A/N: Please review, it will be mean A LOT!
Disclaimer: I don't own Angel or its characters.
The four of them returned back to the hotel after talking the police about what happen and the corner's office on what to do with my body. I followed them, wondering why I was still here.
Fred was still crying but making no noise, her eyes were empty. Spike put
his arm around her, from his face I could tell he was deep in thought.
Angel kept his eyes on the road, being extra alert, perhaps a little afraid that the same thing might happen twice. They pulled up to the four star hotel that we, or rather, they were staying at no expense via the London branch of Wolfram & Hart. The young, nervous valet took over the car and they filed into the glass elevator going up to the 25th floor.
Once there, they all went to Angel's suite. Gunn sat in one of the leather chair and tried to watch television but he turned it off after a few moments. The traffic report came on the news and it mentioned a crash on Motorway 25. Fred curled up on the maroon couch. Spike sat on the neatly made bed, still with the same face he had on in the car. Angel took upon himself to make the necessary phone calls.
He called the London branch, telling them I wouldn't be at the meetings or the ball. That was the easy one, now one asked why. Then he slowly dialed LA's area code, followed by more digits.
"Do you know what time it is?" I could hear the green demon.
"Lorne," Angel simply said.
"Oh sorry Angelcakes, I thought you were a Hollywood starlet calling in a panic because she didn't get a part,"
"Lorne," Angel repeated but paused.
"What's wrong?" concern could be detected in the empath demon's voice.
"Wesley … he died." Angel voice cracked slightly.
There was deafening silence, followed by questions, "How-ow? Were you guys attacked? Is everyone else okay?"
"No, a truck ran into his rental car. Fred was in the passenger seat, she has a deep cut but she'll live."
"How is she … emotional?"
"Just a little worse than the rest of us I guess."
"When are you guys coming back?"
"I don't know, I really don't know anymore."
"Call me soon Angel."
"Will do"
They both hanged up and then Angel looked at a number in his leather address book. This was going to be the hardest one.
"They should know." He mumbled to himself.
He didn't press down the numbers to an area code, just 7 digits.
"Hello,"
"Mr. Wyndam-Pyrce,"
"Yes, what is it."
"I don't know if you know yet, but something has happen."
"Well, spit it out then."
"Your son, Wesley, he … he-"
"He's dead, isn't he?"
Angel remained silence.
My father went on, "I remember the last time he called me. It wasn't too long ago. I didn't know that would be the last time I would hear him."
"Do we ever?"
"I suppose not," there was another pause, " Good Night,"
Why was I seeing this, why was I still here? What is the point? These were thoughts that went through my mind.
Angel seated himself on the opposite side of the king size bed from his grandchilde. He ran his fingers through his brown hair and looked, almost glaring at the simple black phone resting on his mahogany nightstand.
Fred sniffled softly. She had draped one of the hotel's gray blankets over herself but she was still slightly shivering. I absent-mindedly put my hand on her shoulder, however this time it rested on her, or at least it didn't pass through her. Like any other ghost I couldn't feel her or anything. But could she feel me? She reached her hand back and it went right through mine. Her pale fingers rubbed the slightly red bandage on her shoulder.
"Does your shoulder hurt?" Spike asked her.
"No, not really, it just feels weird. I once read in a book that when you get cut deeply, that it hurt at all for a while. You don't feel anything at all. And then later on you begin to hurt."
Spike nodded and began to stare at the beige wall behind me or was he staring at me. Spike had been a ghost, or something like it, not that long ago. Maybe he was more sensitive to spectral disturbances. Could those blue eyes pierce through the astral plane?
The ringing of the phone made him break his gaze.
Next time: Spike raises questions that makes Wesley question his death and scares the living daylight out of Fred.