Chapter Seven: The Best Laid Plans
Wesley gently kicked an empty bucket out of his way. The thunk it made echoed several times throughout the large, vacant room. The entire building was deserted. There were ladders, plaster buckets, and wooden beams scattered across the room. It seemed, to all appearances, like an apartment complex that was being renovated.
Wesley walked over to the only window that wasn't boarded up. There were hundreds of bullet shells littering the floor. He bent down, grabbed one of the casings, and inspected it. An Uzi .9mm submachine gun. Someone meant business.
Wesley peered through the window towards the Calypso. Interestingly, there was a very narrow shooting field. From where he stood, only a few of the hotel rooms provided a clear shot, Lilah's among them. Wesley thought of the other buildings surrounding the resort. All of them were heavily frequented. No chance of receiving the privacy needed for an assassination. This empty building was the only one the shooters would have been able to use. So either Wesley and Lilah had received room 237 by an extremely unlucky coincidence, or someone with less-than-pleasant intentions had ensured their room assignment.
Wesley heaved a sigh. Less than two days of being alive again, and already he was in the midst of some life-and-death drama. Whether it was his or Lilah's, he couldn't tell yet. One thing was certain though: any chance he'd had of a peaceful second life had flown out the window.
Another quick inspection of the window area revealed nothing particularly interesting. A smudge of gunpowder, an empty box. Still, Wesley prided himself on his superior detective proficiency. He'd come a long way since he'd first stepped foot in Sunnydale almost six years ago. He was no longer the bumbling bookworm, the incompetent know-it-all. He had transformed into a capable, debonair hero. And he was hell with a gun. He was happy in the knowledge that the other Wesley was gone forever. Never to return.
Wesley smiled to himself as he turned to leave… and promptly tripped over the bucket he had kicked earlier. He fell forward and landed on the floor in a dreadfully ungraceful heap. He lay there for a minute, unhurt but humiliated. He was just grateful no one had been around to see him. Especially Lilah. He would never have heard the end of it.
As Wesley pushed himself up onto all fours, he felt something strange on his right hand. He sat back on his knees and stared at his palm. Blood. Just a drop, but blood unmistakably. He smeared it between his fingers. It had not yet congealed.
Wesley scanned the rest of the concrete floor. There were several blood drops each spaced about a foot apart. Most definitely not enough to have come from a fatal wound, but probably a deep graze. Wesley had been shooting blindly through the hotel window, yet somehow, miraculously, one of his bullets had hit home. Maybe his luck wasn't as bad as he thought.
He kept searching the floor for the droplets of blood. Within a minute, he was able to determine that the blood was in a relatively straight line towards the exit.
Wesley stared at the blood leading towards the exit. She had tried to get out. She had run for her life, and she had been torn to shreds for her efforts. A feeling of horror ate at Wesley's stomach as he imagined the poor girl's screams ringing throughout the empty house. What was her name?
It was his first field assignment, the chance of a lifetime for any young Watcher-in-training. The chance to join senior officers of the Watchers' Council at an official Slayer trial. Wesley had been ecstatic. Years of laboring under the hardest courses at the University…. Ages of striving to win his father's respect…. There was no greater validation for so much hard work. He had been the youngest Watcher in a millennium to participate in such an event.
Of course, his function in the task was limited. Wesley was to accompany four experienced Watchers as they transported a vampire from London to Pamplona, Spain. After the vampire was installed in the empty manor, Wesley was to wait outside with the other Watchers as the young Slayer battled for her life.
Once the vampire was dispatched (whether by the Slayer or by the senior Watchers), he would help clean up the house. No risk involved. In fact, it sounded slightly boring to Wesley.
He hadn't expected this, however. He hadn't expected the poor girl, almost as old as Wesley himself, to be mutilated. He hadn't expected to see a room covered with blood. And he hadn't expected the girl's Watcher to be wailing in the corner, hunched over his charge's disfigured body.
"I should have told her!" he was saying over and over again between the sobs. "I should have told her! She should never have been here!"
Wesley tried to block out the sound of the man's harsh and interminable weeping. He tried to focus his mind on something else in the house… anything else. But everything he saw was another knife in his gut.
Two Watchers were scrubbing blood off of the walls. One man was sweeping up what remained of the vampire after the Watchers had dispatched of it. Another man was picking up one of the girl's fingers with a large pair of clamps and throwing it haphazardly into a plastic bag. No one was bothering to console, or even trying to console, the girl's grieving Watcher. There was no comfort for him.
Wesley walked gently up the stairs. The banister was slightly cracked in one spot. Wesley imagined the girl had tried to break it for a stake. But her strength had failed her. She probably wasted just enough seconds for the vampire to grab her…. What was her name?
Wesley trod along the upstairs hallway, opening doors and peering inside. One room contained the box that had held the vampire, the box that he and the other Watchers had carried. One room was completely empty except for small picture on the wall. It was a picture of a little girl playing with a kitten, and it seemed entirely out-of-place.
The last room was a bedroom with moth-eaten curtains and a small, broken chandelier. There didn't seem to be anything interesting or important. Wesley turned to leave. But he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. There was something small lying in the middle of the floor.
Wesley approached it with a sick feeling in his stomach. No doubt it was another of the girl's fingers (they'd only found four so far). However, as Wesley got closer, he saw it was some sort of necklace. No. It was a rosary.
He gently picked it up off the floor. It must have belonged to the girl. What was her name? He looked at the rosary. The beads were light blue, and the centerpiece medal contained a picture of a man in monk robes surrounded by animals. Saint Francis of Assisi.
Wesley retraced his steps along the hallway and down the stairs to the foyer. The four Watchers who had been cleaning were now standing together in a corner, chatting and drinking tea from their thermoses. Wesley walked past them to the girl's inconsolable Watcher. The man was still wailing, his fingernails scratching at his face.
Wesley cleared his throat. "Sir?" he asked as quietly as he possible could. The Watcher kept sobbing, showing no regard for Wesley's presence.
Wesley hesitantly extended his hand, from which the rosary was dangling. It took a moment for the grief-stricken man to notice it. When he did, his sobs eased, and his fingers relaxed. He tentatively reached out a hand.
"Isabelle's rosary." He wiped a smudge of dirt off of the picture of Saint Francis. "It was a gift from her parents. She told them what she was. Who she was. The Slayer. And they were so proud… so proud of the selfless woman she'd become. How shall I tell them? How shall I tell them I've killed their daughter?"
Wesley could think of nothing to say. There were no words. There was no Council-approved answer for such a question. This scenario had never been taught at University.
The Watcher began to weep again. He was now clutching the rosary as if it were the only thing left of Isabelle. Wesley turned and stumbled out of the manor.
Whenever Wesley was in Spain over the next few years, on assignment or on vacation, he would always visit Isabelle's grave. Of the many to follow, she was the first woman he'd failed to save.
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Tuesday morning arrived, and with it came the most sweltering temperature California had seen in a decade. Lilah was glad for the excellent air conditioning system in San Francisco's Wolfram and Hart. Her neck scar tended to itch terribly when she was perspiring.
She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She longed to take a quick nap. Lilah had been forced to get up at five in the morning to make the drive to San Francisco. Wesley, typically, had already been awake. When he asked where Lilah was going, she had responded "To take care of evil business. Now shut up and drink your tea." Wesley hadn't been pleased.
It was now noon exactly. The secretary outside the office Ecnel'ovelam was currently using answered a ring from the phone. She listened for about ten seconds before hanging up and gesturing to Lilah.
"Master Ecnel'ovelam will see you now, Ms. Morgan."
Lilah was surprised. As a rule, the higher-ups always made their appointments wait for about an hour past their scheduled times. So was the case with Holland, and it was most definitely the case with Linwood. It was their way of showing power and disregard. Lilah guessed, however, that a Senior Partner didn't need to make his appointments wait to show power. His mere presence was quite enough.
Lilah entered the vast, lavish office and looked towards the desk, at which sat… Joan Rivers.
"Ms. Morgan," said Joan Rivers imperiously, "please come in. Sit down," she said, gesturing to the empty seat opposite her desk.
Lilah did as she was told. "If I had known I'd be meeting with you, I would have worn a midnight blue evening gown with matching sapphire jewelry," she said.
Joan Rivers looked puzzled for a moment before breaking out into an large grin. "Ah. Forgive me. I find this face very effective for terrifying people. I forgot I was using it." And with that, Joan Rivers' face melted away, leaving the dark, scaly complexion of Ecnel'ovelam.
"I appreciate your prompt attendance, Ms. Morgan. I'm sure you understand the matters to which this meeting relates."
"I have an idea," Lilah said cautiously.
"Quite. As we both know, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce is no longer a disembodied soul. He has been resurrected." Ecnel'ovelam gave her a shrewd look. "Out of curiosity, how long did you think you could hide something of this magnitude from the Senior Partners? Did you honestly think to outsmart us?"
"Of course not, sir," Lilah responded, choosing her words very carefully. "I just thought it might be best to assess the situation. See if anything about him was different or dangerous--"
Ecnel'ovelam waved a hand dismissively. "That's beside the point. The crux of the matter is that you were brought back to find Mr. Wyndam-Pryce's soul. Obviously, that is not an issue anymore."
Lilah held her breath. Was Ecnel'ovelam about to send her back to Hell? If there were no longer any use for her….
Ecnel'ovelam seemed to read her mind. "Not to worry, Ms. Morgan," he said with a smile. "We have another job in mind for you, now. You see, the Senior Partners had not planned on Mr. Wyndam-Pryce being resurrected. We were going to use his soul as a bargaining chip to bring Angel and his cohorts out into the open. But now… well, as you can see, the plan changes a bit. The point is, we simply have no use for Mr. Wyndam-Pryce now that he's alive. He's capable of too much trouble."
Lilah considered everything she had just learned. The Senior Partners didn't want Wesley alive. Which meant…. "It was Wolfram and Hart. They tried to kill us at the Calypso resort," Lilah said decisively.
Ecnel'ovelam was doodling on a piece of paper absent-mindedly. "Dear me, yes. Although, the field operatives weren't trying to kill you. They were just aiming for Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. You happened to be in the wrong place, I'm afraid. They made sure you were given that particular room, so they'd have a clear shot at Mr. Wyndam-Pryce from the opposite building."
Lilah was getting a headache. She dearly wished she had a dry martini in her hand. "So, what does all of this have to do with me? What job do you want me to do now?"
Ecnel'ovelam began chewing on a pen thoughtfully. "Yes, about that. Tell me, Ms. Morgan. Have you ever heard of Fury's Dagger?"
Lilah racked her brain, trying to remember everything she knew about mystical weapons. "It's… a dagger."
"Ooo, very good deduction there," said Ecnel'ovleam sardonically.
Lilah continued. "A dagger made of diamond, if I'm not mistaken." Ecnel'ovelam nodded. "And if you stab someone with it, it will suck out and retain his or her soul."
"Not his soul. His essence," corrected Ecnel'ovelam. "There's actually quite a big difference. Not everything has a soul. Vampires, for example. But all creatures have an essence. Even demons. However, that's beside the point, actually."
"Then what is the point, sir, if I may ask?"
Ecnel'ovelam rubbed his hands together before opening his desk drawer. He pulled something out: a dagger made of diamond. "The point is this, Ms. Morgan. We want you to kill Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."
-----More to Come-----
A/N: Not much more to go. Three or four more chapters, I'd guess. I'm fairly certain the identity of the person who resurrected Wesley will be revealed at the end of the next chapter. Maybe the chapter after it. Still not sure. But if you have another guess about who it is, this might be your last chance to voice it. At this point, I'm a little worried you'll all be a bit disappointed with who it really is. Y'all have given some excellent theories, and I'm afraid you'll all be let down. :-(
Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Good? Bad? So-so? Chocolate-chip cookies to Kelly, kiwilass, kittyge, gopie, -J, greensleeves8, irish6red, Ruth Quist, WesLess, Rissa Rose, torontokid2003, Luckysparkle, cursedgirl, Beer Good, redmoon, and jords for the reviews thus far!
On a side note, for Chapter Six, can y'all do me a favor and pretend that Lilah says "You're unpacking now?" instead of "You're unpacking now!" as it currently reads? That latter makes it sound like she's commanding Wesley to unpack now. Obviously, this is not the case. This site's coding messed it up (don't ask me why I can't have a question mark followed by an exclaimation mark), and I don't feel like replacing the whole chapter for one little question mark. Thanks!
Oh, and it's not Lorne or Dawn.