Chapter 7

Sleep did not come easily for Angel that night. The story – story, he snorted, this was no fairytale - Willow and Spike had told him continuously echoed in his head, reminding him of the grisly life led by an unassuming, young, blonde woman. Over and over he recalled what they'd told him: the rape, her attacker not being punished, the way the townspeople turned against her, her merciless harassment, and then later the murders of her family and her own disappearance.

What had happened that night? She couldn't possibly have killed her own family, could she? He'd never met her, barely knew much about her, but something told him that she would not have brutally slaughtered her family. If she hadn't, then what happened to her, and who had killed her family? Angel wondered if maybe she'd seen the vicious slayings of her family and run, or maybe she really had thrown herself off the cliffs as a means of escape, mental and physical.

Then what about the woman he'd seen on the beach? He supposed it could have been a dog, or a trick of light, but his gut feeling told him it was a person. Was there such thing as ghosts? Could the thing he'd seen on the beach be her ghost? Logical reasoning told him that ghosts didn't exist, but then what other explanation could there be for what others, and he himself, had seen?

What bothered Angel the most, though, was his growing obsession with this mystery. Why did he care at all? This had absolutely nothing to do with him, other than what he'd seen on the beach twice now. He should just mind his own business. He'd come to this town to relax and have some quiet time, not to get involved in a volatile situation.

The image of Buffy's face smiling sadly at him from the photograph wouldn't let him forget. The poor girl had been wronged in every way possible. Even now, after her assumed death, she was still hated and betrayed. Where was the justice in what had been done to her? Where was the compassion? There hadn't been any for her. She'd been a victim of power, loyalty, and corruption.

This was all in the past, though. He couldn't change anything. Could he? Did he want to? Getting involved seemed blatantly stupid. But how wrong was it to do nothing?

Angel shook his head and flipped onto his back on the bed. What the hell was he thinking? It wasn't like he knew anything anyway. All he'd done was see some unknown shape on the beach that looked like a person. That information constituted nothing. He needed to just forget what he'd seen and been told. Yes, that was what he needed to do.

Throwing his head back in frustration, Angel yawned and then glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was nearly four in the morning. Great, he thought. He had to be up at seven to be at the university at eight to start shooting the Chumash artifacts for the magazine article. He needed to get some sleep or he was going to be completely useless tomorrow.

Angel flipped over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow and pulling the blankets up over his head in hopes of blocking out the haunting thoughts. Finally, nearly a half hour later, he managed to fall into a restless sleep.

Early the next evening, Angel staggered tiredly into his house, immensely glad to see the renovators had already left for the day. He wandered into the living room, carefully dropping his camera bag onto the couch. As he walked toward the kitchen, he pulled off his dress shirt, tired of having worn it all day, leaving him in a white tank top.

He hadn't planned on being out so long, but after taking some pictures at the university he'd stopped by the magazine office to talk with Giles about the article. That short trip had ended three hours later, and now he was exhausted. And starving, which was why he was now digging through his refrigerator looking for something to eat.

As he sat at the table in the kitchen, his mind drifted back to Buffy and her shattered life. He'd been so busy that day that he hadn't had a chance to think about her, but now that he was sitting in his kitchen alone with his thoughts, she was back on his mind. Angel only hoped that his utter exhaustion was enough to keep her from impinging on his sleep again.

Dumping his plate in the sink, he walked back to the living room. He stopped when he saw his camera bag, a sudden idea occurring to him. Without thinking too much about it, he grabbed the bag and then climbed the stairs all the way up to the attic.

Once there, he set the bag down and walked over to one of the boxes of stuff he had yet to unpack. Pulling out one of his tripods, he paused for a second and wondered what the hell he was doing. Instead of stopping, though, he carried the metal object over to the door to the balcony.

Angel propped the door open with a heavy book and then set the tripod up just inside the attic so that it was protected from the weather. After getting it situated, he removed his camera from the bag and put in a fresh roll of thirty-six exposure film. He fiddled with the settings so that it would take a picture every half hour before attaching it to the tripod and focusing it down onto the beach below.

Having completed the crazy task, Angel backed away a step. He stared at the set-up and again questioned his sanity for what he was doing. With a shake of his head, he left it there, and quickly retreated to his bedroom, determined to go get some sleep. If he was lucky, his sheer exhaustion would keep thoughts of a green-eyed blonde out of his mind

Someone shaking him woke Angel the following morning. His eyes snapped open as he grabbed at the obnoxious person's wrist, halting their movement. Looking up, he saw one of the construction workers trying to back away from the bed.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" he demanded, glaring at the intruder.

"I'm sorry, Mr. O'Meara," the man apologized quickly. "But there is some guy downstairs with a delivery truck wanting to speak to you."

"Did he say what he wanted," Angel bit out in annoyance.

"N-no," he stuttered, slightly wary of his boss. "He just said he wanted to talk to you."

"Fine. I'll be down in a minute," groaned Angel before glancing at the clock. He was shocked to see it was almost eleven in the morning. Somehow he'd managed to sleep through the entire night and most of the morning despite the workers being present.

Angel waited for the worker to leave his room before climbing out of bed and throwing on whatever he could find to wear. Upon descending the stairs and seeing who was waiting for him, he sighed loudly, already knowing it was going to be a long morning.

Four hours later, the relatively minor catastrophe had been dealt with, but not without some yelling and diverting of construction workers to handle the situation. The delivery man that had shown up that morning had been there to deliver Angel's new Jacuzzi, a Jacuzzi that hadn't been meant to be delivered for another two weeks. Some sort of paper work mix up, though, had it waiting virtually on his doorstep this morning.

He had tried to get the man to take the hot tub back, but that was an unsuccessful venture. So instead, a few of the renovators had to be sequestered to clean off the back patio to make room for the large object. Then, they'd all run around like monkey's with their heads cut off trying to get the damn thing set up properly. If Angel hadn't been so annoyed by it all he would have found it funny.

Now, as Angel stood on the back patio staring at the expensive monstrosity, he couldn't help but laugh over the fact that he'd even bought it in the first place. It was a guilty pleasure, he supposed. Having spent most of his time traveling in years past, plus living in a condo, he'd never been able to have one. So he'd bought the thing on a whim, thinking it would be a nice way to relax. He could have done without all the hassle it caused, though.

Angel considered testing out the new hot tub, but before he could, the phone rang. Trudging back through the house and into the kitchen, he grabbed the cordless phone.

"Hello?"

"Umm, hi. Is this Angel?" the caller asked.

"Yeah. Who is this?"

"Oh! Hi, Angel. It's Willow," she chirped.

"Hi, Willow. I wasn't expecting to hear from you," Angel said, taking a seat at one of the chairs next to the counter.

"Sorry for the out of the blue call. Spike and I were wondering if you wanted to get together for dinner. We figured you probably don't know many people around here and might want some company," she babbled on.

"Umm, sure. But, uh..." He looked down at his attire, which consisted of track pants, a t-shirt, and bare feet. "I'm not really dressed to go out so why don't you two come here. I can order some pizzas"

"Sure. That sounds good," she agreed. "Is there anything you want us to bring?"

"No-,' he started to say then quickly remembered that he hadn't been able to get out of the house since early afternoon. He'd managed to make a quick run to a deli for sandwiches for the workers as compensation for the hot tub debacle, and he'd also stopped to drop off the film he'd set up in his camera the night before. Normally, he preferred to develop his own film, but he hadn't yet been able to set up a dark room. "Wait, could you possibly stop and pick up some film I dropped off to get developed this morning?"

"Yeah, sure," Willow answered, her tone curious.

"Great, thanks. I'll pay you back for the costs," Angel said swiftly, suddenly feeling anxious. He gave Willow the name of the shop he'd dropped off the film. If she was curious as to why he'd chosen a place on the outskirts of town, she didn't ask.

Just as Angel was carrying the delivered pizzas into the kitchen, the doorbell rang again. He set the boxes down and walked back to the front door. As expected, Willow and Spike were waiting on the other side.

"Hi!" Willow greeted with a smile. "I hope we're not late, or early."

"No," Angel shook his head, grinning at the redhead's babbling. He'd only met Willow once, but he already liked her. Spike seemed like a good guy, too, though Angel had to admit he wouldn't have pictured the two of them together. "The pizzas just got here."

"Oh, good," she breathed a sigh of relief.

Spike whistled as he entered the house along with Willow. "Wow, quite a house you got here."

"Yeah," Angel laughed. "It's been a pain to get livable again, though."

"I can imagine," sympathized Willow, setting her purse down on the entryway table. "It looks good."

"Thanks. The pizza is in the kitchen," he pointed in the direction of the food.

The three sat and ate while chatting and getting to know each other, talking about their jobs, hobbies, and anything else pertinent. Angel found himself liking the pair more and more as the meal drew on. He was surprised to discover that Spike shared his interest in old poetry, but as Angel came to realize, much of Spike's bad-boy exterior was just an image. He was a nice guy at heart, and from his actions, Angel could tell the bleached blonde loved his girlfriend very much.

They had finished eating and were sharing a bottle of wine when the doorbell rang again. Angel's brow furrowed as he glanced at the clock and wondered who could possibly be visiting him at eight in the evening. He didn't really know many people in town so he couldn't fathom who could be at his door.

Standing, and giving his apologies to his guests, Angel walked through the house to the front door. Opening it, he was even more confused to see a young man standing there, fidgeting nervously. It took Angel several seconds to recognize him.

"Um, Xander. Right?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah. Look, I'm sorry for just coming by, but I was hoping I could talk to you," Xander requested hesitantly.

"I sort of have company right now," explained Angel, glancing to where Willow and Spike were waiting.

"Please," Xander pleaded, taking a step forward. "It'll only take a minute."

"Sure, I guess. Let me just tell them I'll be back in a few minutes," Angel said then turned and headed back to the kitchen, not realizing that Xander was following him.

"I've got to talk to someone for a few minutes," Angel started to say as he entered the kitchen. "It shouldn't take long, but you don't have to wait if you don't want to."

"Xander!" Willow suddenly gasped, having seen the young man trailing behind Angel.

"Willow? Spike?" Xander spoke, giving a shake of his head. "Why am I not surprised to find you two here?"

"You know each other?" a confused Angel asked.

"Umm, yeah," mumbled Xander in response.

"We went to high school together," Willow added, leaving Angel to make his own assumptions, which he did. It was abundantly clear to him that Xander knew Buffy and her situation. What he didn't know was what role the young man played in all of it.

TBC