Chapter 19
Cliffhanging
"How can she be gone?" Angel asked the Katar Beast. It roared a reply back to him. He was pretty sure it hadn't understood a word he'd said. "Where would she go?" he asked. The creature lashed its tongue at him again. He dodged and took a swipe at it.
The answer was obvious. "Back to the warehouse," he said. "She probably wants to finish it herself."
The Katar Beast had grown weary of the dialogue. It lashed out with its tongue again, at the same time dragging itself further down the alley with its stubby front legs. This time Betsy connected, and tongue was severed. The creature howled in pain. Angel took the opportunity and ran straight at it.
The slathering lips of the beast pulled back in a hideous grin as he ran straight for its mouth. It gripped its forelegs into the street. The anticipation of its next meal sent a bizarre light into all seventeen of its black eyes. The stinger-capped tail curled over its head.
At the last moment, Angel jumped. He put one foot on the top of the thing's bulbous head and pushed off to the side. The creature's tail darted at him, plunging down into the space he was in. But he'd moved, and instead the Katar Beast impaled its own brain with the stinger.
Angel put on a burst of speed to return to the warehouse. He wasn't sure how much time he had, but he was sure it wouldn't be enough. What could Faith possibly be up to?
* * *
Faith shrugged on the jacket they had left in her quarters, along with the spare pair of pants, the turtleneck, and her boots. The other clothing was burning up in the fire. She looked up as the crane tore into the catwalk supports. The metal walk twisted and bent, and the red-headed soldier who'd come with Angel was pitched over the side. He managed a grab with one hand. She wasn't interested in him.
She scanned the catwalks and quickly found Sheffield. That's the one she was interested in. That was the one who had to pay. She headed off towards one of the access stairways. Sheffield began shooting at Mac.
* * *
MacKenzie twisted around to get a better view of his situation. It wasn't pretty. The first four stanchions on the left side had let go, along with the middle two on the right side. That left the whole thing sitting, twisted, with him trying to hang on. If the first stanchion on the right side were to let go, the whole thing would swing towards the wall. Over there, he'd be able to drop onto the crate stack – a much shorter drop than the one he was facing onto the concrete floor.
The trick was to make the stanchion let go. After a moments thought, he drew Imogene. He carefully aimed and fired. The brick shattered and the support let go. Mac hung on for dear life and the metal twisted and swung. He let go and dropped to the crate stack. He landed hard, on his injured shoulder. Pain surged through his body and he fought for consciousness. He had no idea where Imogene had landed.
* * *
Sheffield limped to the edge of the broken catwalk. His aim was no longer obstructed. Mac lay curled up on a crate, clearly in pain, and completely unaware of Sheffield's presence. He raised his gun to fire, his aim unsteady from his own injuries. The first shot struck close to MacKenzie's head, sending splinters flying. Out of reflex, Mac rolled off the crate and out of range.
"Damn," the shaking Sheffield muttered. "Looks like I need to go after you."
"I don't think so," Faith said from behind him. Sheffield spun around. Faith grabbed his throat and pushed. She held him out past the edge of the broken catwalk.
Sheffield's feet hooked the lip of the catwalk edge. His body jutted out, being held at an angle arm's length from the edge. He leveled his pistol at Faith's head.
"Go ahead," she said, a smirk forming on her face. "You shoot me, I drop you. Seems like a good deal to me." Sheffield hesitated. "You were going to kill me anyway, why don't you do it now?" She stared at him. He stared back. "What's the matter? Aren't you willing to die for your cause? You were more than willing to kill me; why aren't you willing to kill yourself?" Faith's anger was beginning to get the better of her. She squeezed his throat tighter.
"We can deal," he gasped out. His words were barely audible.
"Deal? You want to make a deal?" Faith laughed. Sheffield croaked an affirmative. "Prove it," she said. "Drop the gun."
Sheffield stared at her for a long time, trying to come up with a plan. The only problem was that she was seriously willing to die over this. He had no leverage; there was no threat he could make. That was the problem with fanatics – you can't reason with them. And Faith was fanatically bent on revenge.
Sheffield considered all the angles. If he shot her, he might be able to hold on to her long enough to not get dropped. He doubted it, though. If he bent his legs, he might be able to propel himself far enough to land on the crates instead of falling all the way to the floor. That was equally as unlikely. If he hesitated much longer, he'd pass out from lack of oxygen and be able to do nothing.
Slowly, he drew his gun away from her. He lowered his arm and dropped the weapon onto the catwalk by his feet. His intention was to show good will, to negotiate a deal. But he also wanted to keep the weapon close. Whatever deal he struck, he was going to put a hole in this woman the first chance he got.
Faith giggled. "That's right," she said. She loosened her grip on him ever so slightly, allowing him to breath. "Hmm," she said, tapping the side of her cheek with the index finger of her free hand. "What do I want for sparing your life?"
"Anything," he croaked out. "I can arrange whatever you want." He really wasn't sure he could. However, he was willing to promise anything in order to get back onto the catwalk. She didn't have to know that, though, now did she?
"You mean, like, you could keep me from going back to prison?" she asked. "'Cause that would be super." She reflected on the idea theatrically. "You see, the food sucks there. The conditions are horrible. The guards are sadistic. And, oh yeah, someone's always looking to take me out." She gave Sheffield a vicious shake. "Explain to me how that's any different that being with you!"
Sheffield began to reevaluate his position. He was beginning to realize that there was nothing he could say or do to make peace with her. Anything he said, anything he offered, was going to be twisted around on him. She was rabid, and he was in her clutches. He desperately needed to find a way out.
"I know," Faith replied, starting to enjoy this little 'conversation' the two of them were having. "Why don't you offer me a chance to settle down, get married, and have a nice, normal family? How about that?" Again, she reflected on the thought. "Wait a minute, there was someone who was going to offer me that. What was his name? Let me think?" Her eyes turned cold as she bored her gaze into him. "Oh yeah," she said, sarcasm dripping in her voice, "Johnson. Remember him? Tell me, what exactly happened to him?"
"Mackenzie," Sheffield squeezed out. "Killed him."
"Now we have a problem," Faith replied, her voice growing more and more on edge. "See, I heard what you said. You thought I was out. You thought I was totally oblivious to what you bastards were doing. But I wasn't." She gave him another violent shake. "You killed him."
Faith took a step forward and shoved Sheffield. The result was that his feet lost their purchase on the edge of the catwalk and he went swinging out over the open expanse. His hands latched to Faith's arm in case she should try to drop him.
"You want to make a deal," she said to him, "but then you lie to me. What kind of behavior is that?" She waved her free arm in disbelief. "What kind of deal can we make if we can't trust one another?"
Sheffield's feet kicked in mid-air. He struggled against her grip, trying to find some way to leverage his position. But there was nothing. He was totally at her mercy, and as near as he could tell, she was without mercy.
"You know, I'm feeling kinda tired," she told him. That much, at least, was true. She was using every bit of strength she had to keep from passing out. She was never going to be able to keep this up. She just wanted to see the look in his eyes a little longer. She wanted to see him fear her. She wanted him to beg for his life, which is more than he'd given her a chance to do. Or Johnson.
"My strength could give out at any moment, you know. You could just drop like a big melon and go splat all over that floor. And you know why?" She paused, giving him a chance to utter a denial. "Because of all the drugs somebody pumped into me. Who could that have been? Huh? Who?" Her face was growing more twisted; her fury was becoming more unconstrained. Sheffield's struggles became more intense.
Faith looked deep into his eyes. She saw the fear – the knowledge that she held his life in her hands. She could take it or give it as she chose. She felt the rush of power. She was a creature of power. She knew that. And here it was, the power to do whatever she chose to do. She could drag him back, she could drop him, or she could jump and take the ride right along with him. It was all up to her.
It was like a cliff. Faith was standing on the edge, both literally and figuratively, and had to decide whether or not to go over. Power called to her, she could feel it deep in her soul. Her body craved it. She wanted it like a junky wants a fix. Her hands began to loosen their grip.
"Don't do it, Faith!" Angel called out from behind her.
She didn't turn around. She simply stood, staring at Sheffield, holding him fifty feet above the concrete floor. Her eyes were unfathomable.
"Faith!" Angel called again, hoping for any reaction from her. He moved along the catwalk with a preternatural grace. He could, he thought, rush her and manage to catch Sheffield before he could drop. He wasn't about to put money on that, though.
If he did that, even if he were successful, Faith would be left in a purgatory of her own mind. She wouldn't know, couldn't be sure, of what decision she might have made. She would be forever wondering: would I or wouldn't I? He had to talk Faith through this. He had to get her to pull back on her own.
"Faith," he said gently, "I know what you're doing."
"That's funny," she replied absently, not looking back. "I sure don't."
"Sure you do," Angel said. "You're trying to decide how best to rid the world of this scum. You know you can, any way you want to. You're just trying to decide which way is best."
"Well, well, well," she said, her voice a study of indifference, "Angel got right in one. So what do you think, should I just drop him? Or should I go along for the ride?"
Angel realized that her voice was filled with anticipation. She was ready, willing, and able to jump. More than that, she was looking forward to it. He had to talk her back from the ledge first. Then he'd see if he could save Sheffield or not.
"Think about it," Angel said urgently. "If you jump, they win."
"How do you figure?" she asked, for the first time showing a little interest in the conversation. She really didn't want to think about it, but the mere thought that somehow they could get away with all they were going to do to her was abhorrent. She wouldn't allow that – she wouldn't allow even the chance of that. Of course, it could be a trick. It could be Angel's good deed for the day. She couldn't allow herself to be manipulated, either.
"They're prepared for your death," Angel said quickly, sensing an opportunity to get through her armor. "They're waiting for the next Slayer to be called. They're going to go get her, and do to her what they tried to do to you." He paused, waiting for her to acknowledge what he was saying.
"Yeah, they are," she whispered. It was an absent thought, a realization she hadn't intended to vocalize. But there it was. "How do we stop them?" she asked. For the first time she was open to alternatives. She was beginning to listen.
"You live," Angel said simply. "We stop them by keeping you alive. As long as you live, they can't get their hands on another Slayer."
She thought about it for a moment. She actually turned and looked at him, her dark eyes burning into him as she tried to decide if he was telling the truth. He was, she decided. At least he thought he was. But she wasn't satisfied; there were too many loose ends.
"What's to stop them from trying to get me later? From just rubbing me out in prison?" she asked.
"Well," Angel said, thinking about it, "we're going to have to break their organization wide open." Yes, that was it. This was how he could save both of them. But he was going to have to be very careful about it. "We're going to have to expose them to the rest of the Watchers. We're going to have to break their leaders."
"How are we going to do that?" she asked.
"Not 'we'," Angel said carefully. "You're job is going to be to stay alive. Mac and I will take care of blowing this organization apart."
"Okay," she said simply. "I guess I won't take a dive. Can I still kill this one, though?" It was an honest question.
Angel, however, had set up the answer. "No, Faith, you can't. I need him alive."
"Why?" she asked. "What difference is it going to make. It'll be just one less scumbag floating around. One less worm to feed."
"Faith, listen to me," Angel said sternly. "The cops are coming. Hell, they're already here, they just haven't got past the blaze. If you kill him, then you're the bad guy. We need him to be the bad guy."
"You think you can pin this whole thing on him?" she asked.
"I don't know about the whole thing," Angel said. "But we can pin the murder of Michael Johnson on him."
Her head snapped around. He'd been around to hear that part. He knew, then, what had happened. He knew what she really wanted. Not just vengeance for herself – no, that wouldn't do. She wanted vengeance for Michael Johnson as well.
Faith considered. She licked her lips, trying to decide. She stared up at Sheffield, deep into his eyes. She saw the truth there: he was more afraid to be caught and tried than he was of being dropped and killed.
That decided it for her. If he was so afraid of living, then that's what she'd give him. He would live, not because she didn't want to kill him, but rather because he didn't want to. She wasn't doing a good deed – no, she was doing the worst thing to him that she could think of at that moment. This wasn't redemption for her, this was a 'good deed' that simply drove her further into the dark. She tasted it, savored it, and she very much liked it. Let him live, because it's the worst thing I can do to him.
Faith backed up slowly, drawing him back towards the catwalk until his feet touched. Then she let him go.
He nearly did fall then, but he caught himself. One leg slipped out from under him, and his other knee hit the steel grating hard. He looked up at her retreating figure. She'd turned her back on him, and Angel was drawing her into his embrace. It was a sickening sight.
He looked down, and there at his feet was his pistol. He looked up, seeing Faith's fully exposed back. His hand reached down, gripping the weapon. He took a deep breath, and raised it. He would kill Faith if it was the last thing he did.
"Gun!" shouted Mac from below them. Angel didn't hesitate. He swung his own body in front of Faith's. He took four gunshots to the chest before Sheffield collapsed. He staggered back into Faith's arms, propelled by the kinetic energy of the bullets.
They waited for a moment, but Sheffield didn't move. Cautiously, Angel and Faith looked over the rail. Mac stood on top of one of the crates, his tranquilizer pistol in his hands.
He waved at them. "He'll just sleep a bit," he said. "I might suggest, though, that we should get out of here before the police get past that fire."
Angel and Faith agreed.