Bring Me To Life – A Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel Crossover Event
Part 60
Empty Places, Part 2
Somewhere in a not-so-distant future
A nightclub in a not-so-distant place…maybe…
"Ain't found a way to kill me yet
Eyes burn with stinging sweat
Seems every path leads me to nowhere
Wife and kids, household pet
Army green was no safe bet
The bullets scream to me from somewhere"
The lyrics of the classic alternative grunge song "Rooster" from Alice in Chains probably wasn't meant to be belted through the ivory keys of a piano and a velvet-smooth, melodious crooning voice.
But for tonight, Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, known to his friends as "Lorne," made it sound like it was never meant to be played any other way.
"Here they come to snuff the rooster
Yeah, here come the rooster
You know he ain't gonna die
No, no, no, you know she ain't gonna die"
The loud applause came—of course it did—and Lorne basked in it. Being on stage, performing, bringing smiles to people's faces, was always his element. It might not quite have the glory of saving the world that being a member of Angel Investigations or The Scooby Gang brought…but it certainly didn't have the peril, bloodshed or death that "The Good Fight" brought, either.
Lorne smiled brightly at his adoring public, took a swig of his Sea Breeze cocktail to soothe his parched throat, and turned his ruby-red eyes to the audience.
Story Time with Lorne, it was.
"Ah, heroes," he asks. "Who doesn't love a good story about a hero or a heroine in it, am I right? Well, unless you're evil." His wry chuckle sets off a series of low, rumbling laughs in the audience. "I think David Crosby and Phil Collins summed it up best in their song 'Hero'... 'And the reason that she loved him…was the reason I loved him too…and he never wondered what was right or wrong…He just knew, he just knew.' I happen to know a little bit about the subject in my last few years in Tinseltown."
His eyes grow wistful for a moment as a sad smile graces his green-hued face, his mind and heart drifting to a past only he could see. "I've walked with heroes. Real, true-to-life, honest-to-many-gods heroes. The kinds that make the ones you read about in children's books or binge on 'The Disney App' look like shleps that couldn't hold a candle to my peeps."
As if remembering where he was, he shook it off, flashed the audience a winning smile. "But what is a hero? Some define them by their weapons. Others define them by their strength. A few others define them by their deeds. Or is it the wardrobe? I mean, this one guy I know used to have a fabulous long black coat, made him look all mysterious and broody and badass. But he was a little too heavy on the black for my tastes. Mucho issues, that one," he chuckles. "But that's all on the surface. Window dressing. And after all the years I've spent in L.A., you get real good at looking past the shiny happy surface to look at the cracks beneath. And the story about this one group of people…well, two groups, actually…man oh man, did they have their share of cracks! Very complicated, very messed-up. But beneath all of that, way down deep…they showed me the answer. A real hero…is defined by their choices. See, choices reveal character. They reveal who a person is underneath. What they're made of."
"And that," he paused for dramatic effect, "...brings us to our story. See, like most stories…it starts with a girl…"
Buffy could barely open her eyes, her head spinning madly as her blurred vision barely kept focus on her tormentor.
Caleb smiled at her, and it was a frightening smile. An evil smile. The smile of a hyena as it was nearing its wounded prey.
And the worst part of it was that for all of her legendary strength, there was nothing Buffy could do about it except hang there.
Hang there and bleed…
"Whoops! I think I skipped a little too far ahead on that one," Lorne corrected himself, though he shook his head at the disturbing image. "We'll get to that part, where our brave heroine is on the ropes. But where there's a heroine, there's also a hero to be found. And unfortunately, at this part of the story, he's not doing too hot himself, either…"
Without thinking and barely a moment to spare, Angel knocked Alasdair out of the way…
ZZZZZRA-CKOOWWW!
Angel cried out in pain as he took the full impact of the bolt, the dark energy overwhelming him, burning him.
Every cell, every inch of him felt like he had been doused with gasoline and set ablaze…
"No, wait, you already know that part," Lorne corrected himself again. "Geez, I think I better lay off the gin and tonics for tonight, right?"
His chuckle elicited laughter from his captive audience. "No, where we pick up next is another pair of star-crossed heroes. And like most great heroes, they share a…well, they share something. Something strong. There really isn't a word for it in English, so I guess the best way to sum it up is a word used in my language…kyrumption. For those of you who aren't familiar with my mother tongue…and thank goodness not literally, I mean, have you seen my mother?"
He laughed, expecting the audience to laugh along, then awkwardly cleared his throat when he realized he was the only one laughing. "But I digress, for those of you who aren't fluent in Pylean, kyrumption means when two warriors meet on the field of battle and recognize their mutual fate. A lot heavier than it sounds. Think chemistry times 100. An inexplicable, undeniable connection between two people. It takes your heart, your body, your soul and ties it up completely into another being, bending and twisting you both until it's hard to tell one another apart anymore. Their joy is your joy. Their thrill is your thrill. And yes, their pain…is your pain. So we lead off our story with, you guessed it…a girl. Different girl. A girl whose life is just as messed up and twisted and a Rubix Cube of pain and suffering as the guy she doesn't completely realize yet means as much to her as she does to him."
Lost in a haze of pain and torture, Faith's memories were aflame with pure agony as she screamed and cried.
She felt Caleb's tools cut deep into her, the Beast's cruel stone-like hands pummel her and bruise her, Pearl's white-hot, dagger-like hands tear and claw into her skin, Drusilla slowly peeling back the layers of her mind as easily as an orange.
And she screamed and cried and pleaded for help, to be rescued, to be saved…
…but nobody answered her pleas…
Nobody came...
Lorne let out a sad sigh. "Let's just say…she's seen better days."
Sunnydale, California—Summers Residence
7:56 p.m.
Days Left Before the End of Days: 13
Faith continued to toss and turn and moan and babble incoherently as yet another fever dream nightmare hit her as she continued to lay in her bed, lost in her hallucinations. Despite her high fever having mostly subsided in the last few days, occasional bouts of fever had still sprung up.
Sighing, Wesley calmly injected the vein in her right arm with anti-inflammatory fluid. They had been using a lot of it to bring down the fever, and so far, Faith had been responsive. A mix of the magic herbs had been helping her wounds heal at an accelerated rate.
Giles shook his head as he cautiously eyed Faith, taking her pulse again. "Stable, stronger," he concluded.
"Yes," Wesley muttered as he watched Faith's stirring form. "Slayer physiology. Still quite remarkable, realy. They can heal at rates it would take even perfectly normal humans weeks, even months to get to."
Giles eyed the younger ex-Watcher with interest at those words. "Do you ever miss it?" Off Wesley's questioning gaze, Giles elaborated. "Watching. Working with Slayers."
Wesley frowned as he gave it some thought. After a beat, he answered, "On occasion. I think I've become far better suited to the work I do now. But…I must admit, there are times I still wonder what it would be like to use my skills again. Guiding young women like Faith and Buffy, or those young girls downstairs who badly need guidance, direction…" A wistful half-smile briefly crossed the hardened ex-Watcher's handsome features before he caught sight of Giles giving him a similar glance. Off that, Wesley's face hardened again, slipping back into his mask of cool indifference. "But I fear that time has long passed. Besides, the last time I was a Watcher, I was…I didn't handle it well."
Wesley knew that was an understatement. He failed at his job so badly that he alienated Buffy and drove her to cut off all ties with the Council, and he inadvertently drove Faith into the arms of Mayor Wilkins and sent her down a dark path that eventually led to her taking her rage out on all of them, even to torture him for hours with shards of glass.
"You were younger," Giles replied sagely. "You didn't know then what you know now. You've seen the world, its dangers since then. You've grown. I dare say you might be what a Slayer needs right now…perhaps one closer than you might think."
Off those words, Wesley scrunched his eyes in confusion at Giles before they slightly widened as he turned to who Giles was subtly referring to…Faith.
Wesley, taken aback, shook his head. "You can't be serious."
"No, I'm afraid I am," Giles replied. "I've watched her. Learned more about her in the past few days. Faith has a long road ahead of her. She wants to do good. Needs to, in fact. She doesn't always know how she can, but she knows it's something she has to do. Perhaps all she really needs is a helping hand from someone who can show her the way."
Wesley shook his head. "Angel can do that."
"Angel isn't a Watcher, Wesley. You are," Giles answered patiently. "Even with the Council gone, you don't just forget all the training and the trials we had to undergo to become that. Angel might mean well, but you know what a Slayer needs. What she needs to survive."
Wesley was unconvinced, looking visibly uncomfortable with the notion. "In case you forgot, Faith and I don't exactly have the best history. When I was her Watcher, I helped turn her evil because I was so full of myself and my own presumptions. And that eventually led to her beating me so savagely that I lost feeling in my arm for 3 weeks. We…" He took a deep breath to calm his own frustrations at the bad memories, took a look at Faith's slumbering form once again. "...we don't fit well together. We never have."
Giles had a feeling he'd say that. "Yet Fred and Gunn told me that you two worked together a few weeks ago successfully to bring down Angelus and restore Angel's soul. It sounds to me like what she needed wasn't the sniveling twerp you were back then…but the man you've become now."
Yet Giles could still see the conflict in Wesley's eyes. The doubt caused by all the failures of his past. Giles knew that look well. He had experienced his own failures in his past that caused him to doubt himself, even when teaching Buffy. But if there's one thing Giles had learned, it was that no matter what mistakes were made in the past, they could not be allowed to dictate one's future. To stop one from doing what needs to be done.
"Wesley…a Slayer needs her Watcher." Giles kept the patient tone of one who had experience, that he could guide his former counterpart down a road that he suspected Wesley needed to go down. "You failed last time because you weren't ready then. But you've grown. You've learned. You're seasoned now. Faith will never admit this, but…she needs help. The kind that only someone who understands what she has to face can provide. She needs a Watcher…she needs you. And whether you want to admit it or not…perhaps she might be what you need, as well."
Wesley frowned as he took in Giles's words. He thought his Watcher days were long over. They weren't filled with much success, and he ended up being fired for his incompetence. And he had worked so hard to move past those mistakes with the work he had done with Angel Investigations, and now by himself. He wasn't that stuffy, know-it-all pillock that messed up everything he touched. He was stronger now, physically and mentally. He had come a long way and he knew it.
Yet…part of him did acknowledge that he and Faith had worked together recently. Neither of them would have survived the onslaught of Angelus alone, Wesley lacking the latest Slayer's physical strength and Faith not being as good a tactician as Wesley had become. But together, they brought down arguably the most feared vampire in history and saved their mutual friend/ally while at it. For a little while, working with a Slayer again felt…natural. Right, somehow. Almost like they should have been working together like this from the beginning. And it would be nice to know that in these battles against the darkness, that he didn't have to feel so alone. Especially with his relationship with Team Angel having become fractured in the last year after the Holtz debacle.
Still, he had his doubts. Faith and he had never had the best relationship, even in the best of times. Their personalities were too different. She was laid back while Wesley was always serious, focused. Faith was volatile, emotional while Wesley had learned to check his emotions at the door when it came to getting the job done. They mixed together as well as oil and water, and Wesley knew that.
Surely Faith would never go for them working together again as Slayer and Watcher. How would that even work, anyway? Wesley wondered. L.A. was Wesley's home now, while Faith had never exactly been known to set up shop for too long in one place. There were so many complications that the idea probably wasn't even worth entertaining.
And yet still, Wesley couldn't help but wonder…what if…?
A moment later, Spike made his way through the door, Darla not far behind him, the latter bringing another bag of ice for Faith's fever.
Spike knelt by her bedside, tenderly clutching her warm hand in his own cool one. "How's she doin'?" he asked. "Any change?"
"She's much better than yesterday. She could be waking up any day now, though her occasional fever spikes are a concern," Giles replied.
Spike coolly nodded at Giles in acknowledgement. Things were still icy between them after Spike learned of the Watcher's involvement in aiding Robin to try and kill him weeks ago. To say things were awkward between them afterwards was an understatement.
Darla gently placed another ice bag onto Faith's forehead. "She's strong. Like all Slayers are. She'll be fine soon enough," the beautiful blonde ex-vampire told Spike, though her eyes also darted to Wesley's gaze. She had heard with her recently-returned supernatural hearing the conversation between Wesley and Giles concerning Faith, and the potential of rekindling the Slayer-Watcher dynamic between Wesley and the Boston-born Chosen One. Darla had to admit the idea was…intriguing. She had come to know Faith a little better in these last few days, as she had Wesley. Both of them hid the fact that their was a great loneliness that each dealt with, Faith disguising it with her swagger and laid-back attitude while Wesley hid it underneath a mask of emotionless stern. As much as Darla was helping to heal the hole in Wesley's heart caused by bitterness and loneliness, she knew that more still remained. Perhaps by fixing this broken relationship from his past, maybe Wesley could finally begin to get to a healthy place where he could move forward.
Oblivious to what the other three were thinking about, Spike leaned forward, gently reaching across to brush a lock of hair from Faith's face. "Got that right," he muttered to Darla, smiling sadly. "I know a thing or two about Slayer strength myself."
Suddenly, at the moment his cool hand touched her face, Faith's eyes shot wide open.
Her eyes fixed on the first thing in front of her: Spike.
Letting out a gasp, Faith cried out as the hand gently clutched in Spike's grasp suddenly balled into a fist and swung up hard.
BAM!
The fist caught Spike right between the eyes, the vampire cursing as he fell backwards and tumbled onto his backside. Cries of fear and anguish escaped Faith's lips as she thrashed and screamed and cried while Giles and Darla tried to calm her.
"OW! Bloody hell, Faith, what–?" Spike shouted, confused…and hurt.
"Get away from me! Get away, get away, GET AWAY!" Faith shouted, in near hysterics as she thrashed about.
"Faith, please, you must calm down—!" a stunned Giles implored her as he tried to hold her down.
Big mistake.
Panicked and desperate and nearly out of her mind, she shoved Giles away hard, sending the Watcher crashing into a wall.
As Spike got his wits about him, he tried approaching the former rogue Slayer to try and help Wesley and Darla calm her, only for a panicked Faith, who saw him approach, to wildly shoot her leg up at him. Her boot caught Spike flush in the ribs and sent him flying backwards again. Spike groaned in pain as he landed on the other side of the room against a wall.
"NOOO! No, no, no, get away!" Faith cried out, her mind lost in delirium as she continued to kick and buck and thrash. Darla was the only one among them who had some success in trying to hold Faith down thanks to her secretly-returned supernatural strength…something Wesley, in the middle of his less successful efforts to restrain Faith, had noticed.
"Faith, please, we're trying to help you!" Darla said urgently as she looked around for any kind of sedative that could help take the panic out of the brunette Slayer.
Her pleas did nothing to calm Faith, who kept screaming bloody murder as she thrashed about like an angry bronco that refused to be tied down. Her eyes clenched shut, her screams wild and desperate. Spike could hear her heart beating madly like a jackhammer against her chest, smell the undeniable scent of fear radiating from her…and it seemed to get stronger whenever she laid her eyes on him, specifically.
At last, Faith opened her eyes again, and this time, she broke free, shoving Darla back, pushing Wesley aside and scrambling to the corner of the room. On instinct, she shattered a nearby table leg, turning it into a makeshift stake and crouched into a defensive position. Her large brown eyes were wide, wild and bloodshot, filled with fear and suspicion. Her forehead was damp with sweat and her erratic breathing was audible to all.
Spike, one hand still clutching his ribs, held his other hand up placatingly. "Woah…easy now…Faith…luv, we ain't gonna hurt you. Promise."
As he tried to approach closer, Faith took in a sharp breath and held the stake up higher in warning. She didn't trust him in her state to get closer than he was. And that silently hurt Spike to know.
"Faith…don't you recognize me?" Spike asked, softly.
Faith only bared her teeth in a snarl, the Slayer in her on full alert. She looked like a cornered animal, wild and dangerous and ready to lash out at the first soul stupid enough to get close to her.
Wesley recognized the situation quickly. "Spike, you need to back away."
Offended, Spike turned angry blue eyes to the former Watcher. "The hell I do, Percy!"
"You're scaring her, you idiot," Wesley snapped, his voice becoming hardened steel. "It's clear from her body language. Back away. Now. Let me try."
Spike hesitated.
"Spike…do what he says," Darla quietly told her great GrandChilde, her voice soft, but possessing a steel of its own that left no room for argument.
Reluctantly, Spike slowly backed away, his concerned eyes turning back to Faith.
Slowly, Wesley began to approach her, his hands up so Faith could see he was no threat. "Faith?"
Faith eyed him cautiously, yet she lacked the same hostility that she had with Spike…something Spike noticed with no absence of hurt.
Wesley sensed he had made a connection. "You know who I am?"
Faith slowly nodded, yet with the stake still firmly in the air.
Wesley held her gaze with his own calm, steady one. "Then you know I'm not your enemy. Right?"
Slowly, she began to lower the stake down.
Everyone watched. Waited.
Then, Faith suddenly lunged forward…and threw her arms around Wesley, holding him in a tight hug.
Giles eyed the scene in surprise, as did a stunned Darla. Spike stared, frozen, his eyes filled with shock, confusion, jealousy…and more than a little hurt.
Wesley, his eyes wide in confusion, stood frozen for a moment as his former Slayer wrapped her arms around him. He was so shocked he didn't know what to say for a moment, or what to do.
As he looked to Giles, seeking some kind of advice, he saw the elder Watcher give him a small smile, and a knowing look. A look that prompted him, as if Giles was silently telling him that Wesley knew what he had to do.
Slowly, awkwardly, Wesley began to put his arms around Faith, who had buried her face into his shirt, eyes closed, tears streaming down her pretty face. Wesley felt his still-confused eyes seek out Darla, but instead of any trace of jealousy, all he found was a look of understanding in her beautiful blue eyes. A small nod from her, understanding what he was supposed to do as a man who was raised and trained as a Watcher for a Slayer in need of help.
"It's okay," Wesley muttered quietly to Faith, still crying silently in his arms much like the way he had once seen her and Angel that night Angel finally broke through her rage, her obsessed hatred and fury and found the scared, broken, lost girl in need of help, of salvation. "It's okay…you're home now, Faith. You're safe now."
"Make him go away," Faith quietly rasped out, clinging to him like a life raft.
Wesley frowned, confused. "Make who go away? Giles? Caleb? The First?"
Faith's eyes slowly opened.
"Him," she said, eyes still full of fear as she met the stunned, bewildered and hurt gaze of the one she was referring to…
A heartbroken Spike.
Days later...
Sunnydale, California—Main Street
8:41 a.m.
Days Left Before the End of Days: 10
Buffy wasn't the only one trying to comb the mad streets of Sunnydale for answers.
In the evacuation madness, Willow, Oz and Giles were stood just outside the police station on Main and Boneman Street, Obi-wanning and interrogating a well-meaning, yet rather dumb young cop.
Willow's powers were still not up to par, so at the suggestion of Giles, she borrowed a relic from Wesley with his permission: a Celtic Mind Stone. Scottish legend said the stone was created by the Cailleach, the legendary White Witch of Scotland, and had the power to ensnare minds in the hands of a capable sorceress or sorcerer.
Willow would have more than qualified normally, but her powers were still not at full strength thanks to Warren's damned ray gun. So for now, she had to hope whatever magick was left in her could help power the stone. And hopefully, jar something inside of her that would bring her power back.
Concealing the stone in her right hand, which was balled inside of the pocket of her red jacket, Willow cleared her mind, focused and went to work putting the mind whammy on Officer No-Name.
"Uh, thank you, officer," Giles said sincerely, looking at the files tucked under Willow's arm that they managed to 'persuade' the police into giving them. Files they hoped could yield more information on this mysterious 'Caleb' that The First had conjured from seemingly out of nowhere to wreak havoc on their lives. "We appreciate your help."
"Thank you, Inspector," the cop replied. "We don't get a lot of contact with Interpol, so we're happy to help with anything you need. Is there anything else?"
"No. Thank you," Willow smiled, readjusting the confidential police files in her grip. "We're fine."
The cop nodded at both Oz and Willow. "Right, because you three are . . . wait . . ." Confusion crept across his features. "Who are . . . ?"
Oz said nothing, but his eyebrow subtly cocked as he looked at Willow, a subtle look of concern that Willow had come to recognize over the years.
Realizing he was beginning to fight her hold on his mind, Willow dug deeper, focused her gaze on him and channeled the whammy as much as she could on the unsuspecting officer. She said firmly, "We're with the Inspector."
And he was back in the mojo. "You're with the Inspector!" he said. "Right. We don't get a lot of contact with Interpol."
Slyly, Willow turned to Oz and winked at him, giving him one of her secret smiles.
Oz felt an amused half-smile spread across his lips as he saw Willow work her magick. God, how he missed that, he realized. How her eyes seemed to glow in excitement when she was in her element. How powerful she seemed, how extraordinary…how beautiful.
They were interrupted by two more cops struggling with a guy who had completely lost it, and was screaming, "A single step! A single step and it is upon us! It is nigh! From beneath you it devou—"
One of the officers cuffed him as the other pushed him into the station.
"...devours," an observant, yet troubled Oz quietly muttered to Willow, whose eyes widened in shock. From beneath you it devours. The same ominous mantra that The First Evil had been taunting them with for months.
That couldn't be a coincidence, Willow realized.
"Freakin' nutcase," growled the cop who had put on the cuffs.
"Ow," Willow murmured. She remembered the people who had lost their minds when Glory had come to town. How they were the only ones who had sensed what was happening, but no one listened to them because of their chaos.
It's exactly like that now, she realized.
"People are acting up," the cop announced. "Getting nuts. We do what we can, but our hands are kind of tied. I mean, man, let us know if you need help with your guy, because we're itching to hand out some justice."
"He doesn't seem like much of a threat," Oz noticed, his tone cool, yet observant.
Willow silently agreed. That was definitely overkill for your random conspiracy nut.
"And you're . . . wait . . .who are you with again?" the cop murmured, the mojo on him beginning to weaken.
Sensing they didn't have much time before Willow's waning spell vanished, Giles decided it was time to wrap this up, and now.
"Um, we-we really out to go catch that flight back to . . . Interpol," Giles said to Willow. "Thank you, officer."
"Right…okay," the officer murmured as they walked away.
Willow breathed a sigh of relief as she looked at Giles.
"Good idea. My control was fading," she confided in him. She looked back to the overly aggressive officers in worry. "What's up with those cops?"
"Oh, same thing as everyone else," Giles observed. "Hellmouth is active again, the panic that The First caused with its broadcasted murder and, um, mini-plagues some nights earlier. I think the people of Sunnydale have finally started to realize that the things that bump in the dark are much more than their imaginations suggest."
"Yeah, but it's…different this time," Oz said, smelling the air, taking in the panic in the streets. "It's wilder. Primitive. These people are scared. You don't need to have my senses to know there's something bad happening here."
That worried Willow. She knew all about Oz's senses being able to see more than what meets the eye. And after what The First had pulled nights ago, she was beginning to think maybe the end really was here.
"C'mon," Willow said, not wanting to dwell on it much longer, the files still in her hand. "We need to get back to Xander."
Had Willow, Giles and Oz stuck around just one minute more, they would have seen an alarming sight: the sight of Amy Madison, in form-fitting black jacket and leather pants and a mind-controlling crystal around her neck walking out of the police station behind them.
Behind her, two other officers trailed her, firmly under her thrall.
"Thank you so much, officers," Amy smiled widely.
"It's our pleasure, miss," one of the officers replied, in a friendly tone.
"Anything to help out a fellow law enforcement agent," the other cop replied in the same tone.
Amy and the two officers walked down the steps out of the building to chat with the officer Willow, Oz and Giles were talking to.
The second officer looked off after Willow, Oz and Giles. "Who was that?"
The dumbfounded officer, now free from Willow's thrall, shrugged. "Um, I— I don't know."
Amy's eyes narrowed as she saw that familiar head of strawberry-kissed hair disappear around the corner along with the smaller frame of the werewolf and the taller frame of the elderly Watcher.
Willow, she hissed mentally. She supposed she should have counted her lucky stars that the trio had not spotted her, but part of her itched for yet another showdown with her magickal rival.
However, she squashed that down quickly. She knew she would have her shot at revenge against that little red-headed do-gooder soon enough. Business first. Her vengeance could wait just a little longer.
The third officer held out a flier to the younger one who talked to Willow. "Did you get one of these yet? This is FBI Agent Liz Allen. She's been handing these out."
The younger officer blinked. "No. What is that?"
Amy smiled. "We need your help. A few days ago, a dangerous convict escaped a few weeks ago from the Northern California Women's Prison in Stockton. She's still at large and we believe she's taking refuge in this area recently.
The second officer took note of that information as he took a look at the flier. "Fugitive. Ran to ground right here in our own backyard. Don't get many of those."
Amy smiled. These cops were so easy to manipulate, she realized. "You can't underestimate her. She's believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. She was convicted of murdering this town's former Deputy Mayor, Allan Finch."
"The Finch murder? Wow, I remember that. That made waves around here," the second officer replied, now intently listening to the "agent".
The young officer nodded eagerly. "Yeah? Sounds like a situation that needs some justice."
Amy smirked darkly, as her eyes suddenly flashed a steely onyx black. "The kind of justice only you and a select few of your 'friends' can dispense. She's too dangerous to be contained in jail. She's proven that."
Robotically, the three cops, their eyes staring vacantly at her, parroted her words back at her. "She's too dangerous to be contained in jail. She's proven that."
"You're not taking her in. You're taking her down. Lethal force is authorized," Amy coldly ordered.
"We're not taking her in. We're taking her down. Lethal force is authorized," the officers droned back lifelessly.
"Find her. Use whatever resources you have. Take out whoever gets in your way. Terminate her on sight," Amy said with a vicious tone in her voice as she gave the cops their final marching orders.
"Terminate her on sight," all three officers repeated tonelessly.
"Thanks so much for your help, officers. You're worth every tax dollar we pay your bloated salaries," Amy smiled in syrupy fashion. "That will be all."
With that, Amy turned on her heels and walked away, folding up her last flier: a flier with Faith's name and picture on it.
The First Evil's marching orders had been completed. It wanted Faith dead. With the Awakening getting closer and Angel still unaccounted for as he sought Hope's Dagger, the demonic entity was leaving nothing to chance.
It was all the same to Amy. She only hoped that Willow wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. It would be a shame if she got herself killed before I get the change to tear out her heart with my bare hands, the dark sorceress smiled darkly.
Sunnydale General Hospital
10:47 a.m.
Days Left Before the End of Days: 10
Xander lay in his hospital bed, bandage over his eye. . . where his eye should have been, and Willow could hardly stand it.
She couldn't bear to see him so wounded.
It terrified her.
As it did Cordelia.
And while Buffy felt the same as they did…she fought to keep it together. Summoned every ounce of courage and strength and cool she could.
Her emotions couldn't take the helm, not even here, she decided. Now was not the time to be Buffy. Now was the time to be The Slayer.
". . . and that you should expect to see some bruising when you remove the bandage," Buffy was saying to him as Willow tried to focus, trying to stay present, while Cordelia had her hand wrapped around his other free hand, gently massaging the top of his palm while Xander briefly raised her soft hand to his mouth to give it a loving kiss.
The gesture was not lost on Buffy, who had known about the May Queen and her oldest male friend's flirtation with rekindling their relationship. It seemed that they had now succeeded in turning that burnt-out old flame back on and letting that candle burn bright once more. While she would have once had reservations about that given how miserably things ended between them last time, Buffy quickly decided that she had no problem at all with whatever Cordy and Xander wanted to do with their lives. Besides, after everything that happened, Buffy realized, Xander needed something good to happen to him, especially now.
"...Bruising around the . . . area," Buffy faltered a little as she pressed on, finding it still hard to talk about Xander's permanent injury. "The . . . musculature and bone structure took a heavy hit."
"Okay," Xander replied, Cordelia wordlessly stroking his arm in comfort.
Willow saw all of this, and was a bit conflicted. She also knew that things had ended badly with Cordy and Xander last time, although she acknowledged with great guilt that 50 percent of why that happened was her own fault for pursuing that fruitless crush on Xander. The last thing she wanted was for her childhood friend to be hurt again, especially when he needed love and support the most. But then again, the Witch realized, it was really none of her business. She had more than enough to handle on her own with her powers possibly gone forever and her heart still torn between her semi-estranged girlfriend Kennedy and her sweet, understanding ex-boyfriend Oz, who was currently down in the lobby getting food from the cafeteria for all of them. Willow knew she wasn't going to run off and make out with Xander again anytime ever, so if Cordelia was what her other best friend wanted, then Willow decided that was what she wanted for him, too.
Cordelia, however, was oblivious to all of this. Her eyes, her heart were focused on Xander, and Xander alone.
"Also, the meds may cause some stomach discomfort," Buffy ventured, "so we're going to have to be, you know, careful." She took a breath. "About your diet."
"Can't really taste anything anyway," Xander confided. "I keep waiting for all my other senses to improve by fifty percent. Should kick in any day now."
The three women shared a silent look among each other at that, painfully reminded about how life had now changed forever for the young man, the loyal friend they cared so much about.
"And we're looking at a possible release as early as tonight," Buffy soldiered on. "Once your labs are back. Doctor Kallet says they should be a couple hours."
"That's…great," Xander replied with a shaky smile.
An awkward silence filled the room, nobody really knowing what else to say right now. Nobody really wanted to talk about the impending fear of what lay in front of them, of Xander, once he got out of that bed and walked out of that hospital.
It was too scary. Too painful.
Swallowing hard, Buffy slowly stood, picking up Willow's file from the nightstand and said, "Okay, I think you're all caught up." She turned to Willow. "Thanks for this, Willow. Great work."
Cordelia and Willow shared a surprised look with each other, stunned that Buffy was leaving way sooner than expected.
"Wait, you're leaving?" Cordy asked, stunned.
"Oh, um…but I thought we were going to . . . there were going to be card games," Willow protested, shooting her best friend a pleading look. Silently begging her to stay.
Buffy saw two-and-a-half sets of eyes quietly pleading for her to stay, to be with them. To help comfort each other in this bleak moment. And part of her really, truly wanted to…
"Uh, no, I just— I should really get back," she shook her head at Willow, who looked heartbroken. "I want to get everyone started on this."
A solemn Buffy turned to look at Xander, giving him a subtle look begging for his understanding. "I-I think we're really close to something."
The truth was, however, that Buffy couldn't take much more of seeing Xander like this. One of her best friends was in that hospital bed because of her, she realized. His eye was gone forever because of her. He would be crippled and maimed for the rest of his life because of her.
This is your fault, a traitorous part of her mind hissed accusingly at her. You did this to him. Some protector you are. Can't even protect your friends. How can you possibly hope to protect them all from The First Evil?
The flash of hurt in Xander's face said everything about how surprised he was that his hero, his other best friend, was leaving so suddenly.
But playing the part of the understanding best friend, he shook off the hurt and flashed a faint smile at Buffy.
"It's okay," Xander said softly to Buffy, smiling through the pain, both physical and emotional. "Gotta be done. And maybe I'll see you tonight." He flashed her a goofy smile. "Without any depth of field, of course, but still . . ."
Feeling her eyes begin to mist as her heart ached with guilt and sadness, Buffy bit down hard on the inside of her lip. She wouldn't cry here, she told herself. She couldn't cry here, not in front of them. Not in front of him.
Buffy sadly smiled at Xander, turned, and left. Left before the tears could start spilling from her eyes in front of them.
"So, you're stuck with us then, huh?" Willow asked, too brightly.
"Yeah, sandwiched between two hot, beautiful women," Cordelia said teasingly. "It's your every Junior Year dream come true."
"Ooh, La La," Xander smirked back at Cordelia, the two of them leaning closer to each other as they chuckled.
While still slightly wigged at how couple-y the two were again after all these years, Willow was grateful for anything that could distract Xander from his pain.
"Let's get us some cherry-flavored off-brand gelatin," Willow chirped brightly, "and then I think we're going to be ready for a rousing game of—"
"I'm gonna need a parrot," Xander cut in.
Cordelia's smile fell, and Willow's jaw dropped in confusion. "Huh?" the redhead uttered aloud.
"To go with the eye patch," Xander explained with a goofy smile, pointing to the patch of gauze where his left eye once lay. "You know, complete the look. I think I still have that costume from Halloween . . ."
Willow smiled, relieved, as did Cordelia, who let out a grateful sigh. Even after everything that happened to him, what Caleb and The First took from him, he was still cracking jokes. Still entertaining them for their pleasure. Even after everything…he was still Xander, they realized.
Though her heart was breaking, Willow did her best to go with it. "Yes, well, don't underestimate the impact of a peg leg."
Trying her hardest to ignore the guilt in her own heart for what happened to Xander, Cordelia felt her own heart break for him, yet she summoned all of her acting skills, flashed the brightest smile that she could at her (boyfriend? Rekindled flame?)...at Xander, and for his sake, jumped in on the 'fun' like it was improv.
"The hospital can probably hook you up with a nice one," Cordelia offered in her best teasing tone. "Maybe they have a two-body-parts-for-one kind of deal. Lord knows they have enough dead people passing by here in this town for a special sale."
"Oh, you know what the best part is?" Xander quipped brightly, pumping up the hilarity. "No one will ever make me watch Jaws 3-D again!"
The two women let out a watery chuckle, trying their best to help him make light of this.
"Right!" Willow said cheerily. "Plus . . . you never . . ." Her voice began to falter, but she tried to smile anyway. "Yeah, and…you'll never have to…you'll never…"
He'll never be able to do a lot of things ever again, the tortured thought rang in Willow's mind.
Willow grew quiet, smile frozen in place, the pretty redheaded Witch trying to stifle the tears welling in her eyes that no amount of magick could have stopped, even if she had her powers. Her hand tightened around his. She could no longer speak through the giant lump in her throat, her hands shaking and trembling.
Shaking his head, Xander couldn't bear to see his lifelong friend looking at him so sadly, so heartbroken. But as he turned to his left, he was met by the teary-eyed gaze of Cordelia, who felt her own resolve, already hanging by a thread, begin to crack and crumble. Tears welled up in the Seer's beautiful hazel eyes, her lip quivering, on the verge of falling apart into a mess of tears and guilt and heartbreak and pain. After all, Buffy wasn't the only one blaming herself for what had happened to the Heart of the Scoobies.
"Oh…guys," Xander murmured, his lone, glassy eye pleading with them. "Please…don't." He himself was barely holding it together. He felt like at any second, he could fall apart.
And if he fell apart now, Xander feared, he might never be able to put himself back together.
Willow and Cordelia understood that despite their heartache, their pain, they would drag him over the edge if they sailed off there themselves. Pulling themselves back from that abyss was hard.
But for Xander . . . they did it.
London, England - One Hyde Park
Now
Groaning, Angel coughed as he began to finally feel sensation in his fingers. Sleepily, he rolled onto his side as he began to take stock of his surroundings.
This definitely wasn't the Cotswolds, he realized.
He looked around in a rather posh bedroom. It was decorated with all the modern trimmings, yet a few antiques here and there that appeared to be going back to the 18th century, maybe farther back, from what he noticed.
"Angel!" he heard the voice of Cassandra near him. "At last. Thank goodness you're awake."
Angel shook his head, shaking off the cobwebs as he sat up off the bed, reaching out and taking Hope's Dagger in his hand.
"Okay, how long was I out?" Angel asked, keen eyes scanning the room for any threats.
"Seventy-two hours," came a cultured, British male voice.
Angel shot up and whirled around, pointing the sword warningly.
Out of the corner of the open bedroom door walked in a tall, older-looking man. His hair was thinning and his hair on his head and face were graying. Yet his sharp features had a handsome look to them. He was dressed impeccably, a tailored charcoal black suit, pricey black shoes and expensive-looking gold tie completing his look.
And for whatever reason, Angel could sense power…deep, dark power…around him.
"Ah, Mister Angel," the man greeted in cool, yet polite fashion as he looked at his gold pocket watch. "You're up and about, that's good. That curse that this Pearl chippie afflicted you with was nasty business, but ultimately, it was nothing I couldn't handle.""
"Who are you?" Angel asked, suspiciously.
The man gave him a thin smile. "Fray. Markus Fray. I'm a wizard."
Angel's eyes never left Fray as he casually walked around the room.
"How did I end up here?"
"As my good friend Alasdair Coames explained, you seemed to get yourself into a rather nasty spot of bother in a battle you had," Fray replied. "Went and got yourself cursed. Which, I must say, is rather ironic, considering your reputation of how a vampire ended up fighting for the Forces of Light."
Angel's eyebrows shot up quizzically. "You know Alasdair?"
"For many years," the wizard replied smoothly. "He and I fought together in the Ley Line War of '78. Nasty business, renegade warlocks trying to purge the world of all humans through magick…though when I consider how global warming has worsened over that time, I must confess, there are days when I wonder if I fought on the wrong side."
"Your friends are fine, by the way. I even took the liberty of restraining Ethan Rayne. He's…something of a garrulous pillock, isn't he?" Fray said disdainfully, his nose crinkling in revulsion as he thought of the talkative warlock.
Angel snorted in distaste of his own. "Yeah, he's a chatty bastard, alright." He returned his scrutinizing gaze towards the mysterious, well-dressed man walking around the room with barely a care in the world. "So you're a wizard, huh? Funny, I always thought wizards would have the robes and pointy hats working for them."
The older-looking gentleman turned and raised one well-groomed eyebrow at Angel. "You've been watching too many Disney movies, Mister Angel," he replied dismissively.
"Clearly," Angel replied coolly. "So…Mister Fray…mind telling me how I ended up here?"
Fray snorted. "And here I thought you vampires were renowned for your hearing. Unless that human soul of yours has impacted it."
Off Angel's surprised and questioning gaze, the statesman-like wizard managed a thin smile. "Oh, yes, Mister Angel. I'm well aware of what…and who…you are. The infamous Scourge of Europe. And now, the legendary vampire-with-a-soul. Noble Champion of the Powers That Be. I've been well aware of your existence for quite some time. Your legend around the world has grown in these last few years in your latter identity. But the one identity that's fascinated me most about you…" he said as he began to pour himself two shot glasses of expensive Brandy. "...is the role of detective. Brandy?"
As he regarded the outstretched hand offering him the well-aged liquor, Angel shook his head. "No thanks."
"You don't drink?" Fray asked, curious.
"I try not to," Angel replied cautiously.
"I could conjure you up a glass of blood if you like," the wizard politely offered. "Animal? Human?"
Angel shook his head again. "Not really hungry."
Shrugging, Fray waved it off. "As you wish. Should you change your mind, the offer is on the table."
Angel was starting to get anxious. He was losing time, and he really wanted to get back home, especially after remembering the frantic texts from Buffy and his friends urging him to come back. "Look, Mister Fray, I'm kind of in a rush right now, so if you could just tell me where my friends are…"
"Oh, we'll get to that," Fray replied. "But first, let me explain a little bit about myself and your situation. I've been aware of your existence for a while now. I had been meaning to approach you last summer, but it seems that you had vanished during that time."
Angel's mind flashed back to how he spent that summer, trapped in a coffin at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean by his own son, Connor. "Yeah…I was…in over my head with something," the dark-haired vampire replied guardedly.
Not bothering to pry further, Fray continued. "Yes. Well, when Alisdair brought you here and insisted I heal you from that curse that Pearl Finney girl infected you with—"
"Curse?" Angel asked, alert.
"Oh, yes. Nasty thing. It's known as a 'Dark Blood Retribution Hex,'" Fray explained. "Very powerful, ancient magick. Said to be cast from a magick object or user whose family has been wronged by a party. Its effects are instantaneous death. I've never heard of anyone surviving such a curse without some kind of protective amulet. But then again, I'm aware that you had the legendary sword Hope's Dagger with you." He eyed the pulsating magickal sword in Angel's hand with appreciation. "I must confess I thought that sword was nothing more than a myth. But clearly its powers are quite…extraordinary."
Angel looked down at the sword in his hand in guarded wonder. He wondered what other secrets this mysterious new weapon of his was hiding.
"You know," Fray offered, "when your mission is over, I would be very much interested in perhaps buying your sword from you. As you can see, I am a man of extraordinary wealth. I could make you a most generous offer. I'd be willing to match three times that of whatever it would yield on the black markets. You'd have enough to purchase that hotel of yours at least six times over."
Angel blinked, stunned. "That's…well over 100 million dollars."
Fray flashed a pleased smile. "Indeed. But it's just a drop in the bucket for me. And it would be well worth it if I could have the legendary Hope's Dagger in my private collection. So…are you interested?"
Angel knew that was a lot of money. Enough to make sure he, his son, Buffy, and his friends and family would never want for or need anything ever again. Yet he could feel that he and this blade…belonged together somehow. Parting with it just didn't feel right.
Politely, he shook his head. "Sorry. It's not for sale," Angel replied shortly.
Fray sighed. "Fair enough. I had to try, anyhow. But getting back to the business at hand, Mister Angel…I saved your life." His smile disappeared, his face all business now. "That curse would have reduced your body to ashes within a matter of hours had your friends not arrived on my doorstep. To be frank, Mister Angel…you owe me. And as payment, I would like to hire you as a detective on a rather urgent matter."
Letting out a breathless sigh, Angel gritted his teeth. This was something he definitely didn't have time for. "Yeah, well, I'm sure Alasdair told you that we have a pretty urgent matter we're dealing with ourselves, didn't he?"
"Yes. The Awakening, I know," Fray replied. "But the matter I would hire you for would still have you back in time to help your friends back in the colonies. It is extremely time-sensitive. Of the utmost urgency. And it would additionally help save lives, bring justice to a grieving family and rid the world of a most evil threat."
Intrigued, Angel lowered his sword, eying the well-dressed wizard curiously. "Okay…and what urgent matter do you want me to handle?"
Fray's smile returned…only it was far less warm than the one he had given Angel earlier. This smile had a hint of darkness. And more than a little malice.
"Quite simply put, Mister Angel, I want to hire you to do something that you have much experience with," Fray said.
His next words were utterly, gravely serious.
"I want to hire you…to kill someone."
The silence between them stretched for miles.
For eons, seemingly.
"I'm sorry…you want me to what?" an incredulous Angel asked, blinking twice. Not exactly sure he heard right.
Markus Fray sighed tiredly. "Good Lord, I hope that counterspell I used to save your life didn't affect your hearing. I want you to find someone for me…and kill them."
More silence stretched between them.
"I don't know what you've heard about me, Mister…Fray, was it?…but I don't kill people," Angel said stiffly.
To that, Fray gave the souled vampire a knowing grin. "Come now, Mister Angel. We both know that's a lie. From all the stories and tales of you, not only do you kill people, but you do it rather well, and often rather brutally. Or, at least, you once did."
"Once. Keyword. I don't do that anymore," Angel replied, a hint of defensiveness in his otherwise flat tone.
"Skills like those aren't easily forgotten," Fray said matter-of-factly. "It's no more complex to recall than remembering how to ride a bicycle."
"Taking a life and riding a bike are two very different things, Mister Fray," Angel coldly replied, distastefully.
"Depend on the life," Fray replied, just as coldly. "And I assure you that this man whose life you are protesting for is a lowlife and a degenerate of the lowest order. One whose life the world would benefit most from having extinguished."
Angel bit his tongue hard to keep from growling. He knew he was no saint. A lot of blood was on his hands, even with a soul. But he had shed more than enough blood for one eternity. He would not add any more red to his ledger.
"I've had my fill of extinguishing life for one existence, thanks," Angel brusquely replied as he turned to go. "Now if it's all the same to you, thanks for saving my life, but I'd like to find my friends and get back home. I've got a girl waiting there who needs my help."
"Funny thing…you also have a girl here who needs your help," Fray replied cryptically. "And a little one, too. Urgently, might I add."
Angel froze in place, a nerve struck in him as a parent. Slowly, he turned back to the wizard. "Explain," the souled vampire demanded coldly.
Smiling as he knew that caught Angel's attention, Fray waved his hand. Suddenly, images began to materialize around Angel, putting him in a sort of magical 3-D experience. The image of a rather unremarkable white male around his middle to late 40s popped up in front of the immortal detective.
Honestly, Angel didn't think much of the man, until he saw his eyes. Something in them was…dull. Lifeless. Void of any trace of joy or emotion or empathy. Like any trace of humanity in them was snuffed out long ago.
The eyes of a killer, Angel realized. It was a look he had come to know well over his lifetime. After all, he mused with some self-loathing, it takes a killer to know one.
"Seems like a regular run-of-the-mill human schmuck," Angel said, unimpressed.
"One would think," Fray replied, eying the image with a simmering hatred in his eyes. "Mister Angel…meet Walter Kindel. For the past 23 years, he has acted in both the United States and most recently in the United Kingdom as a serial killer. The American press had even come up with a name for this particular cockroach—the Home Wrecker Killer."
Angel's eyebrows lilted up in surprise. "The Home Wrecker Killer." He had heard of this particular scumbag. He targeted children for years. Only he wouldn't stop at just the children. He would target a child, then murder their parents in brutal fashion, and then proceed to do unspeakable horrors on children, leaving many dead in his wake. He wrecked happy homes and families' lives, and would disappear without a trace. Despite the best efforts of law enforcement agencies across the country, they had never found him. He left no clues behind. No fingerprints, no DNA samples, nothing. Nobody had even managed to get a sketch of him. It was as if he struck like a hammer and then vanished into thin air like a ghost.
Angel silently gritted his teeth as he thought about it. Kids were a sensitive subject for him, especially after Connor was born. The idea of this asswipe still free and getting his rocks off on killing children and their families made his cold blood simmer with quiet rage.
Fray sensed his anger as he stepped closer to Angel, standing next to him. "Right, I almost forgot," the wizard mused. "You also know what it's like to lose a child to a monster in man's flesh."
While he kept silent, Angel shot the elderly wizard a warning, icy death stare. He was NOT allowed to mention Connor. Ever.
Silently nodding in acknowledgement, Fray continued as if nothing had happened. "He's tallied 43 victims thus far across two continents over the last 20 years." Suddenly, he grew sad, his eyes lowering as Angel saw a painful memory in his eyes. "Among them, Lisa Fray Everson…my only daughter."
Angel's mouth opened slightly in surprise. That explained why this old wizard wanted this creep dead. Walter Kindel had taken someone Fray loved. Now the powerful wizard sought to make him pay. Blood for blood. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.
The image of a beautiful woman in her early 30s flashed before them, the woman having short blonde hair, much like how Buffy had styled hers when she was in her Junior year of high school, Angel recalled. She had a loving smile as she enjoyed a day in the park with her husband, a nice-looking man with dark hair, and a small child. Long brunette hair. Brown eyes full of life as she giggled and laughed in her mother's arms. A beautiful little girl. It had to be her daughter, Angel realized.
"Is that…?" he ventured.
"Yes. My daughter and granddaughter," Fray said, his eyes growing wistful, a sad smile gracing his face.
"They were beautiful," Angel offered in sincere condolences.
Fray gratefully nodded. "Thank you."
Composing himself for a moment, Fray continued. "My wife died giving birth to her. And I wasn't there for Lisa as she was growing up. I was too busy trying to make a name for myself in the world, both the one on the surface and the underworld. Sacrificing everything to amass the vast fortune I have now, so that neither I nor my family would ever again know what it was like to starve and wonder where their next meal was coming from, as I did when I grew up poor with my late beloved parents in the worst part of London. And I did, I gained riches and power beyond that which most men can even comprehend."
He sighed in regret. "But by the time I had realized what I had done, she had already moved on to adulthood. I missed her childhood, her teenage years, her highs, her lows, every smile, every tear, every birthday. Part of her never forgave me for that. Winning back her love, her trust was…the hardest thing I'd ever done."
For a moment, Angel sighed wistfully as he recalled the lost time with his own son, Connor. His perfect little boy forced to grow up in that hellish place with Holtz, a madman obsessed with revenge against Angel for, ironically, doing the same thing to him that Kindel had done—destroying his family. His wife. His children. His own son suffering for his mistakes. His crimes. Part of Angel would never forgive himself for inadvertently passing that cross onto his son to bear.
Fray's eyes misted for a moment. "And just as I had finally begun to win her over again, earn the right to be with my family again…" The images changed into a crime scene. Police crawling all over a home. Lisa's body lay cold on the ground, her blood-caked throat cut, her clothes torn. Her husband lay not too far from her, face down, blood pooling all around him. Angel felt his blood run even colder at the harsh images.
Then they changed again. What Angel saw next sent a chill down his spine. He saw the little girl. Lisa's daughter. Fray's granddaughter. Screaming, chained in a basement. Kindel eying the scared little girl with evil in his soulless eyes. Next to him, a kit of his tools of choice. A mallet. A hammer. Pliers. A chisel. And a box with syringes and drugs.
Angel felt his hands clench and unclench as he saw the man kneel down, approaching the chained up, crying little girl with a syringe filled with blue liquid. The sick bastard actually smiling at her, as if the torture of an innocent child was the greatest thing in the world.
His words were quiet, cruel. "Now then…" He held up the syringe. "Let's see what the blue one does this time."
His parental instincts going berserk, Angel finally had enough, his face vamping out and letting out a demonic growl while lunging for the lifelike image of Kindel, aiming to use all of his supernatural strength to rip this sick son-of-a-bitch's head right off his shoulders and burst its repulsive contents in his bare hands like a rotted melon…
…only for the image to fade away and disappear, leaving Angel to grasp at nothing but air.
Fray gave the undead detective an appreciative look. "I admire the sentiment, Mister Angel, but I'm afraid that won't do much good. If it could, I wouldn't need you here."
Calming himself, Angel summoned his steely composure as his face shifted back into its handsome human guise. "Yeah. About that. Why do you need me here?"
"That was 15 years ago," Fray said, a hint of bitterness in his voice returning. "Since then, I've used every resource available to me so that I may find Walter Kindel myself. To pay him back with the same coin he made my daughter and my granddaughter pay. But every time I found myself getting close, he would elude me. The years went on, his trail grew cold, more bodies were left in his wake, and all I would be left with was frustration and bitterness while that little shit ran free. I couldn't understand it. And then, a few contacts last year informed me of what was causing Kindel to slip through my fingers."
Angel didn't have to think too hard about how a mortal schmuck like Kindel could evade a powerful wizard like Markus Frey. "Magick," Angel surmised quietly.
"Yes!" Fray said in some excitement, as if he had just now learned of it. "Ancient magick. I'm well-versed in practically every magick known to man and many demons, but this magick is special. Walter Kindel is protected by an ancient rune that somehow came into his possession in his youth. It's called the Rune of Shadows. Forged into existence by an ancient demon cult known as the Sisters of Morg'orr. It grants the wielder the ability to disappear into the shadows, as well as unnatural strength. Unfortunately, only one was ever made and the cult went extinct in the Bronze Age, so I haven't been able to decipher its power."
"So why can't you get this guy if magick is your game?" Angel wondered aloud.
"Because the rune is protected by a powerful warding spell. No living witch, warlock, sorceress or wizard, human or otherwise, can approach him." Yet despite this news, Fray flashed Angel a knowing smirk. "But you aren't living…are you, Mister Angel?"
Angel got it now. "So…the rune is vulnerable to a vampire."
"Exactly," Fray said, clapping his hands together for emphasis. "You happen to be not only a vampire, but a skilled detective, a rather capable manhunter and now are armed with a mystical weapon of legend. Not to mention that as your souled self, you have a reputation as a man of great honor and a noble heart. I couldn't have dreamed of a better foil to finally catch the animal who took my family from me. You, Mister Angel, are the one who will finally bring my family the closure we deserve."
He did want to catch this scumbag, Angel admitted to himself. Creatures as disgusting as Walter Kindel contributed nothing good to the world except leaving it. But Angel knew he was short on time. If he didn't get back to Sunnydale ASAP with his new weapon, everything could be lost. Literally everything.
"Even if I had the time, I wouldn't know where to begin looking for Kindel," Angel argued.
"You don't have to," Fray said, pulling out a manila folder containing all sorts of documents and pictures of Frey, offering it to Angel. "My own sources have found his location. It's where he's holding his latest victim. A girl, age 8. Not much older than my granddaughter was. Much like the others, Kindel brutally murdered her parents a week ago. And like the others, Kindel will torture and eventually murder this innocent girl within the next 48 hours. Unless you can stop him. This file should give you everything you need to find Walter Kindel. Just 48 hours, and you can stop a killer, save a child, be properly compensated and be back in the colonies just in time to help your young Miss Buffy Summers and your friends save the world."
Yet Angel pushed the file away from him, his face remaining calm, neutral. "I told you. I'm not going to kill someone. Even a scumbag like Kindel. If you know where he is, you can save that little girl's life and bring justice to the victims by calling the police and letting them find and arrest him. Bring him to trial, drag him into the light, make him pay for the crimes he committed in the justice system. The right way."
Yet part of Angel did silently balk at this. If there was anything the Champion had learned from fighting Wolfram and Hart all these years, it was how broken that so-called justice system really was, especially when lawyers and money and amoral creeps got involved to gerrymander and rig the system in their favor.
"I'm not interested in 'justice', Mister Angel," Fray coldly replied. "I'm far more interested in vengeance. And I will have mine. You don't have to kill Kindel. Just find him, save the girl, and bring Kindel to me, alive. What I do with him next you can wash your hands of. That won't be of any concern to you."
Yet Angel shook his head. Murder by proxy was still murder, he decided. "If I hand Kindel over to you, it wouldn't be any different than if I killed him myself. That's not how I work."
"Why would it matter?" Fray demanded. "You know who he is, what he's done. What he's planning to do with yet another innocent girl. Like my beautiful granddaughter. Walter Kindel is a monster. And as your reputation goes, Mister Angel, you're in the business of killing monsters, are you not?"
"Not like this," Angel sternly shook his head. "I'm not a hitman. I protect people."
"Then do your job and protect!" Fray replied tersely, his knuckles balling into white knots. "If we don't act now, that little girl will die and Kindel will escape yet again to destroy more lives, more children! Are their lives really less important than having one more stain on your conscience? I can offer you whatever compensation you want. And as a bonus, I can even something that might be able to help you and your lovely Slayer friend Miss Summers in your quest to stop 'The Awakening.""
Angel paused. "Like what?"
Fray smirked. "We can discuss that after you accept my offer and bring me Walter Kindel. Alive."
While he admitted that he was curious about what the wizard could offer in their quest to save all of existence, Angel quickly shook the idea from his head. Whatever Kindel was offering was not worth another stain on his soul.
"Mister Fray, I'm sorry for your loss. I really am," Angel said, earnestly, but firmly. "But I'm not the guy you're looking for. And I've got more pressing things to handle. My advice? Let the police know about Kindel. Let them handle it. But I have to go. I'm running out of time."
He spun on his heels and opened the door to let himself out of the study and hopefully out of this apartment…
…when he found a sight that he was not expecting.
Whistler. Drogyn. Alasdair Coames. An unconscious and gagged Ethan Rayne.
All sitting, floating, trapped inside humming, brightly burning blue spheres of magick.
Off seeing his friends held captive, Angel's mouth dropped, his eyes wide in shock.
From behind him, Markus Fray gave no smile, but a hint of a smirk could be heard inside his cultured British voice.
"What a coincidence, Mister Angel," Fray told a stunned Angel smugly. "So are they."
To Be Continued...
Next: As Angel contemplates whether or not to accept Fray's murderous offer, a still-reeling Buffy finds herself face to face once more with Caleb. Has the Slayer finally met her match?
A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry for the long delay. I got caught up with work, and I recently had some rather serious health problems that have taken weeks to resolve. Hopefully the next chapter should be much quicker as we enter the final act of this story.
More to come soon! Please read and review!
As an FYI, Markus Fray in this story would be cast as the great Charles Dance, of "Game of Thrones" fame. Yes, Lord Tywin Lannister himself! I couldn't help but think of him and his classy, yet cool and somewhat threatening aura as I came up with this character. And for those of you who know your Buffy lore, particularly of the comics genre, you'll all recognize his last name. And no, that's no coincidence. That's all I'm saying for now ;)
Peace!
-Jean-theGuardian
