Honor Thy Father
He hurt. A lot.
Crouched in front of the old building, his leather duster pulled over his head, Angel found himself reciting a litany of all the reasons why he did this. It was his job, he was working for redemption, this particular demon had seriously pissed him off by calling his hair stupid looking, it had tried to tear Doyle's throat out, it had already killed and eaten five people...
Demon ashes and still sizzling bits of demon continued to rain down around and on him.
The first thing he was going to do when he got home was take a shower, a nice hot one. Then he was going to bed. While it was still hours until sunrise, the previous fight had drained Angel's reserve of stamina. Who knew shape-shifters could be so tricky? Next time, Angel told himself, he wouldn't try to cleave the enemy in two when the enemy in question can reform itself into two separate beings. But hell, how had he been supposed to know that would happen? The damn thing was worse than a hydra.
The worst of the impromptu storm seemed to be coming to an end. Standing, Angel dusted off his shoulders and looked around for his companion. Behind an overflowing dumpster, Doyle crouched, his arms over his head, shielding himself from the still stingingly hot debris that continued to fall into the vacant alley like black snow.
"Come on," Angel said, offering his hand to pull his friend up. "Let's get out of here."
Doyle accepted his hand and was pulled to his feet. He looked back at the charred remains of the Calyptratus demon Angel had incinerated with a makeshift hand grenade and part of a nearby building's gas main. "You're better than MacGyver," he commented.
Angel threw him a curious look. "Who?"
Doyle shook his head in dismay. "We gotta get you out more often."
Among the shadows a darker shadow followed. Slipping between building, ducking around cars, he watched as the two figures made their way into a run-down office building. Lights flicked on as they moved from room to room. A large window facing the street gave him a nice view of the interior, as the larger man sat down at a desk while the shorter of the pair sank into a faded leather sofa.
Penn smiled to himself as he watched them talk. He crouched low, his smile widening as plan formulated in his brain. He had no idea what Angelus was doing, killing demons and palling around with a half-breed. But whatever the reason, he had to approach this carefully. He rose, running a hand through his short cropped hair. With one final lingering glance toward the lighted room above, he headed into the night. He had someone very special to find.
Angel: the Cyber Series
"Honor Thy Father"
Written by Cleo
Based on the Stories by
Cinder and Random
Edited by
Michele & Ellen
Produced by
Cleo & Ellen
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 © 2010 Cleo,
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, specifically the productor(s) of the episode.
The original stories, Honor Thy Father and Orphan were published by Random Productions as part of the first
Cyber Series. This adaptation is being published with permission and gratitude.
The scent of fresh, warm, and oh-so-human blood hit him even before the elevator doors slid open.
It hung hot and heavy in the air, pulling at the demon inside. So sweet, so tempting...
A growl was drawn from Angel's throat and he was only half conscious of his features shifting from human to vampire as he stepped cautiously into his darkened apartment. Only the warm illumination of candles coming from the open door of his bedroom gave any light. Candles he most certainly had not lit himself.
His eyes scanned the shadows as he moved forward but the candles hid more than they revealed, the flickering light seeming only to make the shadows darker. And it had been too long since he'd feed, even on the poor fare of days old pig's blood. His senses were dulled by the lack and the scent of fresh human blood was making him light headed with hunger.
Stepping cautiously, and scanning the apartment around him, Angel came just far enough in to see through his open bedroom door.
The tableau within froze him where he stood...
She was laid out on his bed, already cooling but still tantalizingly warm. A fresh kill, only moments dead. Her throat was an open gash from which the blood still seeped sluggishly. It spilled across the sheets like the finest of silk scarves draped over her slender neck... the color of her blood complimenting the light tan of her flawless skin. Her eyelids were closed but drooped inward slightly, as though the eyes had been removed. More blood ran like tears down her temples and into her hair. The arrangement of her long, lean limbs was an artful combination of eroticism and modesty. Her wavy blonde hair spilled over his pillow, clothes torn and ripped away in all the right places, giving tantalizing glimpses of the body beneath without while still hiding enough to the imagination. Her feet were spread wide, knees ever so slightly bent, a blatant invitation, while her arms were crossed demurely over her ample bosom.
Overwhelmed with the conflicting responses of desire and disgust, Angel was unable to move.
"Sire..."
He spun around, poised for a fight - though whether it was the Warrior ready to avenge the death of the girl or a demon preparing to defend its kill was in control of the movement, even Angel wasn't sure.
From the shadows beyond the apartment's meager kitchenette a young man stepped with all the simple grace of a dancer... or a hunter. He was slimly built, with hair somewhere between brown and blonde cut fashionably short. With his boyishly, wholesome good-looks, slender figure clad in t-shirt and jeans... his appearance was no different from the thousands of other young men in their twenty-somethings drawn to promise of the City of Angels. It was only the odd magnetism of his dark gaze, the grace of his movements, and the pallor of his complexion that set him apart... made him beautiful in a way few could match.
"Penn." Angel's voice cracked on the single word.
He still looked so young, so fresh... so guilelessly innocent. Which was exactly what he had been when Angelus had found him nearly two hundred years before. And he'd been so very careful, hadn't he, to make sure that all the appearance of what had drawn him to the boy remained intact, even while Angelus had set about destroying the substance beneath.
"Isn't she beautiful, Father?" Penn said, voice as soft as the adoring look in his eyes. "I procured her just for you."
The young man stepped closer, watching Angel's face carefully for his reaction. Hoping that his gift would be deemed worthy by the master he hadn't seen in so very long. Sickeningly, it reminded Angel of a cat depositing a dead mouse in its master's bed. But it had been a long time and the Childe was no longer certain of the Sire's affection, of his welcome...
How long had it been?
Angel had run so far, tried so hard to escape them all. Darla, Spike, Drusilla... He wasn't Angelus any longer but that didn't mean Angelus wasn't in him - and it didn't make the destruction of his own blood something he would do if he had a choice. It had only been the necessity born of conflicting loves and conflicting loyalties that had forced him to kill his sire... It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. But to kill his children, those he'd given life to...
While living in Sunnydale, Angel had tried to convince himself that he'd tried, that it was simply that as Angelus, he'd trained Spike and Drusilla too well... But he knew it for the lie it was. He could never forgive himself for what he'd done to them, the monsters he'd made them into. Just the same, they were his, the children of his blood if not this flesh. And as much as he wanted to undo the damage he'd done to the world, he couldn't kill them.
It had been different, though, when he'd seen them again here in California.
They had known about the curse, they'd known that in all the ways that really mattered he wasn't their sire any longer.
But God help him... Penn didn't know... His oldest childe, his first creation... And he didn't know...
He knew nothing of curses and souls. He'd found his sire again and, uncertain of his welcome after so long, he'd not come to him without a gift. Angelus would have expected no less of him.
This had to end. All of it.
Penn, Drusilla, Spike... they all had to be destroyed, he knew that. Every new person they killed because of what he'd made them was more blood on his hands. And that ending had to start in this moment. If he didn't kill Penn here and now, before distant memory of his first born became familiarity again... Before the way he moved and the sound of his voice brought back too many memories... If Angel didn't do it now, before this shade from the past became to him again the boy Angelus had adored, he'd never be able to do it at all.
"Sire?" Penn asked, worry creeping into his expression as Angel's continued silence. "Angelus, what's wrong? Don't you like her? I can find another..."
Every word spoken in that voice brought back memories. The cadence had changed slightly with the decades but the voice itself was everything he remembered and more. He had to act quickly.
"I'm sorry, but I have to do this." The firmness of Angel's voice belied the ache inside as he moved quickly, grabbing a stake from side table.
"What the Hell?" Hurt and betrayal could not even begin to describe the look in the young man's wide eyes. Shattered came closer, much closer... Then all emotion was wiped away from his face, hidden behind the same inscrutable mask he had most certainly learned from his sire.
Angel lunged for his creation, but Penn dodged left and across the room, pressing himself up against the opposite wall. Angel's movements appeared almost sluggish when matched against a well-fed vampire, one with enough age to know all the tricks of speed and grace... one nearly his own age. God, he'd still be so new to his new life when he'd made Penn.
He shoved the memories aside.
"What's happening?" Penn demanded, his tone as unreadable as his features. "Why are you doing this?" Angel came for him again and again Penn dodged past him, his intent clearly on avoiding injury rather than trying to engage this most unexpected of adversaries. His nose wrinkled distastefully. "And why do you smell like three day old pig's blood?"
"It's complicated," Angel said, watching Penn for any sign of a weakness. But it had been too long and Penn's fighting style had changed, evolved, since they'd last spared.
More memories, harder and more painful to push aside.
"Try giving me the Reader's Digest version," the younger vampire growled, but he was unable to keep a note a pleading in his voice as they circled one another warily. He covered it quickly. "It's nearly the turn of the millennium, you can do sound bytes, right?"
"You always were too cheeky for your own good."
"Oh, I forgot, you prefer sarcasm," there was an edge to his voice now that Angel had never heard directed toward himself before. Penn had always been as so adoring, his sire the center of his world when they were together. Angel wondered if it was the passage of time or the stake in his own hand was more responsible for that, not that it really mattered.
"Bitter much?"
"Now, why would I be bitter?" Penn leaned back against the wall, muscles deceptively loose. "I didn't mind that you abandoned me, freshly made, when your own sire called you to her side. That made sense. But when you made others and kept them with you, when you told me I couldn't be a part of that little... family..."
Angel couldn't help it, the protests rose in his throat before he could stop them. From all the times in the past, stolen moments he'd had with this creation when he'd tried to make Penn understand what Darla would do to him - to them both - if she'd ever learned that her childe had created a childe of his own without her permission... "Penn, you know why..."
He may as well not have spoken, Penn ignored him completely. "The two others... what were their names? William and Drusilla wasn't it? Were they really so much better than me? Did they really love so much more?"
Penn didn't wait for a response before lunging forward and knocking the stake from Angel's hand. His momentum carried them both across the room and into the wall that separated them from the dead girl beyond, Penn's little gift.
For a moment the younger vampire managed to pin his elder against the bricks. This close the mask fell away from Penn's expression as he looked pleading into Angel's eyes. "Angelus... Sire... it's been so long. If I've displeased you somehow, punish me for it. But don't look at me like you hate my very existence." He pressed his body against Angel's, entering the fight for the first time, not by resisting but by yielding. "Punish me any way you wish, you know I'll let you. Just don't turn me away."
"No!" Angel shoved him away hard, taking a deep breath he didn't need for comfort's sake, regretting it when his senses were filled with the mingled scents of his childe and fresh blood. Too many memories crowding in, too many desires too long suppressed. Yes, Penn would let Angel do anything to him, anything he wanted, and resisting him when inside the demon rattled at the bars of its cage...
The scent of blood, the tang of violence, and the sweet offers of a once adored childe...
"I'm not like I used to be," Angel said firmly, wishing it was more true than it was. "I've changed."
"That much I've noticed." He backed up, letting Angel corner him, pushing the buttons he knew. The helpless, adoringly submissive act had always pushed Angelus to just such acts as Penn had hinted at. "Why are you acting so strangely? Have I displeased...?"
"Cut the crap," Angel said, trying to push the memories aside. "Groveling submissiveness never suited you and we both know it's an act." Mostly, he reflected bitterly. "And you know how much it annoys me when you push it past the point of interest."
It felt like walking on a knife's edge, trying to portray Angelus without being seduced back into the world of Penn's understanding. But if he could get Penn to drop his guard again, just maybe...
There was a twitch of a smile from Penn's lips before he spoke. "We were supposed to meet in Italy." Penn stood up straighter, not playing any more. If anything, the emergence of his more natural demeanor was worse. "I waited," he continued. "Hell, I waited straight through World War I!"
"Such a hardship for you."
Penn gave a half-shrug and a little grin that only barely hid the true heartache beneath. "Still, why didn't you ever come?"
"I got held up in Romania."
"So, what's in Romania that's so important?"
"Gypsies."
"Oooo-kayyy, if you say so." Penn reached out, wrapping his long fingers in Angel's hair. Angel pulled away, ignoring the stab of pain in his own heart when Penn didn't even try to hide the pain the action caused him. He wasn't acting now, wasn't trying to play the game of power and submission they'd played so often. He was just Penn, in pain at his sire's rejection. "What would gypsies have to do with you trying to kill your own childe?"
Angel held back the wince and realized as he looke into Penn's expressive eyes that it was too late. Maybe he'd been deluding himself that he ever would have been able to kill Penn at all. But the small sense that Penn was a stranger to him after so long apart was gone. He knew every expression, every movement.
"They cursed me. I have a soul now."
"Congratulations," Penn offered. "And that means what exactly?"
"It means, I'm not Angelus anymore. I..."
He was interrupted by the rumble of the elevator coming to life behind them. "Mmm, human and demon too," Penn commented, breathing deeply. "Since when do you let half-breeds of that rank into your lair? Shall I kill him for you, sire? I don't recognize the kind of demon but..."
"No!" Angel glanced behind him wondering if there was some way to warn Doyle before he got off the elevator.
"No?" Long piano fingers startled him by reaching out to touch his lips. Behind Angel, the elevator gate slid open. Penn looked over his Sire's shoulder into the shocked face of Doyle in the doorway. "He doesn't look happy to see me. Is that it? I'm not welcome because you're too busy having fun with a new toy? If that's the case I really will have to kill him."
Penn was still acting as though nothing had changed. Which meant that he didn't really understand what it was for a vampire to have a soul. It meant he hadn't heard the stories Angel knew were circulating throughout the vampire community about him. Maybe Angel could still gain the upper hand.
"You'll do no such thing, brat," he growled in a fair imitation of Angelus.
"I though you said you weren't Angelus any more? Does that make you no longer my sire?"
Without warning Penn shoved him hard, knocking Angel back into Doyle. Penn ran, calling his final sally over his shoulder. "You're still my sire and I'm still Angelus' childe."
"Who the hell was that?" Doyle demanded, clutching Angel's arm as they both sought to avoid ending up on the floor.
"Penn. My... Angelus' first creation. In the Watcher Chronicles he's known as The Reaper."
"Well, shit."
"So, let me get this straight. Among vampires, a dead body on the bed is like the best possible father's day gift?" Cordelia demanded, struggling to keep her voice down so that the child in the next room wouldn't hear.
Sometime during the night Angel had disposed of the young woman's body - Doyle wasn't asking where or how - and Doyle had arrived today to find him in what Cordelia called a Deep Brood.
Doyle had done his best to explain what had happened the night before to the third member of their little agency, in so far as he had the least idea of what actually had happened. Angel hadn't exactly been overflowing with information last night. Or this morning, for that matter.
Now, Doyle perched on the edge of the desk so as to keep both the edgy vampire and volatile aspiring actress in his line of sight. He'd found it was safer that way, not to mention more enjoyable.
"You're replacing that bed you know," Cordelia told Angel. "Dinah's been taking her naps down there. She sleeps in that bed. Oh God, I've slept in that bed!"
"So, this 'Reaper' guy," Doyle said, before they got too off topic. Though he'd slept one off a time or two in that bed over the last few months as well; an idea was suddenly rather unsettling. "This Penn, he's your..."
"Childe," Angel said, in deadpan voice.
"Like Spike," Cordelia told Doyle. The half-demon inwardly winced at the memory of the bleach-blonde vampire. "We up for another torture-fest here?" she asked Angel. "'Cause I never did get any overtime for saving your undead butt last time."
"Penn doesn't have a score to settle with me."
"Uh-huh," Doyle said. "He didn't look too happy about you not liking his little gift. Think he'll stick around and cause us trouble?"
"Maybe."
"Well, aren't you Mr. Helpful today," Cordelia said. "Should we be worried or what?"
"Yes and no," Angel answered, glancing at the pacing girl for the first time. "Penn can be dangerous and finding him needs to be our first priority right now. Also, since you two work with me I think would be best if you stayed in doors after sunset until I do find him. On the other hand, there's no reason to think he'll make a particularly concerned effort to hurt any of us."
Cordelia made a face. "Well, this would be a damper on my social life if I had a social life any more. On the plus side, it might keep Doyle out of debt for a week or two."
Doyle pointedly ignored her jibe. He'd never wanted Cordelia to know about his gambling debts but unfortunately someone had sent some muscle after him and they'd turned up here looking for payment last week. Angel had had to take one guy out and sent the other back with a message, but the only thing that had saved Doyle from having his head bitten off - possibly literally from the look in Cordelia's eyes - was that Dinah had been taking her nap at the time and hadn't seen or heard a thing.
Just one more thing he was never going to live down it seemed.
"So, the reason fer broodin' this time is...?" Doyle asked Angel, liberally adding whiskey to both their coffee mugs while Cordelia was glancing out the window into the outer office to check on the little one.
"I need a reason?" Angel joked half-heartedly.
"Come on, mate. Tell yer drunk, constantly in debt business associate what's wrong. If he can't understand, no one can."
Cordelia snorted in a very unladylike manner as she came back over to them and sat down on the chair opposite Angel, arms folded. Her expression making it clear that Angel was not getting out of this without some explaining.
Angel looked like he would brood in silence for a minute, turning his mug around and around in his hands, but he finally looked up. "His un-life is my fault. I turned him against his will and now I have to kill him... again. Poor Penn. He was a Puritan, a good soul when I met him. I made him this and now he has to suffer for my mistake."
"So, when you first brought him across, he couldna ha' ended it and walked into the sun?"
"Well, I suppose, yes, but -"
"And all the people he's killed since. You ordered him to do each and every one?"
"No."
"Yer so good at takin' the blame sometimes Angel that ya miss the real monster," Doyle said.
Cordelia nodded, for once in complete agreement him. "Not everything's about you, Angel. Believe me, it's not an easy lesson to learn."
Angel sighed and took a sip of his fortified coffee. "You're both right but you're both wrong as well." He held up his hand when both opened their mouths to object. "Just... wait a minute, hear me out.
"When Penn kills, no matter how viciously, he's only being what he is, a vampire. It's like a cat playing with a mouse. He doesn't know any other way to be and he doesn't know that what he's doing is wrong. Without his soul he can't empathize, can't even really understand that his playthings have feelings in the same way he does. All vampires are like that to one extent or another. It's just the nature of the demon.
"Penn, however, was trained - twisted - by Angelus. That's not the same. Angelus loved to take pure souls and make them into monsters even other vampires feared. So, when Penn tortures, takes people and does unspeakable things to them, he's doing what I trained him to do. What I made him believe he had to do. Penn is so evil not because he's a vampire but because Angelus - I - hurt him until nothing but my will mattered and sent him out to wreak the kind of havoc I found amusing."
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment and Doyle could tell that Angel was already regretting how much he'd revealed to him. Doyle downed the rest of his coffee, nearly scalding his throat and wished like hell he had a Billy-D handy. Angel had his hand spreads on the desk before him and was looking down at them, deliberately not meeting their eyes. He was probably waiting for their disgust to drive them away, Doyle realized. He wanted to say something, wanting to give Angel some kind of comfort as Angel had done for him only a couple of weeks before when he'd revealed the secret of his own need for atonement, but the words wouldn't come.
It was Cordelia who broke the silence, as always adverse to anything that even came close to tact. "So, we're talking some kind of psycho-vamp brainwashing here? And, by the way, that's way more information than I ever wanted to know about the whole sire/childe thing - which is just icky anyway. And I so don't want to mentally go there. Anyway, we are taking about brainwashing, right?"
How does she manage to get that many words out in one breath? Doyle wondered, not for the first time.
"Yes," Angel said. "Of a sort."
"Okay, fine," she said. "Then is all Angelus' fault. Bad vamp. The point here is that this Penn guy is here, now. And here and now, you're not him. When Doyle gets those visiony things? The messages don't come for Angelus, they're for you - Angel. And you just have to trust that whoever that Powers That Be be - are - is... Anyway, you have to believe they know the difference."
Doyle was a little taken aback and he could see that Angel was as well. It wasn't often that their Cordelia bothered delving into the deeper matters of the heart and soul. But when she did...
"She's right, man,"Doyle said seriously. "You ain't him. I saw enough in the vision I had when I was first sent to you to know that. And I know enough about the powers that they'd never have sent me to the kind of person who'd do what Angelus did to Penn."
"No," Angel said quietly. "Maybe not."
"Definitely not," Cordelia affirmed. "So, quit brooding about what was done way back in the powdered wig days and go do your Angel-thing and dust the evil guy."
Doyle's lips twitched in spite of himself. "He'll have to wait for night, Princess."
"Duh," she said. "But you don't have to."
Angel sighed. "True. Penn isn't likely to keep his presence in L.A. a secret from the rest of the demon community. He's old enough to be able to throw his weight around a bit, and believe me, he will. Go talk to some of your people, see if they've heard anything about a new player in town."
"Oh, and try not to piss off anyone enough to come to the office to rip your throat out again," Cordelia said.
"Christ, woman. A guy makes one or two little mistakes," Doyle grumbled as he pulled his jacket on. The hint of a smile from Angel that was part amusement and part sympathy was worth the abuse. As was the measure of genuine concern in Cordelia's voice.
The moon fell and dawn threatened the eastern sky. Across town, six lives dripped ever so slowly away as they struggled against their bonds. Their whimpers and screams muffled by gags but still audible to the figure that stood over them.
He knelt down to study the apparatus he'd designed and built himself, watching as the blood flowed into it to be stored for future use. Finally, after nearly two hours of work, the last body was dry and he turned to them with playful glee. Normally, he'd dispose of the bodies at this point so as not to panic the city. People were easier to catch when they weren't looking into every shadow for monsters and he preferred waiting until he had them in his grasp and could enjoy the fruits of his labor for their terror to begin.
However... This time he had a reason for wanting his kills found.
Cordelia put the mug of coffee down on Angel's desk with far more force than was strictly necessary, sloshing some of the liquid onto the table and making Doyle wince. Angel, leaning against the wall by the elevator, refrained from comment. He sympathized with Doyle's discomfort but he wasn't pleased with him either.
"Banging into the office singing 'Danny Boy' at the top of your lungs before passing out on the couch is not a little mistake, buster," she said, continuing the haranguing that had been going on for the past fifteen minutes.
"Look, you go into those places and not have a drink or two, people start askin', ya know," Doyle muttered defensively.
"A drink or two? I don't think so. I've been out to a bar with you before, I know how much it takes to get you this hangover and it is not a drink or two." Cordelia put down the bottle of aspirin, also with more force than necessary. "And just for your information, the munchkin thinks you've got a cold. I so don't want her knowing that you're like this because you got totally smashed last night."
Doyle looked incensed. "I would never..."
"She saw you when you came in last night," Cordelia persisted. "And if she ever sees you in that state again, I swear to God..."
She swept back out into the outer office, leaving the threat hanging in the air.
"Did you find out anything else last night?" Angel asked.
Doyle shook his head and winced. "Nah, no more than we already knew." He gulped down the aspirin, making a face at the coffee. Angel could smell the stuff from where he stood and had politely refused any when Cordelia had offered. "New vamp in town, old enough to have smacked down a couple of upstarts when they got in his way. Hasn't been here more than a week at the most, though. So, there ain't much talk yet."
Angel nodded. It was, more or less, what he'd discovered himself during the night.
"Did you guys see the news?" Cordelia asked as she swept back into the room. "Think that could have been him?"
"Could what ha' been?" Doyle perked up, immediately. Fresh news opened his sapphire blue eyes faster than any coffee ever could have.
"God, don't you people get out? Wait, don't answer that. The murders. At that apartment building?"
"We haven't seen the news today, Cordelia," Angel said. He forced calm into his tone but there were times when she was trying. "What happened?"
"Last night six people were killed. They were found this morning in the basement of their building. And, get this, all their blood was drained. Course, there was something about mutilation of the bodies and stuff too, which is just sooo..."
"Cordelia," Angel interrupted with a long suffering tone.
"Well, it is gross," she said.
"Yeah, but what kind of mutilation?" Doyle asked.
"I don't know," she humped. "I made Dennis switch channels at that point because I didn't want the Munchkin hearing that kind of thing. Especially not at breakfast."
Doyle groaned and rolled his eyes, but pushed himself to his feet and into the outer office to turn on the computer.
It didn't take long for him to find the news reports they wanted. What took longer was pulling the shades so Angel could join them and relocating Dinah, her crayons, paint, poster paper, and legos into the inner office so she wouldn't hear what they were discussing.
"They were drained and their eyes were removed," Doyle reported. "And I do mean, removed, as in the killer took them with him. Didn't he take out that girl's eyes the other night, Angel?"
"Yes, he did."
"Eww, why would anyone want people's eyes," Cordelia demanded.
"Actually, there's a big place in the black market for certain kinds of eyes," Doyle said, rubbing at his own bloodshot ones. "They get used in spells and stuff."
"And that's probably what this is," Angel said, leaning over his shoulder to scan the article. "This isn't Penn's style. It's too big for him. And they aren't connected to each other apart from living in the same apartment building. Penn likes to think of himself as an artist."
"Meaning?" Doyle asked.
"He takes his time. He likes taking whole families piecemeal, savoring the pain he causes the survivors before he kills them as well. That's why he was called The Reaper, because he's like a disease, killing slowly but surely."
"I so could have done without knowing any of that," Cordelia said with feeling.
"Still, this seems kind of public for the black market guys," Doyle argued. "Leavin' bodies around where the authorities can find them? They're pros, man. They know better than that."
"I know," Angel said. "But it could be someone trying to break into the business. It could even be some kind of ritual killing as the police suspect, although the set up doesn't look like any ritual I'm familiar with. It could be too many things, there just isn't enough information here. Still, it sounds like something we should look into."
"I was afraid you were going to say that," Cordelia sighed. "Okay, so, you'll watch Dinah, right?"
"What?"
"It's light out, Angel. Most of this is going to be outside. Doyle and I can go investigate, but only if somebody is watching Dinah. And, as things are, the only 'somebody' around is you. Oh, and I almost forgot," she said, grabbing a think bundle of papers from her bag and handing them to him.
"What is this?" Angel asked, finding himself looking at adverts both from newpapers and printed up from the internet.
"You're getting a new bed, remember?" she said. "You'd better start pricing. You're lucky, there are some decent sales going on. And maybe we can do something about the neo-gothic look in that room while we're at it."
"Cordelia," Angel sighed. "I'm buying a new mattress, not redecorating."
"Why not?" she demanded. "That place could seriously use some color in it. And that bedstead? I'm always afraid the Munchkin is going to have nightmares sleeping in that thing."
The crime scene was complete chaos with press and gawkers vying for potion and police trying to keep them back. Cordelia tapped her foot impatiently, trying to get a look, but even the application of her high heels to feet - which was what had got them up to the police tape - wasn't going to get them any answers.
"Hey, isn't that Angel's cop girl?" Doyle asked, pointing out a blonde ponytail that seemed to be all but flying past him. "Hey... uh... Detective Kate!"
"What?" All of that energy suddenly redirected itself at him and it was all Doyle could do not to back up a step. Cordelia, however, was made of sterner stuff.
"I'm Cordelia," she said. "And this is Doyle, we work for Angel."
The detectives eyes just narrowed.
"What's going on?" Doyle asked nodding toward the apartment building.
"Why don't you have your boss find out? He seems to be good at that."
"All part of the job, ma'am." She just stared through him until he felt perforated. "Uh, well, we thought we could help, maybe offer a bit of insight."
"Did you kill them?"
"Well, no."
"Then you can't offer me any insight."
She swept past them.
"Well, that was useful," Cordelia muttered.
"I didn't see you trying to get anything out of her, Princess."
"Well, duh," she said. "She's not going to tell us anything. She's totally into Angel, which is why she tells him stuff."
Doyle looked sideways at her. "You think so?" he asked.
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's tell Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Broody that his new blonde is on the case. What is with that guy and blondes anyway?"
Legos, crayons, and paint covered the floor of the inner office when they arrived back from the crime scene.
"What the...?" Doyle said, as he inadvertently stepped on a purple crayon, breaking it in two.
"Angel?!" Cordelia wailed, looking around.
"I didn't do it," he said defensively. "I only went downstairs for a minute and..."
"You left Dinah alone up here?!" The wail rose to a shriek. "Anyone could have come in here while you were down there and found her all by herself! Where is she?"
"I did manage to successfully put her down for a nap."
Cordelia drew in a sharp breath to continue but Angel spoke before she could start in on him again. "On the couch, Cordelia. And I've already thrown the mattress for my bed out so she wont see anything scarier than dust bunnies."
"I've seen some that were kind of scary," Doyle commented, carefully navigating his way through the debris field and dropping gratefully onto the sofa. It was a relief to be back in the dim, coolness of Angel's office and out of the sun. The liberal application of some real coffee on the way to the crime scene had helped, but his head still hurt.
"Cordy!" Dinah called from the top of the stairs, thereby proving Angel's belief that he'd managed to put the girl down for a nap false.
Cordelia gave Angel a look that said she'd deal with him later and scooping the child up, headed back downstairs.
Doyle closed his eyes and for a few moment relaxed in the blessed silence.
"Learn anything," Angel asked finally.
"Just that that detective of yours is investigating," Doyle said, not opening his eyes.
"Kate?"
"You got any others we should know about?"
"I haven't got as far as I know," Angel replied. "Well, this could make this either easier or harder."
Doyle opened one eye. "How's that?"
"Kate's a good cop, she won't miss much and she might be inclined to share some information if she thinks it will get a killer caught any faster. On the other hand, she is a good cop and sooner or later, she'll find whoever's responsible. And the fact is that she's just not ready to face the truth about what's out there."
"None of us ever are," Doyle commented. Angel looked sharply at him, but he just closed his eyes again. "You protecting her from it for a reason?" It wasn't that he particularly wanted to see another person's world view torn apart, but he wasn't sure protecting her from knowing what she was up against was helping her all that much.
"She's a good cop," Angel said again. "Someday she'll be even better when she can deal with the cases the other cops can't handle. But only when she's ready to see what's really there and starts looking for the answers of her own accord."
Doyle said nothing. It was true that, generally speaking, those who sought out the truth on their own usually dealt better with the knowledge than those who had the knowledge forced upon them. He should know. His own awakening to the underside of the human world having been far from voluntary. And he'd be the first to admit he hadn't dealt with it at all well.
Still, he couldn't help a sliver of resentment for Kate. She was fully human, she had the choice of acknowledging the other side of their world or not, a choice he desperately wished he'd had. She also had Angel to protect her from it for as long as she was unwilling to face the truth. And worst of all, he seriously doubted that she would ever realize just how lucky she was to have those things.
"Kate!"
The detective turned from unlocking her car and gave Angel a tight little smile redolent with exhaustion. It was just after sunset and she still had more work to do back at the station before she could call it a night. And it had been a very long day. This was the third time she'd had to come back to the crime scene today and she'd had half expected the city's strangest PI to turn up each time she had.
Third time's the charm.
"Angel," she said, nodding at him in greeting. He came out of the shadows looking for all the world like a stray bit of shadow come to life. How he did that was beyond her.
There was a grace and silence to his movements that was surprising in a man of his height and linebacker build. Talk, attractive, dark, mysterious... Angel was so much like some kind of superhero or romance novel construct that for the first few months of their acquaintance Kate had kept looking for the chink in the act, certain that it had to be one. When she'd finally realized that it wasn't an act...
Angel was a top rate investigator, she'd give him that. And he genuinely seemed to be in the PI business out of a desire to help people rather than for the imagined glory or the money. She trusted him enough to share information, confident that he wouldn't misuse it and that if he found anything she should know he'd reciprocate. It wasn't what you were supposed to do, but every good cop had informants and informants all had their own price. Angel's was information that he, as a civilian, wasn't normally privy to.
"Can we talk?" he asked as he got closer.
She frowned. "Those two from earlier, you sent them?" she asked, recalling the brunette and guy in the loud shirt from that morning. They'd looked familiar enough that they might have been working for Angel as they'd said. But that had been neither the time nor the place for her to find out for sure.
He nodded. "They work for me."
"Well, tell them asking for information on an ongoing case when surrounded by curious onlookers and within earshot of at least two uniforms isn't going to get them anywhere."
Angel sighed. "Sorry about that," he said, sounding genuinely embarrassed.
She just shrugged. "I'm headed to the station, you parked around here or would you like a ride."
"A ride would be great."
Unbeknownst to either of them, a figure watched from a window not far away. The police had several of their own people watching the site but Penn had evaded their notice without difficulty, keeping his own watch to see if Angelus did indeed come to see his work.
He was pleased that his sire had found this important enough to come himself. He was perplexed though when Angel seemed uninterested in seeing the scene first hand, bodies gone but floor still stained with the little blood that had escaped. The air, no doubt, still redolent with their fear and pain in spite of all the police who'd trooped in and out during the day.
Instead, though, Angelus had approached a blonde Penn recognized as one of the detectives who'd been in and out of the apartment building throughout the day. Now, he was leaving with her, having made no attempt to enter the building.
Annoyed, Penn watched them drive away.
Little was said during the drive to the police station. Kate was clearly exhausted and she focused on getting through early evening L.A. traffic rather than finding out what Angel wanted. He understood. Kate worked hard and got results. It made her an important member of the homicide squad, despite her relatively young age. As the daughter of a successful homicide cop, though, she seemed to have to work twice as hard to be taken seriously as someone other than just her father's daughter. She was doing that. But often, it seemed to Angel, at the cost of her own health. If she kept up as she was doing, that health would eventually collapse on her. He'd seen it too many times not to be sure. But there was no point in saying as much. Kate was going to do what she was going to do and there was no one who could tell her any different. It was one of the reasons he liked her.
"You know, Angel," Kate commented. "This is getting to be a bad habit with you. You know I'm not supposed to give out information on cases like this. And what's your interest in this one anyway? None of them were clients of yours, were they?"
Angel shook his head. "No," he answered. "But there are aspects to the murders that sounded familiar and I don't know whether they're related to something I've seen before or not."
"Where and when?" she asked eagerly, perking up.
He held up a file. "I have a few things to show you," he told her.
Angel had spent the day - after cleaning up his office, enduring a lecture from Cordelia, and avoiding yet more sales adverts for new bedroom sets - looking into rituals involving the draining of the victim's blood and the removing of their eyes. He hadn't found anything that fit what they were seeing here. And though Doyle had asked around, it didn't seem likely that this was related to the black market either. Only Cordelia, trolling the internet, had unearthed anything of value; a couple of similar murders on the eastern seaboard a few years before. Similar enough that Angel wasn't entirely certain any more whether they were dealing with Penn, eye collectors, or possibly even a human serial killer - as unlikely as he thought that at this point. Cordelia had printed up the articles and Angel had brought them with him. It was always easier to get information out of Kate when he was forthcoming with information of his own. Besides, he honestly didn't know whether to consider these murders as relevant or not and Kate would be the best person to determine that.
Upon arriving at the station, Kate lead Angel directly to a conference room. One wall was covered in photographs of the murders from earlier in the day. The victims had been tied up and left kneeling in a circle, eyeless heads lolling grotesquely.
"So?" she asked, closing the door behind them and folding her arms.
Angel handed her the file. "Nothing on this scale before," he said. "But they're similar enough to have me wondering."
Kate sat down at the table and looked through the articles. Angel walked over to examine the crime scene pictures. "How was the blood removed?" he asked. "Have you been able to determine that?"
"Hmm? Oh yes," Kate said, looking up. She nodded to a set of pictures farther down the wall. They showed closeups of areas of mottled bruising around what looked like the puncture of a very thick needle. "A 7 gage hypodermic needle - that's the largest they commonly made for medical purposes - was inserted into their femoral arteries. From there on their own hearts served as the pump that emptied their bodies." She stood up and came over to the wall. "All except for this one," she said tapping a close up of a woman's who's throat had been cut. The wound was jagged and hung open, but there was little blood on her clothes.
"She was drained of blood before her throat was cut," Angel said examining the picture.
Kate nodded. "There must have been something different about this one. Apart from the blood being taken from her neck rather than her leg, there must have been something special to make him try to hid the marks when he didn't bother with the others."
Dinner, Angel thought. He'd seen this particular set up too often over the years not to recognize it. She'd been drained there and then and her throat cut to keep the human authorities from seeing the distinctive marks of a vampire's bite. He glanced at the wounds on the others and thought of the bags of pigs' blood in his own refrigerator. Penn had always dearly loved technology, fascinated by each new invention, pulling them apart to figure out exactly how they worked...
Take out, he decided grimly, looking at the other bodies. Certain now that this was exactly the kind of thing Penn would do. And equally certain that the deliberate posing of the bodies, along with removal of the eyes, as with the girl in his apartment the day before, was meant to get his attention.
"If it is the same killer," she said, motioning to the articles he'd given her. "He's refined his technique."
"They do that," Angel commented absently. He turned away from the wall. "Thanks for letting me see these."
Kate shrugged. "Thanks for the articles. I'm not sure if they're connected or not, but it's more of a lead than we had before."
Angel nodded. "Any time."
Angel left the police station certain that Penn was leaving him a message with these murders, but what message he didn't exactly know. He spent most of the night scouring the neighborhood around the apartment building with the help of Doyle, looking for any sign that Penn may have been staking out an area of the city as his personal hunting grounds. It wasn't unusual for a vampire of sufficient years to leave a kill or two to be found by the authorities, using the media to disseminate their warning to other vampires and demons in the area.
It wasn't much of a lead but at the moment it was all they had to go on.
They found little and only arrived back at the office around dawn. Cordelia had learned this when she'd arrived the next morning to find Doyle fast asleep on the couch in Angel's office. She'd kicked him off and he'd gone home with vague promises to be back later.
As a result, Cordelia had the office to herself for the better part of the next day. Not that she minded much. The quiet allowed her to get to work finding a good deal for Angel's new bed, determined to talk him out of getting just a mattress when there were great deals to be found that would totally lighten up his room. That whole apartment needed redecorating badly and even so small a thing as a new bed and maybe a couple of bedside tables, would at least be a start. It also gave her time to clip coupons, plan that weeks meals, and repaint her nails.
When she'd gone downstairs to make Dinah her lunch around noon she'd found Angel still asleep on the couch downstairs. She made him get up so she could put child down for her nap when she finished eating. He'd stumbled grumpily off to the bathroom.
For all the usefulness of the quiet, though, she'd begun to be bored and to miss the presence of her boss and his sidekick, though she'd rather be seen in some hideous polyester blend than admit such a thing. Still, she was relieved when the door opened. Her relief turned to honest pleasure when she saw the young man standing there.
Good looking and dressed in the very best of casual chic, he wasn't the type you saw around here nearly as often as she'd like. Nice bones, she thought admiringly. Nice eyes too. And that coat over his arm, $500 at least if I'm any judge. And I am.
She gave him her very best smile, the one she saved for people who could afford Blue Boxes and might be willing to pay enough for their problem to be solved to get her one. "Hi, welcome to Angel Investigations. I'm Cordelia. Please, sit down."
He smiled back, sitting down in the chair across her desk with the ease of the totally self-confident, dropping his coat over the chair beside him. Cordelia's eyes were drawn back to it, something about it niggling at the back of her mind.
"Well," she said, pulling her attention back to the young man. "You've discovered the seamy underbelly of the candy coated America, have you? Well, you've come to the right place! Here at Angel Investigations we won't judge, but we will charge. Now, if you only tell me how you heard of us." She'd had far too much time to think up good professional things to say to potential new clients, but that was one she'd been particularly pleased with and was grateful to be able to put it to use at last. Especially, on some this... well, yummy.
"From the police actually," he said. His voice unexpectedly smooth and Cordelia repressed a shiver. Surreptitiously, she glanced at his left hand pleased to see no ring there.
"Really?" she asked, forcing her attention back on the conversation.
"Yes," he answered. "A Detective said you could help me. She was very enthusiastic. For the truly human touch, she said, I should come to you."
"Really...? I mean, great!" She frowned at the coat again. It seemed awfully heavy. "Is it cold out there?"
"I can't seem to remember her name though," he said, apparently not hearing her. "What was it? About my height, natural blonde?"
Cordelia perked up. "Oh yeah, Kate! Detective Lockley." So, Angel's friendship with the detective was actually paying off! She'd take back everything she'd said yesterday about uncommunicative cops if the woman managed to get them even one paying client.
"Lockley, yes that was it," he said, sounding pleased. He smiled at her again, causing her to suppress yet another shiver. This time though she wasn't entirely sure whether it was from attraction or not.
Cordelia's bright smile held nearly as much nerves as cheer now. There was still something about him, something about the fluid movements of his hands that made it nearly impossible for her to look away. At the same time, though, there was something about his smile...
"Yeah, she and Angel are totally tight," she said. Babble, as always, rising to her lips without conscious thought to cover her nerves while her mind puzzled out the problem in front of her.
"So, she is more than just a professional relationship then. He cares for her."
"Oh, yeah," she answered. "But that's Angel all over. He's a bit, you know, dour. But not afraid to get personally involved in his work. And you're totally pumping me for information, aren't you?"
The young man's smile widened to a grin, but it was not the kind that encouraged you to grin back. "Yeah," he admitted, utterly unabashed.
"Crap," she said. "You're him. He. The guy. Apt pupil boy, right?" Cordelia rose to her feet only to be mirrored in her action by the vampire in front of her. Damn, she should have realized that he was too pale for the L.A. trendy population. It was the long coat on such a hot day that really gave him away though.
"You realize," he told her, almost gently. "That you'll never make it to the exit before I..."
She reached behind her, grabbing in the cord for the blinds and pulled with all her might. "Go up like a match?" she supplied as he jumped back from the sunlight now streaming through the windows. She stepped directly in the rays, grateful for the safety that came with its warmth on her back.
She forced herself not to glance toward the inner office and the entrance to Angel's basement apartment beyond it. Where the hell was he? He couldn't still be in the shower, could he?
"Clever." Now far enough back to be safely in the shadows, the vampire's composure had returned. "But then, Angelus never did have much patience with fools."
"Good for him," Cordelia said acidly. "Not that that matters though. Angel works here, not Angelus and believe me, I know the difference."
He cocked his head to the side regarding her with interest. "Really? And what then is the difference? What makes Angel so different from Angelus that he'd seek to destroy his own childe, hmm?"
There was still that something about him, something almost mesmerizing. She'd seen a few vampires who had the quality before now. Angel had it to some extent, though not as strongly as this one. What was his name again? All she could remember though was that the watcher chronicles had called him 'The Reaper'. Angel's talk of what he'd done, what he liked to do, overshadowed what he'd actually called him in her memory.
"Duh," she said. "He's got a soul."
"And that means what exactly?"
"Remorse," a voice answered. Cordelia jumped, more grateful than she could have put into words to see Angel standing in the doorway of the inner office. "Empathy. The ability to care about more than just myself. The ability to see people for who they are rather than just as objects."
The other vampire's brow was furrowed. "Forgive me, Sire. But that doesn't sound very useful. Or very fun."
"Penn, I'm sorry," Angel said. "But this can't continue."
"Can't it? Why not? Because you say so, because you've decided that the way our kind has lived since the beginning of time suddenly isn't good enough?" He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, Angel. It doesn't end, won't end."
Cordelia carefully moved across the windows to be closer to the inner door where Angel stood. Reaching up, she picked up a stake from where it lay on top of the filing cabinets. "Angel," she said, tossing it to him. He grabbed it out of the air without ever taking his eyes off the vampire in front of him. Penn, she reminded herself, wondering what the hell kind of a name that was.
Angel's expression was sadder than she would have anticipated when faced with an enemy like this and it was starting to make Cordelia nervous.
Penn reached inside the long coat he had with him and pulled a paper bag out of one over large pocket. "And here I'd been willing to let what happened the other night pass. I even brought you another gift to show there were no hard feelings."
"I don't want anything you'd give me," Angel said, sounding almost apologetic as he finally moved forward into the room. Unfortunately, the rays of sun coming through the windows were also hampering his movements. They lay across the floor between them, making a few yards into an almost uncrossable chasm. Cordelia considered closing them so Angel could move more freely, but she didn't dare. Vampires were fast and she wasn't entirely sure that Angel could get to Penn before Penn got to her, if it came down to it. So, it was better if she stayed in the full light where she couldn't be used as a hostage or anything as cliche as that. She was an actress after all, she knew damn well that they always grabbed the girl.
"This is my city now,"Angel said. "I protect these people and I won't allow you to hurt them any more than you already have. If you are not gone by tomorrow evening I will hunt you down and I will stake you. Are we clear?"
Cordelia looked toward Angel with shock. "You're not going to just stake him now?" she demanded. Neither vampire seemed to notice her interjection into the conversation.
Penn's face had darkened, all smiles and nonchalance gone. "You'd chose them," he waved dismissively toward Cordelia, "over your own blood? Your own childe?"
"Hey," she interrupted. "I'm not exactly chopped liver here, you know."
"I don't have a choice," Angel told Penn, sounding almost as if he wished he had. "It's already done. I'm sorry. But this is the way it has to be. The only chance I can give you is the chance to leave L.A. and never come back."
"We'll just have to see about that," Penn said, his face closing down, hiding all emotions. But not before Cordelia saw the heartbreak in his eyes.
For a moment the very room seemed to hold its breath and it was a shock to all three of them when the door banged opened and Doyle strode in. "Hey Ang'. Look I called a couple of old friends of mine but they haven't heard anything about..."
He was cut off. Penn had recovered from the shock first and he moved in one fluid motion, grabbing Doyle around the throat and holding him between himself and Angel.
"...the guy who's got me by the throat," Doyle finished in a croak.
"You seem to have so many odd toys now," Penn said, back to the friendly, confident smile. "If the girl's for dealing with callers, what's this one for?"
"Let go of him and get out," Angel said, all regret and softness gone from his face and tone. Cordelia thought she saw his features shift ever so slightly, as though the vampire were just below the surface of his skin. Which, she supposed, it always was.
"Should I?" Penn asked, lightly. "Maybe I should take one for myself, find out what's so interesting about them." He leaned in, taking a deep breath, smelling Doyle who remained still in his grasp. "They're not marked, so you haven't even tasted them. What's the point in that?"
"Go to hell," Doyle said. Cordelia was a little impressed in spite of herself. It reminded her of when that vampire had attacked her and he'd turned up with a crossbow. His face held the same expression of determination now as it had then.
Penn only laughed. "Well, Angelus... Oh sorry, Angel..."
Angel had been moving forward ever so slowly, inching his way around the rays of sunlight.
There was a hint of a growl in his voice when he spoke, making him sound less than fully human. Something that was rare in him. "Let him go now or you'll never get out of this office except in the bag of the vacuum cleaner."
"Do we even have a vacuum cleaner?" Cordelia found herself asking. He fear, as usual, driving the first thought to enter her head out of her mouth without conscious volition.
"So, you'd really kill me just to protect them," Penn said. "I guess all there is to say then, my sire, is goodbye."
In one sudden movement he threw Doyle forward and turned, pulling his long coat over his head as he plunged out the door of the office.
Angel dropped the stake and caught Doyle, the pair of them falling back into the wall behind him.
"Oh my God." Cordelia ran to them, concern outweighing her naturally undemonstrative nature. "Are you two, okay?" she demanded.
"We have to quit meeting like this," Doyle said unsteadily to Angel as he managed to get his feet under him again.
Angel gave him a small, grim smile. "He does love a dramatic exit," he answered.
"Dramatic?" Cordelia demanded. "That guy is nuts. And so are you!" she said, poking a finger into Angel's chest. "What the hell was all that about letting him not be dust so long as he left the city? This is a vampire, Angel. You're not supposed to offer them a get out of jail free card so long as they don't kill anybody in L.A.!"
Angel looked towards the door. "It's complicated," was all he said.
Doyle was watching him quizzically while he rubbed at his neck. "Can't help but agree with our Princess there, man. You're supposed to stop them, not just keep them out of the city."
"I can't," Angel admitted softly. "Not him, not unless I have no choice." Without allowing either of them a chance to answer he turned a piercing look on Doyle. "How's your throat?"
"Well, I might be wearing a turtleneck tomorrow, but I'll be alright," Doyle answered, still frowning at Angel.
Angel moved forward reaching one hand to were Doyle was still rubbing at his neck. The smaller man waved him away. "It's fine, man, don't fuss."
"Have to?" Cordelia demanded, determined not to lose sight of the main point here. "Of course, you have to. He's evil. You kill evil things. Therefore, you have to. It's your job. Not to mention your whole mission from the higher powers thing." She glanced over toward where Penn had been and spotted the paper bag he'd taken out of his coat still lying on the chair. "Oh, and he left his little 'gift' for you. It better not be anything gross."
"Gift?" Doyle asked. He spotted the bag and frowned. "Somehow I'm getting it ain't going to be a bottle of gin. Which is a shame, 'cause that's something I could used right about now."
"Cordelia, do you mind?" Angel asked, motioning toward the windows.
"Oh, right." She hurried over and closed them again allowing Angel to cross to where the bag lay. He looked inside.
"What is it?" she asked, curious in spite of herself.
Frowning, he pulled a jar out of the bag. Just a normal jam jar as far as she could tell, but the label had been taken off and inside...
"Eww!" Cordelia backed away, putting her hand to her mouth as she found the jar was looking back at her.
"That what I think it is?" Doyle asked, sounding queasy.
Angel nodded. "They're the eyes he took from his victims.
"That is just so... so..." Cordelia was at a loss for words.
Angel turned away without answering, shoving the jar back into the bag. "It will be dark soon. I'm going out," he said, grabbing his duster and heading toward his apartment and the entrance to the sewers beyond.
"You want company?" Doyle asked.
"No, it's fine," Angel said. "You two should both go home while it's still light and stay in your apartments tonight just in case."
As the shadows began lengthening, Kate finally put aside the files that had kept her occupied all day. She rubbed at her temples trying to think. The articles Angel had given her had lead to too many possibilities and not enough answers.
The murders had been too similar to what they'd found the day before to ignore and she'd spend the whole day digging into them.
Over the last three decades a total of eight bodies had been found scattered all over the eastern seaboard, each one with the same evidence for death by exsanguination via a large gage needle inserted into an artery. So far, so good. The problem was that in all previous cases the bodies had been discovered purely by accident. One had been found when, upon an order for a trash dump to be closed in New Jersey, the city had ordered the top layers to be taken out to sea and dumped. The body had been uncovered during this process. Another had been found by hikers in a remote wilderness area in Maine, after it had been dug up by wild dogs. In each case the body had been disposed of in such a way as to make discovery very unlikely. Why would the killer, after thirty years, suddenly start posing the bodies in a place where they were sure to be found within very short order? Also, if the killer had ever killed more than one person at a time before now, there was no evidence for it. Each body found had been on its own.
After thirty years of working the in the same way, why would a such a successful serial killer as this one was have moved to California and changed how they went about it out of the blue. If there had been trial runs for multiple victims or posing the bodies before this, she couldn't find any evidence for it. Still, it seemed unlikely that more than one killer would use the same MO by accident and the killings themselves had been so scattered in place and in time that the authorities had never put them together as the work of a single individual. Therefore, a copycat killer was extremely unlikely.
She'd contacted the departments out east and the first files were being sent by overnight mail and should arrive by early afternoon the next day. Then more detailed analysis of the cases out there and the one in L.A. could begin.
With this in mind, Kate pushed herself away from her desk. She was too tired. She'd stayed at the station far too late last night looking over the articles after Angel had left. And she'd been up again far too early this morning for a meeting with her captain about the case. If she was going to be any use when those files arrived tomorrow she needed some sleep.
Twenty minutes later she entered the basement parking garage where her car was parked. Unlike most people, she always parked at the farthest end from the doors on purpose. No matter what the television shows insisted about the physical rigors of police work, a detective's job was all too often sedentary in nature. Too may days like today, which had been spent at her desk poring over reports and files. They only exercise she got on such days was the walk to and from her car.
She took slow deep breaths as she walked, allowing the simple activity to begin the process of clearing her mind. She was debating whether she had the energy to stop at the store on the way home or whether she'd give in and just order pizza tonight when she reached the stairs leading to the lower level of the garage. By this time the area was nearly empty and her car, at the far end, sat in a lonely little pool of shadows. As she got closer, though, she realized that there was someone leaning against the wall near her vehicle.
Kate rolled her eyes. Back again. If Angel showed up at inside the station asking for her too often it might get him the kind of attention from other officers that he didn't want. So, he tended to be sparing in his visits and show up randomly at crime scenes or waiting by her car when she headed home for the night. How did he always know when she'd be headed to her car, she wondered. She couldn't imagine he just waited there for hours on end.
As she got closer though and was about to call out to him the shadowy figure stepped away from the wall and the words died unspoken.
It was the way the figure had blended so well into the shadows and the long coat it wore which had deceived her. As the figure came forward, however, she could see that this man was shorter and slighter than Angel.
Her hand inched toward her gun as her steps slowed.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want?"
"Detective Lockley?" he asked, coming finally into the light. She frowned at the attractive young man. No more than twenty-five at the most, his expression was one of mild interest and his smile was friendly. It wasn't reassuring though, especially as his hands were buried in the large pockets of his long coat.
"Who's asking? And why didn't you ask upstairs?" Kate pushed back the edge of her coat so he could see her firearm and laid her hand meaningfully on it.
He didn't seem overly disturbed by this action. He merely drew his own hands slowly and carefully out of his pockets and held them up.
"I'm not here to distress you, detective," he said, smiling warmly.
"Then answer my question, what do you want?"
"Kate!"
The call came from the other direction, distracting her.
"Angel?" she said, glancing back over to see him running towards her.
It was all the opportunity the young man needed. He was across the intervening space and had her right arm pinned up behind her back before she'd even realized he was moving. The grip was unnaturally strong and within seconds her lower arm began to go numb from lack of circulation.
Angel came to a halt about ten feet away.
"Let her go, Penn," he said firmly.
"The lady is otherwise engaged," her captor answered cheerfully. He motioned to the package in the Angel's hand. "I see you found my gift. What do you think?"
"Little heavy for you, isn't it?" Angel asked.
Kate frowned. "This is assault on an officer of the law, a serious crime." She might not have spoken, for all the attention her captor paid her.
"I have to stay competitive," he said to Angel. "William - or rather Spike - has been killing Slayers or so I've heard. How's a boy to earn his father's love if he doesn't live up to his father's good name?"
"Let her go," Angel said again, his face had grown hard and there was an edge to his voice that Kate had never heard there before. He was large and dark and well-built and all the other things he was, but this was the first time he'd ever actually looked dangerous to her.
"I think the lady is just fine where she is," Penn argued, yanking Kate's arm farther up her back for emphasis. A hiss of pain escaped between her lips. "Come and get me and kill her in the process. Show how big and powerful you are."
"If you don't let me go this minute, you'll be serving some serious jail time," Kate said, between clenched teeth. "Shut up or I will shut you up!" The young man - Penn, Angel had called him - snapped at her.
"You want my approval?" Angel asked, pulling her attacker's attention away again. "Is that it? If that's what you're after this isn't how your going to get it."
"Is it too much to ask for?"
Kate took advantage of his distraction and drove her head back into his face with all her strength. She felt something give with a satisfying crunch. Before she could pull away from the suddenly slacked grasp, however, the young man was in front of her. The amiable expression was gone from his face as blood poured from his nose.
She barely had time to wonder how the hell anyone could move that fast before the world went dark.
Angel tackled Penn just as he lashed out, striking Kate hard across the face. The blow connected but not with as much force as it could have. Kate still went down, though, under the force of the blow. She lay still and Angel could only pray she was merely unconscious as he struggled with Penn.
Penn flung Angel off of himself, springing to his feet only moments before Angel did the same. A kick to the stomach sent Angel flying backwards but he was up again before Penn could reach him. He went on the attack, driving Penn back with a flurry of punches to the mid-section.
Penn stumbled, before managing to spin away from the attack, getting behind Angel and launching himself at his sire. They went down again, struggling until Penn managed to pin Angel beneath him.
"Even this one," he hissed breathlessly. His expression dark with anger behind the mask of blood. "You'd even kill me for this one."
Angel flipped Penn off of him. "For anyone," he said grimly. "Please Penn. Just leave. Go and never come near me again."
"You don't want to hurt me, do you?" Penn breathed.
Angel closed his eyes for a moment. "No," he admitted. "I don't want to."
He looked at Penn, his first creation. The one he'd loved more than any other.
It had been a spur of the moment decision. He'd been apart from Darla for the first time since his own creation barely twenty years before. Still so young and new to his new life. He'd found Penn wandering in the cold of the evening, too afraid to return home. He'd still been nursing bruises from the latest beating by a father who was still so much larger and strong himself, who all too often took his frustrations out on his disappointment of an eldest son.
Prey, Angelus had thought at first. But there was something to the young man and he followed him rather than taking him right away. For three nights, Angel watched him. Taking his time before the kill, he told himself. In the end though, when he'd caught him alone in the barn, it wasn't death he'd had in mind.
"I'm sorry," Angel said now. "I'm sorry for what I did to you all those years ago. I'm sorry for what I made you."
"An artist?" Penn said. "An immortal? A god over these," he waved toward Kate's unconscious form, "lesser beings?"
"An irredeemable monster," Angel answered. "You were a good person once, when you were human."
Penn's lips curled back in a look of disgust. "I was weak, stupid. You gave me a new life, a chance to live forever, to see the world and be everything I could never have dreamt of before. And you regret that now, don't you? How can you regret not leaving me to die? I'd have been nearly two hundred years in the grave, by now! I'd be dust, forgotten. Is that really what you'd have wanted for me?"
Angel swallowed. "You could have had a good life," he said. "You could have..."
"No," Penn said sharply. "I couldn't and you know it. Just look at where and when I lived, at how unhappy I was, at how desperate I was to escape from my father's house, no matter the cost. I wouldn't have lived some happily ever after, Angelus, and you know it."
"Just go," Angel said again. "There's nothing else I can give you. But if you come back, if you come near me or mine again, I'll have no choice. I'll have to kill you."
"But you don't want to." Penn cocked his head and smiled slightly. "You still love me after all."
"Go," was all Angel said.
Penn's smile widened. "I knew it. I knew my sire couldn't have disappeared so entirely, soul or no soul."
He was up and gone in a moment, leaving Angel sitting alone on the cold pavement of the parking garage. He closed his eyes tightly, fighting back a ridiculous urge to cry. Yes, he thought, he did love him. Just as he still loved Drusilla and even as he still loved Spike in some strange corner of his heart.
After a moment, he pulled himself up and over to where Kate lay. Blood ran down her temple from a cut in her scalp. Angel focused himself on ignoring how good it smelled, almost grateful for the distraction of his hunger.
"Kate," he said, shaking her shoulder.
She began to rouse quickly, much to Angel's relief. She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around.
"Where is he?" she demanded.
Angel reached out, helping to support her as she sat up. "He's gone," he said.
"You let him get away?!"
Angel didn't meet her eyes. "Here," he said, grabbing the paper bag. "I found this earlier."
Kate grabbed and pulled out the jar, her head shot up.
"Him," she said. "That kid was the killer? How the hell could you let him get away Angel?!"
"He's my childe." Angel spoke into his knees, softly enough that Kate couldn't hear him. With a sigh he stood. "We need to get you to a doctor," was all he said aloud.
"Let me get this straight," Cordelia said, hands on her hips as she stood in front of Angel's desk. "You let him go again? Even after he nearly killed cop-lady?"
Doyle sat on the couch watching Angel's expression as he stared past Cordelia at nothing in particular. But there was little to read in his far away expression.
"He won't be back," he assured her, answering the root of her concern rather than the actual words.
"What makes you so sure?" Doyle pressed, none to pleased himself.
"Penn got what he wanted."
"Eyeball soup?" Cordelia asked tartly. "Eyeball fricassee? Eyeball on a stick?"
Angel sighed. "It was personal..."
"Which don't change the fact that he's still out there," Doyle said. "Still killin' people."
"No," Angel said, almost too softly to be heard. "I know it doesn't."
And that was all he'd say on the subject.
Fade Out
Closing Credits