A Union of Souls, Chapter Thirteen
Adam would have been lying if he said he was happy and comfortable with what was going on. He wasn't, and he didn't think that 'pow-wowing' with Angel and his friends was going to help matters or make things anymore understandable or acceptable. Whistler hadn't really told them anything; he hadn't cleared up any of the fog. As a matter of fact the demon -- and after daring to probe the being psychically, Adam did believe that he wasn't at all human or normal -- had only raised more questions than he had answered.
Then again, glancing at Ami as the freight elevator descended, Adam thought that maybe Whistler in all his crypticism had answered some of her questions. Questions that she clearly hadn't thought to ask aloud, and the answers were those that she wasn't ready to share. Something had happened upstairs in that office, only Adam didn't have the slightest clue of what that something was.
He really didn't like being in the dark like this.
He was trusting Ami right now, trusting her reliable instincts, but that didn't mean that he was happy with it. He planned on keeping a close eye on this Whistler. He didn't plan on leaving 'Angel investigations' or Los Angeles until he had a few answers that he could be relatively happy with. And, most importantly, he wasn't going anywhere until he was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ami was safe.
The freight elevator reached the bottom floor and Whistler threw up the gate, loudly announcing their arrival. Four heads swiveled to look expectantly in their direction, their quiet conversation lulling. Adam took in the unpretentious and windowless surroundings, wondering why anyone would chose to live in the rather darkened environment. Still it was clean, immaculately clean for the 'typical bachelor' and decorated spartanly and eclectically. His eyes quickly skimmed a wall of swords and weapons and he looked away with a shiver. Something told him that those were more than decorations and display pieces.
The knowledge unsettled him. Why would a private investigator need those types of weapons?
"Ah, Ami, Adam, you're still with us, I see," the researcher, Giles, greeted them with a friendly nod of his head. "I trust that your conversation with Whistler was suitably enlightening?"
"Not exactly," Adam gave Whistler a hard look.
"As enlightened as I could get them," Whistler immediately objected. He looked around and then decided to settle into an occupied armchair. Tossing his hat on the coffee table, he tossed one leg over the arm of the chair. "I'm not going to do all of Angelus' work for him."
Angel glared at the demon -- if that was what he truly was -- Adam knew he wasn't human but he still wasn't prepared to go as far as calling him a demon. "What's that supposed to mean? And I hope you're comfortable."
"Quite, thanks," Whistler reached into his shirt pocket and produced a cigar. "It means that I told them what I think that they need to know. The rest is up to you."
"Do you speak English at all?" The question came from Cordelia who stood near the kitchen area with her arms folded across her chest. The brunette looked either bored or disgusted, Adam couldn't tell which. Maybe it was both. "Or is like cryptic part of your oh-so-cool routine? Because if it is, it needs a lot of work."
Whistler stared at her then turned his attention to Angel. "Is she always like this?"
"Only to people who dress badly," Angel answered. He looked to Adam and Ami, who still hovered nearest to the exit. "Come in, sit down. I'm guessing that we need to talk."
"You could say that," Adam hung back still and Ami followed suit. "Considering that we still don't know what's going on." As a matter of fact, Adam didn't know why they were still there. Except for Ami's dream and Ami's inexplicable and sudden trust of Whistler.
"What exactly did you tell them?" The investigator's attention returned to Whistler who had just bitten the tip off of his cigar. "Don't dare spit that on the floor. There's a trash can in the kitchen."
The look that Whistler gave Angel could only be described as petulant. He spoke around the cigar bit, swinging his legs to the floor. "Just what they needed to know to trust you. And trust themselves."
"Cryptic. Cryptic," Cordelia sang out. She strolled into the living area, flouncing onto the sofa with overdone and overacted exasperation. "I swear, I don't know how he ever taught you anything, Angel. You can't even understand a word that he says."
"Perhaps we should start at the beginning," Giles removed his glasses, his attention on Adam and Ami. "Is it safe to presume that you came here tonight because you had an unusual experience? Something inexplicable or supernatural in nature?"
"No," Ami spoke up. "Nothing. I don't -- I had a dream and he was in it."
Adam looked at her in surprise. [Are you sure about this Ami?]
[There's something weird going on here, Adam, but it's not bad. They aren't going to hurt us. I don't know how I know that, but I do.]
"A dream?" Giles asked with obvious interest. "A dream that Angel was a part of?"
"Oh that figures," Doyle rolled his eyes, "They always dream about the dark, mysterious and broody ones. Never us normal, homely guys."
"A dream made you come here?" Angel asked. He looked a bit embarrassed to be the subject of Ami's dream, but he still plowed forward. "Just a dream?"
"No," Ami took a deep breath and crossed to the kitchen table. Adam followed her, curiously. [Trust me, Adam. This might be the only way to get to the bottom of this.] Indicating a kitchen chair, she looked to Angel, "May I?"
"Please."
Ami sat down and looked down at her hands. "My dreams -- they aren't completely normal. They're not normal at all. When I dream things -- they happen."
"Your dreams are prophetic?" Giles stared at her in complete amazement.
"I suppose so. Usually. Sometimes though, they're just so -- symbolic that I can't make any sense of them, so I don't know if they come true or not." Ami wrung her hands, "I came here tonight hoping to figure out -- why I was dreaming about Angel. And it seemed like you were expecting me to show up." Ami directed the last at Angel, and held the slightest question.
"He was," Whistler remarked from the kitchen. He chewed on the cigar, but he had not lit it.
Angel shot the demon a look, which the demon ignored.
"Look, Angel, you know that there's more going on here than meets the eye. Try trusting Them even if you won't trust me. Try trusting that good old fashioned internal instinct that has served you so well." Whistler paused, patting his pockets. "Besides, it won't be long till they figure it out anyway, but you probably all ready know that."
"Doyle has visions," Angel said after a moment of contemplation.
"What? Angel, man are you --" Doyle sputtered until Angel turned and leveled a dark stare in his direction.
"I know what I'm doing, Doyle." He looked back at the two Tomorrow People. "Doyle has visions of people in trouble. Not your usual kinds of trouble, but the more -- supernatural, evil kind of trouble."
"Visions?" Adam asked. This was getting too weird -- and too coincidental.
Angel glanced at his co-worker again and the Irishman sighed heavily. "Yeah, I get visions from --" his pale eyes glanced towards the ceiling, "-- The Powers That Be, we'll call them. Not much mind you. A name, a face, an address. Then we swoop in and save the day."
"Angel swoops in, you mean," Cordelia said. "You usually get stuck with the cleanup. Or hide oh-so-bravely in a corner. As long as we're being honest -- for some really bizarre reason that no one informed me of -- we might as well be completely honest."
"I don't hide! Angel's just better at that fighting sort of thing than I am."
Doyle and Cordelia's behavior must have been a common thing because Angel ignored them easily enough. "Last night, Doyle had a vision about you. So, I went to meet you and see if you were in any trouble. But you weren't, were you?" His brow creased in confusion. "Something's not right, here."
"How about we're telling two complete and perfect strangers that Doyle is our personal crystal ball?"
"No," Angel shook his head. "Doyle's visions -- people are usually already in trouble by the time Doyle has his vision. But Ami isn't."
"I wouldn't say that per se," Giles interjected. "We do not know the nature of Ami's dream. It is entirely possible that she has been contacted by some demonic entity on another plane during her sleep cycle."
Adam felt Ami shudder. He remembered the dream that mind-merge brought forth, and if they were to take Whistler's words as truth, and certainly everyone else here seemed to, it had to be a possibility. Clearly one that neither he nor Ami liked. He rested his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. "That's rather morbid and --"
"Frightening," Ami finished Adam's thought and sentence.
"But you believe it," Angel pointed out.
"What makes you say that?"
"You're scared."
Ami simply stared at him. "What makes you think that I'm scared? Upset yes, but not scared."
"I smell it."
Adam gave a slight gasp. Enough was enough already.
Obviously Ami agreed. She said aloud what he only thought, "Enough is enough. Now I know he's not human, he claims to be a demon," Ami pointed a finger at Whistler who still chewed thoughtfully -- and silently -- on his cigar. "But you're not human either. So. What. Are. You?"