Bring Me To Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event
Part 45
Interlude
Sunnydale, California-Summers Residence, Basement
6:31 a.m. - Early Morning
Days Before The End Of Days: 15
CRACK!
WAP!
THWACK!
SMACK!
"Harder! Again!" Dawn urged, eyes ablaze, lovely face glowing with perspiration.
A panting, sweaty Connor, his sinewy, tank-top clad form drenched with sweat, eagerly complied.
It would normally be a dream for any healthy 18-year-old young man like Connor to hear those words coming from an amazingly hot girlfriend with legs for days like Dawn Summers…
...except the two attractive supernatural teens weren't banging hips. They were banging quarterstaffs.
Training early in the morning so Dawn could get in her chance to up her skills while the rest of Team White Hat slept in the Summers home. Spike had been out late to see if he could shake any info loose from the local demon bars about this mysterious Caleb guy, which left the basement where he was sleeping wide open for training. Dawn approached training with an unseen ferocity that had been missing in her previous training with Connor. While she had always taken her training seriously since her powers awakened, Connor could see that something was different this morning.
Dawn trained like a woman possessed. Hitting hard. Dodging deftly. Throwing herself in the drills with reckless abandon, a steely-eyed focus that reminded Connor of the look he had seen in her older sister when he and Buffy fought the first time.
"Whoa!" He shouted as Dawn's swipe of her staff barely missed his head. He tried to play it off with a rare joking smile. "Hey, take it easy, Daw—"
He didn't get to finish. In a furious blur, the blossoming brunette beauty rapped his staff to the floor and caught him off guard with a wicked right cross that hit Connor square in the jaw. Dazed from the blow of an increasingly stronger Dawn, the once-feared The Destroyer of Quor'toth was defenseless as his girlfriend twirled the staff around deftly and landed it flush right into his back, and brought the staff down hard again to knock his legs out from under him.
Connor fell to his back, groaning in pain, greeted by the sight of his leggy, angry girlfriend standing gloriously over him in victory.
"Oww..not bad," Connor winced, rubbing his tender back. There was no doubt in his mind that Dawn had become stronger in the last few days.
The Key, not satisfied, extended her hand, quickly picked him up to get ready for another sparring round.
"Again," she curtly demanded, rounding opposite him to get into battle position.
Normally, Dawn had been more playful, more flirtatious in training whenever she'd get in a good blow on Connor, kissing the sore spot tenderly to "make it better", her airy laugh a soothing balm, her kisses in between training more quenching to Connor than a hundred water bottles in the Ash Forest of Quor'Toth.
But today, the sweet, smiling, thoughtful brunette with the big blue eyes that had stolen his heart was not here. In her place was this battle-hungry, relentless, driven young woman who was short on patience and temper.
"Hey...ease up," Connor said placating. "We've been going for like an hour now, Dawn."
"Getting tired already?" Dawn said in almost a sneer. Very uncharacteristic, a concerned Connor noted. He wasn't even sure Dawn knew how to sneer.
Taking some offense to that, Connor said, "No! No, of course not. I just…" He hesitated.
"What?" an impatient Dawn demanded.
"It's just...you feeling okay? You seem...angry," Connor said, a look of sweet concern in his sky blue eyes.
Normally, Dawn would have found that look irresistible. Kissable, even. But she was not in the mood for kisses today.
"What's there to be mad about?" She asked, a sarcastic, angry tone in her voice. Twirling her staff, Connor reflexively readied his to block and parry.
"How my house is packed to the brim with strangers?" She asked, eyes narrowed as she gruffly slammed her staff into Connor's.
"How Angel's half a world away risking his life?" Another vicious rap of Dawn's staff, the blow harder than the last one and forcing a surprised Connor to brace back on his left foot.
"How Spike and Faith promised to train me and ditched me for two days to go play tonsil hockey or whatever?" CRACK!
"How we lost Anna, our friend?" WAP! Connor had to use more advanced moves now to keep up with an increasingly angry Dawn's furious attack.
Dawn's blue eyes were misting with angry tears that she dared not let loose. "How Giles, who I love like a father, was willing to kill me to save the world?" WAP! THWACK!
"Dawn, ease up!" an alarmed Connor warned her as he braced against the Key's unrelenting onslaught.
"Or that, to save the world, my own sister would let" WAP! "Me" CRACK! "DIE!" CRACK! WAP! THWACK! THWACK!THWACK!WACK!THWACK!
In a rage, Dawn's staff broke clean through Connor's staff, snapping it into two pieces. Instinctively, Connor dropped the broken wood in his hands, letting it clatter to the floor as he launched himself at Dawn, wrapping both arms around her and spinning towards his back to cushion their fall as they tumbled to the ground.
Confused and annoyed, Dawn struggled and squirmed briefly in Connor's grip until she felt his strong hand gently come up and touch her face lovingly. Forcing her to stop everything and focus on Connor's concerned, handsome face. His beautiful cheekbones that were some kind of graceful, but strong mix from Angel and Darla.
"...Feeling better?" Connor asked in a rare, vulnerably sweet way.
As she stared back into his eyes, Dawn felt her heart move and her inner schoolgirl swoon at the way he asked it. So lovingly. So gently. Ignoring that she had just been a mega alpha bitch to him and nearly taken his head off. Part of her wanted to just kiss him and keep kissing him until all this hurt and pain she was feeling, this betrayal, was nothing but a bad memory…
...except she couldn't stop thinking about what The First showed her the other day. Couldn't stop thinking about Buffy saying she'd let her own sister die to save the world. Couldn't stop thinking about how she casually discarded those words and went back to making jokes as she beat up a vampire. Like Dawn was nothing to her.
Like she had never been anything…
...nothing real, anyway…
Harshly, she pushed him away, huffing "No" as she made her way to her feet.
Sighing as he swallowed hard to ignore the intimacy of their interrupted moment, Connor slowly rose to his feet. "Dawn...if you wanna talk about it…?"
"No," Dawn shook her head, angrily folding her arms together. A beat. "Yes." Another beat. "I don't know."
An unsure Connor replied, "Okay, well, when you pick one…"
"How could she say that?" She asked finally, the hurt in her eyes evident. "She was willing to die for me once. She DID die for me once! And it hurt, God, it hurt so bad, like the world had really ended...but I got it. She did it because that's what family does. We protect each other…" Dawn's hands toyed with the small locket around her neck. Opened them to reveal a picture of her beloved mother, Buffy and Dawn herself, posing for a picture at the pier during Memorial Day three years ago.
The Summers women. Strong. Smart. United. Family.
Dawn's eyes felt the tears threatening to spill, blinking them back. "Family is supposed to be forever," she said quietly.
Connor saw the pain that his girlfriend was in, and he hated it. If only that pain was in physical form, so that Connor could kill it. Slash its throat, step on it for good measure and make sure it never bothered Dawn again. But Connor was pretty sure that he could do no such thing with Dawn's sister. Aside from the fact that even he wasn't sure he could take her, he was definitely sure Dawn would never forgive him.
"Hey…" He approached her, closing the gap between them. "Dawn, look. We don't know if what The First showed us was real. You've heard what Buffy and my da...Angel said. It's evil. Hell, it's in its name. We can't trust anything it shows us."
Connor silently realized he was still unsure of how to refer to Angel as, even now. It still felt like calling his true father by that name would somehow be a betrayal to the man who raised him, Holtz. Even though Connor was starting to realize more and more that Holtz was indeed one crazy bastard and was disgustingly selfish to kidnap an innocent kid into a hell dimension just to get vengeance on an enemy, even if that enemy did kill his family…there was still a small part of Connor that wasn't ready yet to disavow Holtz completely. Or completely accept Angel as his true father. But there was a growing part of him that wanted to do both.
To let go of his anger and start again, like Dawn and his mom said.
"I don't think it was lying," a troubled Dawn said, unconvinced as she shut the locket. "Like it said...sometimes the truth hurts worse."
"Well, you could try talking to Giles about it. He was there. Or better yet, just ask Buffy herself," Connor suggested, helpfully.
Dawn scoffed at the idea. "Right. And how'd that conversation go? 'Hey Buffy, nice day we're having, 'Dawson's Creek' is on in a few minutes, oh, and are you willing to kill me to save the world'?" She shook her head, dismissively. "Yeah, that'll be a dinner for the ages."
Connor sighed. "Good point. Families are complicated."
Frustrated at the lack of useful advice, and still emotional as she thought about her sister's betraying words, Dawn snapped offhandedly, "Oh, what the hell do you know? You don't have a fam—"
Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what she was about to say.
But while the sentence didn't finish, the meaning of her words was plainly clear to Connor, who stared back at her with a heartbreaking mix of shock, hurt and anger.
"A what, Dawn? What were you gonna say, 'family?'" A frowning Connor asked, his voice low. Accusing. Wounded. "No, no, that's a good point. I don't have one of those. I mean, my mom killed herself when I was born, my real dad's a vampire and my fake dad was a crazy asshole who thought it'd be a good idea to raise a baby in a hell dimension to take his crappy life out on me. What do I know about family drama, right?"
Realizing her mistake, Dawn stared back at him with glassy eyes. "Con...no, I didn't mean it, that's…"
Off his hurt, angry stare, Dawn, now thoroughly disgusted with her behavior, realized she needed to get her temper in check. Connor was on her side. He might be one of the few people in this house who really was.
"Connor...look, I'm sorry. Babe...I'm sorry, okay?" Dawn said earnestly, pleadingly. "That was so stupid of me. I didn't mean that. It's just...this is hard for me, y'know?"
It was hard for Connor, her words still like salt on the open wounds of his crappy life. But he just couldn't bring himself to stay angry with her. He couldn't...it's Dawn. That's when he started to realize that he might indeed be falling in love with the youngest Summers girl.
So swallowing his pride, he pushed his feelings down and managed a smile. "Forget it. We're cool."
Relieved, Dawn gave him a grateful smile. How'd I ever get so lucky?
"Thanks." Her smile then became coquettish. "C'mere, Cuteness."
A grinning Connor obliged and the two teens fell into each other, their lips meeting in a sweet kiss that became more heated.
Suddenly pulling away from him a little, yet not leaving his arms, Dawn thought over his words. "Maybe you're right."
Connor frowned a little. "About what?"
Taking a deep breath, Dawn got a pensive look in her eyes. "I need answers. I'm gonna go talk to Giles when he's doing his research thing this afternoon."
"Oh…well, good. Good idea," Connor agreed.
Dawn gave him a beaming smile. "C'mon, let's go snag some breakfast before Molly, Vi, Amanda and the rest of the Wanna-Slay Squad eats up the rest of the food."
Chuckling, Connor nodded. "I wouldn't say no to breakfast right now. Just let me put away the staffs and I'll be up in a sec."
"You'd pick up after me, too?" Dawn sweetly cooed. "Best. Boyfriend. Ever."
They kissed sweetly, a quick peck, before Dawn quickly bounded up the stairs. Connor smiled to himself, still on a natural high from her candy-like scent on his nostrils as he quickly hung up the quarterstaffs and then turned to go up the stairs…
...and froze in horror as he caught sight of an achingly familiar figure in the corner of the basement.
Holtz.
It...it can't be...Connor stared in shock at his adoptive father...or something eerily close to him...eying him across the room. A judging, disapproving look on his weathered, aged features. Those eerily dark eyes staring at him in silent condemnation.
This is impossible. That's what Connor told himself. Holtz was dead. He held his dead body in his own arms, cried over him a year ago. Holtz had killed himself with the help of Justine, Connor knew that now, in an attempt to turn Connor against Angel. Connor had crushed his corpse into pulp with a sledgehammer, to prevent what he thought would be his resurrection as a vampire, thinking his true father Angel had done the deed.
A chill crawled up Connor's spine as he stared in disbelief at the man who raised him in hell…How? How is it possible…?
"Connor? You coming up?"
Dawn's voice distracted Connor as he looked up to the door upstairs, then turned back to Holtz…
...and found nothing there.
Gone.
As if he'd never been there at all.
A confused, shaken Connor felt his normally steady hand tremble. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Connor looked back up towards the upstairs door.
'Yeah...I'll be right there," Connor called back up to Dawn.
With one last look at the empty corner of the room, Connor took another breath. Just seeing things. It wasn't real...he wasn't real…
And then he walked upstairs quickly, not wanting to linger a moment longer.
Sunnydale, California-Summers Residence, Living Room
Same Time
As he sat in the living room, laptop on, cell phone in one hand and his third cup of coffee in the other, Lindsey rubbed his face tiredly. The caffeine was doing its job, but he still wouldn't mind sleep.
Except he couldn't sleep.
Couldn't think. Couldn't even think about Darla. Or whatever it was that was happening between her and that pompous twit Wesley, and how he was losing ground in that fight.
Not after hearing that briefing last night. 'Dresses like a preacher. Calls himself Caleb.'
Never had seven words caused him such a sleepless night. So much so that he spent the early morning hours surfing the web, using every virtual library he could get into, including the criminal databases his legal license still allowed him access, and making calls.
This latest one, was to his brother Earl, back in Clarity, Iowa.
"Are you sure you haven't seen him there lately?" Lindsey asked quietly, a sense of urgency tinging his voice as he sat on the couch.
"I would've told ya if that bastard showed up, Lindsey, you know that."
"Are you positive, Earl?" Lindsey pressed. He had to be sure.
"Lindsey...you know he's not welcome back here anymore. Not after what he did. If I'da seen him, I would've called you. After calling the cops. He's gone. It's been years since he's even looked at Clarity. Thank God for that. Why all the fuss? Have you heard something?"
Lindsey paused, considered telling his brother...what, exactly? That he was calling on a hunch? No, he thought. He didn't need to spook his family like that. They suffered enough already.
"No," Lindsey sighed. "No, haven't heard anything. Just...just keep me posted on the homefront if anything happens, okay?"
"Sure thing. See you back home soon?"
Lindsey wasn't so sure he could promise that...but he didn't want to disappoint Earl. He always saw the best in him. He gave a lazy smile. "You bet. Talk soon, Earl. Tell Lisa I send my love."
"Haha...you can tell her yourself when you get back. Stay safe, little brother."
As he hung up the phone, Lindsey found himself going back through a backdoor program installed on the servers of the databases of Wolfram and Hart. While it was supposed to be highly secure, Lindsey long ago made sure that he could find a way to access those files. It wasn't easy, or cheap, but it was worth it. The law firm's database had information on it that matched, and even outmatched, any law enforcement agency on the planet. All helpful tools when going ghost-hunting. Especially for this particular ghost from his past. Persistent, Lindsey kept looking. Perusing, surfing, looking for any trace of…
[MATCH FOUND]
The screen slowly pulled up an image.
'McDonald, Caleb Anderson—RESTRICTED ACCESS. Attorney Privilege Only'
Swallowing, Lindsey paused briefly, as if he was having second thoughts about opening this Pandora's box. Deciding that no good would come of running away from this dark family secret, Lindsey took a deep breath, another swig of coffee and slowly punched in the password.
[ACCESS GRANTED]
A slew of folders, legal paperwork and other files suddenly popped up on screen.
But Lindsey only had eyes for one thing...the large picture to the left.
The mug shot of a young man, dark, familiar hair. Even darker eyes. Lifeless and black and frightening. A smug smirk on his otherwise handsome face.
Damn it all...Lindsey was hoping he'd never have to see this image again. Not in this lifetime.
Lindsey felt his blood simmer as he took one more swig of his coffee. Coldly staring back at the man with the smirking, sadistic gleam in his dark eyes in the mugshot.
"Hello, Caleb."
Los Angeles, California—The Offices of Wolfram and Hart
10 Years Earlier
In a rage, Lindsey slammed Caleb against the wall of the empty white conference room, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck.
"You sick, demented, piece of shit!" Lindsey snarled, his temper on the verge of exploding.
Wearing his orange prison scrubs, Caleb only laughed. Damn it, the bastard was laughing. Lindsey had put himself through hell, had gone through hell, and this son of a bitch was laughing at him.
"Why, counselor, I do believe that's most unbecoming behavior for a respectable defender of the law," Caleb drawled, that smug, slick grin on his face as he was getting a kick out of this.
Lindsey wanted to punch him. Punch him until Lindsey's own fist broke. Punch until his head was just a bloody stump.
"Sixteen years old. SIXTEEN, Caleb! That girl had her whole life ahead of her. You know DAMN well we didn't authorize you to kill anyone other than your one damn target. There was nothing we could do about her dad, but she didn't have to die, too!"
Caleb merely smiled, holding his hands up innocently. "Hey, she made me, Lindsey. Dem boys you work for were super clear on their instructions—leave no witnesses."
Lindsey called bullshit on that immediately. "Yeah, but they were also clear on this one other rule—case out the place first to make sure there are no witnesses. You forgot about that one, numbnuts?"
In disgust, Lindsey shoved Caleb away, hard. Being a lawyer here at Wolfram and Hart was never easy for Lindsey. He was good at what he did. REAL good. That's why the Special Projects Division was a door that swiftly opened for him, and the money and benefits and luxuries that came with it. But on days like this, it weighed on his soul heavily.
Like in this case. Caleb had been hired as a contract killer by the firm. He had one job. Eliminate a whistle-blower at an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company that was going to squeal to the feds about the company's illegal dumping practices at their Texas branch. It was supposed to be quick. Clean. Simple. And most importantly, quiet.
Until Caleb decided that night that he didn't want to just stop with the whistle-blower. He wanted to have some fun with the man's daughter, too. A sixteen-year-old kid in high school. Pretty. Blonde. Sweet. A cheerleader who volunteered at church. Perfect 4.0 average. Was thinking about applying to a few Ivy League schools. She was as All-American as apple frickin' pie, Lindsey mused in shame.
What Caleb did to that poor girl...there weren't any words for what he did. The crime scene photos told the entire story. Lindsey would never be able to forget those photos as long as he lived. And what's worse was that he KNEW that Caleb had done it on purpose. Lindsey had a feeling Caleb had been eyeing that girl for weeks leading up to the murders. Caleb always did have some sick kick for going after women, after all.
And the stupid bastard had to go and get himself caught, too. He strolled out of the dead man and daughter's apartment with their blood on his face. Wearing a preacher's outfit as a cover, posing as a minister giving door-ro-door sermons, his usual MO. Witnesses who ID'ed him said he was smiling about it. Whistling, even, mused Lindsey in revulsion.
He had to pull every legal trick in the book to get Caleb off the hook. Circumvent the nearly-airtight evidence. Work all his legal magic to provide a case for Caleb's innocence. And ignore the heartbreaking pleas for justice of the man's widow and girl's daughter, now left without both of them, as she was out of the country during the murders.
All so this smug, laughing piece of shit could walk free, Lindsey thought in disgust.
"All right, ya got me. I wanted to have a little fun with the little whore. What's the big deal?" Caleb smirked, casually shrugging it off. "I got the job done, didn't I? That pencil-pusher won't be singing to the feds anytime ever. Consider the girl a...bonus incentive for a job well done." He erupted in insane laughter. As if butchering a teenage girl was the funniest thing in the world.
That was Lindsey's breaking point. Shut up. ShutupShutUpShutUpSHUTUP!
The moral part of him that he worked so hard to smother down now burning with righteous fury and outrage, Lindsey hauling back and punched the ever holy hell out of Caleb. Blood and saliva flew out of the good ol' boy's mouth as Lindsey's right cross left its mark across Caleb's left cheek.
Stumbling, Caleb grunted in pain as he fell against the large white legal table in the conference room. Slamming the man's head down hard against it, Lindsey reached behind his waist and pulled out a concealed Glock 43 pistol. The cool metal pressed against Caleb's head as Lindsey cocked back the safety.
Lindsey's voice was cool, deadly. Serious as death. "I pull back on this trigger, and all that's left of your head will look like the world's ugliest, messiest Italian dinner. And you know where we are. Nobody would ever find you. Nobody would ever realize you were even missing. I can make it that way, Caleb. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow your sick ass into the next lifetime."
Coughing, a bloody-mouthed Caleb still had that damn smile on his face. "Well, for starters...Daddy wouldn't appreciate it much, would he? From up there in the big cradle in the sky? Tell me, Mister Hotshot Lawyer...what would our daddy think of his two blue-eyed boys roughhousing like this, hmm? It'd just about break his heart. Hehehe."
Lindsey felt his trigger finger itch. It would be so easy.
Just squeeze once, and he's gone. Squeeze and this sick monster that stained his family's name, made his life a living hell growing up, would be gone forever. Squeeze once and he'd give that poor girl the justice she deserved. Would probably save a bunch of other girls just like her from the same fate.
All he'd have to do is squeeze once…
Damn it all. Damn it all to hell, Lindsey thought in disgust as he switched the safety back on, hauled Caleb up on his feet. Some days, Lindsey really hated this job.
"Well, now," Caleb crowed in his Western drawl, rubbing his sore, bloody jaw, but never once losing that demented, evil grin. "You had me goin' real good for a second, there, kiddo. Thought you were really gonna see what it's like from where I stand. See the world through my eyes. That girl, the other ones before her, the ones that come after, all them folks I let loose of this mortal coil...they mean nothin'. They're cattle. I'm the lion. Setting a soul free? Watching the life leave their eyes when it happens, the shock, like they can't believe it's happening to them?...It's empowering. Intoxicating, even. It's like a...religious experience."
Lindsey felt his skin crawl as he watched this degenerate speak so glibly of the people he killed. Lindsey had begrudgingly accepted that this kind of work was just part of the job at the law firm. It was business to Lindsey, never personal. That's what he always told himself. But Caleb...he enjoyed killing. He reveled in it. He damn near found it spiritual. It made Lindsey sick to his stomach to think about.
Caleb's dark eyes seemed to go black, lifeless as he leered at Lindsey, stepping closer to him. "But that's not where you live, is it, little brother? Nah, nah, you...you live in the big white tower, with all these big shot lawyers. With the nice dress suits and them 'faaancy' Rolexes and I-tal-ian cars with the tops that come down what make you think you're better than all of us. Nothing but the best for Daddy's good little boy. The smart one. The one that came from the good girl he married with the good marriage and the kids…"
Caleb's smile faded, an eerie calm on his face. A bitter tone in his voice. "Not the broke girl who he left to die while he ran off with the girl of his dreams. The girl who left him his oldest son."
"Enough of that shit, Caleb," Lindsey growled, unafraid as he got right in the psychopath's face. "Yeah, you were the oldest. Yeah, your mom had a rough deal with our dad leaving her. But when Daddy took you into our home and we raised you, we tried everything to make you a part of our family! We wanted you to be a part of it. But you were already broken when you got there and you decided to stay broken. Hell, you got worse. I should've said something when you started showing the signs of becoming...this…" Lindsey waved at all of Caleb, every inch of the sociopathic killer he had become. "...And not saying anything is my sin. My mistake. That's on me. So I owned that. That's why I tried to cover for you. But after this?"
Lindsey shook his head adamantly. "Forget it. I'm done paying for your mistakes."
He walked over to his briefcase, opened it and pulled out a lengthy contract. Slamming the paperwork down on the desk, Lindsey waved a pen in front of Caleb. "This right here? Consider this the termination of your services here at Wolfram and Hart. You sign this. And once you do, you're done here. History. AND you never say a word about your business here with us. To anyone. Ever. In exchange, we wipe you from the record books. Completely. No name, no criminal background, no history, no school records, no dental records, not even a freakin' library card. It'll be like you don't even exist. You can go wherever you want. Except two places. Wolfram and Hart…" Lindsey leaned in close, making sure Caleb had his undivided attention. "...and back home. You sign this, you never even think about going back to Clarity, anywhere near Earl, Lisa, or anyone in my family ever again. Not even our pets."
Caleb paused for a moment. Smirked again. "Don't cha mean 'our' family, l'il brother?"
"Half-brother. And MY family. Sign this, and then as far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me. To all of us." Lindsey said firmly, his eyes steel, and his smile ice cold. "And if you don't sign it, I guarantee you that you will not leave this building alive. Hell, you won't even leave this building. You ever seen what a Chirago Demon can do to its prey? They're 600 pounds, they rip the head off and start eating everything from the inside. Suck all the insides right out. Then they slurp 'em down. Slurp. Like Ramen noodles. Don't believe me? We got one I can teleport over here in a second with one phone call if you like...brother."
The showdown was tense...a contest of wills as both half-siblings stared at one another…
...and it was Caleb who finally blinked. Smiling. "L.A.'s gotten boring for me, anyway. All that smog."
He took the pen, lowered it and began to sign. Stopped and gave Lindsey an evil grin. "But y'know somethin', little brother? Something tells me we ain't done yet. After all, you know what they say...the Lord works in mysterious ways..."
Lindsey shook his head as his thoughts drifted back to the present.
He knew he should have kept better track of Caleb.
But he got so busy with everything else, and then Angel came to town and threw a spanner into the works of everything.
Lindsey was never a religious man, but he was tempted to start praying. Praying that he was wrong.
Praying that this mysterious preacher man named Caleb wasn't the ghost of his past.
Because if he was right...then whatever this man did next was going to be Lindsey's fault.
And Lindsey knew it.
Don't let it be him, Lindsey prayed silently to whoever was listening, shutting his eyes tight. Please...don't let it be him...anyone but him...
The Deeper Well—Deep in the Bowels of the Earth
Two Hours Earlier
As far as giant, mysterious, torch-lit caverns went...this had to be the longest one that Angel had walked, the immortal detective concluded.
Bearing a torch, Drogyn the Battlebrand, Keeper of the Well, led the way through the rock-lined, dank and dark corridors of the Deeper Well, leading a Champion, a Messenger and an Archmage. And they definitely weren't walking into a bar.
"Hell of a spread you got here," Angel mused as he gazed through the endless dark corridors.
"While the Deeper Well's primary purpose is to keep the spirits of the Old Ones interred and locked away to prevent their rise into the mortal world, another part of the well also acts as a safehouse of sorts," Drogyn explained. "For mystical items too powerful to fall into the wrong hands. They're always under heavy guard. Constant surveillance day and night. Of these artifacts, none are more powerful than Hope's Dagger. The legendary blade of the Champion of the Powers That Be. Forged from the first ray of light ever to shine upon the earth. A ray of light that came from the Eye of Creation itself. Hope's Dagger is more than just a weapon. It's a symbol. A beacon of hope, the lone flame in the darkness, burning brightly when all other lights go out. We could not risk such a weapon falling into the hands of the forces of darkness. So we hid it away, under the heaviest of guard. Where it would lay safe until one who was worthy could claim it. "
"You're referring to The Brotherhood of the Chosen, I imagine," Alasdair ventured. "The legend said they help safeguard the well."
"Correct," Drogyn said. "I'm the Brotherhood's First Captain. Its leader. Most of my brethren have kept watch over the well for millennia, while others lie in wait across the world, training and living in secrecy until called to serve."
They had been walking for a long time now. So long that Angel was sure he'd have gotten a cramp if he still had circulation. They apparently didn't call this place "Deeper" for nothing.
"I would never have thought you'd end up here, Angel," Drogyn mused aloud, looking back at his friend. "You've come a long way since Poland."
Turning to his old war comrade, Angel gave the grim-faced warrior of legend the old once-over. "I could say the same."
Whistler couldn't help but chuckle as he looked back and forth between the two stoic immortal warriors. "Geez, would you look at that? Who'd a thought you two knew each other."
At that, Drogyn stopped and gave the Balance Demon a death stare.
"Relax, He-Man. That was a statement. I'm messin' round with ya, I already know that you do," Whistler shrugged casually.
Drogyn shook his head in annoyance and kept walking. He hadn't seen Whistler in about 500 years. Frankly, it was too soon for Drogyn's tastes. He found the talkative, wise-cracking Balance Demon to be a strain on his patience even in the best of times.
"So, Drogyn...any info you have on these trials I'm about to take part in would be helpful," Angel said, trying to change the topic to something useful.
"I'll tell you this—I wish you'd reconsider, Angel," Drogyn replied. "I've been here for decades and not once have I ever seen anyone challenging for the dagger leave here alive. I tell you this only as I hold you in a much higher regard than the previous challengers."
"Duly noted. Keep leading the way," Angel replied, unfazed. Still, something Drogyn said piqued Angel's interest. "I kinda figured that all the guys who came before me were all noble warrior types."
Drogyn shook his head. "They might have all fought on the same side...but some who tried were anything but noble in their intentions. I suspect that played a part in why they failed."
As they kept walking down the torch-lit caverns, Drogyn laid out what awaited Angel. "To wield the power of Hope's Dagger, you must be a champion in every sense of the word. As such, there are four trials designed to test those attributes. There is the Trial of Skill, the Trial of Courage, the Trial of the Spirit, and finally, the Trial of Devotion. Each test you face will be more difficult than the last. Though few have ever passed the first trial."
"I'm guessing that's the Trial of Skill," Angel surmised.
"Astute as always," Drogyn smirked at him.
"It's said the Trial of Skill pits the challenger against the souls of the Champions who failed before. Some of the greatest warriors to ever walk the earth," Alasdair said, fascinated with the history that must have passed through these old caverns.
"Correct," Drogyn replied, turning back to address Angel. "Human and demon alike. The fight is to the death. In the event you survive that, Angel, the next trial will be the Trial of Courage, which will test you against your greatest fears to test your resolve. Should you pass that, the Trial of the Spirit awaits you. That will test you against your darkest impulses. Everything inside you that you hate, that you fear about yourself. And finally, if you make it that far, there's the Trial of Devotion. It will be the final test of how far you're willing to go to use the dagger, what you're willing to do for the greater good."
Angel thought back to what Cordelia said and chuckled. "So it is an obstacle course. Like 'American Gladiators'."
"Season 2,3 or 4?" Drogyn asked casually.
Off that stunning utterance, all three men stopped and looked at the Keeper of the Well questioningly.
"What? We get Wi-Fi down here, too," a slightly miffed Drogyn replied, a little off put before he kept walking.
Despite the deadly challenge that awaited him, Angel had to bite down a smile at the thought of Drogyn binge-watching 'American Gladiators' from this dank mystical prison.
As Drogyn extinguished his torch in a tub of water at the entrance of another chamber, Angel, Whistler and Alasdair followed the keeper into the entranceway...which led to what Angel concluded was the largest gate he had ever seen.
A giant, iron-plated metal doorway with six guards on either side. Ornate, well-crafted, but formidable. Impenetrable. Angel vaguely was reminded of some of those fancy doors he saw in the film versions of 'Lord of the Rings', the one that led into that abandoned dwarf kingdom with a big fire demon.
God, I hope I don't have to face any fire demons. They're hell on the jacket, Angel thought wryly.
"Angel? The tablet. They're waitin'," Whistler nudged the distracted vampire.
Back in reality, Angel slipped his hand into his pocket and presented the stone tablet with the Latin writing Whistler had shown the other day. Drogyn motioned to a waist-high ivory pillar with a hole shaped like the tablet itself, where Angel guessed the tablet was supposed to go.
Not wasting any time, Angel placed the tablet into the hole.
Instantly, the gates began to rumble and creak, and the doorway began to slowly open. Awaiting there, a jet black darkness.
"Once the trials begin, the gate cannot be opened until either you complete the trial or you die," Drogyn said, giving Angel a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "I wish you well, old friend. If you don't make it...it was an honor knowing you."
Angel nodded back. "Thanks, old friend. But I'm not going in there to lose."
Drogyn sighed knowingly before he stepped back. "None ever do."
With a sigh, Whistler approached Angel, the teacher looking intently at his former pupil. "This is it. Everything we trained for. Everything you've been through. It's all for this. Everything from the moment you step through that door, you do alone. The world…all worlds…are counting on you. You up for it?"
His jaw set, his brown eyes hard, his lips set firm and his gaze glowing with determination, Angel balled his fists as he eyed the doorway. Where either death or the key to the world's salvation awaited.
For Buffy...For Connor...for Cordy...for all of them.
"Game on," Angel replied, his voice taut with steel.
Destiny awaiting him, Angel slowly walked into the black void, and the gates slowly closed shut behind him, sealing the Champion inside as he greeted the darkness.
His old friend.
Sunnydale, California-Summers Residence, Kitchen
12:48 p.m. - Afternoon
Days Before The End Of Days: 15
"...and Sunnydale authorities say they still have no leads in the deadly massacre that occurred around midnight last night at local strip club 'The Love In' in Sunnydale, where 28 people were found dead in what appears to have been a mass execution…"
All it took was a few shots at the singed walls and melted glass and a few close-ups of the slashing claw marks for Spike to figure out who was behind this.
"Drusilla. Definitely her handiwork. She always loved a good party. And it looks like she brought her newest mates Pearl and Nash along to play," Spike frowned.
Next to him, he felt Faith tense at the mention of those names.
Faith's deep doe-brown eyes hardly left the screen, her fists balling and uncurling reflexively. She had not forgotten what those three demon bastards had done to her or Spike the last time they met. Sons of bitches…
Unconsciously, he reached out and held her hand, his right thumb massaging slow, soothing circles above her knuckles. A comforting gesture. But while the gesture might have soothed Faith under different circumstances, all she could see was the charred remains of the strip club. All she could see in her mind were the taunting, leering faces of Drusilla and those two pale-faced half-breed bastards that harmed and humiliated her several nights ago.
All she saw was...red.
The news was blaring on the tiny TV in the kitchen, watched by Willow, Oz, Darla, Wesley, Giles, Kennedy, Kate and Anya, the latter of who had stopped by from her apartment to get briefed on the latest happenings.
"I don't like this," Wesley said grimly.
"I'd hope not. I'd have serious questions about your mental health if you did," Kennedy quipped.
Ignoring Kennedy, Darla frowned in thought as she glanced at Wesley. "I don't, either. First Shannon's death, and now this just one night after? That can't be a coincidence."
"I didn't think so, either," Giles added, wiping his spectacles as his brow creased in thought. "Those attacks came too close together. This is starting to feel deliberate."
"What do you mean 'deliberate?'" Kate asked, the cop in her coming to the forefront.
"If the First's minions are getting this bold with back-to-back attacks, that could be a prelude to something bigger," Wesley explained.
"Bigger how?" Willow asked, confused.
"I think that's the 65,000 dollar question," Oz replied, also in thought.
"Regardless, it's not good," Giles said, rounding the kitchen island and grabbing his discarded English breakfast tea. "If the First is really looking at a major play…"
"...then maybe it's not the time to go all Helm's Deep tonight at the First's hidey hole," Anya realized, connecting the dots. "Lends more credence to the whole 'It's a Trap' idea that Buffy's apparently decided to ignore."
Willow wanted to argue on her best friend's behalf, but she was starting to think Giles and Anya were right. She had seen what Pearl and Nash could do. They were bad news. And if The First was really starting to make its moves, who's to say whether charging into its lair wasn't exactly what it was counting on?
"Okay...we should tell Buffy. Maybe it'll convince her to put off the attack for another night or two until we can figure out what The First is planning," Willow suggested.
"I don't know. She seemed pretty gung-ho about the raid last night," Oz said. "Doesn't seem like she's open to suggestions."
"Then I'll try it one-on-one," Willow offered, helpfully. "Maybe she might be more open to it coming from me, instead of, y'know, dog-piling on her again like we did last night?"
Oz's lips slightly twitched in amusement. "Maybe you're right. Not sure I appreciated the 'dog-piling' comment, though. Us canine types don't pile on as much as you'd think."
Willow blushed. "Oops! Sorry, Oz, was that accidentally racist? Or werewolf-ist, I don't…?"
"Will...I kid," Oz smiled. "Hundred percent with the kidding."
Willow smirked, giving him a playful shove. "Right…been a while since I saw your 'kidding' face. Need to get used to it again to tell the difference."
"Maybe I'll stick around a little longer then. Get you re-accustomed to my wily ways," Oz quipped with a smile. Flirting, Willow noticed with a little flip of her heart in her chest.
A jealous beyond belief Kennedy scowled at the playful interaction between her (still?) girlfriend and (de-powered) witch and her werewolf ex-boyfriend. "So getting back to the massacre," the young Potential said loudly, deliberately wedging herself in between them as she looked at Giles, ignoring Willow's frown and Oz's coolly raised eyebrow. "Should we go out and find these guys? Personally, I wouldn't mind another crack at Nash for what he did to me back in that park."
"Get in line, greenhorn," Faith dismissively said. "That's way too much power for a newbie to handle." She looked at Giles again. "But the kid does have a point. Wouldn't mind taking the fight to them, going on the hunt, find whatever rock they crawled under."
"Absolutely not," Giles said with finality. "I've been able to do more research on this Pearl and Nash. They're incredibly powerful. It's a miracle you all survived an encounter with them, all things considered. Add Drusilla into the equation, and there's too much that could go wrong with a hunt right now."
"So, what, we just sit here with our thumbs up our asses and do nothing while they torch the rest of the town?" an irritated Faith asked, not liking what she heard.
"It won't do any good. Trust me," Spike said, eyeing Faith with some reassurance. "Trust me, if Dru's with 'em and she don't want to be found, they won't be."
"Spike's right. I'll give her this...she might be a lunatic, but she's a natural predator," Darla said, her past flickering back to watching Drusilla in action in the centuries past.
"In the meantime, while I'm still not in favor of it...it might be best for us to get ready for the attack tonight," Wesley said, a somewhat resigned, even tone in his voice. "We still need to set up wards around the house to fend off any attackers."
"I...can help you with that," Darla offered, her stunning blue eyes brightening as she made the offer.
Wesley couldn't hide the surprised look on his face. He clearly wasn't expecting that.
He considered it a moment. Then his lips curved upwards in a faint smile. "Yes, I...I suppose I could use the help. Thank you, Darla."
Seeing the brief spark of romance between the former vampiress and the ex-Watcher caused a small hint of wistfulness to course through GIles for a moment. He was briefly reminded of his beloved Jenny Calendar. His lost love.
Letting the feeling subside back into the corners of his heart, Giles pressed on. "Perhaps you're right. Let's start preparations for the attack. With any luck, Buffy will change her mind, but in the meantime—"
"Guys…" Kate's warning voice said as she came back into the kitchen. Giles had hardly realized she had left. "Police dispatch just called it in on the scanner. There's been another attack. Sunnydale Mall. Witnesses said a reddish-brown-haired woman and a skinless man walked into the 'Forever 21' store and began tearing the place up along with a few other shops by the food court before they took off. We have six dead, 18 injured so far. Police are on the scene."
The faces of alarm and slow realization filled the room.
"Reddish-brown hair?" Anya asked, a look of realization on her face at the description of the couple.
"Skinless man?" Oz got it, too, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the description.
Willow's eyes widened, before a most un-Willow-y scowl creased her cherubic features, anger beginning to flare through her.
"Amy...and Warren."
Deep within her green eyes…
...ever so slightly…..
….a tiny, glowing purple spark flickered.
Angrily.
TO BE CONTINUED...
NEXT: Angel's first trial in his quest to claim Hope's Dagger begins. Will he survive?
In Sunnydale, Buffy and her friends are going where she has never gone before. But lying in the shadows, waiting for her with death and destruction on his mind...the man known only as…
...Caleb…
More to come soon! Please comment and follow!
Best,
Jean-The Guardian
