Chapter 8.

BEVERLY WILSHIRE HOTEL,

WILSHIRE BOULEVARD,

BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA

SEPTEMBER. 25, 1999

(10:00 A.M./PST)

The urgency in Doyle's voice, upon describing his vision, had convinced Angel that time was of the essence. So, he had not stopped to coat his face and hands with industrial-strength sunblock. Instead, he had hopped into the trunk of his convertible in order to avoid the brunt of the sunlight outside. There was no way, however, to avoid being tossed back and forth with all the other stuff he stored in there every time Doyle made a high-speed turn!

Indeed, that Doyle did not get pulled over by any police cars could only be ascribed to one of two things: either visions from the PTB's on where all the speed traps were; or an out-and-out miracle. But, whatever the reason, the fact remains that the car soon pulled into the underground parking garage of the hotel. Whereupon, Doyle jumped out of the car and unlocked the trunk.

"Room 617!" he shouted: "Ya have to hurry!"

"I'm on it!" Angel shouted back as he ran for the stairwell.

Though nowhere near as fast as a Celerity Demon, an average vampire was still three times faster than an ordinary mortal, at the very least. And, Angel was most definitely an above average vampire! As a result, he made it up to the sixth floor of the hotel in less than five minutes. Upon finding Room 617, a couple moments later, he did not hesitate to kick it open with his right foot. His "game face" already on.

Now, most vampires cannot enter any private residence (including personal apartments) without being verbally invited. But, as hotel rooms are publicly accessible (for the most part), Angel should have had no trouble crossing the threshold. The only reason he did not do so, at that very second, was due to what he saw before him.

The form was more or less humanoid. Indeed, Angel's first thought was it resembled a reanimated human skeleton that had been coated in molten bronze halfway through decomposition! Yet, the eyes that looked at him were lidless. Almost insectoid, in fact; except that they were not multi-faceted and/or dome-shaped (like those typical of, say, a housefly).

In short; Angel could not honestly recall meeting anything more nightmarish-looking during his nearly three hundred years as a vampire. And, that moment of stunned inaction was going to cost him!

Before Angel could sufficiently recover, to take one step forward, the thing on the hotel room bed had already leaped upward to the ceiling. It clung there, for a moment, in the same upside-down position as a South American tree sloth. Then, it sprang downward, landing just in front of Angel. . .

. . .and lashing its radula outward, directly at him.

Angel ducked at the last second. Just barely managing to avoid being impaled right through his mouth! And, that, in turn, allowed the thing to jump over him like a kangaroo with a hot-foot. Angel, however, had finally gotten over his shock and was now in hot pursuit.

They ran down the hallway. The strange-looking demon running on the left-hand wall with complete ease. And, Angel growling in frustration each time it evaded each lunging attempt of his to lay hands on it.

Finally, they reached the stairwell door at the opposite end of the sixth floor hallway. The creature (whatever it was) went through it without the slightest deceleration in its leap-frogging. Angel burst through the door a second or two later; almost completely knocking it off its hinges! And, from the screams that wafted upward, there was obviously more than person on the stairway. But, it was a mixed blessing that they were still alive when Angel passed them. Because, in his haste to capture this elusive man-killer, he had forgotten about his "game-face!" Consequently, the two bikini-clad guests he passed on the way down also screamed at him.

Finally, they reached the basement.

The creature sprang through a pair of white double doors with vertically rectangular windows. Angel continued after it, without the slightest hesitation. Immediately recognizing the hotel laundry, where bed sheets, table cloths, and so forth were either washed-and-dried , or steam-cleaned, for renewed guest usage the next day. And, the clouds of steam from the latter process were providing annoying camouflage for his quarry.

By this point, of course, Angel had resumed his more humanistic features. Thus, when he heard blood-curdling screams of terror, this time, he knew _he_ was not the source of them!

He ran in the direction they had seemed to come from. And, this time, he did find more casualties. Three female launderers, in fact. Each one looking like they had been whipped across her face by a cat o' nine tails! But, in silencing these poor women, the creature had made a mistake. It had drawn human blood.

A scent that Angel knew all-too well how to follow.

He followed it into the hotel's massive circulator room, where the furnaces and water heaters were kept. Here, he became even more cautious. Because, the fumes from all the heating oil were over-powering the blood scent. And, the din from the ventilation circulators were drowning out all potential foot-falls he might otherwise have heard. But, he could still feel currents of displaced air against his face.

And, it was one such air current that warned him to duck under the manhole cover that might otherwise have decapitated him!

Angel knew what had happened even before he found the evidence. The creature had used its immense strength to pry open the manhole cover. . .and fling it like a Frisbee in Angel's direction. The gaping hole in the ground now gave clear indication in which direction it had fled; downward. Into the sewer system.

"It's like I never left Sunnydale!" he complained to himself, sotto voce. Before entering the hole, as well.

tbc