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Chapter 17 - Onwards to meet that Guiding Light.

The road was longer than Angel expected it to be. Every step he took brought him closer to his goal, but at the same time each step took more effort. It was a challenge. He'd worked that out. He had to have the strength of will and mind to get to the end of this. He had to really want it. Yet all the time the path tried to stop him. His limbs got progressively heavier. His eyes started to droop shut and yawns took a firm control of his body. The very air around him seemed to thicken and he had to force his way through. It was becoming harder and harder to progress on his path.

Not only was it becoming physically harder but also mentally. Around him, flitting in and out of his sight lines, were little images, snatches of his past. He knew they were there to distract him from his path. If he focused on one they would all consume him. He could see flashes of nameless victims, blood and pain. Whips and knives and all manner of nasty objects. He could practically smell the cold cruel metal. Just the sight of them and he could feel their solid weight in his palm. It felt like a missing piece of him had been returned and it felt horribly right… No! It was horribly wrong! He glanced down at his hand and he could see the outline of a small scalpel in his hand and when he squeezed his palm shut, he felt it slice through flesh. He watched as the blood dripped downwards. He closed his eyes and reopened them. There was no knife, no cut, no blood. So if he didn't look then they couldn't exist. He just wouldn't look. He just had to keep forging on.

But the more determined he became the more resistance he felt from his environment. The air became increasingly thick and his limbs became all the more heavier. That wasn't the worst thing though… the worst thing was the sights. More and more images flashed past him. They started to build. In his peripheral vision he could see them gathering like a swarm of locusts. He ignored them and pushed on. He gritted his teeth and forged ahead. The swarm whipped round him like a kaleidoscope of pain and cruelty. It was a swirling spiral of torment created by probably the most depraved mind that had ever existed in the history of both man and demon kind. He knew that Angelus had done these things. In a hazy sort of way, he remembered doing them… But to see it all laid out like that… to see all of the blood and gristle and vitreous fluid that flowed from the torn flesh… to see all of that, all at once… it made the bile rise in his throat. He could taste the bitter acidic fluid that was thick at the back of his mouth and he wanted to vomit. He ran. He couldn't help it. If he kept moving then the ghosts of the past couldn't touch him and he'd get to where he was meant to be. He ignored the thick air and the sharp sting of the lactic acid that burnt at the muscles in his arms, his legs, his neck, his feet, his back… even behind his eyes. He kept moving. They started to move closer to him, trying to physically trap him in a cage of illusions. He shut his eyes and kept running. The faster he moved the faster that they moved… they were always around him and ahead of him and behind him... He squeezed his eyes tighter and clenched his jaw.

He didn't know if it had been there before, but as soon as he shut his eyes he was horribly aware of the smell. He could smell the blood of his past, the putrid rotting corpses that his victims had become. The smell drifted up through his nostrils and stuck in the back of his head. It was like a living creature. In the back of his head the creature took shape and he could see it in the very depths of his mind. It was even worse here. Here, in the dark depths of his mind, in the places that he had even forgotten existed, his mind's eye conjured pictures that were an exaggerated version of the truth. Distorted and perverted by his guilt the images were far worse than anything he had ever done.

He saw himself fucking corpses. Pushing into them, male and female, human and demon – it was irrelevant – thrusting so hard that rotting flesh was shaken from the bone. Hair ripped from scalps tangled in his fingers. Skin and scales ripped and stuck under his fingernails. Hot, sticky cum that wasn't his own washed over his body and suddenly he was the one being pounded into with no care or finesse. Decaying flesh and hard bone gripped his hips viciously. Putrid kisses were pressed all over his skin and forced down his throat. A partly ripped tongue swirled round his mouth and he could taste the rancid blood that still seeped from the wounds. Nails ripped into his back and sides, scrabbling for purchase to allow whatever was behind him to keep up its punishing rhythm. More hands and claws grabbed him, pulling him in every direction. His flaccid cock was yanked around forcefully. His balls grabbed and parted roughly. Tears streamed down his face at the knowledge that he deserved this, and so much more.

With a tortured scream Angel forced his eyes open. Pushing himself forward, using his hands to separate the air in front of him and bat away the images. Doyle had said this was his choice, his Shansu. It wasn't hell, a test. 'I'm not back there, I going home. I'm not there, I'm going home.' Repeating his mantra, holding on to it like a drowning man would a lifeline, he kept going. He had to prove he wanted it, that he had made this choice willingly. He had to keep going. He had to ignore the horrific world that he deserved and keep going.

He could taste the blood in the air. He could smell the salt of tears. Tears of frightened victims taken in back alleys or ballrooms, alone regardless of how many people were in the location they met their deaths. He kept going on regardless, ignoring everything around him. Then the voices started up. Snatches of conversations started as a gentle hum but then they were all rising to form a symphony of horror, it crescendoed to a deafening roar of fear. Occasionally distinct phrases would become louder than the rest blasting through his ears and smashing into his brain. He was sure that the words had been burned into the grey flesh of his brain by the sheer volume. He needed to cover his ears, but his hands were busy fighting off the images.

"Sir, please, I should return to the party…. Mistress will be wondering... Sir, people might talk. I'll be put out in the streets. My little boy would... I can't lose this job… You're hurting me! … Sir! My son!"

"Oh, he'll make a fine dessert, huh?"

"Angel, there must be some part of you inside that still remembers who you are."

"My mummy ate lemons. Raw. She said she loved the way they made her mouth... tingle. Little Anne… Her favourite was custard... brandied pears…Shhh!... And pomegranates. They used to make her face and fingers aaall red. Remember? Hmm? Little fingers. Little hands. Do you?... Bite your tongue! They used to eat cake, and eggs, and honey. Until you came and ripped their throats out."

"Be gone, unclean thing! A demon can not enter a home where it's not welcome. He must be invited!"

"The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures..."

"Daniel, be of good cheer. It's Christmas!"

"The thing I remember most was thinking how artful it was. In the dark, they looked just like they were sleeping. It wasn't until I bent down and kissed them good night that I felt how cold they were. You grabbed me, and I thought who would go to so much trouble to arrange them like that?"

"I wanna torture you. I used to love it, and it's been a long time. I mean, the last time I tortured somebody, they didn't even have chainsaws."

All those voices…

People he'd hurt, people he'd killed, people he'd tormented. All those souls that he had destroyed, families he had demolished – he'd ripped the world apart one person at a time. Now they were going to rip his world into shreds. There was no way that he could keep going. It was too hard. The air was like moving through tar. The screams were creating a hurricane of noise. His legs felt like they were made of lead and they were dragging him down. The spectres of the past were brushing past him now and every time one touched him it burnt his skin. Blindly pushing ahead he stumbled and fell. Landing on the hard path he instinctively curled into a ball and started sobbing. He rocked himself back and forth and the noise and pain built around him. The air got thicker and heavier and it hurt to breathe. Unable to take anymore he looked up at the shades that were haunting him and screamed, "I'm sorry, so, so sorry."

He looked at each picture and heard each word and didn't stop saying sorry. It was then that he realised what was happening. Pulling himself together he put all of his strength into standing up and then just stood there. He let the visions and the sounds and the pain wash over him in a way that he had never done. He accepted everything that was offered to him on this road. He opened his soul and for the first time he embraced his past. He found that amongst the pain there was pleasure, amongst those he'd killed were ones he'd saved, within in the hate was love. He saw his life as it was – without the prejudice of guilt or condemnation. He let go of it all. After an eternity he sank to the ground and continued to let the past come, and the wave of memories lulled him into a deep, dark, heavy sleep.

When he woke up he felt totally at peace for the first time ever. He had to smile – this road, this challenge had been to accept his past not to keep running from it or ignoring it. That was the want part – he had to want to face his past otherwise he wouldn't be able to move on to his new life.

"I knew you'd work it out. My Boy was never an idiot. He could play the fool but he was never stupid."

"Darla? But how? I saw… Dru… She… I tried… I'm so sorry."

Darla reached out and touched the face of the being that had given her more than she had ever deserved. It pained her to see him like this. Her need to comfort him proved that her soul really existed. If she had ever doubted it before she knew that it was there now. She could feel it. It was like a warm breeze that wrapped her up and kept her safe. She could see his soul and it was like the sun – warm and bright – and it was full of the sounds of children laughing. Bright, warm and pure, so innocent and trusting and caring. It was the ideal, it was a vision of pure goodness and she was sure that no one was worthy of seeing such a sight. She smiled at him and put all the love that she felt for him into that smile and the gentle touched on his face.

"Shh… it's not your fault. I had my second chance. I got more than most people. I've seen the world, felt passion, had someone that cared for me. I was happy Angel. You made me happy. You kept me safe and you kept me close. You protected me from the people that could have hurt me the most – you're friends. You didn't let me go. You didn't send me away even when they told you to. You fought for me. You saved my soul Angel."

She forced him to look at her and see that the tears in her eyes were happy. She didn't blame him for a moment. She was grateful to know him and to have been his friend.

"Dru, she turned you. I saw her. You were so scared and I was powerless. She made you drink and you didn't want to and I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. Lindsey brought Dru into this. She saw it coming a long time ago, you know. Remember, just before she made Spike? She told me she could be my mummy. I didn't listen to her then. I thought that she was little more than a lunatic. I was very wrong. But you see Angel, the tricky thing about predicting the future is that it involves people. We all have free will Angel. You chose to die for me and help me and I chose to try to live this life."

She stood up and moved away from him. She looked radiant. She was wearing a pale blue robe. Her skin seemed to glow gold from within, as if her soul was trying to break out from her body. She looked like an angel, a real angel, and not the type people had thought him to be. She looked content and peaceful. For a strange reason he felt happy for her.

"I didn't want to be turned. I fought it with everything I had and now I'm here."

"What?"

"I won't rise Angel. The Powers gave me a choice, just like they did you. I promised that I would make the most of the chance you gave me. I plan on honouring that promise."

"What are you?"

"What you were for me – a guiding light. That little bit of inspiration that every lost soul needs. I'm going to help the hopeless. And I'll do it with a song in my heart. I'm sick and tired of being a puppet for Wolfram and Hart, a way for them to play games. I had no choice in being brought back to life but there is no way they are going to dictate my death. Dru won't get the daughter that she so desperately wants and Lindsey doesn't get me. I can't help but smile at that."

"What does this mean? Are you going back?"

"No, that's not an option for me. I help from a distance. Dreams and thoughts and that feeling you get that just tells you everything will be alright."

"I don't understand – how's this possible?"

"You. You saved my life, you saved my soul, and you gave me a chance. You turned me from a monster into a human being Angel and I won't go back to being a monster. You mean too much to me for me to do that to you. My soul means too much to me for me to throw it away. This way, I get to be the hero – even if no one knows it. It's the only way I can thank you."

Angel just stared at her. For a second, he didn't care about his new life – this was more of reward. This was more than he would have dared to dream about. She was… amazing. He got to his feet and approached her. When he got there he dropped to his knees before her. He took her right hand and kissed her palm. Then he stood. His simple act of veneration over, he stood and looked her in the eye. The expression on her face told him that she knew everything that he had been thinking.

"It has been an honour to know you Darla."

"This isn't goodbye My Boy, I'll be there every time you need that little bit of guidance. I'll be there when you dream. I'll be there all the time Angel. You just won't see me. But you'll know."

He nodded. She was right, he would know… there was no way that he wouldn't realise Darla's influence if he felt it and he was quite certain that Darla would ensure that he would know that she was the one pulling the strings.

"I'll know. I won't forget. This means more to me than any redemption."

It was then that he saw it. Just behind Darla was a mirage, a shimmering picture of his destination. His new life. the picture was blurry and the figures were moving as if underwater but, despite the fact that he was not able to see it clearly he knew what was waiting for him just through that swirling vortex. He moved towards it without fear but with a sense of purpose. This was what he wanted, and a small part of him felt that this was what he had been meant for. This was the reason that he had been born, this was the reason that he had been turned and this was the reason that he had been souled and died for Darla. This was his choice and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He felt the heat from it and he heard the voices and he felt right. He turned back to Darla and smiled. Slowly he leaned forward and kissed her.

Just once.

"I love you."

"I know. I love you."

Taking a deep breath he stepped towards the portal. As he felt the heat and image engulf him he heard her say "But he loves you more."