By the time the knock comes, Gunn and I have righted most of Cordelia's apartment. The work prevents most conversation, which suits us both. We reserve a small corner of the bedroom for furniture that can't be saved. I gingerly place the last broken ornament on the pile and take a moment to test the chains that bind its owner to the bed.
I hear Gunn's disembodied voice shout, "I'll get it!"
He's racing for the door. He wants to get there before me. I don't try to stop him. He's been cherishing his anger for over an hour now. There's going to be a confrontation, and I've decided I don't want to be part of it. When I think of Gunn's suspicions my instinct is to defend Angel, but after this morning I can't help but wonder if I know him as well as I like to think.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I try to block out the voices, but it's impossible, and I can distinguish his tones amongst them. A siren call that I can't ignore. Before, I never questioned why that sound lures me, and now I'm afraid of the answer. His voice rises and falls, and orchestrates a tension in my chest. If he weren't a vampire, would it feel like this?
I look at Cordelia properly for the first time since Gunn arrived, and the truth is I can't reconcile the sight of her blood-soaked and bruised body with the things I think I know about him.
I know his reticence. How he appears to hold back but pushes onwards almost imperceptibly, slowly awaking a need which he then fulfils. Like ivy growing over bricks, cloaking, invading, covering until it's the only thing holding the edifice together. I know his gentleness, remember being held down with the strength of a spider's thread, touched so softly that I hardly knew where his hands fell. I know his patience, his willingness to watch and wait, to approach the abyss and draw back. I know how it feels to be loved by him.
I can't make it add up. The things I know and the things I fear confront each other head on, and won't be stilled.
Whether or not I love him.
He couldn't have done this.
We aren't even together now.
It's easier to stay away.
Dead for more than two hours, Cordy's skin still holds a faint rose blush. Her lips are stained the colour of cranberry juice. These things don't mean anything of course; it could just be that she's wearing make-up which disguises death's pallor. Cordelia's make-up was always so perfect, and even now, I'm not sure.
I lean in close, studying the surface of her skin, trying to find telltale powdery lines in the natural creases around her mouth and eyes. But there's nothing to see. I am about to lift the hair from her forehead to look for evidence that she's wearing foundation when her eyes snap open.
Seeing a corpse move is not like anything else I've ever experienced. Even though we half expected it and despite her being safely chained, there is still a shock of dismay and a cold, hard bubble of fear in my chest.
I scramble to the foot of the bed. Cordelia tries to sit up. When she finds she's chained, her eyes lock onto me and a low ominous rattling comes from her throat. I hear an alien sound, and realise it's me, speaking.
"Shit!"
"Unchain me!"
Cordelia's voice. But not Cordelia. To my shock, I find I'm already thinking of what is in front of me as a thing. An evil thing. Angel is not ...
"I can't. You're sick."
She stretches sinuously against the covers of the bed, as far as she can given the restrictions placed on her movements. Never taking an eye off me, she tests the chains without appearing to do so, one by one. Finding them strong, she relaxes, and gives me a conspiratorial smile.
"He's here."
I try not to react, and fail.
"Who?"
"You know who I mean. Your ex."
"Angel?"
Suggestively, "Poor Katie. After you waited so long, too."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're only blooded. He's my family now. You don't stand a chance."
"Are you saying Angel did this?"
A snicker. She writhes in obvious delight.
"You know how frustrated he is, Katie. You shouldn't have pushed him."
She grins, and runs her tongue along the line of her upper teeth. Her gaze slides down and focuses quite deliberately on my neck.
"After all. You know what happens when he gets cranky."
Suddenly, I can't bear to see or hear any more of this, and I turn to leave the room. I can hear recriminations being tossed back and forth at the front door.
Should I stay in here, do verbal battle with the demon? Or join in the fight out there?
My head is buzzing with the confusion, and I don't have any answers. Cordy isn't going anywhere. Without looking back, I take my coat from where it lies on the bedroom floor and sneak out through the kitchen, hoping there's a way to get to the street.
Sure enough, there is. A wide path with a gutter down the centre runs along the back of the block, meandering through garbage cans and fire escapes. I step out into the night and shut the back door quietly behind me. A security light is triggered, and that's how I see her, haloed, before I feel the pain in my skull and blackness descends.