Rating: R for language
Archive: anywhere you like, just let me know
Spoilers: everything up to and including "To Shanshu in L.A."
Summary: Angel's attempt to keep his friends safe forever may lead them into the greatest danger of all.
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Captive of the Soul
by Yahtzee
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PART ONE
"Anything left of the files?"
"Sure, if you count ashes. The filing cabinet might be okay, though, with new paint -- and a couple of new drawers --"
"There, you see? I told you some things would be salvageable, didn't I? Why, we might have plenty of things for our new office, wherever that might be --"
"First things first," Angel said. Like Cordelia and Wesley, he was standing in the burnt-out remains of what had been Angel Investigations. Also like them, he was covered in black dust, going through the debris surrounding them to see what, if anything, might be saved. They were all in ragged, disposable clothes -- Cordelia had bought Angel some things at the Salvation Army, as well as Wesley's first pair of blue jeans. The room smelled acrid, almost bitter, and thick, oily soot coated every possible surface. With every step, the charred floorboards creaked uncomfortably. In the center of the room was their only illumination, the emergency flashlight from Cordelia's car. Taken all in all, it was depressing as hell -- though Angel found the gloom easier to bear than Wesley and Cordelia's pretence that nothing was wrong.
"This looks all right, don't you think?" Wesley said, pulling a still-intact chair up from the floor. He stopped abruptly, and though he made no sound, Angel saw him bite his lip.
"Don't try to lift anything," Angel said. "You're not strong enough yet."
"Nonsense," Wesley said, a bit too stoutly. "I feel right as rain."
"What is that expression supposed to mean, anyway?" Cordelia said. "I mean, think about it. Makes no sense whatsoever. Know what else makes no sense? You toting around heavy furniture when you've only been out the hospital a few days."
"You were discharged on the same day," Wesley pointed out.
"Yeah, but I didn't have sprained ribs or a concussion or any of that stuff. I just had visions. Doesn't mess you up the same way." She made a move to pick up the chair herself.
"Neither of you is going to do any lifting," Angel said. "Not that there's going to be that much to lift. As far as I can see, we've got a few weapons, a few books, a blackened copy of Word-Puzz, one chair and no place to put it. And that's about all."
"That's not all we have," Cordelia said, folding her arms in front of her. Her hands, in yellow- rubber dishwashing gloves, made a bright X in the darkness. "We have each other, and that's all we really need. Right?"
Angel sighed and managed a small smile for her. "You're right," he said, squeezing her arm quickly.
"Jeez, but you're grumpy for a guy who just found out his undead-ness has an expiration date," Cordelia said, her cheer a little less forced.
"It's just -- difficult," Angel said. "I wandered around for 250 years. Even in Sunnydale -- I always knew it couldn't be forever. But I thought I could stay here. So much for that plan."
Wesley and Cordelia both looked at him sympathetically. Good, Angel thought. They bought it.
In reality, as fond as he had grown of their offices and his apartment, he had long ago learned the foolishness of believing that anything was permanent. What weighed on him now cut too close. All Angel could think was: Wesley was in this building. They meant for him to be as burned and broken and lost as everything lying around me right now. Cordelia was screaming for mercy in a hospital bed. They meant for her to sink into madness and anguish until her mind snapped and her body stopped.
She thinks it's such a gift, that we have each other, he thought. But that's the reason they both almost ended up dead.
"Good God," Wesley said, breaking Angel out of his reverie. "Look at the computer." The plastic casing had melted; bits of chips and wire stuck out of the charred mess that had once been the desk.
"The phone didn't do too well either," Cordelia said, lifting up the receiver, from which more wires dangled. "And the answering machine --"
"Who's in there?"
The words came from the hallway, surprising them all; Wesley jumped, dropping the sooty encyclopedia of demonology he'd just retrieved. Angel recognized the voice first. He didn't relax.
"Kate," he called. "It's just us."
"Just you," she said, coming around the corner. The beam from her flashlight cut through the room. Her lips were set in a thin line. "Nothing to worry about. Just a vampire once known as the Scourge of Europe."
"Nicknames," Angel said flatly. "So hard to live them down.What do you want, Kate?"
"What do I want? I want to investigate a major crime scene. Remember, I tried to the other night, before you fled the area."
"Before I went to the hospital to check on Wesley," Angel said. "After you attacked me again. Is that what you're here for?"
She didn't answer; she was looking, instead, at Wesley, who still had a bandage across his forehead. He'd lost a few pounds, especially noticeable on his spare frame. Her voice was somewhat less brittle when she spoke again. "I'm just after the truth."
"I know that," Angel said, trying to match her newfound civility. Cordelia, he could see, was still trying to think of an appropriate retort to the "Scourge of Europe" comment; he shook his head quickly at her. "I doubt the truth is going to help you out much, though."
"Why? What happened here?" Kate's eyes narrowed again. "I know you claim to be on some kind of crusade, but if I find out you've been keeping explosives in here --"
"Excuse me," Cordelia snapped, ignoring Angel and ripping at the broken mess of the answering machine as if it were a certain police detective. "He is a vampire, not a Branch Davidian. Why would Angel blow up his own building?"
"Cordy," Angel said, "calm down. Kate's just doing her job."
"Don't defend me," Kate said. "Answer me."
"The building was blown up by Vocah, a powerful supernatural assassin sent to destroy me and my friends." Angel didn't mention the scroll or the raising; this alone would probably be too much for Kate to absorb. "As you can see, he very nearly succeeded."
"A supernatural assassin," Kate said, rolling her eyes. "That's gonna look great in my report. You really know how to win friends and influence people, don't you?"
"Angel's got friends," Cordelia said, her voice now chillier than Kate's.
"He also has enemies," Kate said.
Wesley cleared his throat. "Ah, Detective Lockley? Perhaps your supervisors would be interested in hearing the account of a witness. I should be happy to tell you what I saw --"
Kate took a deep breath, then nodded. "Constructive suggestion. Okay, good idea." She glanced around. "Is there anyplace we could sit down?"
Angel realized she was thinking of Wesley's relative weakness and, despite his anger, felt a flash of gratitude to her. "Not much left in the way of furniture, but the stairs are still there."
As Kate and Wesley turned to go into the hallway, Cordelia said, "Oh, wait a sec. You're carrying one of those little tape recorders, aren't you?"
Kate looked at her strangely. "Yes; why?"
Cordy held up the message tape for the answering machine. "This made it through okay. And I was expecting a callback."
Rolling her eyes, Kate handed over the recorder. "I guess I'll take your statement the old- fashioned way," she said as she pulled out a pen. "Any clipboards make it through?"
"We can use what's left of the bookshelf," Wesley said helpfully as they walked out.
Angel smiled slightly as Cordelia fiddled with the recorder. "Always the optimist," he said.
"I just look that way compared to you, Gloom-n-Doom," she said, then frowned. "That's the old me again, isn't it?"
The tape recorder started playing. A shrill-voiced woman, who apparently had not realized from the phone message that she hadn't reached Ruby Chinese Restaurant, put in an order for vegetable dumplings.
"Don't worry about it," Angel said. "If the old you went away completely, I'd miss her."
"Bitchiness and bad-hair angst and everything?" Cordelia said. She looked up at him, her lips quirked in that funny, vulnerable smile of hers, the one that meant she wasn't really joking.
"And everything," Angel insisted.
The tape recorder switched messages; when the new speaker began, Angel froze. He had only met her once but remembered her vividly.
"I hope I've called the correct number. Regarding the problem you came to me with a few months ago I realize that situation has now resolved itself, for better or worse. But I've found someone who could help you in future, should you ever again need such help. Come by the church if you wish to be introduced." A click announced the end of the message, and, apparently, the end of those who had wished to contact Angel Investigations.
"Who was that?" Cordelia said.
"I don't know her name," Angel said. "She's a nun Wesley and I met when we were trying to exorcise the Ethros demon. She seemed to have a lot of information; probably be a good idea to get to know her."
"Then, get on with your dead self," Cordelia said. When he raised an eyebrow, she waved him toward the door. "It's not that late. What else are we gonna do here? And what if we have to deal with possessed kids again? Could happen any day. Best to be prepared."
"You want me out of here before Kate and I can start fighting again."
"Yeah, that too," Cordelia said.
Angel smiled and went to the door. "If Kate wants to know where I've gone -- tell her I'm at church. That ought to throw her for a loop."
Thirty minutes later Angel was shivering in a pew. Not from cold -- though he did feel a bit chilled after the quick washing-up he'd done in the restroom of a local service station. Was it sickness? Fear? What was it that snaked through him like ice every time he looked at a cross?
"It still affects you." Angel looked over to see the nun sitting at the end of the same pew. He hadn't even heard her approach, a testament either to her stealth or his distraction. She motioned toward the cross. "Why is that?"
"It affects us all," Angel said. "I've never known why."
"I wasn't referring to vampires in general," she said, looking at him wish the same unruffled calm, the same penetrating gaze, he remembered from before. "I meant you. You're unlike the others in so many ways. But the symbol of Christ's love still causes you pain."
"How do you know I'm not like the others?" Angel said.
"You put yourself in danger to help a child. You seek the people of the church whom you should logically shun. You have a human friend. Evidence enough, don't you think?"
"I try to believe that," Angel said. "That I'm different. But moments like this -- I wonder if the difference is enough." He forced himself to look at the cross again. He could do it -- he no longer cringed from the sight of it, like young ones and cowards did. But he couldn't make the pain go away. "The symbol of Christ's love. That's what you call it. But that's not what I see, not what I feel."
"God's love is far from you," she said. "Yes, that must be hard to bear."
Angel shook his head. "It's not a new burden. And I doubt you brought me here to discuss the condition of my soul."
"So, you do have your soul," the nun said. "I thought so. No, I should be interested in discussing that with you someday, but that is not why I called."
"How did you even know my number? Are you psychic?" he said, only half-joking.
"That is not among my gifts. Even if it were, it would be unnecessary. Your friend left this at the church before," she said, holding up a white card. "A business card. Tell me, why is there a picture of a moth on it?"
He sighed. "It's supposed to be an angel. And that's my name. Angel."
The nun raised one eyebrow, but said only, "Come. You should meet Father Augustine."
Father Augustine, as it turned out, was a priest in his late forties, broad and bearded, with skin as dark as night. He had been born and raised in Ghana, only converting to Christianity as an adult. But throughout his conversion, and his subsequent entry into the clergy, Augustine had remembered the older religion of his youth.
"Christianity is the true light of God," Augustine said, pouring tea for Angel as though he were any other houseguest. "But every light casts shadows, does it not? To explore those shadows, we need to remember the old beliefs. The old magic. There are many who do not understand that. But those of us who do, well, we find one another," he said, smiling briefly at the nun, who was serenely sipping her tea.
"How long have you fought against demons?" Angel said.
"All my life," Augustine said, sitting down to his own drink. "But only these last two decades have I also had the resources of the Church at my disposal."
"You perform exorcisms?"
"Where possible. The battle is often difficult, as you must know. The good sister tells me you were attempting to cast out an Ethros demon. Were you successful?"
"Yes. The boy lived; the demon's dead." Angel did not tell them that the boy had been the greater evil; he didn't feel like discussing it. Another idea, something he had never before considered, was crowding into his mind, pushing aside all other thought.
His earlier words to the nun echoed within his mind. What if he were wrong? What if there were a difference after all?
"Well done. I should not have thought that one with his own demon would be able to cast out another. There is so much to learn," Augustine said. "I hope we shall learn from one another."
"There's something I need you to do," Angel said abruptly. "An exorcism I need you to perform."
Father Augustine nodded. "Of course. Why did you not say so before? Who needs this exorcism?"
"I do," Angel said.
CONTINUED IN PART TWO