Part 5
Clinton Chase buried his head in his hands. How on Earth was he going to help his little girl? He raised his weary head slowly and reached over to pour his fourth glass of very old, very good scotch. It was the only other thing, besides a few nights in the cheap motel, that he had bought with the wad of cash the vampire had given him. He took a big swallow and stared at the remaining bundle of green on the Formica table, cursing himself and taking another swallow. He’d risked so much for that damned green paper and the happiness he thought it would buy. Now….. He stared at the green mound and downed the glass. Now he had nothing. He pushed the money from the table with his arm. It made him sick now to look at it. Even sicker that he needed it. That he had taken it.
He stood and opened the tacky bright drapes, watching as a jet passed overhead and shook the small building. If he could just find her, get her here, they’d be gone. He would put himself and Cordy on one of those planes and never look back.
“Where are you” he whispered to himself.
His old contacts were pretty powerful. They could find her for the right price. The problem was that none of them would take any of his calls. He’d already tried that. He had also tried the number he had called Cordelia on earlier and, of course, it no longer worked.
A private investigator? Maybe? He had enough money to hire one. At least for a while. But somehow the idea faded when he thought of just who he was trying to find. No normal PI would be able to track down a demon. Not unless that demon wanted to be found.
He wished he could remember the firm Braxton had hired a couple of years ago. They were based in L.A.. He shook his head at the thought of his old colleague Trenton Braxton. He’d been the one to enlighten Clinton about the darker dealings of Sunnydale business.
What was the name of the group he had used? The one he said handled all of his “otherworldly” ventures? Fox and Hart? No. That wasn’t it. He crossed the room and opened the nightstand drawer, pushing aside the Gideons’ kind contribution and pulling out the A-M Los Angeles Yellow Pages.
Attorneys, he found immediately and began to frantically search the thousands of entrees as a seed of hope began to form in his mind. With each column his finger slid down he became more confident that he had an answer, a plan. He only hoped that the money his enemy gave him would be enough to retain their services and that he would find Cordelia in time.
***
Morning finally dawned on another sleepless night for Cordelia as she lay across the king-sized bed, taking in her new accommodations. The room was massive, just as the other suites she had seen, and besides the light layer of dust, it was fairly clean. Everything was in working order – the lights, the plumbing – making her wonder if she was its first or just its most recent resident.
The disturbing thought that tried to form in her mind was suddenly and sharply interrupted by a quick knock at her door.
As soon as she answered, Cordelia was greeted with two smiling faces and one very handsome, very obviously angry one at having to be at her suite so early in the morning.
“We’ve come to help you settle in,” Wesley took the job as spokesman as he smiled sweetly and held up the cleaning products in his hands.
“Oh, no, thanks,” she felt a little embarrassed now that she thought of the ridiculous list she had made the night before and what he must have thought about her as he read it. “The room’s fine, really. I can take care of it myself”, she said convincingly.
Charles Gunn took the cue and turned to leave.
“Where are you going” Wesley called after the man.
“You heard her. She don’t need no help. And I got better things to do than wash Barbie’s Dream House windows,” he turned again but was stopped by Wesley.
“Angel specifically said to treat her as one of our own,” he said in a hushed whisper to Gunn. “You know what she went through to get here, what could have happened to her if she hadn’t come.”
Gunn looked up at his friend as if he understood all too well.
“She’s not only under the protection of Angel, Charles. She’s under ours as well.”
Gunn took a few seconds to let Wesley’s words sink in before grabbing a rag from Wesley’s hand. “Alright,” he said tightly and walked through the doorway, giving Cordelia a hard look as he said, “But I ain’t doin no windows.”
“Got it,” Cordelia looked back. “No windows.”
“This is gonna be so much fun,” Fred followed in, seemingly unfazed by Gunn’s little show. “I bet you have great taste. I just copied my Aunt Betty’s house because well she always seemed to have a nice cozy house and I don’t really have an eye for decorating, not that Aunt Betty did either but I like it,” she finally took a breath and said, a little sadly, “It reminds me of home.”
No one asked “Where’s home”. Cordelia just assumed the other two knew and even though she was fond of the scatterbrained woman, she was determined not to get too close. These were her jailers after all. Maybe not intentionally, but they were obviously loyal to Angel. Therefore, part of the madness that was keeping her there.
The morning passed by quickly. Cordelia scrubbed a toilet for the first time in her life and Fred had done wonders on the rest of the huge bath. Wesley and Gunn had already gone out and returned with painting supplies and had begun the task of transforming the walls from dull beige to a warm, buttery gold.
The deliveries had started after that, forcing Fred out on the balcony as look out so one of the guys could hurry down to the lobby before any jittery delivery person sped away.
There were boxes embossed with all the names that used to make her mouth water and her heart sing – Sergio Rossi, Barbara Bui, Parasuco Denim Cult, Coach, Prada, Louis Vuitton, and a good mix of Smashbox, Lancome, and Mac Studio Cosmetics, just to mention the first few arrivals.
By late afternoon, the room was full and the deliveries slowed to a halt. “The rest will have to come over the next week or two I’m afraid,” Wesley apologized. “Some of the items on your list were, well, harder to obtain than others.”
Cordelia just smiled slightly and put down the Vivienne Tam jacket that Fred had been awing over as Cordelia explained to her the quality and versatility of a great jacket in any woman’s wardrobe.
She felt ashamed. The first few expensive and gorgeous items had made her uneasy, but it hadn’t taken her long to slip back into old habit as she gradually began breaking open and coordinating each new item.
She left Fred to the pile of half her sarcastic list and headed to the partially blackened windows of the French doors leading to the balcony. Taking a razor blade from the tool box underneath Gunn’s ladder, she began to scrape away the black paint.
“You shouldn’t be doin that,” she heard the voice drift down from the ladder.
“Don’t worry,” she answered back without looking up, “I’ll put up some heavy drapes. I just can’t stand the idea of these painted windows.”
She heard the wood of the ladder creak as the “soldier” of Angel’s little castle descended the rungs.
“You ain’t doin it right,” he complained and took the blade from her hand. “You’re gonna cut yourself,” he began to take over her task and expertly scrape away the dark coat.
She didn’t know why, but in that moment she felt she knew something about the stranger who stood beside her, pretending to ignore her stare. Fred thought that he had come to the old hotel for vengeance, but Cordelia knew, had just met the man, only heard him speak a few times, but knew all the same. He hadn’t come to wage a passionate war against the wicked. He was hiding, just like Angel. The world for Charles Gunn must have turned dark and ugly after his sister’s death. ‘ So he had teamed up with the only creature he knew he could never call ‘friend’, never care or worry about. A vampire, just good enough to fight alongside when the mood struck, but just bad enough to never forget his sister and what had taken her away from him.
But he had probably never counted on Wesley, who he seemed to have a quiet friendship with. Or Fred, who he seemed to ignore completely, except when he thought no one was looking. Now this strong man, who seemed irritated by her very presence, who had called her “Barbie” for which she would soon make him pay, was worried that she might nick herself while cleaning the windows.
His quiet indifference was a front. She could tell. She’d always had a certain talent for reading peoples actions, letting them speak louder to her than their words.
“Thought you didn’t do windows” she asked quietly, with a knowing smirk.
He continued to ignore her as he scraped another strip of paint.
She started to speak again but stopped herself. What did she think she was doing? She was not going to get involved. This was not her home, or some giggly dormitory, as Fred seemed to think. This was her prison. She had to remember that. Caring about the people around her would be betraying her father and why she had made her insane promise in the first place. She couldn’t be happy in the hotel without her father. She wouldn’t.
***
“As I explained earlier,” the young lawyer began to subtly usher the unshaven Mr. Chase from his office. “We don’t handle missing person cases.”
“She’s not missing!” Clinton was becoming desperate and a little angry at the way he was being dismissed. “I told you! She’s being held against her will by a vampire here in the city! She said his name was Angel! You’ve got to believe me! I know you know about these things! Trent Braxton…”
“Was the only name that got you this appointment in the first place. We’ve been looking for him for weeks and I thought you might be able to offer us some useful information. But it seems you’ve obviously had a traumatic experience, Mr. Chase,” the man began to patronize. “And listening to the insane and wild tales told to you by a very unstable man such as Mr. Braxton is not going to bring your daughter home any sooner. My suggestion to you would be to file a missing persons report at your local police…”
Lindsey McDonald’s advice was cut short by the ringing phone, “Excuse me for a moment,” he said before picking up the line. “Yes, sir….but it’s only….yes, sir….yes, sir…I understand…..with perfect clarity.”
Lindsey placed the phone back down and looked up at his ‘three o’clock’. “Well, Mr. Chase. It seems that we do have a common interest in finding your daughter after all. We’ll need some information of course. Pictures, detailed descriptions of her and this vampire who has claimed to have taken her.”
Clinton looked bewildered at the man’s sudden change in attitude. “So, you’ll help me? Just like that? You believe me now”
“We believed you the moment you walked in the door, Mr. Chase. We just didn’t care until now.”
***
Cordelia sat in the middle of the suite, looking at the things she had ordered her captor to deliver. Pulling the soft robe around her freshly bathed body, she stared for a moment at the beautiful things before exchanging her new robe for her old clothes.
She had made that ridiculous list out of anger, never expecting him to get her anything on it. What would he think of her now? What would she owe him now?
Taking a deep breath, she stared at the French doors that had remained open to let out the smell of paint and ammonia earlier in the day. She walked out onto the balcony and stared off at the distant lights, wondering if her father was safe, if her mother was happy, and if she would ever see either of them again.
How could she still feel anything for her mother? The woman who had abandoned her and her father. Who would have taken everything in that room and never questioned what it meant or what it would cost her.
“Don’t tell me they didn’t fit,” the voice made her jump and give off an uncontrollable squeak.
“Don’t do that!” she panted as she stepped back and focused on the growingly familiar shadow.
“You’re not wearing any of those things you wrote down on your list last night. So, I’m assuming that they didn’t fit,” he never moved from the shadows that plagued the corner of the balcony.
She breathed out a huge breath of fatigue and frustration. “That list….that was just a sarcastic remark. I didn’t really mean for you to get me those things. I don’t want to owe you anymore than I already do. If that’s even possible,” she looked into the shadow.
“You don’t owe me for the things on the list. Every human who pushes their way into my little slice heaven gets the same treatment,” he said sarcastically. “You’re no different from the others,” he ended with a lie.
She ignored his tone and kept talking, more to herself than to him, “I just don’t want any of them to think that’s what I am. That that beautiful, gorgeous and very expensive mound of merchandise in there is all I care about. I don’t want them to think that’s why I’m here, that I can be bought. Since they obviously don’t know why I’m really staying,” she directed the last comment to the shadow he occupied. “I mean, I don’t want to be here and no matter how much I like those things in there, no matter how tempting they are, I can’t lie to myself and act like I do. I don’t want designer labels and a posh apartment.”
He watched her as she leaned her back on the ledge of the balcony, seemingly in deep thought. “What do you want” In that moment, with the smell of her freshly bathed skin filling his senses and her casual way that seemed to make him at ease, he’d give her anything, anything that crossed her lips was hers.
“I want to go home.”
Except that. “And what home would that be” the earlier bite returned to his voice as the spell was broken.
“I don’t know,” she rubbed her fatigued face with her hand and stared off again.
He couldn’t stand it. The look on her face. The way her mind was warring with itself, wanting something that didn’t exist.
“I didn’t come here to be some housemate with a bunch of strangers and a vampire. This was my last place to go for help. I would have never dreamed of coming here otherwise. No offence,” she added off-handedly.
“It’s okay. Most people wouldn’t have even put it on the list of possibilities.”
The balcony slipped into silence for a moment or two.
“So, this life promising thing…” she changed the subject out of shear exhaustion.
“Means that you promise to live your life here, in the hotel, with me.”
“So, I can’t even step outside for a breath of fresh air.”
“There is no fresh air in L.A..”
“What if I just needed to get out, leave for just a little while and come back”
“Why would you want to leave” he sounded a little panicked.
“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Doctor’s appointment, pedicure, window shopping down Rodeo, day at the beach, anything! If you’re really going to make me keep this deal of ours, have me live here, then you’re going to have to let me do just that. Live.”
His only answer was silence.
“So, I am a prisoner.”
“I’ve got enough money for you to have anything you could ever need or want delivered right to the door.”
“No you don’t. No one has “enough” money, Angel,” she called him by name forcing him unconsciously to come partially out of the shadows, hoping she would say it again. “My dad found that out the hard way. Not everything that makes life worth living or brings you happiness can be delivered to your door. Sometimes you’ve got to venture out and get it yourself.”
He looked at her face, felt the waves of determination and fatigue rolling off of her. But there was no fear. She wasn’t afraid of him. Standing on a dark balcony, with a vampire who could kill her before she even blinked, she showed no fear, argued with him even as if he was some regular acquaintance discussing what made life, life.
In that moment he knew that she was wrong. Happiness, or at least a burning hope for it, could be delivered to his door. It had arrived just two nights previous, when she had marched down the street to the last place on her list.
“I don’t want you to think of yourself as a prisoner, Cordelia.”
“So, what am I then” she whispered desperately, completely bewildered as to why he would want her to stay. “Pampered Pet” it came out with disgust.
“Better than prisoner,” he backed up into the shadows again. “Take the things, Cordelia. Everyone else here does. It’s what I want. It’s what you’ll do,” he was back to his bullying tone.
That order fired her temper, but she couldn’t discern his figure any longer and for a moment she thought she saw his large shadow leap over the ledge.
She leaned out over the edge, wanting to shoot her anger straight towards him, but couldn’t see him and she felt more than knew that he was no longer on the balcony. Laying her arms across each other on the top of the ledge, she rested her chin and looked back out at the city. “Even a pampered pet can get sick and die unless they’re allowed a walk once in awhile, Angel” she whispered to the night.
***
The next day, only Wesley greeted her bright and early.
“The other’s have enough home improvement for one week?” she asked as she let him into her suite.
“Gunn has gone out for the morning on some personal business, Fred is sleeping in and I’ve come with a message from Angel,” he seemed too pleased with the news as he gave her a smile.
She waited with a very unexcitable stare.
When he realized his announcement had not made the slightest spark of interest, he simply continued. “Well, he says I’m to take you for your walk.”
Cordelia coughed back a choke, “My walk”
“Well, yes. I’m sure he meant for me to get you out of this place for the day. It can become very depressing no matter how much one fixes up the place.”
“Yes, it can,” she looked out to the balcony and to the spot she had occupied the night before. Stupid vamp was listening. And he made a joke. She tried not to crack a smile as she told herself she was furious at him, that she would always hate him, but somehow she couldn’t will her ever ready temper to the surface.
She was beginning to understand, as she followed Wesley out of the door, that Angel, like everything else in this strange place, was nothing like he seemed.
