Chasing Shadows
Detective Kate Lockley sat at her desk staring at the files in front of her. Only one had her attention, but it wasn't open. It didn't need to be; by now she had the content all but memorized.
Six bodies found in the basement of their apartment building. Drained of blood, eyes removed. The eyes were later recovered when the suspect had attacked Kate by her car in the parking garage beneath the police station five days ago. Along with that information was a composite of the suspect based on Kate's observations and the name he had given her before attacking her, Penn. Lastly, the file included the details of Kate's attack, also based on her testimony, since the suspect had somehow disable the security cameras prior to the attack.
The suspect had approached her, holding a bag, and attempted to strike up a conversation. When she tried to walk past him he struck her hard on the head before she had time to react. When she regained consciousness he was gone. The bag lay near her. That's what the report said, and only Kate, the murderer, and Angel knew that it was a complete fabrication.
She still didn't know why she had kept Angel out of the report. He knew this killer, very well from what she had heard of their conversation. Why didn't he turn him in? Why did he let him go?
Kate had thought she knew which side of the law Angel was on, even if he was technically braking it by working as a private investigator without a license. He had saved her life once and over the last few months, he had become a friend of sorts. Someone she liked and, what was even more important, trusted. And now this.
She didn't know what to think.
Of course, it didn't help that her head was pounding. When the suspect had hit her, he had hit very hard. He was amazingly strong for a man of his size. She had been out for several minutes and was lucky to have suffered nothing worse than a mild concussion. Two stitches marked the spot on her right temple where he'd struck her. She was going to have yet another scar and that this one hadn't come with an arrest really bugged her.
Whatever it took, she was going to find this guy. She wasn't sure where this obsession came from, but she couldn't let it go. She would find him, catch him, and lock him up. She only hoped that he would resist arrest when the time came so that she could shoot the bastard and have done with it.
She would catch him, and Angel was the key, if only she could figure out how to use him.
* * *
Cordelia sat at her desk reading a magazine, while Dinah sat on the floor at her feet working on her latest picture.
Angel sat in his office reading, or pretending to read, a new mystery novel.
Doyle had moved back and forth between the rooms for the last three hours. Sitting on the couch in the outer room for while, then going to sit across from Angel, then back to sit in the chair in front of Cordelia's desk, then back again to the couch.
With the exception of the little girl, who seemed perfectly content, they were all bored out of their minds.
For the last five days there had been nothing. No visions, no clients, and absolutely nothing to do. It didn't help the general mood of the office that Angel had been brooding almost non-stop since his last run in with Penn. The only bright side was that it seemed he'd been right, from the lack of carnage it looked as though Penn had left Los Angeles altogether. But Cordelia and Doyle were worried, just the same. He was still out there.
Cordelia glanced at her watch for the fourth time in the last hour. This was getting ridiculous. She wanted to just tell Angel she was going and take Dinah home. She was looking a bit flushed. Of course, her natural skin color was rather red, but it wasn't usually that particular shade. It was now closer to the color of Cordelia's Red Passion lipstick, instead of her Summer Sunset. And that couldn't be normal. She'd also been tired all day. She had taken two naps already, when it was usually a trial to get her to take one.
She looked down at Dinah, studying her for the umpteenth time that day. She just couldn't seem to make up her mind if she should be concerned or not. It was probably nothing. Just the same, maybe she should take her home early and make some chicken soup or something. Wasn't that supposed to make everything better? Just a little while longer, she decided. She still kept hoping that a client would come walking through the door. It had yet to happen, but if there was one thing Cordelia Chase had always possessed in abundance it was optimism. And if there was one thing they needed right now, it was money.
She was about to check her watch again, when Doyle suddenly sat up straight from where he'd been lying on the couch, dropping his newspaper. "I think we may have company," he said softly.
Cordelia looked up to see a shadow out in the hallway. She couldn't clearly see what it was, but it was definitely standing outside the door. Cordelia immediately sat up straight, smoothing her hair, and putting on her best 'helpful' look. Angel came to stand in the doorway between the inner and outer offices.
"Dinah, go into Angel's office, please" Cordelia said, beginning to feel nervous as the shadow remained where it was and didn't come any closer.
"But..." Dinah's protest was cut off with a sharp glance from Cordelia.
"What did we talk about yesterday, about doing what Cordy says?" The little girl sighed and grabbing her pad and crayons, slipping past Angel into his office. Angel carefully shut the door behind her as the shadow outside finally moved toward the door.
The door opened, hesitantly, to reveal what was possibly the more terrifying thing Cordelia had ever seen...
Angel: the Cyber Series
"Chasing Shadows"
Written by Cleo Calliope
Edited by
Michele
Katarina Hjärpe
Ellen
Produced by
Cleo Calliope
Based on the characters created by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt, and the series produced by Mutant Enemy,
Inc., Greenwolf Corp., Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, in association with 20th Century Fox Television. No
copyright infringement intended, no profit received from this work of fiction. Story copyrighted © 2000 Cleo
Calliope, AtCS, and Prosephone's Lyre Productions.
This story may not be reprinted or presented in any way without express permission from the author and notification
of the AtCS production staff.
Originally produced by Random Productions. Reproduced with permission and thanks.
The demon that entered the office was unlike anything any of them had ever seen. It was as tall as Angel, but about twice as broad. It had green scales, a pig's snout, four horns on its massive head... and that wasn't the scary part. The scary part was the tacky, flower print dress the demon wore and the red, obviously fake alligator handbag it was carrying. Doyle's jaw dropped, while Cordelia had to fight not to laugh out loud.
"Is this Angel Investigations?" the demon asked in a high scratchy voice that didn't sound like it could come from a body that big.
Angel recovered first. "Uh, Yes... can we, um... help you?"
The demon came farther into the room and closed the door behind it with fastidious care. "Oh dear, yes I hope so. I'm absolutely at my wits' end and I really don't know what to do." The demon came further into the room wringing its hands – complete with three-inch claws – in a pitiful manner. "I can't believe that I'd ever have to come to a place like this. I'll have you know that I am perfectly respectable and from a perfectly respectable family. If any of my neighbors knew I had set foot in a place like this... I'd never be able to show my face at the sewing circle again. This never would have happened if my dear Razorka was still alive, he would have taken care of all of this, but since he passed on – may the seven hells rest his soul – I've had to do all sorts of things that I'm just not used to."
Doyle was beginning to turn red with the effort of not laughing. Cordelia, on the other hand, had recovered herself. She stood and motioned toward the chair in front of her desk. "Why don't you take a seat? Would you like some coffee?" A client was a client; at this point she was willing to take what they could get, although this was a definite ten on her weird-o-meter.
"Thank you, but no coffee, please. It isn't good for my nerves." The demon settled herself, at least Cordelia was assuming it was a her, into the chair. Cordelia held her breath, uncertain if the ancient thing would be able to hold the weight. With a heart-stopping sigh of protest, the chair held.
Angel moved around to lean against the desk and regarded their visitor with a practiced blankness.
"What is the problem, Ms..."
"Mrs. Klavorknos," the demon corrected him. "Mrs. Traynaus Klavorknos."
"Mrs. Klavorknos," Angel repeated, and Cordelia was impressed that he'd managed not to stumble over the strange name.
"We assure you, Mrs... er... ma'am," Cordelia broke in. "We are totally discreet. Anything you have to say will not leave this room."
"Well, I certainly hope not," Mrs. Klavorknos said. "The problem... oh dear. You see, it's my son." She pulled out a lace handkerchief and began dabbing at her red eyes, although Cordelia couldn't see any evidence of tears there. Did demons cry?
"Your son," Doyle prompted, having finally mastered his laughter enough to come around and lean against the wall behind Cordelia, who had resumed her seat.
"Razorka Klavorknos Jr. He's such a good boy," she said. "He's never been in any trouble. No mother could ask for a better son. Since we lost his father he has looked after me, he's always there when I need him. But now..." She started dabbing at her eyes again and sniffing dolefully. "He's gone," she wailed.
"Gone?" Angel asked. "He disappeared?"
Mrs. Klavorknos nodded. "He went to go to the store and get me some tea, my nerves, you know. But he never came home."
"How long ago was this?"
"Nearly two w-weeks!" the demon sobbed. "I've just about run out of excuses to the neighbors. They'll begin to suspect something soon. I just don't know what to do. Respectable families don't allow their children to be demon-napped!"
"How old is your son?" Cordelia asked, trying to appear sympathetic. Surprisingly, it wasn't as hard as it would have been not that long ago. She began to think about what she would feel if Dinah disappeared and her throat closed up. And Dinah wasn't even actually hers.
"Eighty-five. Barely more than a child! Oh, I almost forgot." She dove into her hideous purse and produced a picture. "This is him." She set it on the desk for all of them to see. "Isn't he handsome? Just like his father at his age."
The three looked down at the fussy picture of a demon who looked very much like the one in front of them, except that he was thinner and wore a Jean jacket. They nodded solemnly.
"I'm more than willing to pay, of course. My dear departed Razorka was a wonderful provider." She sniffed again. "I just can't understand how this could have happened. Junior has always been such a good boy, so very much like his dear father."
Cordelia breathed easier at the mention of money and settled in to take notes.
* * *
Kate had pulled every man she could get her hands on to search for the suspect. So far, they had come up empty handed and if this went on for very much longer she would no longer be able to justify the use of the officers.
Her head still hurt as she drove to the latest "possible sighting". There had been nearly thirty of them investigated by herself or one of the other officers. She knew that the most responsible thing to do would be to go to Angel. Demand to know how to find the suspect and take him in for further questioning if he refused to give her the answers she needed. Possibly charge him if he didn't cooperate. But the same reluctance that had made her lie on her report had kept her away from his office. In all truthfulness, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear what Angel might have to say.
What did she really know about Angel anyway? Not much. Hell, the guy didn't even have a last name for all she knew. Not to mention the lack of an investigator's license. Then there were his associates, who she knew even less about.
She shook herself out of her thoughts as she arrived at the apartment building. Questioning the lady who had called, in response to the bulletin on television, took approximately ten minutes. It wouldn't have taken that long, except that Kate couldn't get the woman to shut up. She'd been sure that she'd seen the killer going into her building and was convinced that the landlord knew something and was probably hiding the man. Although why the man was hiding him seemed to have more to do with the state of the apartment building's water pressure than anything else as far as Kate could tell. More to fill time than for any other reason, Kate agreed to go and talk to the landlord, who lived on the first floor of the small apartment building he owned.
She knocked on his door and waited. A small, older man, with thinning white hair answered. "Yes?"
"Mr. Alberts?" When he nodded, Kate pulled out her ID. "Sir, I'm with the LAPD, could I ask you a few questions?"
The man straightened suddenly, blinking up at her hopefully. "Is this about Gwen? Have you found her?"
"I'm sorry," Kate said, taken slightly aback. "But no." She pulled the sketch of the suspect out of her pocket and held it up. "Have you seen this man?"
Mr. Alberts seemed to deflate. "Oh. Umm, let me see." He squinted at the picture for a moment and then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I'm sorry."
Kate nodded as she put the picture back in her pocket with her id. "If you don't mind my intrusion, who is Gwen?"
"My granddaughter. She lives in an apartment on the fifth floor. She's been missing for nearly a week. I called the police four days ago, but no one has come to ask any questions, or even look at her apartment." Mr. Alberts gazed plaintively up at Kate. "Is anyone looking for her at all?"
"I'm sure missing persons is doing everything they can," Kate said automatically. A knot began to form in the pit of her stomach. The same gut feeling that told her to trust Angel, to keep him out of the reports, was back again. There was more to this and it was possible that the suspect had been spotted around here even if the report had come from a nut.
On an impulse, Kate pulled her notebook from her coat pocket. "Mr. Alberts, what is your granddaughter's full name?"
"Gweneth Rachel Alberts," he said, sadly.
"And your phone number?" He told her and Kate jotted it down quickly. "How about this?" she said, looking back up at him. "I'll get a hold of missing persons and see what I can find out for you."
Mr. Alberts straightened again. "Would you? I mean, if it isn't too much trouble."
Kate shook her head. "No trouble at all."
"Thank you, thank you so very much."
Kate nodded. Handing him one of her cards she left quickly.
Investigation by instinct might be out of fashion these days, but Kate had been raised by an old-school cop. She knew when to trust a gut feeling.
* * *
Cordelia sat back in her chair. "Alright, why would a perfectly normal demon, who's never been in any trouble, suddenly disappear? And it really bothers me that that question doesn't sound weird anymore."
"Did we both see the same mom?" Doyle asked, surreptitiously slipping some whiskey into his coffee. "I mean, why wouldn't he take off?"
Cordelia glared at him. "Not helpful. Well, not if we want that check Mommy Dearest is going to write for us. And I for one do. There are these shoes that I just have to have and I saw an outfit the other day that would look utterly adorable on the Munchkin. Oh and there's like rent and stuff."
"Uh-huh," Doyle replied. He walked over to the door to the inner office. "Well, what do ya think, Angel? Where do we start?"
Angel stepped out of the room past him pulling on his coat. "I want to start with those friends of his. Cordelia, see what you can find out about this particular kind of demon. There may be something there."
"On it," Cordelia said, turning to her computer.
"Want me t' come with?" Doyle asked.
"No. I want to you check out the seedier joints around where they live. His mother said he was clean, but she might not know everything."
"Right," Doyle said. He finished the last of his coffee and headed out behind Angel.
"Be careful," Cordelia called after them, not bothering to look up from the computer screen.
She searched the web for about twenty minutes. The best demon databases she could find didn't have much since they mostly concentrated on the dangerous varieties of demon. This one was considered generally harmless – these guys had definately not seen Mommy Dearest's idea of fashion – and therefore they were mostly ignored. Giving up she decided to move downstairs and look through Angel's musty old books. They dated back to the days when the demon hunters considered any demon fair game, whether they were dangerous to humans or not and therefore might have more.
She stood, glancing over where Dinah was playing. She watched quietly as the little girl arranged her crayons neatly in their box, with the single-minded precision that seemed only to belong to children and the terminally geeky. She still looked flushed and Cordelia wondered if she didn't look a little worse. One quick look through Angel's books, she decided. Then she was taking Dinah home.
"Dinah," she said. The child looked up, expectantly. "Let's move downstairs, okay?"
Dinah only nodded and Cordelia helped her gather her things before carrying her down the stairs.
As she settled Dinah down, Cordelia checked her forehead to see if she was warm. It was hard to tell. As a T'Pari demon, Dinah's body temperature was naturally higher than a human's, somewhere around 102 degrees. Deciding whether or not Dinah had a fever was next to impossible without a thermometer.
Cordelia sighed and started looking through the dusty old tomes. Why couldn't they ever publish these things in paperback? They were so damn heavy this way.
She had barely been working for ten minutes, when Dinah came over to the chair were she was sitting.
"Cordy?"
Cordelia looked up from her book. "Yeah."
"I don't feel good," Dinah said quietly.
Cordelia immediately put the book aside and swept the child into on her lap. "How don't you feel good?"
"I feel all achy and my tummy hurts." Cordelia again checked forehead again, even though it was useless.
That was it. Case or no case, she was taking the munchkin home, right now. She carefully brushed a few wisps of hair out of the little girl's face. "Let's go home, okay?"
Dinah nodded, snuggling closer to Cordelia.
* * *
As always, Missing Persons was swamped. They hadn't had much time to look into the disappearance of Gwen Alberts, and in all honesty, it wasn't a high priority case. She was a twenty-something living on her own. She wasn't required to tell her grandfather when she was going somewhere. The likelihood was that she either ran off with a boyfriend or was already dead. Either way there were far more pressing cases.
All they could tell her was that Gwen Alberts was a twenty-three year old grad-student at UCLA. She stood five feet six inches tall, weighed about one hundred and forty pounds, with blonde hair and gray eyes. No one had searched the apartment yet, or looked for her among the Jane Doe's at the morgue.
If the suspect had been seen around her building the best place to look would be the morgue, some place Kate truly loathed. It wasn't just the presence of all the lives cut senselessly short, the place smelled strongly of disinfectants and the washed out florescent lights shining off the white walls and chrome tables always gave her a headache.
She had been looking through the files on the Jane Does who had come in the last week for a while, when one caught her eye. The height and weight were right, as was her hair color and approximate age. She was found five days ago in a parking lot. Kate read on and a grim certainty took hold. The woman's throat had been cut and her eyes removed. Her clothes had been torn in places and though her underwear was missing there was no evidence of sexual assault. She had not been killed in the parking lot and it looked as though she had been placed there specifically to be found. The arrangement of the body had been oddly respectful, in sharp contrast to the brutality of her murder. She had been found lying on her back, carefully wrapped in a blood stained sheet. Her face covered, often a sign of respect or regret.
Why hadn't she heard about this before when she was looking for cases that fit the profile of the killer from the apartment complex?
With the missing person's file in hand, she asked to see the body. Looking between the picture Mr. Alberts had given the police and the body lying on the slab, Kate's suspicions were confirmed.
"She was prettier when she was alive," she observed grimly.
"Aren't they all?" asked the young attendant who had pulled out the body for her. "Do you think you know her?"
"Yeah," Kate said, slightly disappointed to find Gwen here, even though she had been half-expecting it. "I'll have to have her grandfather come in for a positive ID, but I think I know who she is."
The attendant nodded, re-covering the body with the sheet and sliding the slab back into the freezer.
Mr. Alberts' hopeful face came into Kate's mind as the door was shut on his granddaughter. "God, I really hate this job sometimes."
The attendant smiled sadly as she wondered how often he had to be the one to uncover the body for a loved one to identify them. "Know how you feel. When will you be bringing someone in to ID the body?"
Kate glanced at the clock. "It can wait for tomorrow. She isn't going anywhere."
"Really dreading this one, huh?"
Kate looked at the young man's sympathetic face and smiled back. "Yeah, I really am."
* * *
Cordelia frowned at the thermometer in her hand. 103.2. She was pretty sure that counted as a slight fever, but nothing too high.
"Dennis?" she asked, holding the thermometer out. It was taken from her hand and floated to the coffee table to lay next to the half-eaten bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. Cordelia settled Dinah more comfortably into her arms and searched her mind for everything she had ever heard about fevers and how to deal with them. Aspirin, she thought. Wasn't aspirin supposed to help a fever? And, of course, lots of sleep, and liquids.
Cordelia brushed the hair out of Dinah's face as the little one stared listlessly at the television. "Do you feel any better, Munchkin?"
Dinah glanced up at her and nodded. "A little."
Cordelia smiled. She knew it, chicken soup. "Well, lets have you take a little aspirin and get you to bed, okay?"
"Will you read to me first?"
"Sure, any book you want."
In twenty minutes, Dinah was settled into her bed in the small second bedroom of the apartment. Cordelia carefully tucked her in with her new stuffed rabbit. The parenting books had said it was healthy for a child to have stuffed animals and Cordelia had gone a little crazy in buying them for her. But of the ones she bought, Dinah had latched on to the little blue rabbit with the pink ribbon around its neck.
Cordelia pulled out her old book of Grimm's fairytales, which she had had since she was a child. She started reading Cinderella, but Dinah was asleep before the end of the story.
Cordelia closed the book and remained seated on the edge of Dinah's bed for a little while, just watching her. "What's wrong with her, Dennis?" she whispered. The ghost answered by taking the book from Cordelia's hands and carefully putting it back on the shelf with Dinah's meager collection of children's books. Cordelia took the hint and leaned over to lightly brush Dinah's forehead with her lips. "Sleep tight." As she rose, Dennis shut out the lights and turned on the little night light by Dinah's bed. Cordelia carefully closed the door only part way and turned on the new night light in the hallway.
She watched television for about an hour before turning in herself.
* * *
The office was empty when Angel returned to it a little after eleven o'clock. He shrugged out of his coat and noticed a note sitting on his desk. He sat down and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of peace before he looked at it.
It wasn't that this case was overly hard or very dangerous. In fact, it was just the opposite. It was turning out to be so easy that it was almost boring. The truth was that he was just tired. Since Penn's arrival in LA over a week before, Angel hadn't been sleeping well. And when he did sleep, he was often haunted by dreams of the time he and his childe had spent together, dreams of hunting and of killing. What he really needed was a case that was hard and dangerous. A chance to immerse himself in his work and get this out of his system. Maybe he would go patrol down by the harbor tonight. There were always things that needed to be killed down there.
Angel sighed and sat up. He glared at the note for a moment before picking it up.
Angel,
Jr. is a Macrios demon. I couldn't find out much about them except that the entire race seems to be seriously addicted to chocolate (who isn't?). Explains Mommy Dearest's figure, though. They're not normally dangerous and are native to the Pacific Coast.
Dinah isn't feeling too good, so I'm taking her home. If you want to go on with the research I didn't get much past the Trayk Chronicles. The net was a bust on this one.
C
Angel's brows drew together for a moment. He hoped that nothing was seriously wrong. Probably not. He put the matter out of his mind as he heard the front door open.
Doyle strode in and threw himself back into the chair opposite Angel. Angel placed the letter back on his desk and regarded the half-demon.
"What did you find out?"
Doyle shrugged. "Nothin' much. The kid hung about at one of the local bars a bit. He was into some small time bettin' and the occasional fight, but nothin' that would put him in any danger. What did his friends have to say?"
"That he couldn't stand his mother," Angel said dryly. Doyle grinned. "It seems your initial suspicions were right. He'd been talking about leaving for years, but lately he's been just about ready to snap."
"With a mother like that, who could blame the kid. She was here less than an hour and I was fed up wit' her."
Angel's lips quirked. "She is a bit much to take. It seems likely that he left town on his own."
"Does anyone know where he'd have gone?"
"He talked a lot about going to San Diego or Long Beach. He's got some friends down that way. I'll look into it tomorrow."
Doyle nodded. They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Doyle sat up. "Well, I guess I'll be getting' home then." He rose and then paused. Then spoken again, with a forced casualness. "You up to anything? Patrollin' or somethin'."
Angel hid his smile. Doyle's attempts to avoid returning to his empty apartment were predictably transparent. "I was going to patrol around the docks. See if anything is going on."
Doyle nodded. "Ah, okay... I'll leave ya to it then."
Angel rose and slipped his coat back on. "You're welcome to come with me, if you want," he said as casually as he could.
* * *
"Cordy?"
Cordelia rolled over too look with confusion to where Dinah was standing by her bedside. "What is it, Munchkin?" She sat up and pulled Dinah onto the bed with her. That's when she noticed that the little girl was shivering.
"I don't feel good."
Cordelia put her hand on Dinah's forehead and this time she could definitely feel that she was too warm. The thermometer floated in from the living room before Cordelia even had time to ask for it. Dinah's temperature was over 105 degrees.
Cordelia could feel panic starting in her, but trampled it down. "Okay, sweetheart. Cordy needs to go make a phone call," she said, laying Dinah down on the bed and tucking the covers around her. "Why don't you stay right here, and I'll be back in just a minute, okay?"
Dinah nodded, and Cordelia nearly ran into the kitchen. She snatched up the phone and franticly dialed Angel's number. She glanced at the clock as it rang. It was nearly four in the morning.
Please, let Angel be there. Please, please, please...
"Hello?"
Cordelia sighed in relief. "Angel, it's Cordelia. There's something wrong with Dinah and I don't know what to do."
"Okay, slow down. What's wrong with Dinah?"
"Remember the note I left you this evening, saying that Dinah wasn't feeling so hot?"
"Yes."
"Well, I got her home and took her temperature..." Cordelia raced through the events of the evening, ending with a description of Dinah's present state. "What do I do?"
Angel paused. "You should call Doyle."
"What? Why?"
"He used to be a teacher, remember? Cordelia, I don't know anything about sick children, but he might."
"Okay, I'll call him. Thanks Angel."
"Cordelia?"
"Yeah?"
"Keep me updated, okay?" Cordelia could hear the concern in Angel's voice. Strangely, it seemed to calm her a little and she was able to call Doyle and relate the details to him in a more reasonable manner once he answered the phone groggily after eleven rings. He woke quickly enough though when she said that Dinah was sick, relieving Cordelia's apprehension that he might have been drinking again. He said not to bother with the particulars, that he'd be over in just a few minutes. Cordelia nearly sighed in relief as she hung up the phone and went back into her room.
Dennis had brought Dinah her rabbit and she was curled up with it in a little ball under the covers.
Cordelia crawled into the bed and pulled her into her arms. She looked up. "Dennis, Doyle will be here in a little while. Could you please open the door for him?" A little breeze was her reply.
She began stroking Dinah's hair and singing lullabies softly. Cordelia had never been able to sing worth a damn, but Dinah never seemed to mind.
* * *
For once, Doyle was glad of his habit of falling asleep on the couch with his clothes still on. Cordelia's call had awakened him from a deep sleep and it had taken a moment or two to register what she was saying. After he hung up he scrambled for his shoes and jacket and was out the door in less than five minutes. Only then did he remember that he had no way of actually getting to Cordelia's since the buses he needed wouldn't be running at this hour and he headed back in to call a cab.
Somehow, the ride in the smoky cab seemed to take longer than it should have, but that might have been Doyle's desire for a cigarette and a drink. Neither of which he could have right now since Cordelia never let him anywhere near Dinah when he smelled like either. He wasn't sure what exactly he could do to help, but he didn't want to leave Cordelia to deal with this alone.
When he arrived the door opened for him before he could knock. He stepped in noticing that there was no one there.
"Uh, thanks Dennis," he mumbled, still rather unsure of the ghost, even though Cordelia had assured him that "Phantom" Dennis was the ideal roommate.
"Doyle?" Cordelia came into the living room. "What took so long?"
Doyle shrugged. "Cab ride. I got here as soon as I could, Princess."
"Uh-huh. Look, I don't know what to do. She had a temperature of 105.4 last time I checked, but she's still shivering and says she's cold and hurts all over and she threw up just after I called you."
Doyle was impressed that she'd managed to get all that into one breath. "Where is she?"
"In my room."
The room was dark and Doyle made his way over to the bed by the light from the hallway. He switched on the bedside lamp as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Dinah opened her eyes and blinked up at him.
"Hey, Sweetheart," he said softly. Dinah's only response was a little smile. Doyle felt her forehead.
"I told you," Cordelia said coming up behind him. "Her temperature is 105.4. I checked right before you got here."
"Well, first things first." Doyle began pulling the quilt off of Dinah.
"But she's shivering," Cordelia objected.
Doyle paused, then rose and pulled Cordelia aside. "Listen, Cordy. I know she's shiverin', but the best thing we can do for her is to bring down tha' temperature."
Cordelia nodded, but didn't look pleased. "How?"
Doyle paused for a moment. "Go an' get a bowl of cool water and a washcloth."
For once, Cordelia did as she was told without argument and left the room in search of the requested articles. Doyle sat back down on the bed.
"We're gonna make this better, darlin'," he promised, hoping that he wasn't wrong. She looked bad, he thought. He didn't know that much about children's illnesses, except what he had picked up years ago when he still taught. He stripped away the layers of covers Cordelia had wrapped her in. Her shivering increased as he did.
"Cold," Dinah murmured softly.
"I know, but I promise this is for the best, okay?"
After a moment Dinah nodded, looking up at him with complete trust. Doyle felt like he was going to be sick. What was he doing? What would he do if this didn't work? He pushed the thoughts aside as Cordelia returned. She set the bowl of water on the nightstand and Doyle took the washcloth, dipped it in the water, and began to carefully bathe Dinah's forehead and neck.
Please Gods, let this work, he prayed silently.
Over the next two hours, he and Cordelia took turns bathing Dinah and fetching new water. Doyle tried to get Dinah to drink some juice, but she couldn't keep it, or anything else, down.
By six, when the sky began to lighten, Dinah's fever had finally gone back down to a more manageable 103.2 and she had fallen into a restful sleep.
Cordelia fell asleep lying beside her.
Doyle stayed up until he was relatively sure that Dinah wasn't about to get any worse. He called Angel from Cordelia's kitchen, informing him that Dinah seemed to be better and that, obviously, he and Cordelia wouldn't be in that morning. Then he made his way in the living room and flopped down on the couch. He was asleep before Dennis covered him with an afghan.
* * *
If there was anything Kate hated more than going to the morgue herself, it was bringing someone else to the morgue to identify a relative. Mr. Alberts positively identified Gwen's body and then dissolved into tears. The attendant handed the man a box of tissues and cast a commiserating look to Kate as she led Mr. Alberts away.
Kate saw him safely home and obtained the key to Gwen's apartment. She decided she would have a quick look herself, before she called in the forensics team.
As she opened the door the smell that hit her was incense, something sweet and light. Frankincense, she thought. She checked the door for signs of forced entry, but there were none.
The apartment was decorated in a hodge-podge fashion, with a lot of antiques. It all seemed to be all polished wood and brass. Somber colors, that with the off-white walls and carpet, made for a very homey atmosphere. It made her think of an old-fashioned study. Shelves lined one wall, containing books on a wide range of subjects.
At first, Kate only saw a well-kept, comfortable apartment. The desk in the corner was the only cluttered surface. It held a multitude of notebooks and letters, pens and pencils, and little post-it notes, reminding Gwen to pick up her dry-cleaning, that Friday was Heather's birthday, and a hundred other responsibilities of daily life.
According to Mr. Alberts, Gwen had been studying landscape architecture and her love of plants and nature was everywhere evident. All the pictures on the walls not taken up with family and friends, were of gardens, and green rolling hills, and the windowsills were full of plants.
Gwen's bedroom was decorated in much the same style, with the addition of movie posters for 'Dragonheart' and 'Dances With Wolves'. Under the window, a small altar was set up. It was from here that the soft smell of incense must have permeated the rest of the apartment. There were candles, a silver chalice, a statue of Isis, and an old fashion dagger. Jars of dried herbs and small containers of various oils occupied a shelf to the side.
As Kate went to turn away, something caught her eye. Underneath the shelf there was a small patch of carpet that was darker than the rest. Kate carefully, knelt down and touched it with her finger. Obviously one of Gwen's oils had spilled, but oddly enough it was still damp. Kate checked the shelf above. A small bottle on one on the end that was empty and without its top. It looked as though it had been knocked over, spilling its contents on the carpet and the corner of the wooden shelf. Then it had been set upright, but the spill had not been cleaned up. Gwen took such careful care of the rest of her home, but she hadn't cleaned up this spill? Kate found the stopper to the bottle lying beside the altar.
Kate returned to the living room, noticing as she did that the throw rug in front of the bedroom door had been crumpled at one end, the side closest to the bedroom. Kate glanced quickly around the room to the other throw rugs. They were all lying perfectly straight and flat. This one and the one in front of the front door were the only ones disturbed.
Kate stepped carefully into the center of the room and looked around, looking for anything that might tell her something. The suspicion that Gwen had been abducted from her home was growing stronger. The spilled oil, replaced, but not cleaned up. The two rugs out of place when the others were perfect. There had to be something...
Keys.
On the bar of the little kitchenette by the door sat a set of keys. Kate walked over and looked onto the counter below and found a small brown purse.
Gwen had come in and placed her things on the counter. Had he been with her, or had he come later? She must have let him in herself. Gwen then went into her bedroom. Was he with her then, or did she leave him in the living room? He attacked her by the altar, dragged her out of the room. She must have been unconscious when he took her out of the apartment or she would have made a commotion. She hadn't been killed here; there would have been a lot of blood. She had let him in, felt safe enough to either leave him alone in the living room or actually invite him into her bedroom.
"She must have trusted him," Kate whispered.
She pulled out her cell phone as she left the apartment, locking the door behind her.
"This is Detective Lockley..."
* * *
Angel looked up when the door opened and was surprised to see Doyle. He rose from his desk and stepped into the outer office. "I thought you weren't coming in today."
Doyle shrugged. "Dinah's still sick and somethin' about this just don't seem right."
"I thought you said she was feeling better this morning," Angel said, frowning.
"She was. Well, sorta. We got her temperature down to where it didn't seem dangerous anymore, and she's been sleepin' okay since then. But she's still sick an' her temperature still ain't back to normal. She managed to keep some juice down, but when Cordy tried t' get her to eat some soup, it came right back up."
"And so you came into work because? Doyle, if Dinah's that sick, I think you ought to be back with Cordelia."
Doyle ran his fingers threw his hair in a frustrated manner. "But tha's just it, man. I ain't don' any good there. I don't know what to do! I thought that maybe I'd hit the books and see if I can find anythin'. Cordy ain't gettin' sick, so maybe it's a demon thing."
"But you aren't sick," Angel observed. "Are you? You do look a little pale."
"Nah, there's nothin' wrong wit' me. I've just been up all night. I don't know, maybe it's a T'Pari thing. I just don' know what else t' do."
Angel nodded.
"I'll research, you go back to Cordelia's."
Doyle looked surprised. "What about the case?"
Angel shrugged. "What case? I'm pretty sure that I've tracked Junior down. He's in Long Beach. I'm going to go tonight to make sure. But I can't get there until after sunset, so I may as well do something productive until then."
"Sounds like a plan." Doyle turned towards the door. He suddenly swayed slightly and had to grab on to the doorframe for support.
Angel stepped forward. "Doyle? Are you sure you're alright?"
He reached out to his friend, but Doyle took a deep breath, pushing himself away from the frame and turning back around.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't sleep much last night." He smiled wryly. "Besides, Cordy won't let me smoke at her place and she doesn't have any drinkable coffee. And she doesn't have..." He paused and slipped past Angel to the side table where they kept the coffee machine. "Any of this," Doyle finished, pulling out a bottle of scotch. He took a swift drink from the bottle and then another. "There," he said, turning back to Angel. "Good as new."
Angel didn't say anything. What would he say? He had only recently begun to realize just how much Doyle drank and it was starting to worry him, but he didn't think that there was anything much he could do about it. Well, at least under Cordelia's constant pressure he was smoking less.
"I'm off then," Doyle said, replacing the bottle and turning toward the door. He then paused and turned back. "Angel, can ya remember any home remedies from when you was human? I know it was a long time ago, and all, but it ain't like we can take Dinah to a doctor or the hospital. But what with modern medicine and all... we've all just forgot the old ways of dealing with bein' sick. All Cordy and I can think of is lots of fluids and chicken soup and they ain't helpin'."
Angel looked down at the floor. He was quiet for a long time and Doyle began to think he wasn't going to answer. When he did speak, his voice was very soft. "I remember there was some sort of tea that my mother gave to me once when I was sick. It was very bitter, but I don't know what it was made out of. My... my sister had a fever once, but..." Angel looked up and his eyes were far away and sad. "I'm sorry, I don't really remember anything helpful." He went to turn away.
"Angel," Doyle called after him. Angel looked back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories or anythin'."
Angel gave him a sad little smile. "It's alright, Doyle. I don't mind. I just wish I could help more." He seemed to pull himself out of whatever memories had gripped him and continued in a stronger voice. "Go back to Cordelia. I'll see what I can find out."
Doyle nodded and, casting one last look at Angel, left.
Angel descended into his apartment and began pulling out books. The few passages on the T'Pari were familiar due to the hours of research he, Doyle and Cordelia had done looking for some trace of Dinah's clan. Angel started with those and then moved on to other resources. In all truthfulness, he had very little hope of finding anything useful. The books he had were mostly concerned with how to kill various demons, not how to cure them. And there was almost nothing on those of mixed blood, since they were rarely dangerous.
All in all, he felt that it was a fruitless endeavor, but it gave him something to do, instead of concentrating on his growing concern.
* * *
Kate sat carefully on the edge of a chair in Mr. Alberts' apartment. It was clean and carefully tidy, like Gwen's was. Or had been. The forensics team was now going over it. They had already found small drops of blood on the carpet near her bedroom door. There was the possibility that Gwen had fought back and that the blood was that of her assailant. It was probably Gwen's own blood, but one never knew.
"She was always very careful," Mr. Alberts was saying. "She didn't trust strangers. Her Grandmother taught her that. I was always afraid that something would happen to her, but she was always so careful." Mr. Alberts was no longer crying, but his eyes were red. He looked like he had aged ten years since Kate had first met him the day before.
"Did she tell you about any new friends, Mr. Alberts? Anyone special that she had met?"
"I'm not sure," Mr. Alberts said. "I know she had gone out on a date or two with someone she had met... somewhere. Oh dear, I'm sorry. I don't remember how she said she met him."
Kate leaned forward. "Do you remember his name, or anything else about him?"
Mr. Alberts' brows drew together as he thought. "I remember thinking that his name was very unusual. She said that he was named after some Quaker..." He paused for a moment in thought, then his eyes lit up. "Penn! Yes, that was it." Mr. Alberts look pleasantly surprised with himself. "His name was Penn. I don't think that she ever told me his last name though. She did say that he was a perfect gentleman, held..." Mr. Alberts' voice broke and he reined in his tears with an effort. "He held open doors for her and everything," he finished softly. "I remember her saying how rare it was to find a gentleman these days."
Kate scribbled down the information in her notebook with fevered determination. Something told her that this was it, it had to be. Penn. They had a name. She knew she was jumping to conclusions too quickly, but she was sure in her own mind – positive – that this was him.
"Do you remember where they met or any mutual friends they might have had?"
"No, I know they went out to dinner a couple of times. She wanted me to meet him."
Mr. Alberts fell silent and Kate felt the familiar sense of finality that always came when a witness or informant had run out of useful information.
"Mr. Alberts, could you give me the names of her closest friends, anyone you might know about. And possibly how to contact them?"
He nodded, and gave her a few names and suggested that she look in the address book Gwen had kept in her purse for their numbers.
Kate thanked him and went back upstairs to Gwen's apartment.
Just like Mr. Alberts had said, Kate found a pocket sized address book in Gwen's purse. All the numbers Kate needed were there. On an impulse, Kate flipped through to the P's. And there he was. In Gwen's careful handwriting was the name 'Penn' and a local number. No address or last name was listed, only a little smiley face by his name.
Kate pulled out her cell phone again and called the station. In a few minutes she had the address that went with the number.
Kate smiled. She had him, she was certain of it.
She looked around Gwen's apartment, watching the forensics team carefully checking it.
At first, she had wanted to catch the killer for herself. She had wanted him to resist arrest, so she could just shoot him. That was no longer an option. Now, she wanted to catch him alive. To see him behind bars, and have him stay there for the rest of his natural life.
Kate owed that to Mr. Alberts.
And she owed it to Gwen.
* * *
The phone number in Gwen's address book was connected to an apartment in a decent, but fairly low rent area of town. The officers she had sent to watch his apartment building continually reported that there was no movement inside. All they could do for the moment was watch and wait. Kate wasn't going to go ahead with this until she had a warrant in her hand. There was no way she was going to question him first and give him time to destroy any evidence he may have. Gwen's eyes, after all, had not been among those he'd left at the station.
While they waited for the warrant, ate had visited five of Gwen's friends, learning little. One of them, though, had met Penn once in passing and was able to identify him at once from the composite Kate showed her of the suspect, dissolving the last of Kate's doubts.
As the sun set, in spectacular shades of red, gold, and yellow, Kate finally made her way to the address attached to the phone number, excitement knotting in her stomach and a search warrant sitting on the passenger's side seat beside her. It was her ticket to putting a ruthless murderer behind bars.
Dusk was just beginning to fall as she stepped out of her car to meet up with the officers already there.
"Has there been any sign of activity?"
"No, Detective," a young officer answered. "There doesn't seem to be anyone home."
"Alright, I've got the search warrant, so lets go. Be careful though. Just because we don't see any activity doesn't mean that he's not there. We're looking for anything that can tie him to the killings. All we have at the moment is circumstantial evidence. Enough to arrest him and maybe even charge him, but not enough to convict. So, find that evidence. And watch your backs, this guy is strong and is probably armed." Kate turned to the only two officers she had worked with before. "Green, Marshall. I want the two of you to talk to the manager. Find out everything he knows about this guy." They nodded. "Alright, lets do this."
Kate took a deep breath as they walked across the street through the deepening purple light to the apartment building. The white stucco of its walls seemed to glow in the twilight, and the palm trees in the front were completely still in the calm evening air. It felt almost like the building was holding its breath. Was Penn dumb enough to leave any evidence in his apartment? Part of Kate said no, based on how careful he had been up until now. Another part of her hoped desperately that the answer was yes.
The apartment was on the third floor, and Kate's restlessness drove her to take the stairs instead of wasting time with the elevator. Up the stairs, down the hall, last door to the left.
Kate knocked loudly. "This is the LAPD, open up."
There was no answer. Kate called again, but still only silence emanated from the apartment. Finally, after they had waited for a suitable length of time, Kate tried the door handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. She drew her weapon, and the other officers followed her example. She opened the door, watching for any movement, but everything beyond the door was dark and still.
She stepped inside slowly, senses straining as she looked and listened for any sign of life. Her eyes adjusted to the low light in the room and she felt her heart drop into her stomach.
The apartment was empty.
There was nothing there. She reached over to the switch by the door and the room flooded with light. Only bare walls looked back at her. She directed the officers to check the other rooms, but they too were empty.
Penn was gone.
Kate ordered the officers to search the rooms thoroughly and left to join the other officers questioning the manager.
She felt sick. She had truly thought that she had caught him. The only foreseeable problem was whether or not he was stupid enough to leave evidence lying around.
On the way down she used the elevator, trying to hope that the manager might have some information.
Kate could hear voices speaking softly inside when she approached the manager's door. She paused for a moment before knocking. Pulling herself together, swallowing down her disappointment, and rage.
The interview was short. His name was Michael Penn. The manager knew only that he had taken the apartment for two months and, in accordance with his lease, had left four days ago. He had seemed a quiet, well-mannered young man, and had caused no problems, whatsoever. There was no forwarding address and he had said nothing that would indicate where he was headed. They took down the information he'd given his landlady in proof of identity and all the rest. But somehow Kate already knew it would all prove to be fake.
It only took an hour to ascertain that there was nothing obvious to be found in the apartment. Kate called for a forensics team, just in case Penn had taken Gwen to the apartment or tracked in blood. She had little faith that they would find anything.
Kate stood by her car, looking across the street for a few minutes after the other officers had left. Only a day ago, she had knocked on Mr. Alberts' door. It seemed like such a long time ago now. She closed her eyes and wondered how she was going to face Mr. Alberts with the news that she had lost Gwen's killer. She didn't have to, of course, but she felt she owed it to him just the same.
Not that Kate was giving up on the case. The obsession that had gripped her for the last week had only grown with in the last two days. She would find Penn.
Finally, her determination overcame the reluctance that had kept her from demanding answers from the one person who had them. Then maybe she'd be able to face Mr. Alberts with better news.
* * *
It was late when Angel finally returned to the office. The traffic had been terrible, but the trip had proved worthwhile. He'd found and even talked to Junior, or Raz, as he liked to be called. Raz had been surprised and a little embarrassed to hear that his mother had hired a private investigator. It hadn't taken too much convincing to get him to call his mother, letting her know that he was all right.
Angel hadn't stayed for the reaming out he was sure the boy had been about to receive.
Case closed, and for once, with a happy ending.
It wasn't until Angel had opened the office door that he realized there was someone there. He recognized Kate's scent before he saw her.
She rose from where she had been sitting at his desk and watched him carefully. Angel had been expecting this visit for nearly a week, but he still didn't know what to say. How much should he tell her? Would she listen to the truth? Would she believe it? Somehow he doubted it.
"Kate," he said, nodding to her.
"I have some questions," Kate began, deciding not to beat around the bush.
Angel nodded. He turned, slipping off his coat and dropped it on the couch opposite his desk. He turned back to her slowly.
"Actually, I had expected you before now."
"I've been busy." Kate motioned to Angel's desk and he stepped over to look at what she had placed there. What he saw was a group of pictures, Angel assumed they were all Penn's victims, but the one on the top was the only one he noticed.
For a moment, Angel stood frozen, remembering how Penn had laid the girl out on his bed. An offering, a gift. She had been lying with her hands crossed over her breasts and her hair fanned out on the pillow. He blinked and focused on the picture of the girl smiling up at him.
"Pretty, wasn't she," Kate asked. Angel nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "Your friend dated her for a few weeks. Then he abducted her from her apartment, took her somewhere and killed her by slitting her throat before removing her eyes."
Of course, he had dated her, Angel thought. She was to be a childe's gift to his sire. Penn would have taken special care to find just the right girl, just the right meal, to tempt his master.
Kate hadn't stopped talking. "He then wrapped her in a sheet and left her in a parking lot, to be found by some kids on their way to school."
Angel winced. It was the only thing he'd been able to think of. Penn had just left her there in Angel's apartment. He'd had to get rid of her body, but he couldn't just dump her anywhere. He had thought that in that parking lot she would be found soon and could be returned to her family for burial. Angel had been too late to save her from Penn, but at least he could give her that much. God, why did it have to have been children who had found her.
"Her name was Gwen Alberts." Kate was silent for a moment before continuing. "Do you want to hear about the rest of his victims? That is the ones we know about. There could be more by now. More bodies we haven't found yet." Her accusation was clear.
Angel finally tore his gaze away from the girl's picture and looked up at Kate. "You said you had questions. Ask."
Kate regarded him silently for a moment. "Where is he?"
"I don't know."
Kate shook her head. "You're lying."
"I'm not," Angel said softly. "The last time I saw him was at the station, with you. I haven't seen him since and I don't know where he is."
"And you let him go." Kate's voice was soft and fierce. Angel met the anger in her eyes, but his heart ached. Yes, he had.
"Kate," Angel started softly. He stopped, frustration evident on his face. He stepped past her to the window, before turning back around and forcing himself to meet her angry gaze again. "You don't know what you're dealing with."
Her eyes narrowed. "I will once you tell me."
Angel shook his head. "You don't understand..."
"Damn straight, I don't," she broke in, her voice rising. "Why, Angel? What on earth could possibly make you let a murderer go? What the hell is so special about this guy? Who is he?"
"I can't tell you. I'm sorry," Angel meant it, but he doubted that that would make any difference to Kate.
"Sorry? You think sorry is going to make any difference to the families of his victims? They deserve to see this monster pay for his crimes and I intend to see that he does." Kate took a deep breath before continuing. "I want to believe that you have a good reason for letting him go, for not telling me what I need to know, but you're making it damn hard, Angel."
They were silent for a moment and Angel stared at the pictures on his desk.
"Is Michael Penn, even his real name?" Kate's voice was soft, but Angel jumped anyway. Hearing his childe's true name on Kate's lips was startling. Penn rarely used the name of Michael, since his human father had given it to him. Even in death, Penn's hatred of the man had not diminished.
"Yes," Angel conceded. "Michael Jacob Penn."
Kate closed her eyes and took another deep breath before starting again in a reasonable tone. "Where is he?"
"I told you. I honestly don't know."
"Would you tell me if you did?"
Angel paused for a moment before answering. "Probably not," he admitted finally.
Kate snorted. "Well, at least you're honest about it."
"I've never lied to you, Kate." Angel held her gaze for a moment or two, willing her to believe him. After a moment, she nodded.
"I don't want to arrest you, but I will if I have to. Holding back information on a case is a crime."
Angel shook his head sadly, looking away. "You're not going to catch him. And you're never going to be able to bring him to your justice."
Kate folded her arms over her chest. "And why is that?"
"Penn..." Angel stopped. Should he tell her? He looked back at her as she regarded him. She was strong. Angel only hoped that she was strong enough. "Kate do you trust me?"
"Lately? Not really," Kate answered.
"Kate, please. I need you to trust me."
"Why?"
"Do you or don't you, that's all I want to know."
Kate was silent for a moment. "Yes." The answer seemed to surprise her. "Yes, I guess I do."
Angel closed his eyes, grateful for that much, even if he was probably about to destroy that trust. He looked out the window, trying to find the words. When he turned back, Kate was watching him closely, waiting.
"Penn... isn't like the other killers you've hunted." Angel's choice of words caused Kate to raise one eyebrow.
"And why is that?"
"There's a lot in this world that you don't know about. You said yourself, in the newspaper, that the killer knew what he was doing. That he'd been doing this for a long time. You were right. Penn's been doing this for over two hundred years."
Kate blinked. "Two hundred years."
"I know you don't believe me," Angel said. "What Penn did to these people," he motioned to the pictures on his desk, "is nothing in comparison to what he could do. To what he has done."
"That, I might be willing to believe. Where you loose me is the part where you said this guy is two hundred years old."
"He isn't human. You're not going to be able to catch him. The only ways to stop him are sunlight, decapitation, or a stake through the heart."
Kate stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. "You're nuts."
"You know I'm not."
"No," Kate said. "Actually, I don't know you're not."
"The answers are there. Penn's first massacre was in Massachusetts. He killed his entire family as they sat down to dinner."
"Two hundred years ago," Kate said, obviously not believing a word of this.
Angel nodded.
"Do you think I'm stupid, Angel? You're telling me children's stories." Kate sounded angry, but something in her eyes said that he was starting to get to her.
"Where do you think the children's stories come from? I know you've seen weird cases, cases you could never solve. Evidence that pointed to explanations you couldn't accept. You're a good cop, you've seen those cases and you've wondered. You just haven't taken the next step of finding the answers." Angel shook his head. "I know you don't want to hear this. When you're ready to accept what's really out there, I'll be more than happy to tell you everything I know. Until then, you have no chance of catching Penn, or anyone like him."
"This is insane. I'm not going to stand here and listen to this." Kate grabbed up the pictures from Angel's desk and started for the door. She paused for a moment, and turned slightly back. It looked as though she would say something, but then the moment passed and she was out the door, slamming it behind her.
Angel stepped over to the window and watched as Kate left the building. She walked quickly across the street to her car and left. Then Angel's eyes focused on the window glass in front of him and his own lack of reflection, something that had been right in front of Kate for most of their conversation but she's never seen it.
"Kate, if you only knew."
Angel turned and sunk into his chair suddenly exhausted. He closed his eyes and leaned back. He sat quietly for nearly a quarter of an hour before the phone rang.
It rang five times and only then did Angel realize that Cordelia must not have turned on the answering machine before she left. Stifling a growl he picked up the phone.
"Yes?"
"Angel! God, where have you been? I've been trying to call you forever. Your cell phone is turned off again."
Angel sighed. "What is it, Cordelia?"
"It's Dinah. She's really sick, Angel. Worse than before, we don't know what to do." The fear in Cordelia's voice was evident. Angel sat up. "I need Mommy Dearest's number, from the other day."
"Why?"
Cordelia sighed. "She might know some demon doctors. Angel, we have to do something."
Angel rose quickly to his feet. "Alright, where is it?"
Cordelia told him where to look on her desk. Angel found it and returned quickly and gave her the number.
"How bad is she?" he asked softly.
Cordelia was quiet for a minute. "Bad. Could you come over? Doyle and I could use the help."
"Of course, I'll be over in just a few minutes."
Cordelia hung up without saying goodbye.
* * *
It didn't matter what time of day or night it was. The police station was always busy and noisy. Kate made her way slowly through the people, feeling cut off, as though she were still back in Angel's dark, quiet office instead of the noise and light here.
Her mind was a blank. Normally, she would have discounted the things that Angel had said out of hand. But... but Angel had said them, and for some reason she couldn't just write him off as crazy, as much as she might want to.
She sat down at her desk, and just sat staring at nothing. Her head was hurting again. Kate's hand went to the small bandage that was still on her forehead. She frowned, trying to remember everything she could about that night. Anything that might indicate that Penn was... what?
She shook her head. No. She didn't care what Angel, or anyone else, said. Vampires didn't exist.
Did they?
She was pulled from her silent contemplation by the telephone. "Lockley."
"Kate, it's Mike."
"Hey, Mike. What's up?"
"Well, it's about the blood we gathered at the Alberts residence."
"And." She was too tired to even feel excited at this point.
"Some of it does belong to Ms. Alberts. On the other hand... Kate, you are not going to believe this."
"Believe what?"
"It turned to ash."
Kate couldn't answer for a moment. "Excuse me? Did you just say that the blood turned to ash?"
"That's what I said."
"Shit Mike, what the hell did you do to it?"
"Nothing! I swear to God, Kate, I've never seen anything like this in my life."
"How can blood turn to ash?"
"Beats the hell out of me."
Kate closed her eyes. "Mike... Okay, this is going to sound dumb, but when did this happen?"
"What do you mean?"
"When did it turn to ash and where was it at the time?" She held her breath as she waited for the answer.
"It was in the main lab, late this afternoon."
"Over by the windows?" Kate asked, picturing the lab in her mind.
"Um, yeah, actually. You think you know something?"
"No," Kate said softly. "I just wondered. Thanks, Mike."
"Any time."
Kate hung up the phone and stared at it. In late afternoon, the sun came pouring through those windows in that lab.
Stake through the heart, decapitation... Sunlight.
It wasn't possible. It just wasn't. Except...
"Oh my God," Kate whispered.
* * *
Doyle was startled by the knock on the door. He took a deep breath and shook his head. He was so exhausted he was getting jumpy. He opened the door and waved Angel in.
"Did Cordelia call... whatever her name was?"
"Yeah," Doyle nodded as he shut the door. "She gave us a number an' we called it, but we can't seem to get a hold o' the guy. We called a few times, but it looks like no one's home. We'll try again in a little bit."
"Where's Cordelia?"
"In wit' the little one."
Angel stepped closer to Doyle and lowered it voice. "How bad is Dinah, really?"
Doyle looked grim. "She's real bad, Angel. I don' know what to do. Her fever's up above 107 degrees and it ain't comin' down. She's delirious. She keeps callin' for her momma and havin' screaming fits about the bad men comin'."
"Bad men?"
"Cordy says it's what she calls 'em... the Scourge. She's havin' flashbacks, man, and they're gettin' worse."
Angel took a deep breath. "How's Cordelia holding up?"
"She's been frantic. She's exhausted, but she won't sleep, an' it's been hard to get her to eat anythin' either. She won't leave the munchkin for a minute."
"And you?" Angel looked at him hard, until Doyle shifted his gaze away. He knew he looked a wreck.
"I'm okay. I'm just worried, is all." He glanced back up at Angel before shrugging. "Come on."
Doyle let the way back into the bedroom. Cordelia sat on the side of the bed, bathing Dinah's head with a washcloth. Dinah was a small child, but she seemed even smaller at the moment, dwarfed by the size of Cordelia's bed. Cordelia glanced up as they came in.
"Hey," she said, softly. "She's quiet right now, but that might not last long."
Angel stepped over and Doyle came with him. He studied Dinah closely, looking for any sign of improvement, even though he didn't expect her to be any better than she had been five minutes ago. Dinah was flushed and her nightgown was damp with sweat. She lay still. Sleeping, for the moment, but she didn't look peaceful. Angel looked up at Doyle, but Doyle only shrugged. He was out of ideas.
"We tried puttin' her in a tub of cool water," he whispered. "But it didn't seem to do much of anythin'. We'll try again in a little bit, I guess."
Cordelia stood up and sighed. "Can you take over this for me for a minute?" She handed the washcloth to Doyle. "I'm going to try and call that doctor guy again."
Doyle took her place, sitting at the side of the bed and began bathing Dinah. He glanced up at Angel after a minute. "What d' ya think?"
Angel shrugged. "I don't know much about treating illnesses. Vampires don't get sick."
"Yeah, I know. I jus' hoped that with you being around for so long and all, you might have picked somethin' up. I mean, you can cook and vampires don't eat." Doyle shook his head. "I don' know. I'm graspin' at straws here."
"I understand and I really wish I could help. Maybe I can take over for a little while and you and Cordelia can get some sleep. She seems to be all right at the moment, I could wake you if there was any change."
Doyle shrugged. "I'll stay up but maybe we can get Cordy to get a little shut eye. She needs it."
Cordelia came back in a few minutes later. At their questioning looks, she shook her head.
"Nothing, not even an answering machine. The guy could be out, or on vacation or... anything," she sounded frustrated and discouraged. Basically, how Doyle felt at the moment.
He looked back down at Dinah searching through his memories of school and teaching for any clue as to where to go from here, but it was difficult. His mind felt oddly fuzzy and it had been years ago. Besides, he hadn't taught for very long. Just long enough to get attached to the kids before he had been forced by his newfound heritage to give it up.
"Doyle?"
He looked up. "Yeah?"
Angel paused, uncertainly. "Do you think it's possible Harry might know of someone we could contact?"
"Harry?" For a moment it felt as though Angel had been reading his mind as he though about the past. He considered it for a moment and then nodded. "I suppose it's possible."
He stood up and Cordelia took the washcloth from him. "Do you know her number?" she asked. "If you don't, I think I have it around here somewhere."
"I know it," he hesitated. "At least I think I do."
He started toward the bedroom door, then turned back. "What time is it, anyway?"
Angel glanced at his watch. "A little after midnight. Do you think it's alright to call her?"
Doyle nodded. "Sure, I mean, this is an emergency. She'll understand." He fell silent, but lingered in the room.
"Well?" Cordelia asked after a moment.
"Right," Doyle said. He was rather reluctant to call his ex-wife. He knew she would understand that it was an emergency and would be more than happy to help, but... She was still his ex-wife and that made it awkward. He hadn't seen much of her since the papers had been signed and filed.
Another dizzy spell hit as he walked toward the kitchen and he had to catch himself on the wall. He took a deep breath and shook his head. That was the third one today. Maybe he was hungry. He'd check the refrigerator while he was making the call. He knew he could use a cigarette, and a drink would be nice as well... and then there was the lovely idea of sleeping for the next week. The combination had to be responsible for the light-headedness, he decided. He also reminded himself to check the thermostat; it felt rather warm in here to him.
He picked up the phone and paused trying to remember Harry's number, and convince himself that he really did want to do this. He hit the button to get the dial tone, and began dialing. The phone rang and rang on the other end and Doyle began to wonder if she was out of town again or something.
Four rings. Doyle's vision began to blur and he felt dizzy again. Five rings. He blinked and shook his head trying to dispel the sensation. Six rings. He took a deep breath.
What the hell is going on!
Seven. "Hello?" a sleepy voice answered.
"Harry, hey..." Nausea assaulted him and Doyle had to swallow past it.
"Francis?"
"Yeah, look I know it's late an' all..."
Suddenly the dizziness escalated and the room began to spin crazily around him. Doyle tried to catch himself on a chair, but it came down with a crash as he fell. The phone slipped out of his hand and he could hear Harry on the other end asking what was going on. Doyle could hear other voices, but they seemed very far away. The light room rapidly dimming...
"Doyle?" There was a cold hand on his forehead, but like the voices, it was too distant to matter. "Oh god, he's burning up." He tried to say Angel's name, but couldn't get the word out.
Someone called his name again as the darkness covered him.
To be continued...
Closing Credits