordelia's episode, Angel had suddenly arched back, gasping with pain and panic, and his eyes had opened briefly. About that point, Wesley had prepared to break the spell. But Angel, too, had come through whatever it was. Wesley, exhausted beyond anything he'd ever known, simply shut down all extraneous brain function.
So Wesley continued to wait and watch. He glanced at the clock. Sunrise was only an hour away. Whatever was to happen had to happen soon.
Cordelia's eyes started to move behind her lids, and Angel drew in a breath. The dreamwalk continued.
***
It didn't take long for Angel and Cordelia to figure out they were at Angel's mansion in Sunnydale, exactly where he'd been dropped out of Hell before. And in the very same state of nudity.
The clothes problem was solved rather easily. Cordelia and Angel simply decided they were clothed, and they were. That, of course, led to Cordelia "deciding" upon five different outfits before settling on one. She even fussed with Angel's shirt before he finally stopped her with a burst of vampiric stubbornness.
"I'm just saying you could do with a little color," she argued.
Angel, however, was suddenly distracted by the realization that light was coming from another room. Cordelia took advantage of the moment to turn his shirt deep green before following him.
In the sitting room, the fire was burning. A chair sat in front of it, facing away from Angel and Cordelia.
"Who's there?" asked Angel.
"Someone who's been waiting awhile for you two to get here," a very familiar Irish brogue answered as the figure in the chair stood and presented himself.
"Doyle!" Cordelia cried, delighted, and ran forward to hug him. Even Angel smiled.
"Doyle. After our last two guides, you're a welcome sight."
The Irish half-demon seemed happy to be hugged by Cordelia. "Good to see you, too. Too bad I missed out on the nakedness, though."
Cordelia gave him a mock-severe look. "Hey, you and I are going to have to talk about that last kiss and passing off visions without certain people knowing."
"I'd love to," agreed Doyle, "but time's running out. There are things that have to be seen here. This is where it all comes back to, you know."
"Sunnydale?" asked Cordelia.
"No, sweetheart. The past. Are you ready?"
"I'm ready," Angel answered.
"I know, Angel, but it's ladies first here." Doyle held out a hand to Cordelia. "Come on. You've got to go home."
Angel's mansion dissolved around them, and they were in Cordelia's grandmother's house.
"Cordy, where do you think you're going?" asked Arthur Chase, Cordelia's father.
"Away," she answered angrily, throwing clothes into a suitcase. "I'm going away, Daddy. I'm getting out of this stinking hellhole of a town, and nothing you can say or do will make me stay."
"Listen, Cordy," her father cajoled, "I know we've had some tough times, but that's no reason to . . ."
"Tough times?" she interrupted. "You don't know the half of it, Daddy. You never know anything that's going on with me. Took you two days to figure out I'd been impaled, and then it was only because the insurance company wanted you to fill out paperwork." She zipped up the suitcase so forcefully she nearly broke the zipper. "You were always too busy with your investments and your companies and your flavor-of-the-week girlfriends and, oh yeah, avoiding the IRS to so much as ask me how my day was. Here's your blanket answer, though, just in case you're interested: it sucked. They all sucked. There were varying degrees of suckiness, true, but suckiness was had by all." She turned and began to zip dresses into a garment bag. There weren't many of them.
"Cordelia, you can't leave," Arthur Chase declared. "Think of your mother."
"Why don't you think of my mother, Daddy?" Cordelia asked acidly. "It'll be a new experience for you. Hey, why don't you two try communicating? You haven't spoken since my birth, so you should have lots to talk about."
Her father's fist slammed down. "I will not be spoken to that way, young lady!"
Cordelia whirled, eyes flashing. "Oh, yes, you will. But don't worry, it won't last long. I'm outta here." She sealed the garment bag and tossed it over the suitcase. Then she set about taping up a large box sitting on the floor.
At that, Arthur Chase looked stunned. "Cordy," he said more softly. "Honey, listen. I know it's been bad, but I've got a new job, and soon, we'll be back on our feet again. Doug Martin's helping me put some money away into tax shelters. We'll have it all again soon. You don't have to leave, honey. You don't have to be out on your own. I'll be able to take care of you."
"No!" Cordelia shouted. "I will not be taken care of, do you hear me? I'm not relying on anyone but me ever again!" The doorbell rang. Cordelia's eyes remained locked on her father. "Get out of my way."
A moment or so later, Xander Harris walked into the tension-filled room. Cordelia quickly put on a smile. "Hi, Xander. Thanks for coming."
"No problem," the teen returned. "How can I help?"
Cordelia pointed at the box she'd just taped. "Get that out to my car, would you? It's the really ugly Subaru parked at the curb."
Xander hefted the box, and Cordelia grabbed the suitcase and garment bag. She made for the door, then stopped, turned back around, and picked up her purse from her stripped bed.
"Cordelia," her father pleaded, defeat in his voice.
"I've already gone, Daddy," she said, stone-cold.
Xander reappeared in the doorway. "Anything else?"
"Just my computer box," Cordelia told him. Xander grabbed it and followed her out the door to her car.
As he was setting the box into the back seat of the battered Subaru, Xander asked, "You sure about this? I mean, L.A.—not the nicest place, you know?"
Cordelia waved off his concern. "Don't worry, Xander. I've got lots of friends in L.A. I've already made arrangements with Marci Thomas to stay with her, and she says she can get me a job, so I've got it made. Besides, having lived here all my life, I think I can handle whatever L.A. throws at me."
"True," Xander acknowledged. He gave the computer box a pat, then closed the door. "Well—keep in touch."
"Tell the Slayerettes it's been fun," Cordelia said. "How's Buffy? Still in the depths of despair?"
"She's dealing. I think Willow and a few pounds of Godiva got her through the worst of it."
"Good." Cordelia finished hanging up the garment bag, then shut the back driver's side door. "If there's one thing I don't need another second of, it's the Buffy/Angel saga."
Xander walked around to her side of the car. "If there's ever anything I can do . . ."
"I know." Impulsively, Cordelia drew him in for a quick hug. "Off I go to L.A. Try not to get eaten, okay?"
"Deal." Xander grinned and held the door for her while she got into her car. He shut it, and she drove away with a wave and a smile.
Two blocks away, Cordelia pulled into an alley, turned the car off, and burst into panicky, gasping sobs.
The Cordelia of now watched her, Angel by her side, holding her hand. "I had nothing," she said. "No friends in L.A., no place to stay, no idea of what I was going to do when I got there. I was so scared—more scared than I'd ever been. I'd sooner have taken on Angelus, Spike, and Drusilla all by myself than take that trip, but staying in Sunnydale seemed even worse, somehow."
"Your lowest point?" asked Angel, his voice sympathetic.
"Oh, yeah." Cordelia watched as Cordelia-of-then pulled herself together, fiercely wiped the tears away, and started driving again, heading resolutely out of town.
"Funny thing, the past," said Doyle, by their sides. "You can't do a thing about it. The present you've got some power over, and the future's not written yet, but the past is frozen. You can't change it, but it refuses to stay put. It puts its spin on everything that happens in your present. It wakes you up at night, screaming with fear." He looked at Cordelia. "That thing you saw yourself going through right here—that's the fear. It's the fear Agragon uses against you. Now that you've seen it, you'll know where it's coming from. You overcame it before; you can overcome it with him."
The child's voice started singing again. This time, Cordelia could hear the words.
"Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart . . ."
Angel stiffened by her side.
"Naught be all else to me, save that thou art . . ."
Doyle looked at him seriously. "Are you ready?"
"Thou my best thought by day or by night . . ."
Angel looked back. "I'm ready. I'll face her."
"Waking or sleeping, thy presence my light."
The alley dissolved, diffusing into the misty light of a beach. It wasn't a California beach, all sunshine and sand. There was a high bluff off to one side, and the beach itself was very low and most likely disappeared down to half its size at high tide. The air was cool and salty. It was very lonely, but beautiful at the same time. The child's voice was humming now and sounded quite close. Cordelia followed Angel's gaze and saw her.
She was kneeling on the beach, making a sort of sand castle. She was, Cordelia thought, probably twelve or thirteen, in that gangly, pre-adolescent phase of life. Odd, old-fashioned clothes hung about her thin frame—a long, white shirt and what looked like a pair of boy's trousers. Her long, dark hair was pulled away from her face.
Lying opposite her was a young man, very tall and broad-shouldered. Cordelia couldn't see his face. He was wearing the same kind of clothing as the girl. His head was propped up on his hand as he watched her.
"The sand's not sticking together, Liam," the girl complained in a soft Irish brogue, not unlike Doyle's.
The young man chuckled. "It's not wet enough, Kathy. That won't be a problem when the tide comes in, though." There was something familiar about his voice, which was flavored with the same accent as the girl's. Then he shifted, pushing his long, dark, auburn-tinged hair away from his face.
It was Angel. But not Angel as Cordelia knew him.
"I was Liam back then," the Angel she knew said. "Just a boy."
"And she was . . ." Cordelia prompted gently.
"Kathleen. Kathy. My little sister." The pain in Angel's voice was almost a palpable thing.
Cordelia's gaze went back to the pair on the beach. Liam was smiling, helping his sister build her sand castle and teasing her gently. His smile wasn't the one Angelus used like a weapon, or even the shy smile Angel occasionally betrayed; it was a young man's smile, full of bright hope and sweet lies. He looked so young.
Kathy returned the smile, and Cordelia realized just how alike the two looked. Their eyes were the same shape, their hair the same color, and they had exactly the same smile. What was exotically handsome on Angel was delicate, otherworldly beauty on Kathy.
Angel wandered nearer the brother and sister. They took no notice of him.
"We had three other siblings at one time—Maura, Seamus, and Donal. I was the oldest and Kathy the youngest. One winter, a terrible fever swept through the town. The other three died. Kathy and I, though . . . we lived. I guess that from then on, I thought of Kathy as being mine, somehow. She recovered her strength more slowly than I did. I'd bring her sweets and read to her, and . . ." He trailed off, eyes closed. "I loved her. As deeply as I ever loved anyone, I loved her. And she loved me."
"What happened to her?" asked Cordelia, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"This beach was ours," Angel went on, ignoring the question. "I found it while wandering one day, and I brought her here. It was our secret. She'd put on some of my old clothes, and we'd take my horse and disappear all day. Father would be furious, of course." Angel laughed. "He always blamed me. Thought I was corrupting my sister's character. Mother was more practical. She'd blame me for corrupting Kathy's complexion. Wanted to raise a girl who'd attract a nobleman with an empty head and a full purse." He shook his head. "Kathy was too good for that. Too full of spirit.
"Sometimes, after I'd been out carousing at night, I'd use her bedroom window to get back into the house. It was easier to reach than mine—especially when I'd been drinking. Whenever I did that, I'd leave her sweets as a bribe, but really, she'd never have betrayed me. Never . . ."
Angel looked lost, and the scene changed. They were in a darkened bedroom now. Kathy lay asleep in the bed. A figure loomed outside her window, then climbed in. As he did so, Liam knocked something over. Kathy started awake.
"Liam!" she hissed. "Be quiet. Father will hear you."
Liam laughed softly and walked over to her bed. He gave her a bag, which she promptly dipped into, then sat down on the foot of her bed as she enjoyed her sweets.
"We were allies against our parents," Angel continued. Liam and Kathy were also talking, though Cordelia couldn't make out their conversation. "I wanted nothing more than to leave and take Kathy with me. In the end, though, I left alone."
Liam stood up, leaned over, and kissed his sister's forehead, whispering, "Sweet dreams, little Kathy." Then he left the room.
The scene changed. They were still in Kathy's bedroom, and it was night outside. She, however, was sitting, fully clothed, on her bed. In one hand she held a prayer book, and in the other, a rosary. Her face was pale and tearstained.
A figure loomed outside her window again and knocked at the pane. Puzzled, Kathy set aside her prayer book and rosary and went to the window. Her face suddenly lit up with joy, and she threw it open.
"Liam? Liam!" she cried.
Liam held a finger to his lips. "Shh. Quiet, little Kathy."
He didn't come in. Kathy reached out to him, and he took her hands. "Liam, you've come back to me," she said wonderingly.
He chuckled. "That I have, Kathy. Didn't I say I would?"
She shook her head as if in disbelief. "But Liam—they said you were dead. I prayed for your soul."
That was when Cordelia realized what was happening. "Oh, no," she breathed. "Please, no."
Angel's face was a mask of pain.
"I was dead, sweet Kathy," Liam told his sister. "Didn't stop me from returning to you, though."
Her face was bright. "Then you're an angel. You've come back to save us from the demon Father says is about."
Liam laughed. "An angel. Yes, you could say that."
Cordelia shuddered.
"Will you not come in, Liam?" Kathy asked.
"No, don't say it," whispered Cordelia.
"Are you inviting me in, sweet Kathy?"
No.
But Kathy laughed. "Yes, Liam. Come in!"
"Then I shall." Vampire Liam stepped into Kathy's room. She embraced him.
"You're so cold, Liam," she remarked.
"I'll be warm soon enough, dear sister. Now tell me—where's Father?"
"I think he's in the dining room. Shall I take you to him?"
"Not yet." Liam leaned down closer to his sister. "There's something I've got to tell you first, sweet. Look out your window."
Kathy obeyed, turning her back to her brother. Cordelia watched in horror as his features twisted into his vampiric countenance.
"What is it, Liam?" she asked, not seeing.
"Eternity," he breathed.
And he bit her.
The shock that went through Kathy's body was echoed by the one that went through Angel's. He and Cordelia watched helplessly as Liam drained Kathy, then lifted her lifeless body in his arms . . . and kissed her forehead.
"Let's go find Father," the newly-fledged vampire said maliciously, and he carried her from the room.
Angel moved over to the window. He leaned on the frame, body shaking with emotion. Cordelia and Doyle watched him, themselves shaken by what they'd just witnessed. For a long moment, all was silence.
"For almost two hundred and fifty years, every time I sleep, I've heard her singing," Angel finally said, voice ragged. "That hymn was her favorite. You could—you could hear her singing or humming it around our house almost constantly. Not one of my kills as a vampire ever haunted me when I was without my soul. Not one, but her." He turned to face his friends, stricken. "She was an innocent. She never knew, never understood, that her adored brother had betrayed her. That innocence grated on me . . . disturbed me like nothing else. After her, I never let another die without realizing what was happening. I couldn't leave innocence like hers alone when I found it. Drusilla, Buffy—I was obsessed with destroying that purity, in the hopes that she would just . . . stop . . . haunting . . . me."
"And now?" It was Cordelia.
"Now, all I can think is that I'm so grateful she never knew." Drained, Angel sagged against the window, face in his hands. "My dreams are always haunted by my crimes. If I had to look into her eyes at night and see betrayal—I don't think I could bear it." Dropping his hands, he looked at Doyle. "Can I speak to her?"
"You can't change the past," Doyle told him. "All you can do is come to terms with it. But let's see what we can do."
"Liam?" Kathy was sitting up in her bed, her dark hair falling out of her nightcap. "Are you here?"
Angel walked over and sat at the foot of her bed, the way Liam had. "I'm here, Kathy."
Her eyes were a little sad. "Why did it all happen, Liam?"
He shook his head. "No answer would be good enough. Maybe there isn't one."
She didn't seem confused by that, cryptic as it was. "Will you be coming home soon?"
"I'll try," he promised. "I love you, Kathy."
"I love you, too, Liam."
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, gentle and long. "Sweet dreams, little Kathy."
She laid back in bed and slept, and Angel smoothed the blankets around her. Doyle, too, wandered over to the bed and picked something up off of it.
"Come on, Angel." The half-demon's voice was gentle. "We haven't much time."
Angel took one last look at his sister. He seemed steadier now. The room darkened until all they could see was each other, and then it was their old Los Angeles office again. Doyle took Cordelia's hand and set something inside it. Kathy's rosary.
"You'll need it," he said. "Time to move into the present."
And they were in Cordelia's apartment, in her bedroom. She and Angel saw their sleeping bodies laying on the bed. Wesley was pacing the room, looking like only the motion was keeping him upright. The ghostly figure of Dennis Pearson waved cheerfully at them, looking almost more solid than Wesley. Cordelia waved back.
"Sun's up soon," Angel realized.
"Yep. Time enough for what needs doing, though—if only just." Then they were on top of the apartment complex. Doyle pointed toward the south of town. "Come on. Let's go."
"Go? Where?" asked Cordelia.
Angel just chuckled, having figured out what Doyle meant. "Free your mind, Cordelia."
With that, he grabbed her hand, and the three went running for the edge and leapt. Rooftop to rooftop, heading toward the stylized cross logo of Providence Hospital. The city seemed eerily quiet to their dream-senses, but they saw things they never had before. Swirling eddies of spiritual forces, incorporeal creatures, benevolent, malign, and neutral, thoughts and dreams scattered to the four winds. On and on they flew, exhilarated by their dream abilities.
And finally, they were at the hospital. Doyle walked them through the halls to a room where a single woman laid in the bed. Her physical self lay in the bed, that was. Her dream-self stood by it, murmuring prayers in Spanish, terror and pain in her eyes. A shadowy claw was buried in the back of her head.
"Anita," Cordelia said, for it was the woman she'd seen in her vision.
"She'll take you from here." Doyle looked at his friends. "I'd love to stay and help, but this is as far as I can take you. She's got to show you where the demon lord is—but it won't be easy for her."
" 'Bye, Doyle," Cordelia said, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
"Thanks, Doyle. For everything." Angel looked rock-solid now.
Doyle smiled at them. "Here's your final key: you've got everything you need between the two of you. If you hold onto each other and all you've been given here, there's no way you can lose."
And he was gone.