The Chapel Perilous

By Mackatlaw

When Angel awoke, he was inside a small chapel, sitting on a wooden pew and facing the front of the church, where he could see the altar and silver cross of the sanctuary. There were rows to the left and right, but no one else sitting in them. He turned around in his seat. At the other end was a stone wall and a baptismal basin. Stained glass windows showed St. George slaying the dragon and the Archangel Michael throwing Satan down to the pit of hell.

Angel stood up, uncertain. The only movement in the room was a swirl and a splash from the basin, so he slowly made his way there. Inside, the water went gently widdershins, counter-clockwise, and then stilled. Revealed was his own face, grinning back at him terribly, and then the water showed him back at the hotel, talking to his friends. Only it wasn't him. It was Angelus. The smiling monster, welcomed as family, reclined on a plush red chair, silver nails in the upholstery studding the material like the silver given to Judas. His shirt had been loosened and he feigned weakness as the others clustered around him. Cordelia and Wesley looked concerned, offered him a drink of warm blood, asked him how the demon had gotten away. Doyle was nowhere to be found.

The blood in a coffee cup was received gratefully. Probably pig's blood from the fridge, and then microwaved on low, or heated over a saucepan, the way Angel liked it. It tasted better that way. Nothing compared with straight from the vein, though. The dark-haired man in the vision smiled and drank the offering from his friends, all the time eyeing their own necks and the location of the weapons cabinet. No one else noticed, but Angel could tell. After all, it was what he would do. The man's eyes were too firmly fixed on his friend's gazes, allaying suspicion, while peripheral vision absorbed the important details.

Angel cursed, then caught himself. He was in a chapel, after all. Was that any way to ask for the help of God? He didn't see God here, though. This was bad. What he needed was a way to switch places, a way to get the attention of that smarmy-faced bastard, so quick to lie and pleasing of voice, and bring him where he could get his hands on him.

Angelus continued to smooth-talk his best friends, Cordy and Gunn and Wesley.

"I'm glad you got there in time. That sorcerous ward could have trapped me unconscious for days if it hadn't been for you."

"Thank Doyle," said Wesley. "If he hadn't checked your appointment book and gone looking for you, we might not have known where you were until it was too late. A pity we can't find the sorceror, but I can only assume he was scared off by our visit. He's still out there, though. Whoever set that trap up meant business, but they wanted you in one piece."

Gunn nodded grimly, the black man in rare agreement with his friend. They were more prone to argue, and to agree only at the last. "My bet's on Wolfram and Hart. They've got a score to settle with you, and they'd like to have you awake while they do. Those guys ain't never gonna forgive."

"Probably there was an extraction team ready to come pick you up, and then you'd wake up in a room with a lot of knives and other very unpleasant people," Wesley added.

Wes and Gunn shared a cool look, for once in total agreement.

"Speaking of teams, where's the rest of ours? Shouldn't Cordy be back by now?" Angelus said.

"I'm not sure what's keeping her," Wesley frowned, then added reassuringly, "Doyle and her will be fine. He just wanted the two of them to check the entrances to the basement, make sure no one had come in."

Back in the "Chapel," watching the vision in the basin, Angel howled. It was a scream of frustration, drawn from pain and sorrow. He wanted to tear down the pews, smash the windows, but none of that would bring him closer to the waking world, the real one where he could tell his friends what was happening. But how? None of his skills, his training, his vaunted status as a Champion would help him now. He'd been abandoned by the Powers. Or had he? He stopped, considering. Previously when he'd become Angelus, he'd been completely subsumed or replaced, reverted to his prior personality while in possession of the same memories. But if he could be aware of what was happening, here inside the little church, then perhaps he should listen for a message. What were the Powers trying to tell him?

"You'll need to catch up and meet me there."

Those were the words the woman who was Cordelia, but not Cordelia, had told him. If he was where he was supposed to meet her, then where was she? Unless... Unless she was God. Or an angel, a messenger, or his mind's way of representing the Powers That Be to him. Angel was a lapsed Catholic, but he knew what people were supposed to do in a church. They prayed.

Inside the communion basin, Angelus discussed strategy with the unsuspecting friends and waited for the other two to return. He seemed recovered now, the chatter masking his real intentions. "Maybe we should go check on Cordy and Doyle? They might have run into trouble. Hasn't it been long enough now?"

Whatever was waiting in the basement, Angel knew that he couldn't let it have his friends. He didn't know what was happening to Cordelia and he didn't know why Angelus wanted everyone in the basement. He only knew that he couldn't, mustn't, let it happen. So he sat back down on a bench, turning his attention resolutely from the evil vision in the water, and pulled out a kneeler. Bending his knees, he turned his attention to prayer.

"Powers that Be, I ask..." He stopped, disgusted. The Powers showed up in his life with names and faces he could hardly relate to. They'd made him their Champion, but never told him the rules. He'd begged them for help, fought their servants sometimes, done their bidding. But he'd never understood how they could be cruel while being kind, how their justice lacked mercy, and their imposed penance seemed without forgiveness. The only rules he knew for sure, the only faces he could understand, were the ones he had grown up with: Father, Son and Holy Ghost. That had to be part of the Powers somehow, or nothing made sense. If he was going to implore anyone, it was going to be the way he knew best.

He continued the prayer, going back to the faith that he had turned his back on so many years ago. "Hail Mary, full of Grace..." He said that, then the Lord's Prayer. Now he wasn't sure what to say, but he went on anyway, feeling awkward. Saying the words out loud make them say too real, but maybe that was the point. "God, I was appointed Champion, but I don't know what that means, if it doesn't mean doing the right thing and helping others. I don't go to Mass, and this is as as close as I've come to confession in years. I love your churches, and the faith of the people who go there, though I love your nuns more.

"But I know right from wrong. You didn't give me a gift for theology, but you gave me strength and the skill to use it. If there's any truth to what the priests taught me, I'm going to need help to get there. If you want me to rescue myself and my friends, I need direction and a chance to fight. Help me put the demon back where he belongs. For what I've done wrong, I repent, and shall seek to make amends in your service," he ended, surprised at his own formality.

He sat, waiting for an answer.. He sighed, not overly surprised, then turned back to the basin as an idea began to stir. Maybe he'd been given what he needed after all. Experimentally, he touched the water, and yanked his hand back as it burned. Undead flesh smoked in pain, but he curled his hand into a fist. This wasn't real, or at least, was real only to him. The prison seemed solid because it was made from his own mind. To escape, he would have to take it apart, fracture the world. Maybe his first idea of using force hadn't been too far wrong. Instead of going further out, though, he needed to go further in, until he found the truth. Bracing himself and closing his eyes, he slammed his hand down into the basin, seeking the bottom which never came.

At once, he was elsewhere, inside the front room of the Hyperion, looking out from his body as Angelus smooth-talked his best friends. He was trapped behind his own eyeballs, watching the movie from the cheap seats in the theatre. With a sinking feeling, he realized that's what had happened. He'd let himself be trapped in his own mind, the natural order turned upside down. His darkest self was running his body while he'd blithely wandered through his subconscious, or similar. What he usually kept trapped was out, and he didn't know how to put it back.

Experimentally, Angel tried to speak to warn his friends. Instead, what came out was "I'm glad you're fine, Cordelia." The black-haired would-be actress turned private investigator had just entered the room, Doyle right behind her, looking none the worse for wear. The mouth didn't work, wasn't under control. However, the fingers began to twitch, and he smiled inwardly at the partial success. The right hand curled into a fist.

A peculiar expression crossed Angelus's face. Wesley and the others looked concerned.

Cordelia stepped away from Doyle and took a silver cross out of her pocket. With an underhand throw, she lobbed it in his direction. "Hey Angel, catch!"

Involuntary on Angelus' part, and a pure effort of will on Angel's, the hand reached up and snagged the cross. The others began to move, taken back, but Angel's eyes never left Doyle. His hand began to seethe and smoke around the metal object, just as it had when he first touched the basin back on the other side.

A hiss escaped his mouth, and he forced words through his throat. "Get back! You've been played for a fool! I'll explain later, but don't let Doyle escape, and don't get in my way."

Inwardly the struggle raged, but Angel found it easier as the pain gave him something to focus on. He could feel his other self retreating into his mind, locked back into the chapel where the Powers could keep him safe. He opened his hand, branded now with the sign of the cross, as he focused on Doyle.

Doyle turned into his demon form, the spikes and burnt red of a Bracken demon. "Angelus, what are you doing? You'll ruin everything!"

His friends looked shocked, confused and wary at the possibility of that name.

"Don't worry, I've put him back where he belongs. I haven't been myself since the attack at the hotel. Now I'm going to send that traitor Doyle back where he belongs."

Angel lunged forward as the Bracken dematerialized, form already fading as his fist went through him. "No, I don't think I want to go where you'd send me, Angel old buddy… I have other places to go, people to corrupt."

With a parting laugh, he waved, and disappeared entirely with a parting line. "Don't worry. I'm sure the Other Side will be seeing you again, someday…"

Angel stopped and stared, looking at the spot where his friend had been. Angel stopped and stared, looking at the spot where his former best friend had been. Encircling, the remaining friends pointed crossbow and sword at him. Cordy pushed Wesley and Gunn away, though, and came past to give him a hug. "Good to have you back, big guy. I knew you weren't the real deal when you started being so charming all of a sudden. You were too good to be true."

"Cordelia… Angelus is the real deal. He's me too. I almost killed all of you, or worse…"

"Oh hush," and she put a finger to his lips. "Maybe he's real, but you're realer. What matters is that you're running the show again," she said, laying her head on his chest.

Angel hesitated, then hugged her. It looked like the adventure was over. Angelus was wherever Angelus went to, some prison in his mind or a pocket in hell, whichever. Maybe even a chapel? With any luck, some day with a lot of repentance and help he'd learn to take the monster apart. Until then, he'd have to settle for keeping him in check.

Wesley coughed and discreetly laid down his crossbow, while Charles Gunn put the sword back on the rack. "I'm delighted that all is well, though I'm chagrined that I never suspected for a moment what was happening."

"Yeah," Gunn said. "And it ain't over yet. We still have to find out where Doyle went, and who's behind it all… It's not over yet."

"I know," said Angel simply. "We know who's behind it, though. The Other Side. Does it matter what names they have or the faces they wear? We'll keep hunting them down, keep bringing them to light, no matter how long it takes or if it takes eternity."

He looked at Cordelia sharply, wondering if she knew about his experience on the other side, and if he should mention it to her. Was Cordelia one of the Powers? Surely not. That had to be a metaphor, didn't it? He decided he'd rather not know. Instead, he did need to know one thing.

"What do you mean about me not being charming, and knowing it wasn't me? I'd like to hear a little more about that."

Cordelia coughed. "It's more that he was trying to be charming, and that you're sweet when you don't try to work at it…"

Angel still looked suspicious, but let it go at that. It was good to be home. He put his arm around Cordy. "There's a church down the road I've been meaning to visit for some time, and they have a midnight Mass. If I decided to drop by some night, would you be interested?"

The End