Part 4
It was delicious. Thick, hot and rejuvenating, it ran down his throat, easing a hunger that he knew must have been there even before his imprisonment. And even as his conscience reminded him that he would not kill, that his human victim would be left dazed and weak but alive, his fangs sunk even deeper, the need for more of the rich liquid too great to ignore.
He felt his own strength returning as the man locked in his steal grip began to weaken, sag with the loss of what both of them needed to survive. He’d let go. One more minute. The man would survive one more minute.
He could feel it soaking every shriveled cell and still they cried out, demanded more. It filled him, warmed his cold body, and not only began to heal physical wounds but began to lasso his fragmented thoughts. The flicker of a memory here and there played in his head like an old silent movie. The man in his clutches, a large book in his hand, looking directly at him. His expression seemed to be one of persuasion, as if he were trying desperately to explain something to him. Then as quickly as it came the scene was gone
Seconds past and the man began to lose consciousness, his eyes fluttering closed. Only then did he raise his head. Forced himself to stop what seemed to be so natural, yet felt so wrong. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,“ he chanted while he supported the limp body, ripped at his borrowed shirt and pressed hard on the jagged wound to stop the flow of what little blood the man had left.
“Wes!”
The hissed whisper came from around the corner of the alley. It was the other man calling to his friend. He had planned on using both of them but now his concern for the man he held out weighed the insatiable hunger he had felt before. What should he do? His strength was growing every second. He could feel his wounds beginning to close and heal, he could be gone in an instant. But what about the man he had so brutally used? He couldn’t leave him. The poor human had little life left in him, his pulse weak at best. He feared that if he let go of the open wound he would bleed to death even before his friend reached him.
“Wes!”
The call came closer now. He raised the unconscious man in front of himself to avert any kind of attack the other man might try. His decision was made. He would stay, help the man, make sure that his friend would get him to safety. Pressing harder on the man’s throat, he waited.
Gunn rounded the corner to a sight he had seen way too often during his early days on the streets. One of his crew, a friend, a brother, in the clutches of a vamp. Lifeless. Rage filled him as he lifted his trusty axe in challenge. “You got to the count of zero to get yo ugly ass hands off my friend,” he said in a cool tone, belying his underlying fear that he was too late.
“He needs a hospital,” the creature said through fangs tinted red with Wesley’s blood.
Confused momentarily by the statement, by what seemed to be a note of desperation in the demon’s voice, Gunn shook himself and regrouped his thoughts. “What he needs is you to let go so I can dust your sorry dead ass and get him the hell out of here.”
“You won’t have time. When I let go he’ll start to bleed again,” the vamp countered. “If you waste time on me, let him lay here in the alley while you TRY to dust me, he’ll die.”
The muscles in Gunn’s arm tensed as he held the axe steady in his hands, trying to decide what to do. Wesley could be dead, or worse. It could be a trick just to give the vamp time to escape. But he couldn’t take the chance, not if there was a possibility that his friend was still alive, could be saved. Man, it burned him to let this one go, knowing that the next dude this monster might target might not be so lucky. He looked at the bloody cloth pressed to his friend’s neck and rethought the word ’lucky’. Slowly, Charles Gunn lowered the axe, prepared to give up the kill for the chance to save his best friend.
The moment the axe dropped to the ground, the vampire flung Wesley into the other man’s arms, unsure why he cared so much that the man live. Sure he didn’t need another stain on his already blackened soul, but this was different. This man wasn’t just another sin to be counted, a face among the many that flashed before his eyes, the ones he numbered and categorized and weighed against what good he knew he could do if he only tried. If he only cared. But he did care. For some reason he cared about this man. This man must live.
He watched as the bald man grabbed hold of his friend, applied pressure with the ever darkening cloth at his neck. The man felt for a pulse and closed his eyes in relief at the faint thump beneath his hand. He wanted to stay, help them get to safety and assure himself that ‘Wes’ would be fine.
Wes.
Wes and Gunn. The two names felt like a kick in his gut.
No. It couldn’t be. And yet even as he denied it, he knew. Somehow he just knew.
“Gunn?” the vampire asked, his stomach turning when the bald man looked up at him in anger and confusion at how the animal in front of him knew him by name. “Hurry up,” he whispered, the once delicious and savored blood now forcing its way back into his throat. It was all he could do not to be sick, to know that he had probably murdered someone important in Cordelia Chase’s life and for some unexplained reason, extremely important in his own. He leaned down to try and help, guilt and shame flooding him at what he had done. He had to make it right. How was he ever going to be able to make something this horrible right?
Gunn jerked his friend away and stood shakily with Wesley supported in his arms. “If I ever see you again…” the young man bit out a warning before carrying his friend from the alley to the truck.
He watched them go. Felt as if he should have gone. But what could he do? Slipping back into his human face, he buried his head in his hands, trying to think of how he was going to face her after nearly killing Wes. She would know now. What he was. What he was capable of. He gave a hysterical chuckle and rubbed his face roughly in his hands. He thought she could save him. Thought that protecting her from the world would lift him out of the hell of his existence, maybe make him remember some part of himself that was good. What a fool. He lowered his arms and looked down at his hands, covered in the blood of her friend. The only thing Cordelia Chase needed protection from was him. Being near her, forcing himself into her life wouldn’t allow him to enter into some kind of paradise with her. It would only drag her into the perpetual misery that he was doomed to suffer. In his fantasies of her, she had filled his cold heart and dead soul with warmth. She was the sun he had missed for so long, a bright glowing star that made him forget his sins, forget who and what he was. But there in lay the problem. He had forgotten. Forgotten that he was a monster, a demon, a vampire. Forgotten that he was a being who could never walk in the light of the sun.
With the brief warmth that the blood had offered now completely gone, he walked out of the alley the way he was sure he must have walked all of his life. Cold and alone.
***
Cordelia woke with a start. Her deep and peaceful sleep suddenly disturbed for no apparent reason. Her eyes immediately searched the room for her strange guest. Her heart sank. He was gone. She didn’t have to look in any other room to know he was no longer in the apartment. Her eyes darted to the bedside clock and she knew that even though it was still a couple hours until dawn, she’d never be able to go back to sleep. Not like she had with him here, watching over her. She sighed and tried to think of a distraction, something that would make her forget the ridiculous way her heart pounded when she thought of the poor bum.
Deciding to fix a cup of tea and turn on the television to the latest thirty-minute infomercial while reading last month’s issue of Cosmo, Cordelia stood and slipped into her robe and padded barefoot into the living room. She wouldn’t give the guy another thought. He was probably fine. She glanced at the window as she entered the living room. Surely someone who could kill two vampires with his bare hands could take care of himself out on the streets. Cordelia swallowed down the lump forming in her throat at the mental image of him wandering the L.A. night alone.
She picked up the throw he had been covered in and placed it back on the couch and noticed Gunn’s clothes were gone. That at least gave her some measure of comfort. She hated thinking of him out there, cold and alone and was grateful that even if he was alone, his rags had been replaced with something dry and warm.
After placing the teakettle on the stove, she walked to the window and stared into the dark, early morning hours. Worried. Where was he? Why would he just leave? He could have stayed. Why did she want him to stay? She pictured him huddled in some alley, starving and alone. She felt terrible for not feeding him, for not taking better care of him. He had saved her life and how had she repaid him? With a bottle of water, an uncomfortable couch, and a bitch and moan session about the visions and her nightmares.
Biting and chewing on a manicured nail, she began to pace back and forth in front of the window. He was probably starving. Why couldn’t she just stock her refrigerator like a normal person? She hoped he at least found something to eat out there.
The sound of the phone was loud and startling. Enough so that Dennis took the initiative to pick it up after the first ring. With an uneasy feeling, Cordelia took hold of the floating receiver.
“What‘s wrong?” were her first words.
“First of all don’t freak,” Gunn’s voice shot quickly in her ear.
“Oh my God. Wesley?”
“He’s fine. Got jumped by a vamp a few hours ago. Lost a little blood but the doc says he can go home after they watch him for about twelve hours.”
“No one is ever fine after being attacked by a vampire, Charles. They’re either dead or undead, but never fine.”
“I know. It shocked the hell out of me too. I tell you my boy’s tough.”
“Gunn, what happened? And what the hell were you two doing chasing vampires in the middle of the night? I didn’t have a vision. You two shouldn’t put yourselves at risk like that. You’re too important to the mission.” ‘To me.’ was her trailing thought.
“Whoa, hold up. We didn’t go out chasin’ vamps. We went on to the movies after we talked to you. Ya know the old renovated cinema down by Jake’s. When we got out some girl came runnin’ out the alley talkin’ about some scary lookin dude threatening her. We did our usual split and search and Wes stumbled on him before I made it back around. When I finally reached the other side, saw him there, I thought….” Gunn paused and acted as if he was clearing his throat, but Cordelia caught the emotion in his words
“Gunn?” her voice sounded small and shaky.
“That vamp had him at least a good five minutes. He shoulda been dead, Cordy. I thought he was. Or worse.”
She could hear the fear and anguish in Gunn’s voice at almost losing their friend. “But you said he’s going to be fine. Right?”
“Yeah,” he cleared his throat again and regained some of the strength of his voice. “Physically British is doin alright. Still talkin a little crazy but the doc says that will pass. I told a nurse and the doctor that we ran into a stray pit bull in the ally and Wes tried to pet it. He said a buncha people that get attacked by animals act a little out of it right after it happens. Gives them a little mental trauma. Guess if a dog bite can shake your marbles loose, a vamp bite sure as hell can.”
“Where are you?”
“We’re at Mercy. Still in the emergency room though. They’re not going to bother with a room since he’ll be outa here so quick.?”
“It’ll take me about twenty minutes. See ya then.” Cordelia hung up the phone without waiting for a response and hurried to dress. Her brain now on overload with worry for her injured friend and the mysterious man who wouldn’t get out of her head. Or her heart.
***
He had wandered the streets until he felt sunrise just an hour away. Then, too cowardly to face the light, he had resorted to the large L.A. sewage system as his route to nowhere. He passed by the entrance to her apartment basement twice and cursed at himself out loud each time for being too weak. Finally, knowing that if he let himself near it one more time that he would go to her, consequences be damned, he turned in the opposite direction and ran. After a short time of blindly turning corners, trying to lose himself in the city’s underground, he suddenly slowed in front of an entrance. He stared at it. He knew it.
Reaching for the lock, he twisted it easily and entered a dilapidated basement. The place was trashed. The only identifiable item in the room was an old punching bag laying against the corner wall. It’s leather cover ripped in several places.
A memory, no flash or fleeting picture, but a true memory hit him so hard it was almost painful. Cordelia. She was standing in this room, with him. Training. Or that had been what she had called it. It hadn’t felt like training to him. Training was work. There was no pleasure involved in training. He remembered the way her curvaceous hips felt as they swiveled beneath his hands when she attempted to mimic his demonstration. He remembered making her do it again and again even though she had gotten it right the first time. Each time reveling in the feel of her body moving against his, his strong hands holding her in front of him, just out of reach of his erection.
He saw another image. One of her smiling as she lowered a small sword from his neck, proud of herself for catching on so quickly. She was no dream. No bright fantasy that had kept him from complete darkness. No stranger that had taken him in from the night. She was Cordelia. Cordelia Chase. And he knew her. Or at least he had.
Searching for more clues, more triggers for his fragmented mind, he ascended the basement stairs and entered what appeared to be a hotel lobby. Again images flew at him so fast that they were hard to grasp and even harder to understand. The two men in the alley, Cordelia, a green demon dressed in orange lame’, a skinny brunette with a goofy smile and black rimmed glasses, all people he knew. People he cared for. People who had been erased from his memory. But why?
A thought suddenly crossed his mind, weakened his knees. What if they weren’t real. The memories. What if in his guilt over Wes and his need for Cordelia his crazed and delusional mind was creating what he wanted to be, instead of what was. That certainly would make more sense. Erasing the memories of one being seemed possible, but to believe that the person or people who had chained him in that box could have the resources or the power to erase him from the memories of others, many others, just didn’t seem likely.
He walked into an abandoned and disheveled old office off of the lobby. Another vivid image of the man he possibly murdered burning a whole in his brain. He closed his eyes tight, trying to shut out the vision but only succeeding in locking it in. Wes looked at him, a trusting smile on his face.
He shook his head, unable to stand the guilt washing over him. Maybe he was still in his box. Maybe his dreams of Cordelia had branched out into new territory, sprouting the limbs of some kind of makeshift family tree. A guttural growl echoed through the empty old hotel as he felt his sanity slipping slowly away. He was close. Close to what he feared the most. Of turning into the thing that lived inside of him. Of letting the monster take over just to escape the madness he faced. A savage growl erupted from him again as he pushed the debris from the desk, threw the already broken chair across the room and kicked over the small metal filing cabinet. He raised his arms again, ready to inflict more damage in the already demolished room, but he paused midair.
It was shiny and brown, no more than a small strip clinging to the bottom of the overturned file cabinet. A piece of a picture negative. He slowly lowered his arms, a stillness that he couldn’t explain taking over his body. Sinking to his knees, he pulled the negative from the broken piece of office furniture and held it up to see.
He almost didn’t recognize himself. Not because he was healthy and whole in the photograph, but because he was smiling. He would have thought that it was strange to see such an expression on his face. That is if he was alone in the picture. But he wasn’t. Smiling back at him was a face full of love and acceptance. Cordelia. He wasn’t mad. The flashes and fragments that kept trying to break back into his mind were real.
He clung to the small negative as if it were his only hope, his only life line. In truth it was. It meant everything. It was proof that he existed. Proof that he hadn’t gone completely insane. It meant that Cordelia was real, but it also meant that the memories of the others were real too. That the man he had attacked in the alley, the one he hoped against hope had survived, was Wesley, his friend. He would remember. In time he knew he would. Now he only had to convince the others of what had been done to them.
Rage bubbled up through him, boiled and burned him. His eyes scanned the office and the lobby outside. This had been his home. He could feel it. It had been his home and his enemy had destroyed it, tried to erase everything that he was, everything that had meant anything to him. He stood and placed the small miracle in his pocket. Vowing to find the person responsible for taking his life and his family away from him. Knowing he would do anything now to get both back. No matter the price.
***
Cordelia blinked hard, trying desperately to stay awake on the drive home from Wesley‘s. She had had every intention on staying with him but he had insisted that everyone go home. When she refused, Fred and Lorne volunteered to stay a few more hours, just to make sure he would be alright for the night. Honestly, she was grateful they had bullied her into leaving. She was exhausted. So, after Gunn had finally left and after Wesley assured her for the fifth or sixth time that he was fine, she had graced him with a chaste kiss, followed by a slap on the arm and a “Don’t ever do that to me again” just for good measure.
They all had smiled at that remark. Thinking that it was just one more of her trademark smart quips, but she had meant it. She didn’t know if her heart could take another middle of the night call from one of her family members. This had been the first one, their first brush with what could be all of their fates. She didn’t want to face a second. Afraid that the outcome could be much worse.
At least he was fine. Physically anyway. Gunn’s little hint at Wes’ bizarre account of what had happened had been an understatement. The poor guy kept insisting that the vampire had stopped himself from killing him. Had felt remorse for his actions. Had even tried to save him by applying pressure to the wound and waiting for Gunn. Cordelia and the others had tried to convince him that no vampire would ever act that way. Gunn had even told him that he was sure it had been a ploy to help him escape when he sensed that Gunn was near. “Yo man, you’ve faced these demons before. You know what they are. What they’re capable of,“ Gunn had tried.
But Wesley just stared at him, conviction set on his face. “That’s how I know. This one was different,” was all he said in the end.
Cordelia pulled into her parking spot and headed inside. She thought about her stranger, hoped that he was alright. Wished that he would come watch over her as she tried to sleep. Sick and silly as it seemed.
Reaching for her keys, she opened her door, immediately greeted by a freshly brewed cup of tea and the Cosmo she had abandoned the night before.
“No thanks, Dennis. I’m just going to try and get some sleep.”
The tea and Cosmo were replaced by a notepad that floated at eye level. THE GEEK DROPPED BY. Was scribbled in Dennis’ ghostly handwriting.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black. Don’t ya think?”
She was answered by the notepad dropping to the floor and the slam of the bedroom door.
Cordelia took a deep breath and walked to the closed door. “Come on Dennis. It was a joke. I was just trying to teach you a lesson about calling Richard names. I know you don’t like him. I’m not really sure I do either. But he is my neighbor.”
The door flew open and a gust of wind brushed against Cordelia. The notepad raised from the floor and a pencil scribbled: SHY AND BROW BEATEN BY MY MOTHER BUT NEVER A GEEK!
“I know. I’m sorry. Just try and be a little nicer. Okay? If I can manage it, you certainly can.” She waited several seconds while the message pad and pencil floated in the air. Finally an O and a K were scratched on the bottom of the page.
Cordelia turned to head for her room, satisfied that her moody ghost’s feelings weren’t hurt too bad and feeling lucky that she hadn’t been home when Richard had come by. But just as she reached her room there was a knock at her door. “What now?” she complained as she turned to open it.
When Richard appeared on the other side, she knew her weekend couldn’t get any worse. “Hi, Richard,” she greeted wearily but didn’t move to invite him in. He simply stared at first, as if waiting for something and for a split second Cordelia thought she saw a flash of cruelty, of anger, mar his pale face. But as quickly as it had been there it was gone.
“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he tried to peer around her into the apartment. “I was worried sick about you all night after I saw you bringing that man home with you.”
It was the first time that he had ever said anything remotely personal to her. And it pissed her off. Who was this gee…guy? What business of his was it who she brought home? A waterfall of insults tried to pour out of her mouth at his audacity. But she stopped herself. Not wanting to sound like the ‘Old’ Cordelia, even if it was warranted in this situation. “Well, as you can see I’m perfectly fine. Thanks for stopping by,” she tried to shut the door but he placed a hand on the wood, stopping the motion.
“You really shouldn’t bring home strangers Cordelia,” he said with surprising authority as he leaned his head inside, his face so close she could smell his breath. “You’re innocent and beautiful, Cordelia. You don’t know what kind of monsters are out there just waiting to prey on a girl like you.”
“You don‘t know the first thing about me or what I know,” she tried to keep the anger out of her voice. “I’m no girl, Richard. I’m a grown woman who has faced more monsters in my life than you could imagine.”
Cordelia stared at him, realizing for the first time that just as he didn’t know her, she really didn’t know him. Suddenly feeling a little frightened by his behavior, she pushed at the door a little harder until he finally eased back into the hallway. A look of apology on his face.
“I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s all. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
She took a deep breath to calm her temper. What did he know of monsters and danger? Part of this was her fault anyway. She knew he had had a crush on her but had thought if she had just ignored it that it would go away. If she really thought about it, he looked sort of comical standing there in the hallway, his skinny chest puffed up like some brave hero. He was probably just fresh off a role playing game on the internet and had bolstered enough nerve to come over and claim himself her protector. “Well, like I said before, Richard,” her voice was soft and persuasive. “I’m fine. I don’t need a protector or guardian. And if we’re going to be friendly neighbors, you’re going to have to learn that sticking your nose in other people’s business doesn’t endear yourself to them. It just ticks them off,” she gently chided.
He shook his head as if he understood but something told Cordelia he didn’t. Oh well, she had dealt with awkward, obsessed men before. She’d deal with it again.
“Goodnight, Richard,” she prompted when he didn’t move to leave.
“Night, Cordelia,” he answered, but never moved as Cordelia shut the door.
“Now,” she announced to the room as she crossed the floor. “If the men in my life are through almost dying while saving my life, getting snacked on by hungry demons, or getting their feelings hurt,” she emphasized to the air. “I’m going to bed.”
Cordelia walked in her room stretching and yawning. She leaned toward the wall to turn on the light but stopped herself, unwilling to burn her tired eyes with the light. Blinking her sleepy eyes, she tried to make the dark room come into focus. Shadows played and moved across the bed as she started to make her way across the room and fall into the beckoning covers. Half way to her goal she paused and heard herself gasp.
Maybe she was dreaming, maybe she had fallen asleep at the wheel and now she was in her dream world, because staring at her from the darkest corner of her room were those eyes. Dark chocolate, mysterious, brooding eyes. The owner of those eyes took a step forward and she could see him in the patch of light glowing through the window, knew him as both the stranger she had helped and the Angel she had dreamed of so many nights before. A possibility hit her then, when she finally convinced herself she was truly awake. What if all of those nights of restless sleep, of dreaming of him, wishing he could be real, what if those dreams, those fantasies, hadn’t been dreams at all? What if they were visions?
He stepped through the alternating shadows that blanketed her room and she could see bare traces of the wounds that had riddled his body just a night ago. She didn’t want to think about what that could mean. She couldn’t think of that or anything at the moment as he crossed the room with quiet strength. She swallowed hard when he stopped just inches from her and lifted his hand to her face. Brushing back a fallen strand of hair from her forehead, he whispered her name as if it were a word he had almost forgotten how to say, “Cordelia?”
She glanced down at Gunn’s clothing and looked back up into his eyes. Unable to stop herself, she whispered, “Angel?”
“I think I’m far from that,” he said almost bitterly, mistaking the name for a description.
The previous night flashed through her mind again and mixed itself with the dreams that she had had so often. “Who are you?” her voice quivered.
He took a step back then, looked at her as if she were the last shred of hope he had left in the world and reached into his pocket. With an outstretched hand, he offered her the small shiny square and answered her question. “I don’t know. You tell me.”