Part 3
Cordelia lay across the bed of the brightly lit room, staring at the wooden cross on the nightstand. It had been hours since Angel had disappeared and hours since she had frantically reached up and flipped the light on again. She’d been unable to turn it off after their confrontation and had spent most of the night curled on the bed wondering if he had gone to Sunnydale and if he had been able to keep his part of the deal. Her father’s freedom for her life.
Her life. Just what did that mean? She had thought for one heart-stopping moment when Angel had crossed the room that “A Life for a life” had meant just as it sounded. An offering, an end. After all, he was a vampire. He had to take the life of a human to survive. Or did he?
He had stopped so suddenly when she turned on the light in fear. The look on his face had nearly brought her to her knees; the shock in his eyes, the hurt portrayed by the lines in his brow and the slight slump of his shoulders. In that moment, as scary as he seemed, being attacked by him almost seemed an impossibility. Almost. She shivered at the thought of what had followed, grateful that apparently promising her life to a vampire had not meant her death. At least not yet.
So what did it mean? Was she doomed to be a resident of this “Hotel California” like the others who seemed inexplicably bound to the place and its owner through their obsessions with revenge, mysterious prophecies, and social apprehension. Had they promised the same thing to Angel, offered up their lives for some favor, sold their souls as willingly as she had hers? Or were Wesley, Charles Gunn, and Fred here for the reasons they claimed; devotion to an un-deciphered prophecy, revenge for a beloved sister, and shelter from a world they were not ready to face.
The smell of clean air after a good rain wafted through the open window, drawing Cordelia’s attention to the lightening sky outside. Aching for the bright, warm morning sun and its ability to chase away the dark thoughts of the previous night, Cordelia rose from the bed and walked to the window. Laying her arms across the sill, she leaned her head slightly out into the breaking day, staring up between the buildings at the paper-thin clouds that scattered the sky and intermixed with hues of pink and blue.
As the world outside continued to lighten, a splash from the street below caught her attention. She watched as a small car sped down the short street, using the route as a shortcut, obviously oblivious to its sinister reputation. Cordelia looked back up, this time focusing on the old building that sat across from her window. She recalled the way it had appeared the night before, so ominous and foreboding as she had sat out on her death-march down the dark, abandoned road. In the daylight, however, its appearance began to transform into something so different. She watched intently as the sun crept across the structure, chasing away shadows and replacing them with artistic, architectural curves and old stone masonry, giving it an antiqued or historic appearance as opposed to the haunting, chilling feeling it had conjured the night before.
Its massive size was still daunting, imposing; but no longer did it seem to loom over the street like a dark predator, ready to devour anyone who strayed into its domain. The morning sun shed light into its dark hollows, robbing it of the power it had possessed in being the unknown, the unseen. Its presence was still impressive, awe-inspiring; however, as powerful as it seemed, time and experience had weathered it, weakened it.
Its secrets began to unfold with every breaking ray and Cordelia could see it clearly now. The building was old and worn and full of cracks brought about by earthquakes and age. Solitude, neglect and time had made it what it was. But in all its imperfection, its intimidating size and marred facade, it was beautiful. It had simply been forgotten, disregarded, unappreciated for what it truly was, could be. All it was in need of was care. Someone who could see beyond the cracks and age and dusty, dark halls. Heck, with a little TLC it could probably be restored to its former glory.
It was such a contradiction of itself. Strong yet weak, beautiful yet grotesque. She didn’t understand how it could encompass so many differing characteristics, or why she even cared. But for some strange reason she did care, couldn’t stop herself from studying it, analyzing it.
In a way it reminded her of Angel; the contradictions, the way he frightened and fascinated her at the same time, how the light had robbed him of some of his power the night before.
A beep and another splash startled Cordelia and she looked down to the street again as yet another car braved the shortcut, unafraid of its mythical unknown in the light of day. She stared at the street for a moment and then back to the building. A realization hit her.
The building was Angel. What was it he had told her the night before? That there was a reason he lived in darkness? She had thought he had meant that darkness was a necessity. That it was his domain, the world where he could roam freely. But it had nothing to do with freedom or power. He didn’t live in the darkness. He hid there, counting on the fear it instilled in humans. He didn’t use it to prey on them, but to keep them away. And just as the building she now stared at so intently, Angel, as strong and dominant as he seemed, was full of cracks. Worn by the solitude, scarred by loneliness, bitter and angry from the years of living without external (or internal) light.
Angel was the old building. Empty. Neglected. She wondered to herself what he might have been with care, what he could have contributed to the world if Buffy and the others in Sunnydale hadn’t thrown him away.
She pushed away harsh thoughts of Buffy Summers. She couldn’t blame the girl, she was the Slayer after all. By nature, Angel was her enemy. And even if she was the one who had chased him away, squelched whatever amount of good that hid inside of him, he had let her. He had let one act of fear throw him from a path that could have meant something, made him someone. Now….now he was nothing. An empty dwelling that everyone feared in the darkness, and forgot in the light.
Cordelia breathed in one last breath of morning air before stepping away from the window. Heading toward the small bathroom, she thought about her father and the fate that his actions and her own promise had condemned her to. A life sentence in the company of solitude, loneliness, and bitter anger.
Yet even as she feared what her promise to Angel had meant, in some small corner, just beyond the reach of her consciousness or control, she wondered if she could ever conquer her fear of the darkness, if she could ever see beyond the cracks, age and dusty, dark halls, and if she could ever help the others to do the same.
***
He was powerful. Even as he swayed slightly, the blood of the Kremlock covering his body, mixing with what flowed from his own wounds, the intruder was more powerful than the two demons that still stood.
Clinton Chase’s heart raced as he looked toward the open sewer entrance that the vampire had used to surprise his captors. He looked back to the three bodies as they flung themselves at each other in a frenzy of fangs and gore. The vampire was going to win.
He looked at the sewer entrance again and slowly crawled across the marble floor. This was his only chance. If he waited, the vampire would surely turn his attention to him when his business with the Kremlock had been settled. So, risking one more glance at the battle, Clinton sprinted as fast as his bruised and battered body would allow him to and dove into the opening.
There was a time he would have noticed the smell and grime of a place such as the Sunnydale sewer. Who was he kidding? There was a time that a spec of dust on his best Armani would have sent him into a tail spin. But now none of those things mattered. As he shuffled through the dark tunnel, nothing in the world mattered as much as the safety of his little girl.
He cursed and yelled in his mind for what he had done to himself and his family. How had it gotten so far?
Well he would make it all right now. By the time the vampire killed the other two monsters, he would be far enough away for a clean escape. And without the Kremlock on his back, he and Cordelia could leave Sunnydale, start over.
He stopped and stared at the split in the tunnel ahead, breathing heavily as he tried to discern the best route, the fastest way to freedom.
Catching his breath the best he could, he veered slightly to the left, hoping he had chosen wisely.
“Wrong way” a soft voice echoed through the chamber.
Clinton felt a small pain in his chest and he fought to calm himself as he turned to look behind him. Nothing. He squinted hard in the darkness. No one, no thing. But he knew. Something was there. And he had seen too much in the last few months, knew too many faces his pursuer might wear to risk finding out what the “something” might be. Turning back around, he bolted, running as fast as his racing heart would allow, his bare feet splashing in black puddles, his shoulders occasionally scraping and scratching against the jagged sewer walls. He could make it. If his heart didn’t give out on him, he could make it.
He ran for what seemed an eternity with no end to the tunnel or visible entrances in sight. Adrenaline pumping too hard for a man with a heart condition, he pushed himself faster as he glanced behind himself, trying not to think about the voice he had heard. A tightness began to squeeze his chest and he rubbed at the ache in his forearm, looking down as he did so. He never saw the shadow that passed in front of his path. Never knew that he was running straight toward it until he felt the cold muck of the sewer floor beneath his back.
Stunned for a moment, the fall and chest pains causing a ringing dizziness in his head, Clinton looked up at the shadow that towered over him and tried to focus.
A powerful hand descended from the blackness and grabbed him roughly by the arm that now felt numb. He struggled to stand as the dark figure lead him quickly back the way he had ran.
“What part of ‘wrong way’ don’t you understand?” the voice was venomous yet soft as it maneuvered them both through the darkness.
Minutes later, Clinton found himself with the stranger in front of the branching tunnels. It was then that he caught a profile of the demon, knew that it was the vampire that had fought, and obviously defeated the Kremlock’s gang. As they traveled the lighter tunnel, he could see the extent of injuries the monster beside him had sustained in the fight. On a man they would have been fatal. But for what he knew of vampires……Clinton knew his fate then. Balling the fist of his free arm, he slammed it into the largest gash in the vampire’s side. The monster howled in pain and Clinton ran.
The hand caught at his arm again, but where it had been simply firm before, it now was violent, painful. His body slammed hard into the wall as Angel pinned him tightly against the filth with one, strong arm.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the monster growled just inches from his face.
“I didn’t escape the Kremlock just to become fuel for an injured vamp” he breathed heavily.
“Escape” Angel almost seemed amused then. “Is that what you think you did?” Releasing his grip, he let the man slip to the floor. “Pretty stupid move. Of course, what should I expect from a man who borrows money from a Kremlock.” He backed away a step or two and looked at Clinton for a moment, as if deciding what to do with him. “Wait here” he finally commanded, before disappearing into the blackness.
Clinton did what he was told this time. He couldn’t escape death now. It was what he deserved for what he had done to his family. At least he could rest with some peace in knowing that the Kremlock was dead and that he would never be able to get his hands on Cordelia.
When the vampire reappeared, Clinton braced himself for whatever pain was to come. He closed his eyes and felt a soft, heavy object hit his leg. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the dark canvas bag that lay at his feet.
“Bus ticket, a little money, and a change of clothes” Angel explained from the opposite wall of the tunnel.
Clinton stared suspiciously at Angel as he knelt slowly to the bag. He unzipped and rummaged through it. Just as the vampire said, there was a bus ticket, a pair of slacks, a shirt, shoes, and enough money to get him and Cordy far away from Sunnydale, and then some. His hand trembled. Joy, gratitude, hope overwhelmed him. He looked up with wet uncertain eyes. “Thank you” he whispered.
Angel’s face softened for a moment, then hardened in anger. “Don’t” his voice was the venomous whisper it had been before. “Never be grateful for a good deed before you know the motives behind it.”
Clinton could care less about the vampire’s personal motives, good or bad. He was free. And now so was Cordy. He zipped the bag and stood, letting his unlikely rescuer lead the way.
With every step, the sewer tunnel grew lighter and lighter, until they reached what was obviously a manhole.
“This is as close to the station as I can get you.”
Clinton paused for a moment and looked at the being in front of him; his jagged fangs, his disfigured face, the blood that still dripped from his side. “I don’t know why you did this. I don’t really care actually. But I can’t help but be grateful. You saved more than my life tonight.”
Angel swallowed down the long forgotten taste of guilt, “Your bus leaves soon. If you want to stay alive, get out of Sunnydale and never come back” he tried not to growl the response but failed.
“I will. As soon as I find my daughter, we’ll be as far away from this place as we can get” Clinton said before turning to the entrance.
“You won’t find her” he didn’t know if it slipped out or if he had wanted to hurt the man intentionally.
The words took a moment to sink in, took a moment to register in Clinton’s brain. “What?” he finally turned and asked in bewilderment.
“Cordelia’s not here” Angel answered coolly, almost arrogantly.
Shock froze Clinton into place. He could do nothing but stare, unwilling and unable to believe that this monster knew about Cordelia.
“I told you, never be grateful until you find out the motives” he offered quietly.
“You son-of-a-bitch!” Clinton dropped the bag and charged.
Angel stood as a solid wall, letting the man vent his anger for a moment before pinning him to the ladder leading to the street above.
“If you touch her! If you lay a hand on her!…”
“You’ll what Chase?” he taunted. “Come on. Scare me. You’ve done such a great job of it already.”
Clinton collapsed back against the steps with a sob, desperation replacing his anger. “Please, I’ll do anything. Whatever you want. Oh God, please. Take me in her place” he cried.
Angel’s anger escalated, “Don’t you think you’ve done enough bargaining when it comes to Cordelia?” he tightened his hold. “She’s made her deal. Bought you’re freedom for the price of her own. She’s my responsibility now. Mine.” he let go of his hold, allowing Clinton to drop down to his knees.
Angel stared at the man who sobbed at his feet, begging for his daughter’s life. Her father didn’t deserve her. It was his weakness that sent her to the Kremlock, to L.A..
“Please let her go. Please” Clinton cried freely but was met with an icy stare. “You’re going to make her like you. Aren’t you?”
“She would never be like me. Even if I did turn her.”
“What will you do?” he feared the truth and needed it at the same time.
“What you couldn’t. Protect her. Keep her safe from the things you’ve exposed her to. Give her the life you tried to bargain your soul for. She’ll have everything and anything she wants.”
“Except her father” by the look on the vampire’s face, Clinton knew he had planted a seed. “She’s a smart girl” he tried to regain some composure and stood. “You think she’ll believe I’m safe just because you say I am? If you do, then you don’t know her, not at all.”
Angel hadn’t thought of that. She would want proof. And he would need it as leverage to make her honor her part of the deal. He thought for a moment and took a step toward the bag, took out the envelope that held Clinton’s bus ticket and scratched Wesley’s cell phone number on the paper in blood. “Call this number at midnight. She’ll answer.”
Angel turned away from the man then, only to turn back for one last warning. “And Mr. Chase, if you’re thinking about talking her into leaving or escaping, just remember who’ll be standing beside her as you try.”
The tunnel was suddenly empty, and Clinton’s arms trembled as he climbed the steps up to the manhole, trying desperately to think of a way to save his daughter.