Chapter 9
Sleep. That was what he should have been doing. But as had happened a lot lately, the elusive dreamland could not be found. He'd been in this town, what, a week, two weeks? And it seemed like he slept less and less each day. It wasn't as though he didn't want to sleep. It was just that whenever he tried, visions of a smiling blonde girl invaded his mind along with the words Spike, Willow, and Xander had spoken to him.
To say he wasn't disturbed by it all would be a lie. The situation itself was horrifying. There was also the part, though, where he'd somehow managed to get dragged into it all. Well, maybe dragged wasn't the right word. He hadn't exactly put up much of a resistance. Still, that didn't tell him why he hadn't just forgotten about it as he had been ordered to do in the coffee shop, and why he couldn't stop thinking about the blonde girl named Buffy.
Angel told himself he was only getting involved to help right a wrong, that he was doing what any morally correct person would do. But were those the sole reasons? He could lie to himself and say yes, but that wasn't the truth. It was Buffy, the young woman he'd never even met, that had him enraptured.
Sure, she was beautiful on the outside, but something told him she was just as much so on the inside. She had to have immeasurable inner strength to have survived what she did after the rape. Could she somehow still be alive? And if she was, what had happened that night in her family's house? That was the million dollar question, he supposed.
Regardless, he couldn't do anything about it tonight, and he certainly wouldn't be able to do anything at all if he didn't start getting some sleep. With that in mind, Angel shifted onto his side, hoping that sleep would finally come.
His watch showed that it was barely seven-thirty in the morning when Angel dragged himself into the magazine's office building. He'd gotten no more than three hours of sleep the night before. Too much on his mind. So when he'd awoken at the crack of dawn he'd simply rolled out of bed instead of trying to get another hour's sleep. Plus, he had things he wanted to do.
The building was practically empty this early, which suited Angel just fine. He didn't want anyone questioning what he was doing. Not that they would have any reason to really. He was a photographer, and he had every right to use the magazine's dark room for an hour or two. Even so, it would be best that no one questioned him, or asked why he was at work an hour and a half before he normally arrived.
With sure steps, he walked down the hall toward the darkroom. In his pocket, his fingers were running over the negatives of the film he'd had developed the day before. Time would tell what he would find once he blew three of the shots up to larger sizes and cropped them down on the single figure that walked the beach late at night.
An hour and a half later, Angel stood in the darkroom holding one of the shots that he'd worked on enlarging. On the photo in his hands stood a petite blonde woman, her gaze staring out over the sea. The details were fuzzy, and the face only showed a side view, but Angel had little doubt. The woman, the mysterious figure who walked the beach, was Buffy.
But what did that mean? If the figure was really Buffy, had he photographed a ghost? Or was Buffy really still alive? Each choice was baffling, to say the least. Idly, Angel wondered if her being a ghost would have made things much simpler, because if she were actually alive, it left so many questions that needed some very serious answers.
How was she still alive? Had she killed her family? Where was she living? Why did she walk the beach at night? And what the hell did Giles know about all this?
Angel slipped the three photos he'd worked on into a folder and left the darkroom. He needed to call Willow and set up a meeting with her and the others. As he walked toward his office, he firmly pushed aside the voice inside his head that told him he was in way over his head.
He was almost to his office door when he heard someone calling his name. Turning, Angel found himself facing the very last person he wanted to see at that moment. Giles. And he was holding pictures of the man's supposedly dead daughter in a folder in his hand. Great. Just great.
"Good morning, Angel. You're in early today," Giles stated as he walked up to Angel.
An excuse. He needed an excuse. "I needed to do some work on the Chumash article," he improvised.
"Oh?" Giles asked and looked down at the folder Angel was holding. "Are those the pictures? May I see them?"
Wrong excuse. Damn. "Oh, no, this is just some paperwork. I have the photos of the Chumash artifacts in my office," he relayed and nodded toward his closed door.
"Yes, I would appreciate seeing them," Giles answered with a small smile that told Angel he'd bought the story.
Opening his office door, Angel strode in quickly. He waded through the mess on his desk and produced the portfolio of pictures. After handing them to his boss, he waited a moment until Giles attention was diverted then swiftly shoved the folder with Buffy's pictures into the top drawer of his desk. If he was lucky, he could get Giles out of his office before he did something the clue the man in that he was doing something he shouldn't.
Early that evening, Angel found himself walking along the beach near his house. It hadn't been intentional. He'd stepped out onto his porch, and then suddenly ended up walking to where he'd twice seen the ghostly female figure walking. The area had simply just drawn him in.
Walking forward, he approached the water's edge and stared out over the lapping waves, just as Buffy had done in the photo he now possessed. A myriad of questions whirled around his head. The most prevalent being was Buffy Giles still alive? He was hedging his bets that she was. And that she walked this beach at night. It made sense. Willow had told him that after her rape she'd preferred to go out at night. Just one more detail to add to the puzzle.
What did she see when she stared out at the ocean as he was doing now? What did she think? Angel shook his head and took a step back. For all he knew, Buffy was dead and the figure was just some woman who liked to walk to the beach. But his gut instincts told him that was not the case. She was alive.
He swiveled on his feet and gazed up at the roofline of the house up on the cliffs. Giles' house. If Buffy was walking this beach, there was only one logical conclusion as to why. She had to still be living in that house. And if she was still living there, it was fairly easy to assume that Giles knew she was there. The house was big, but it was unlikely that Rupert Giles would be unaware that his supposedly dead daughter was living somewhere inside.
Giles had to know, and he had to know a lot more than he'd told anybody, even the police. What was he hiding, and why? One thing Angel knew for sure, the man was going to have some serious questions to answer to. But first, he had to meet with Willow, Spike, and Xander so that he could show them the pictures he'd developed and worked with. From there, they'd have to decide what to do next.
Angel started to walk back toward his house when the setting sun reflected off something shiny in the sand a few feet away. He thought for a moment that it was probably a piece of trash, or a coin someone had dropped, but he decided to check it out anyway. Bending down, he saw that it was a thin gold chain. A necklace? It was half buried in the sand so he pulled it the rest of the way out. Once it was free, a heart-shaped locket dangled from the bottom.
His pulse thudded briefly, unexplainably. It's just a locket, he told himself. Some beach-goer or tourist had probably lost it. He twisted it around with his fingers for several seconds, taking in the rose etched into the gold heart and the delicate braiding of the chain. His knowledge of expensive things told him that this was no cheap item. Someone was definitely going to be upset about losing it.
Flipping open the delicate clasp of the locket, Angel felt his breath whoosh out of him. "Buffy," he breathed out heavily.
Gazing up at him from the inside of the locket was a miniature family portrait, and he recognized two of the players. Giles stood with his arm around a middle aged woman with dark blonde hair, and standing in front of him were three children, one of which he instantly recognized as Buffy.
On the opposite side of the locket was another picture. This one was of Buffy and the middle aged woman - her mother, he assumed – with their heads close together, bright smiles on their faces. Buffy looked a few years younger in the picture than she had in the one that Willow had shown him. There was a lightness in her, the relaxed smile, the bright eyes, that hadn't been in the other picture. It was from before the rape, he realized. Before her life had been torn to pieces.
What was it about her, he wondered as his thumbnail ran over her face in the picture, that drew him in? She was beautiful, but not quite stunningly so. Her looks were enough to draw a second glance, but he wasn't the shallow type to base everything on a person's outer appearance. Was it the tragedy that had befallen her? He supposed that was a large part of it. Knowing what this innocent young woman had been through twisted something inside him. Whatever it was about her, he just couldn't get her out of his mind.
Angel clicked the locket closed and stared at the gleaming gold. This was her locket. Who else's could it be? He doubted Giles would wear such a feminine piece, and it wasn't logical for anybody else, besides Buffy, to be wearing a locket with pictures of her family. It had to be hers.
He turned the heart over a few times in his fingers. The gold was clean and unblemished, no nicks, dents or tarnish. It hadn't been on the beach for long, that was obvious. Lifting the chain up, he studied the clasp. It was broken, as he'd suspected. She'd lost it while walking the beach. If the photos hadn't been damning enough, the locket was pretty much proof positive. Buffy Giles had to be alive.
The sounds of tires on gavel drew Angel's attention. Someone was at his house. He glanced down at his watch, saw that it was too early for Willow, Spike and Xander to there, and wondered who was paying him a visit. With the locket clasped in his hand, he walked back to his house.
The last thing he'd expected to see was a police car sitting in his driveway. A tall man with dark hair was climbing the steps of his front porch. Pure instinct had him slipping his hand in his pocket and depositing the locket inside.
"Can I help you?" Angel asked as he approached the bottom of the stairs.
The man turned, flashed Angel an over-friendly smile. "Hello," he greeted and walked back down the stairs. "I'm Philip Walker, the chief of police here in Sunnydale."
Every muscle in Angel's body tightened, his hands clenched for a moment before he forced them to relax. Inside, he was seething. This man was Cameron Walker's father. His son had raped Buffy, and he'd helped cover it up. It took every once of self control to battle back the urge to shove his fist in the bastard's face.
"What can I do for you?" he inquired, forcing his voice to remain neutral. What the hell was the chief of police doing at his house?
"Oh, I just thought I'd pay a visit to our town's newest resident, see if you were settling in okay," Philip explained, his public servant smile still in place.
"Been busy," Angel answered with an indifferent shrug. "Between work on the house, and my job, it keeps me on the go."
"Yes," Philip agreed, giving the house a once over. "The place is looking good. I'm glad to see someone restoring it."
"It's a good house." What did the man want, Angel wondered. He wasn't dumb enough to believe the chief of police was checking up on his well being. There was ulterior motive written all over his face.
"Just needed a little good old fashioned TLC," he said with a chuckle. "No problem with trespassers or anything."
Ah, so that was it, Angel thought. "Trespassers? No, why?"
"I heard in town you'd seen someone wondering around," Philip relayed, his eyes staring Angel dead in the face.
"Oh, that. I'm pretty sure it was a dog. I've seen some footprints in the sand," Angel covered quickly, the lie running smoothly off his tongue.
"Hmm, well," the chief said vaguely. "You'll let me know if you have any problems?"
"Yes, of course," Angel lied again. He had no damn intention of telling the man anything.
"Good, good." Philip nodded pleasantly. "Well, I must run along. Got a dinner meeting to attend."
"Thank you for stopping by," Angel stated, flashing his most pacifying smile.
"No problem." Philip took a few steps, turned back to Angel. "Welcome to Sunnydale, Mr O'Meara."
"Whatever," Angel muttered under his breath as he watched the police cruiser pull out of his driveway. He was going to have to be very careful what he said to any of the townspeople. Tongues obviously waggled in this place.
The unexpected knock at his back door almost made Angel drop the beer he was holding. Who the hell was knocking at his back door? Peering out the window, he saw Willow, Xander and Spike waiting for him to let them in. With a shake of his head, he opened the door.
"I didn't hear you guys pull up," he said with a faint frown and peered over his at driveway, finding no car there.
"Oh, we parked in a lot about a mile down the beach," Willow explained as she walked into the kitchen.
"Umm, maybe this is a stupid question," Angel began, his voice weary. "But why?"
"Cuz, mate, it wouldn't look too good for us to be seen over at your house regularly," Spike relayed, and made himself at home by walking to Angel's refrigerator and pulling out a beer.
"Right," agreed Angel, pressing his fingers to his temple. Damnit, he was getting another headache. "I had a visit from your friendly chief of police today."
"Walker was here?" Xander's hand paused in the act of opening his own beer, his face paling. "Why?"
"Oh, he claimed he just wanted to greet the town's newest resident," Angel said sarcastically.
"Yeah, sure," Spike snorted. "And little piggies fly around my head while I sleep."
Angel eyed Spike for a moment. Strange man, he decided. "He was fishing for info. Heard that I'd seen something on the beach. I told him it was a dog."
"Good choice." Spike toasted him with his beer.
"Where are the pictures, Angel?" Willow cut in anxiously.
Grabbing the folder off his counter, he handed them to Willow, saying nothing. He watched as she pulled them out, stared at the images. All the color drained from her face and she fell heavily into the one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
"Oh, god. Buffy," she whispered, choking back a sob.
Spike and Xander gathered around her, looked down at the photo of Buffy staring out over the ocean. "Damn," Xander breathed out, his eyes closing slowly.
Willow looked up, a single tear falling down her cheek. "She's alive." Anger flashed into her eyes, her hand tightened on the photo. "She's alive," she repeated, this time stronger, harsher.
Before anyone could speak, she leapt out of the chair, the photo still gripped in her hand, and dashed out the back door.
"Where the hell is she going?" Xander asked in tired exasperation.
Spike gave him a steady looked, flicked his eyes to the door. "Giles," he said then followed after Willow.
"Christ," Xander mumbled, letting his head fall back.
Grabbing his car keys off the counter, Angel strode quickly to the door. Willow wanted answers. And, so, did he.
"What the hell are we doing?" Xander hissed at Spike as Willow pounded on the front door to Giles' house with a barely restrained fury.
"If you have to ask, then you're bloody stupid," Spike bit out, his eyes trained solely on his fiancé who seemed to be holding it together by a mere string. His own emotions were in turmoil, but Willow was a powder keg ready to blow.
Angel stood behind the three, hands jammed in his pockets. This was their fight. He was just a bystander, really. They were the ones who needed answers the most.
Willow was still pounding on the door when Giles finally appeared. "Willow, what's-."
He didn't have a chance to finish speaking. The angry redhead had shoved the picture clenched in her hand before his eyes. Every ounce of color drained from his face, his mouth dropped open. Willow ignored it all.
"I want answers, and I want them now, Giles!" she demanded and pushed her way into the house.
TBC