Author's note: If you recognize the first scene of the first act, but can't place it - don't worry, it's mine, so it's not plagiarism. It's a subtle tie-in and some funky foreshadowing. That is all.
--
Beyond Any Shadow of a Doubt - Act 1
The silence shrieked in her ears, unending, maddening, drowning in sorrow. She had done this to herself, there was only one way to solve it, to save them; to face it.
There was no sideways motion here, no escaping, no hope. Just moving forward, terror but especially sorrow pulling at her, squeezing her heart and holding her back, but she strode forward regardless. Her footsteps, sounding small and weak to her ears, marked each step; slower and more cowardly than she had intended. She could feel her breath in her throat, fearful and shallow; her nimble fingers trembled as she made weak fists. It was somewhere ahead. Somewhere at the end of the long corridor.
The dim light from each doorway cast alternating patterns of light and dark across her path. She shuddered, again seeing its eyes as she looked down at it, in unrestrained anguish and pleading.
"Save me" it had begged, she had begged. But fear had overridden her then, she had given in to it; she had run. She had sent the thing she loved to a hell worse than any conceivable. Now it was back. No. Now she was back, killing, laughing, knowing she would come for her. And so she did.
Hanna walked down the hallway, towards her fear. The walk stretched time into forever. Her building terror, her quivering breath and clammy palms the only indication she was approaching her destination. She had tried to come to terms with her own death; that nauseatingly unnatural conclusion which gnawed at her insides with each step. In the stale, cold air of this ungodly corridor, she had tried to rationalize it to herself. This was her fault, and if she died - no, when she died, she might be able to stand the thought of herself again.
It was only her body which she had failed to convince. As far as it was concerned, she should be running as hard and fast away from this place as possible, or at the very least finding a high place from which to fling herself. But not this. Anything but this– this living hell of indescribable agony to which she was headed.
Before her body could quite find the motive to end itself then and there, she had arrived. The bleak white door opened without a sound and the light of a bloody sunset illuminated the room in shades of scarlet and sickly orange.
The still figure standing by the window said nothing as Hanna approached, her stomach quivering, no longer breathing at all. She gripped the hem of her shirt to keep her hands from trembling.
This was the epitome of horror. With a now furiously trembling hand, she reached out, a slight whimper escaping her. Before she could touch the shoulder, the figure turned, its mutilated, bloodied face the parody-maker of all death Hanna had ever imagined.
"Daughter," the corpse of Rachel mouthed.
Hanna awoke covered in cold sweat, breathing hard in the darkness. She could not recall any nightmare more terrifying. She gripped the edge of the covers, her knuckles white. With wide eyes she stared into the darkness, for several seconds after awakening fearing she would see a figure standing at the end of her bed.
But no one was there.
--
Logan kissed two fingers and touched Hanna's forehead before she hurried out the door, looking a little more tired this morning than usual — then again, she had just found out her boyfriend was raised by an evil demon. Ex-boyfriend.
"Bye, honey," he called after her as the door closed. With a satisfied smile, he tossed the folded newspaper in the bin by the door and reached for his khaki jacket. Old Reliable. Logan's jacket hadn't had nearly the ride Niki's leather jacket had, but it had endured a lot and Logan loved it. He draped it over his forearm and started out the door, glancing back to the kitchen and the brooding Rachel with her coffee. Logan's satisfied smile disappeared. Bye, honey he mouthed.
Logan loved the feeling of heading off to work. A week ago he had succeeded in finding a firm that would take him. He was back on track. And back in an office. But what a commute.
Closing the door behind him, Logan started across the lawn for the car. Like his jacket, the little brown car had endured a lot. Half of the parts on it were being held together by mystical forces Logan couldn't even spell. Isis was holding the tailpipe on... By Zeus, he had unclogged the fuel lines last week.
As he got in, his eyes glanced into the rearview mirror and he paused. There was a man, sitting in a car which was idling on the curb across the street. Logan couldn't really see the man, or the make of the car, but the fact that the man was looking intently at Logan caught his attention.
With a troubled frown, Logan shut the driver's door and started the car, backing out of the driveway he kept looking in the mirror, but he was at the turn before he could see anything definitive. About twenty minutes down Sunrise Highway, he thought to look behind him again, but with the morning traffic, he couldn't tell if he was being followed.
This small thing distracted Logan for the rest of the day. On its own, Logan wouldn't worry about an incident of someone following him. He could handle himself. He was confident that the protection spell he had placed on Rachel's wedding ring would protect her if the stalker was demonic or magical, but he was worried should Wolfram and Hart have sent a human thug to threaten her.
But that didn't line up. The letter Logan had found indicated that Fischer was trying to drive a wedge between them. A direct attack on Rachel would only bring her and Logan together... Logan's eyes widened. Unless the stalker wasn't from Wolfram and Hart.
If Rachel was having Logan followed... He swallowed his anger and dismissed it. It didn't matter. Logan wasn't involved in anything illicit anymore. He was clean. Let her investigate him.
And then there was Michael. The not-quite-angel of death. Sent for some mysterious reason to help Logan... and yet camping out at his daughter's school and his wife's hospital. Either he was being more paranoid than usual, or something was terribly wrong.
--
Niki walked into the Marionette wearing everything she owned. A stake in her pocket, life in her veins and enough money for one last drink. She slid into a seat next to a familiar face and shrugged her jacket onto the back of the chair.
"Of all the gin joints in all the world..." she grinned, lifting the fedora and pulling it snugly onto her own head. "Hey, it fits. Who'da thunk it?"
Whistler couldn't help but smile. "It's good to see you," he slid a can of nuts across the table. "Nuts?"
"A little," she admitted, then saw the can. "Oh... yeah, thanks." She munched a little and picked up the can. "Brazilian. Nice. Where you been at, Whistler? I've missed you."
The demon nodded in gratitude. "Salvador," he said simply. "...it's in Brazil," he added as she munched on the nuts. "Some trouble there that needed handling. It's a hotbed down there."
"Mmm," the Slayer nodded. "And now you're back in this old hotbed."
Whistler nodded. He looked a little distracted and watched her hands as she took handfuls of nuts and popped them into her mouth. "So... I heard you killed Addison," he said at last, as if to break the one-sided awkward silence.
Niki stopped mid-chew. "Oh. Yeah... right after the party – right after you left." She frowned. "And then again a couple of weeks ago." She shoveled another handful of nuts into her mouth. "He had it coming... both times."
Whistler was nodding. "Niki..." he lowered his gaze as she continued eating, her expression growing worried and her chewing slowing.
"...What?" She slid the can back to him. "Did you still want some?"
He looked back up and swallowed. "I'd like to talk to you... about your destiny."
The Slayer blinked. "That's funny," she said dryly, "I had always imagined that I had free choice."
Whistler closed his eyes with a sigh. "I knew this wouldn't work." He shrugged helplessly. "I can't talk to you."
"Psh," Niki dismissed. "We were talking until you used the D word."
"Fine" the demon snapped, "I want to talk to you about your death."
"Ah," she leaned back in her chair. "The other D word." The young woman looked down at her fingernails. "I didn't know I had one," she said at last.
"You do," he said sharply. "Believe me. We all do. And it would be nice to think death isn't meaningless, but you've seen enough to believe otherwise. I know I can't challenge that belief, so I won't try." He stood and reached for his hat, plucking it from her head to make her look at him. "I sent you to Crowley because he had the text of the Story. I know that you saw the Shadow Men. What did they tell you?"
Niki frowned. "Why do you care?" she demanded, tired of having to disclose everything to everyone. Tired of being judged. She had nothing anymore. No home, no money, no family, no lover, no Watcher... Why couldn't her destiny be her own?
"Because I care," he answered bluntly. "About the fight," he added after a pointed pause. There was a long silence between them as he contained his anger and set his hat beside the nuts on the table. "Because I care," he said gently, at last.
"They seemed worried about something," she admitted after a long silence. "Worried about an end that was coming. I think they weren't sure I could handle it."
The demon frowned. "Why do you say that?"
Niki took a slow deep breath, recalling her time in the cave with the creepy, ancient men. Addison had suggested that the Council had been wrong all along. That the whole time they had been trying to kill her to bring about the calling of another Slayer; it wasn't her death which was going to do it.
"They wanted to take away my power," she said thoughtfully. "They wanted to make me normal and call another girl in my place." She looked up from her contemplations and took another handful of nuts. "Anyway, I didn't go for it."
Whistler looked very resigned and he slowly dropped his gaze from the Slayer to his own hands. "It may turn out... that you made the wrong choice."
--
Kenneth looked around the airport. He knew that the Slayer in this city was notorious — infamous back in England. She killed nearly everything British that stepped off a plane, including her own Watcher. He half expected to see her waiting for him with a sign and a sword. He smiled nonetheless. It wasn't exactly polite to smile at the peril faced by the assassins of the Council, but then, he never really like the Council, or its policies on the Termination Procedures. He agreed the termination of a rogue Slayer was sometimes necessary, considering the fate of the world was often dropped in her lap and she needed to be someone who could handle it.
And that was why Kenneth was disembarking in New York City. He hoped he need never meet the infamous Niki Valtaine in person, but he was prepared just in case. He had the original weapon intended for the Termination Procedure in his suitcase. Customs had let it through – it wasn't really dangerous to anyone but her, and he would only use it as a last resort. He preferred not to be involved in that messy business.
He was all about the future. And the future called from right here in New York.
--
Beyond Any Shadow of a Doubt - Act 2
"What do you mean, I made the wrong choice?" Niki paused in her protein intake. The waitress walked by and set down two fresh mugs of beer. Niki glanced up, then back at the Demon, leaning in and lowering her voice. "I went to see your prophet," she hissed, dragging the beer closer to her protectively, "and he told me exactly how much time I have left." She straightened up and lifted the mug. "You're just like the rest of them. I'm the Slayer. The one and only: Get over it."
As the Slayer, the one and only, took a long pull of her beer, Whistler tried to think of how to explain this. The young woman across from him had fought tooth and nail just for the right to be herself — to be alive. She knew no one accepted her, everyone thought she was a failure or dangerous... how to convince her she was exactly what she was meant to be... and that what she was meant to be was dead.
"The Deceivers," he said all of a sudden. "How's that going?"
Niki wiped the foam from her lips with the back of her hand and reached for the nuts again. "It's hard to tell, really. That seer, Jessica, explained what the Deceivers are but not who they are or how to find them."
"How to kill them...?" the demon prompted.
The Slayer nodded. "Yeah, I have to kill the one who conjured the Deception. But, of course, I have no idea who that is."
"Is that why you went to the prophet?" Whistler took a few nuts for himself.
Niki nodded emphatically through a sip of beer. "Yup. Turns out he was crazy though. Everything was numbers... the lives of all the Slayers were a big set of numbers that I couldn't really understand. Except for a few. Like when I'm going to die."
Whistler smiled a little. "So, I figure that's why you're not too concerned with... anything." He indicated her homeless and penniless state.
She shrugged. "Pretty much. He gave me a time for the Deception to end too..." she frowned. "Or a clue or something. That number was a bit fuzzy."
"Which number?" Whistler munched curiously on the quickly dwindling Brazil-nuts.
"Five," she shrugged. "Two and three is five, the guy said. Whatever that means. Did I mention he was crazy?"
"Are you looking for the Deceiver?" Whistler's words struck a chord and Niki slumped. "I take that as a no."
"No, it's not that," she set the beer mug down dejectedly. "I just... I'd been hoping it was Addison. You know, I thought —I hoped— he'd been the one who was having me deceived. To get rid of me." Whistler was shaking his head. Niki nodded – it could never be that easy. "But I guess not."
"You're looking at this all wrong," Whistler gestured for the waitress to come over. "Two more beers," he requested politely. The waitress nodded and wandered away.
Niki frowned. "But you haven't even touched yours." The demon shrugged.
"They're both for you." He folded his hands and took a deep breath. "You're trying to think of reasons why forces are trying to get rid of the Slayer. Normally, that's a pretty effective thought process, but for right now, I'm asking you to think of why someone would want to get rid of you, Niki Valtaine."
The Slayer shrugged helplessly. "I'm not exactly a threat to anyone. I can't think of anyone — besides the Council who might actually be afraid of me."
"Again, you're looking at this all wrong. I'm telling you now you are threatening: every breath you take is a threat, but not to anyone who could be doing this to you. If any person was really afraid of you, there are many easier magical ways to have you killed — just look at how the Council is dealing with you. They've initiated the Termination Procedure. They're not concerned with mucking about with the truth."
Niki looked hard into the demon's face. He had a point. "So what are you saying? Whoever's deceiving me isn't trying to kill me?"
Whistler shook his head. "No, what I'm saying is: Whoever is deceiving you isn't afraid of you. Isn't worried they'll be caught. They're sitting back and enjoying the show."
Niki's expression clouded over. "When I find them, I'm going to kick their ass so hard they'll taste their back pockets."
"But don't forget about the Council," Whistler pointed out, taking the first sip of his first beer and Niki's second and third arrived. "If they want you, they'll stop at nothing to get you."
Niki frowned, starting on her second pint. "Yeah, getting back to that... you mentioned some 'Termination Procedure'... what's that about?"
The demon exhaled hesitantly. "Well…" he looked down at his beer. This whole situation was against his nature. He was by nature one of the good guys. He was supposed to be on the winning side. The side that survived. Helping destiny along was supposed to mean saving people's lives... not this.
"Come on," Niki prodded. "You opened Pandora's Box; I just want to see what's inside."
"The Termination Procedure," the demon said reluctantly, "is one of the most carefully guarded secrets of the Watcher's Council. I assume since you went to the desert you know the nature of the Shadow Men?"
Niki frowned. "Uh, yeah. They created the first Slayer — they were the original Watchers."
Whistler nodded. "They did it by forcing the heart of a demon into a young girl. The name of that demon has been lost over the centuries, but something has been passed on from generation to generation among the Watchers: a way to vanquish the demon inside the Slayer — inside you."
Niki's eyes widened with shock and disgust. "Why would they keep something like that?" she demanded, suddenly put off of beer and nuts.
"Because," Whistler argued calmly, "there exist forces in the world which could corrupt a Slayer; turn her to evil or worse. They needed a failsafe. An emergency backup plan in case the most powerful weapon for good turned against them."
Niki slowly dropped her gaze, the full meaning finally registering. "Like me. Turned against them like me." The demon nodded. "They're going to use it against me — kill the demon inside me?"
Whistler nodded regretfully. "They're probably going to try. It's dangerous because they have to be right in front of you — the demon inside you has to hear the Word. Then..." he made a gesture like letting go of dust.
Niki glanced back up. "What's the Word?"
Whistler frowned, allowing a little laugh. "Well... I'm not going to tell you. I'm not going to do their job for them."
Niki sighed. "Well... how would I recognize it? It's not English, is it?"
Whistler shook his head. "No— but you've seen it before." He pulled a napkin from the dispenser box and lifted a pen from the inside of his jacket. He scribbled the Tamasheq letters onto the white surface and slid it over to the Slayer. "It's Tuareg. It's a spell. If it's said with the right incantation, the demon inside you gets driven out."
Niki slowly lifted the napkin from the table top. She had indeed seen the word before: glowing on the wall of the cave, the Shadow Men had offered to 'unchoose' her using this word. But that didn't make sense... "It won't kill me?" she frowned.
Whistler cocked his head. "I have no idea. It's never been used before. As far as the Council knows, it could end the Slayer Line. That's why it's an absolute last resort."
"Well, I'll keep my eyes open for any more Council types who come looking for me toting books or scrolls." She folded the napkin in half and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.
It looked like Niki was getting ready to leave, so Whistler slid her third beer towards her. "We still have to talk about the D word."
The Slayer blinked, standing from her chair. "Which one?"
"The one that rhymes with breath," the demon replied.
Niki sat back down, sullenly taking hold of her third mug of beer. "I hate that one."
--
Kenneth slowly lifted the stone tablet from the foam packing which filled his briefcase. On it was carved the Tuareg word which spelled death for the demon heart of any Slayer. It had never been used and it was hoped never to be needed, but Kenneth had been given explicit instructions should he meet the Slayer to use it without hesitation. They were that afraid of her.
The intellectual in Kenneth looked at the tablet more for its archaeological significance rather than its tactical potential. And yet, potential was his specialty.
Slowly and with the care of a student of history, he set the tablet back in the foam packing, closing the briefcase and turning to the hotel telephone. After a few moments of wrestling with the American dialing procedures, Kenneth had the coven on the line.
"Yes," he said to the cautious voice on the other end. "I'm in the city. You said you'd give me an address once I'd landed."
He listened patiently as the exact location was given, spelled out and repeated just in case. Kenneth scribbled it down on a pad of paper and stuffed the note into his vest pocket. Wouldn't she be surprised to see him...?
Apparently she had the one called Logan Kilpatrick watching over her. The Termination Procedure would do little to stop him, Kenneth smirked, except maybe confuse him for a minute or two.
"Thank you," he said to the voice on the other end, hanging up the receiver. He'd look up the place in the morning: it was getting late and prowling around a city ruled by a rogue Slayer was asking for the kind of trouble Kenneth wasn't at all prepared for.
Kenneth was all about the future. And if the coven was to be trusted, then like it or not, the future was upon them all.
--
"Could you sing me to sleep?" Hanna asked, a little hopeful gleam in her eyes. She lay under the covers in the semi-darkness of her bedroom. She wasn't a child anymore and she knew Logan knew it, but she also knew he liked to sing to her and asking him was as good as an apology.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, he smiled warmly. "What do you want to hear?"
"Boxer," she said without hesitation. Logan had been singing Paul Simon to her since before she could remember and even though she doubted she would ever admit to anyone that she liked it, the few minutes before sleep with her father used to be the best of every day.
"I always sing Boxer," Logan protested, poking her in the ribs. "How about something else? For Emily, wherever I may find her." Hanna nodded dreamily and closed her eyes, sinking back into the thick pillows. It was a moment before her father's still gentle voice filled her senses, and in that darkness she couldn't help but see flashes of the nightmares which for the past few nights had haunted her. Then the song came and everything seemed like it would be okay.
"What a dream I had, pressed in organdy,
Clothed in crinoline of smoky burgundy,
Softer than the rain...
I wandered empty streets down past the shop displays,
I heard cathedral bells, tripping down the alleyways,
As I walked on...
And when you ran to me, your cheeks flushed with the night.
We walked on frosted fields of juniper and lamplight.
I held your hand...
And when I awoke and felt you warm and near,
I kissed your honey hair with my grateful tears.
Oh, I love you, girl...
Oh, I love you..."
--
With screams and terror, Hanna watched as the creatures she knew to be vampires massacred the churning crowd. But something was fighting them. Something was killing them.
As Hanna's disembodied perspective shifted, she could see a girl, a girl not much older than she, fighting the vampires — killing the vampires. With dust and screams the vampires fell before her. But they were like a tide and she was only one.
Then the dream spun sickeningly and the perspective shifted again — a different feel, a different taste and smell to the air. A different girl fighting different vampires in a different way. Again they overwhelmed her. Hanna was unable to look away as her blood spilled out onto the ground.
With a lurch, she was somewhere else, in a different time, different vampires and a new girl, fighting hard, killing many. But she too fell. They all fell. They all died.
Hanna awoke covered in sweat and breathing hard. It wasn't terrifying like the other dreams, just exhausting and it wound her up with stress so that her fists were clenching the sheets so hard she thought she might sprain something.
It was pitch black and Logan was gone. The memory of his voice brought no comfort to her now. Even that long evolved power to drive away nightmares had proved ineffective. Then with a frown she realized what had woken her up. The noise came again and she recognized it.
She moved to the window and looked down to see Matt waiting below, readying to throw another pebble at her window. Her gaze narrowed and she slowly drew the blind closed. Getting back into bed, she hardened her heart and closed her eyes. Her father may not be able to protect her from bad dreams, but he had proved he could protect her from bad boyfriends. She slept dreamlessly for the rest of the night.
--
Beyond Any Shadow of a Doubt - Act 3
"It was a dark and dreary night... I know that doesn't exactly bode well, but it was appropriate anyway. I was fourteen, so I guess it would have been... seventy six or seventy seven.
"We were riding the subway home because taxis were expensive... Dad got paid on Thursdays and it was Wednesday night. We would have taken the car but mom got in a fender bender the week before and it was still in the shop.
"So my arms were full of bags of new clothes and we were sitting at the back of the subway car because we didn't want anyone behind us. Dad was kinda anxious about the whole thing, I heard him say subways were dangerous places. I remember thinking it was neat.
"I was solidly in my teenage rebellion stage... this was when I was just discovering the Ramones, so rebellion just meant not wearing pink, never smiling and listening to Blue Cheer. I remember that evening mom had wanted me to get a purse, but I think I told her off — purses were for girly girls.
"So there we were in the back of the subway car, my mom exhausted from dragging me around all day, my dad worried we were going to get mugged and me not smiling on principle.
"Then this guy starts towards the back of the car — started walking towards us like he had something in mind. My dad took a step in front of us to make it clear we were off limits, but I got all brave and crossed the isle. The guy was freaky looking for a Billy Idol wannabe, even from a rebellious teenager's point of view. With one look I knew I could easily worship him. The way he walked, the way he didn't care.
"He walked right past my dad without a single glance. But I was watching this guy the whole time and when he passed me he stopped. He pulled off his leather jacket and tossed it on the seat next to me
"'Look after that for me,' he said with a kind of evil grin. I get now that he was probably some perv or something, but at the time it was the coolest thing that had ever happened.
"My dad told me not to touch the jacket and I got really annoyed, so I walked to the back door to the car where the guy had gone. By then he was in the next car and I could see through the window that there was one other person with him."
Niki slowly ran her finger around the rim of the beer mug. All the beer she had drunk that night had been courtesy of Whistler. She still had her last ten dollars deep in her pocket. She didn't know why she was telling him this story... it didn't really count as a story. Maybe it was just because it was a secret she had kept. A secret from her parents, who were dead, and from Addison, who now was also dead. She felt like she needed to tell it.
"I watched through the window as the guy and the girl he was with fought. And I don't mean they fought like yelled at each other. They were actually punching and kicking each other. I remember the guy somehow got one of the poles loose and used it like a staff.
"They fought for several minutes as I watched – I couldn't take my eyes off it, and finally he was on top of her, holding her head with his hands." Niki slowly looked up as if retelling the story had triggered a buried memory she'd never understood until now. It took her a minute or so of looking into the demon's eyes to be able to put it into words. "When he killed her... I don't know... It was like I was seeing myself. I realized I was going to die one day, you know? Instead of giving me his jacket, he could have snapped my neck.
"Throughout the whole fight, I was watching it like a movie – it was behind that barrier of non-reality that I assumed protected people from real drugs and violence and death... I had never really thought about it because it didn't seem real...
"Then he walked to the back of the car and pulled the brake line. That was when my dad noticed. He pulled me from the window and saw the girl in the other car. While he was turned away from me, I stuffed the guy's jacket into my shopping bag. When I looked back, I saw the guy pulling the dead girl's jacket from her and putting it on.
"My dad grabbed me and pulled me to the other end of our car, my mom in tow. I was kinda dazed. I'd never seen anyone killed before and I remember thinking she couldn't have been dead... not that quickly or simply: there was no poetry to it. No music." Niki laughed and drained the last of her beer. "That's what's classically called the death of innocence. Bullshit. I'm still alive—" she pulled her leather jacket from the back of the chair and laid it across the table, "and I got this out of the deal."
"Innocence for a leather jacket," Whistler mused, slowly dropping some nuts into his mouth. "You realized you were going to die and your response was to wear the clothes of a murderer. I guess everybody has to pick a side."
"So why not the stronger one?" Niki laughed. "Hey, I was fourteen. Lay off the psychobabble." She ran her hands lovingly down the leather arm. "Not that I didn't end up becoming the killer anyway."
"Somehow, I doubt the jacket is to blame." Whistler sipped his own beer. As he watched her hold her jacket, he could tell he had managed to get through to her. She had done the work for him.
"I am going to die, aren't I?" She said it with such calmness and clarity that the demon had to smile in admiration.
"Nothing is more certain than death." He slid the nearly empty can of nuts back to her. "And nothing less meaningless."
--
Logan sat very low in the driver's seat of his car. It grew late, but Logan wasn't concerned. Rachel was taking on more shifts and she was at the hospital tonight. The sun had set and the shadows were now impenetrable. As the stars began to show themselves, Logan watched. As patient and motionless as a spider waiting for its prey to cross its path. He was glad he didn't have eight legs, because the two he had were developing serious cramps.
Then a fly came to the web.
Kenneth slowed his car down as he drove down the dark street. Looking quickly down at the note he had scribbled, laying on his dashboard, he glanced back up to the house numbers. There it was.
His car slowed and stopped, the headlights blinking off and the engine growing silent. After a moment he opened his door and pulled the note from the dashboard, scribbling some details about the long and complicated route he had ended up taking to get here. In the light cast from the interior lamp of his car, he could just barely see the writing on the note.
With a frown he looked up and noticed the street lamp directly overhead was dark. He looked up ahead and saw the same thing. Back down the way he had come were more dark street lamps. He shrugged and folded the note back into his vest pocket, sliding the pen in alongside it.
He closed the door and began to cross the street, heading for the Kilpatrick household, when with a roar and a squealing of tires, a dark shape nearby came to life with a blinding light.
Kenneth held his hands in front of his face to shield his eyes from the bright headlights, but in less than a second, the spinning tires caught the pavement and the bright thing charged forward, ramming into the surprised Watcher and folding him in half over the hood. The sudden breaking sent the man flying onto the pavement where he lay twisted and bleeding.
After a moment, the car door opened and Logan stepped out, walked carefully up to the body, looking down at it with a dispassionate stare. So this was the man investigating him... He seemed too old for this kind of a risky business.
Logan followed the ambulance all the way to the hospital, as a concerned motorist might. He had called 9-1-1 himself when he realized the man really was critically injured. He was rehearsing the story he would tell the police when something occurred to him. A smile slid across his face, more clever than any before it.
Waiting in the lounge chairs outside the ER, Logan gave his police statement, glancing in occasionally to see the poor man's status. Soon a nurse bustled out and informed him the man he had accidentally hit was going to live, but he'd be spending the next few days in the intensive care unit. Logan nodded with concern until the cop and the nurse turned to go. After, he continued nodding, making his way behind the gurney to the elevator where he had to wait to follow them to the ICU.
So it was that he missed Rachel's initial reaction to seeing the man bleeding and broken. No matter. He would find out soon enough. Unlike Logan, Rachel was a very poor liar.
--
Kenneth looked up through swollen eyelids and painkillers to see the worried face of a man whose face had been described in detail by several members of the Council. This must be Logan Kilpatrick. All of this must be Logan Kilpatrick.
"Who are you?" the man looking down at him asked. "My wife has never seen you before. Neither have I. Who are you?"
Kenneth knew he couldn't speak while intubated, so he blinked to indicate he understood what was being said. His muscles suddenly tensed and in his periphery he could hear the bleeps and various sounds coming from his machinery speed up: something entirely out of the ordinary was happening.
As Kenneth looked up at Logan Kilpatrick, he could hear the man's voice in his head – see the man's emotions, feel his curiosity. Who are you, the voice in his head asked.
Kenneth tried to speak with his mind, but before he could even focus his bleary thoughts enough to do so, an image flashed from his mind so vivid he had to blink to see again. It was an image of the Council gathered in London – a meeting they had had several weeks ago. Logan was now nodding with a frown.
Are you looking for her? Instantly an image of Niki flashed before Kenneth's eyes. The bleep, bleep of the ECG quickened. You're not looking for her? Logan seemed confused. Who are you looking for?
Kenneth tried everything in his power to think of something else. Anything else. But he could tell Logan saw through him. Are you looking for me? You've found me. Kenneth blinked. Relief washed over him and he could tell Logan was misinterpreting it.
"Does the Council need me to save them again... or do they want to kill me too?" He wasn't concerned with speaking in the Watcher's head anymore. He could read his emotions like a book, just as he had read his wife's.
With a trembling hand, Kenneth reached for the button under his right hand. He clamped down hard with his thumb and fresh morphine flooded his system. Logan and the bleeping of the ECG faded away behind a curtain of bliss.
Beyond Any Shadow of a Doubt - Act 4
Niki slowly drew her last ten dollars out of her pocket. They had at last run out of Brazil-nuts and the Slayer was still hungry. As she waited for the waitress who had been serving her beer for the past twelve hours, she ran a finger down the side of the little portrait of Alexander Hamilton. Whether it was because she was exceedingly buzzed, or because those nuts had been laced with something, Whistler's words were beginning to make sense.
For reasons she couldn't put her finger on, there was something bigger going on than just her menial little life. The prophecy she had seen wasn't just a count-down to her death, it was a masterpiece: a work of art with infinite detail describing all levels of her very existence. And her life was only a small part of her existence. Likewise, her death was only a small piece, but a necessary one nonetheless.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned with the largest bowl of mixed nuts ten dollars could buy. With a broadening smile, Niki looked down at the bountiful bowl of protein. If death was certain, then this could be the last time she ever ate.
She had to pull her leather jack from the table top in order to get the bowl close to her and as she did, her hand slipped into the jacket's pocket. Something touched her finger there she didn't expect.
The nuts momentarily forgotten, Niki drew the small piece of crisp paper from the deep pocket. It felt fragile and, unfolding it, she realized it had been accompanying her jacket on its adventures for the past two years.
Knicks, good luck with your drumming career.
Sorry your band landed on tough times:
Hang in there.
-Joey Ramone
The same little smile she had worn before the hopeless battle two years ago now spread across her face. She had forgotten she had left the note in her pocket. Now the nuts were shaking. Now the nuts were–?
The table began to shake and Niki and Whistler jumped back out of their chairs. Niki dropped the small piece of paper and, with a small explosion of tiles and plywood, the floor under their table was pushed up.
A massive head with four gleaming eyes and a wide fang-filled mouth engulfed the table from beneath, rising up from the hole in the floor with a deafening roar. By the time the massive head was six feet above the floor, two large, grasping hands appeared from inside the hole and hauled the rest of the creature's massive bulk from underground.
There was a moment after the first deafening roar when everyone just stared, their eyes wider than humanly possible as the thing from the hole looked around, its great nostrils flaring. Whistler was slowly backing away, putting two and two together and keeping away from the Slayer.
Niki cocked her head, intrigued, as the thing from beneath the floor dragged itself fully from the hole and sniffed loudly. Whistler continued to back away and Niki turned to him with a frown.
"Look what you started: This wasn't a demon bar until you came—"
Then the screaming began. The people dining and drinking at the Marionette had never seen a real demon before, let alone a Wreqoe dragon. It began to get excited at the screaming and the fleeing and let out another deafening roar, knocking several people over with its club-like tail.
The Slayer stood her ground, crossing her arms as if unimpressed. With a sure move, she reached out and took Whistler by the collar, pulling him back to her. "The Council?"
He nodded. "They'll kill you anyway they can. They have seers who've predicted your death — they're just trying to make sure. They've got a lot invested in your destiny."
"So do I," Niki let him go, roughly, pulling her leather jacket on. "Time to be the killer again."
As it turned the Wreqoe dragon caught sight of Niki, its four eyes widening to terrifying proportions. Niki could see four dark, glassy reflections of herself as the thing looked at its prey. It's nostrils flared and it inhaled her scent, raising itself to its full height, its head slamming hard into the ceiling and bringing down more tiles and plywood.
"So this is it," she said, readying herself. She raised her fists and narrowed her gaze. She was alternately thankful and regretful that she had drank so much. It would dull her pain, certainly, but it was also dulling her reflexes. "This is how I go..."
Whistler turned on his heel, close to the exit and the screaming crowd of customers trying to leave. "So now you're Ms. Fatalistic?" He put his hands angrily on his hips. "I thought you were all about the free choice?"
The head came at her and Niki jumped aside, driving her fist into the side of its face. He reared up again and prepared to lunge again. "But – but you just said my death is important! How we die is inevitable and meaningful and all that!"
"Oh, come on!" the demon in the plum jacket shouted with annoyance, "I was just talking outa my ass! You're not supposed to get eaten by some random orthodontist's nightmare!"
Niki somersaulted between the massive jaws just before they snapped shut and slammed both fists as one into one the dragon's eyes. It roared so loud the mirror behind the bar shook its way loose and smashed on the floor.
"How the hell do you know!?" Niki hollered, her eardrums still ringing. "Who's to say this isn't my destiny? My life's been—" jumped away from a swiping hand "—random and pointless and needlessly violent—" caught the fist which came down to crush her, shoving it to one side and running behind the creature "—and why the hell isn't it appropriate to get eaten in a bar fight?" The dragon's club-like tail hit her full on in the chest and sent her flying into the wall where the mirror used to be.
"Well, if you think it's your destiny to get eaten, why are you fighting so hard?" Whistler argued, crossing his arms. He glanced behind him and noticed the bar was now empty except for the three of them.
"Maybe because I'm shit-faced!" she shouted from behind the bar, standing up with a bottle of vodka in her hand. "I can't be held responsible for my actions."
"So let it eat you," Whistler challenged as the dragon turned to the bar to roar in Niki's direction, blowing her hair back away from her face.
Niki waved away the foul breath of the Wreqoe dragon and took a generous swig from the bottle. "Maybe I don't wanna." She ducked back down behind the bar and came back up with a dishrag. She stuffed one end into the bottle of vodka and then had to duck again as a dragon-hand swept along the bar to collect her head.
When she came back up again she had a lighter in her other hand. It took several tries, but Niki finally lit the Molotov cocktail and hurled it into the demon's mouth. With a terrific roar, it shot a massive column of flame back at the Slayer, who again ducked behind the bar.
When she came up this time, though, there was nothing left of the dragon but a respectable pile of blackish grey ash.
"Did I just fuck up my destiny?" Niki asked, hopping over the bar and wandering towards her other demon companion for the evening.
Whistler laughed. "If anything were going to fuck up your destiny, Niki, it would be beer. But no, I really don't think you were meant to get eaten there."
"Why not?" Niki frowned, slowing their exit from the demolished club.
Whistler sighed and turned back to her. "Because... the rest of those involved with your ultimate end aren't ready yet."
Niki blinked, thinking long and hard about this. This proved difficult considering the very small amount of blood mixed in with the alcohol pumping through her veins. Finally she took another step forward towards the exit. "Did you know they're thinking of reopening the Nail Biter?"
Whistler's eyes widened. "Really? They're not hiring, are they?"
--
Kenneth blinked wearily as he came to. He tried to make a sound, but there was still a plastic tube down his throat. As the haze cleared, he could see two shapes standing over him. They didn't seem to have noticed he was awake and he very slowly felt for the morphine control. It was gone.
"You understand how uncomfortable I am having an angel who specializes in death hanging around my family. That's understandable, right? I'm not crazy?"
Michael shook his head with a smile. "You're not... well, you're not that crazy." The man in the white silk shirt and the blue silk tie slowly crossed his arms as Logan continued to look troubled. "I don't want you to think of me as an angel of death... or an angel associated with death."
"But you are associated with death. Or are you telling me it's just a fetish?" Logan glanced down at the English patient who was pretending to be unconscious. "You're here now, does that mean this guy's going to die?"
Michael showed true frustration for the first time. "It's... exhausting how much you don't understand."
Logan raised his eyebrows and scoffed. "Well, I'm sorry I exhaust you so much. I just assumed being an angel you wouldn't be so skittish about admitting what you are."
"I'm not an angel of death," Michael protested, making frustrated fists. "I'm more like an angel of—" he suddenly held up a cautionary finger. "You know what? You're annoying." Logan frowned in confusion. Michael shook the finger he held in Logan's face. "I'm not an angel of anything. I'm an angel. That's all there is to it. I'm Michael."
"Michael of Death. Okay, I can deal with that." Logan turned back to Kenneth but continued to speak to the man beside him. "You know, if you try anything with my family, I could send you to hell so fast the guy upstairs would do a double take."
"He's going to die," Michael said simply, cutting through Logan's not-quite-empty threats. They both looked down at Kenneth who, Logan could tell, had heard what was being said.
"But's he's in stable condition..." He let the comment hang there. "Unless he's going to be killed." Still, Michael said nothing. "I've got no reason to kill him. Even if he's after Niki, she can take care of herself."
"There are two paths," the angel sounded almost as if he was talking to himself, but he waited patiently for Logan to respond. When he did not, Michael elaborated. "Two paths but only one route."
Logan frowned and squinted, finally turning to the man beside him. "Do they diverge in a wood? You've got to give me something else, here." He laughed. "Are you on something? Seriously... Are you like the angel of LSD?"
"The way to get from here to somewhere else. By either of the two paths. But only one of them will be followed." He indicated the Brit who was trying to remain motionless. "He's on one of them, but he's where it crosses the one I'm on. Bad place to be."
"You're starting to sound like Whistler," Logan said with concern. "And I can't stand him."
Michael turned and gave a genuine smile. "Whistler's on one of the paths too. Not mine, though. And not yours. He's on the Slayer's path."
Logan shrugged, fighting the complete lack of sense in this conversation. "Too bad for her."
The angel continued to smile. "Whistler thinks we're all going down his path... but he doesn't see the other path. Niki has seen it, but she doesn't know it."
Logan smirked sarcastically. "But you, you're the all-seeing Angel of..." his smile melted, "Destiny," he finished weakly.
Michael cocked his head and turned back to Kenneth without response. "He's not an assassin," the angel noted, taking a step closer to the motionless form. The hiss of the ventilator and the relatively steady bleep, bleep of the ECG filled the quiet of the ICU.
"No, I suppose he came all the way from England to sell me some insurance," Logan muttered, no humor in his voice. He too stepped forward to the other side of the Brit's bed. "Who is he?"
Michael slowly reached out and caressed the side of Kenneth's face. The man's eyes flickered behind his eyelids and he flinched very slightly. "Ask him," Michael suggested.
Logan frowned and leaned over the Brit's face. "I know you're awake. If you're not an assassin, what were you doing at my house?" He heard a whimper from the Watcher as the question summoned memories Kenneth could not control. Bleep, bleep, bleep, his heart rate jumped as he opened his eyes, trying to bury the images.
Logan blinked uncertainly as faces of people he didn't know began to flash before his eyes. They were chanting. They were witches. There were Watchers — Council Watchers with them. They were speaking — Logan couldn't quite make it out. Something urgent. Someone was going to die. The Chosen. The next Chosen would be called. A name was called; the Watchers were nodding, writing it down. A picture was being passed around. More nods.
"Who is it?" Bleep-bleep-bleep-bleep, Logan could tell Kenneth was fighting the memories as hard as he could and very slowly the conjurer laid a hand on the side of the Watcher's face.
Instantly another face sprang before his eyes. Color drained from Logan's face as the girl's smile pierced his heart. No, Logan slowly shook his head. No chance in hell...
"Two paths, one route," Michael folded his hands, his work already accomplished. "And now you have to choose."
Logan tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. With an ashen face, he slowly took his hand from Kenneth, his fingernails glowing. Kenneth's eyes were wide and his jaw was working around the plastic tube which ran down his throat. He gurgled, trying to call out.
With electricity sparking between his fingers, Logan, wide-eyed, reached down and covered the Watcher's eyes with one hand and aimed a trembling finger at the banks of equipment alive and humming near the bed. Kenneth gripped Logan's hand, twisting weakly on the bed, unable to see what was going on. The ECG bleeped rapidly.
Michael closed his eyes and Logan touched the machinery with the end of his glowing finger, Hanna's smiling face burned into his mind's eye. Everything he had ever known about the disastrous life of Niki Valtaine pounded between his temples as the electricity crackled. Not my little girl, he swore.
Bleep... bleep...