| DISCLAIMER:
I don't own Buffy & Co. Joss Whedon and the WB do. No copyright infringement
intended.
Note: Text enclosed in < > represents
thoughts or feelings.
Part Twenty
"Please don't hurt me, ma'am."
Willow felt like a deer staring
up a double barrel shot gun. She rocked back on her heels as her
lower lip began to tremble and her eyes filled up with tears. She
felt humiliated, belittled and deeply hurt. Sean's smug smile evaporated
faster than a dew drop in the Arizona desert, to be replaced by something
close to self-disgust.
Sean sucked in a sharp breath, and
tried to apologize. "Damn. I'm sorry, Willow... That was reprehensible..."
Sean trailed off as Willow's color began to rise. She went from hurt
and humiliated to furious inside of a microsecond. Willow drew in
an angry breath. <LOUSY, LOW-DOWN, LYING...!!!> He eyed
her apprehensively, as one eyes a cranky volcano and tried again.
"My behavior just now was--"
"HOW DARE YOU?!!" She snarled, unwilling
to listen to any more of his phony self-recrimination. Willow raised her
arms deliberately and viciously smashed her dishes onto the kitchen floor,
aiming for his feet. They crashed to the ground and shattered, forcing
Sean to leap back out of the way. His sudden movement caused him
to lose his grip on his own dishes. A fraction of a second later,
they joined hers in shattered ruins upon the kitchen floor.
Willow never felt the piece of flying glass cut deep into her ankle as
she spun to look around for a weapon. <I'M GOING TO...!!!>
The small kitchen staff leapt instinctively
at the sound of breaking china and glass. They whirled and stared
in astonishment at the young woman assaulting their employer with words
and flatware. Willow sputtered some other foul invective regarding
Sean's personal habits as she craned her neck in order to survey the kitchen.
<AHA!> She spotted a hanging rack of pots and pans that nicely
suited her purposes.
While Sean watched, perplexed and
mystified, Willow bounded over to them and snatched up a small sauce pan.
"TAKE THAT, YOU!" She let it fly in Sean's direction; her aim was
slightly off and it whizzed harmlessly by his head. Sean's astonished
kitchen staff hurriedly took shelter in the pantry.
"GRRRR!" Willow growled, unable
to find words poignant enough to express her displeasure at missing.
She grabbed another saucepan and hurled it with all her might, aiming for
his head. Sean dodged to the side and the pot collided with the kitchen
window. It crashed into the counter with a clatter.
"Willow! Don't you think that
you're over--" Sean cut himself off in order to successfully deflect
a 4.5 quart stockpot with his forearm.
Willow vaguely heard one of Sean's
armed goons enter from the other side of the kitchen. She snatched up another
sauce pan with both hands and lifted it above her head. With a loud
click a round loaded into the gun's chamber. Sean whirled towards
his guard with a powerful snarl. "NO GUNS!! I DON'T--"
~THUNK!~
The four quart sauce pan connected
with the side of Sean's head in an explosive mid-air collision. Already
balanced on only one foot, the impact knocked him off-balance. Sean's
arms flailed comically and he went down hard. Willow saw and seized
her opportunity. <Escape!!!>
Quickly, Willow armed herself with
a jumbo 14-inch skillet and charged out of the kitchen into the dining
room. Briefly, she paused to consider using the candle-holding chandelier
to set the house ablaze. <Bad idea!! I might get caught
in the fire...! Plus a lot of innocent servants might die...>
"Willow!" Sean bellowed from
the kitchen. She heard him order his guard to shut the house up and
to disconnect the phone. <Ooops, gotta run.!>
Willow raced down the hallway leading
to the dining room. She heard the swinging double doors leading from
the kitchen burst open behind her. Willow hurriedly rounded the corner,
wielding her skillet like a sword. She unexpectedly found herself
face-to-face with a very surprised Mike, who was no doubt responding to
the ruckus in the kitchen.
~THWAP!~
Willow slammed him in the gut with
the edge of her weapon, throwing all of her strength into the blow.
For good measure, she threw in a mental slap that momentarily flattened
his mind like putty. <Take that!!!>
"UGGGHHH..." Mike doubled over,
winded and stunned. Willow glanced down the hallway in both directions.
She saw Peter coming at her from one direction, his short little legs pumping
like pistons, and Sean approaching more cautiously from behind. <Drat!
I've been cut off!>
Willow turned and ducked into a doorway
behind her. She dropped the skillet and fumbled for a lock frantically.
Fortunately, there was one. Sean put on a burst of speed and his
hands slapped the door, grabbing the knob as Willow twisted the deadbolt.
To her surprise, she heard reinforced steel bars sliding into place.
<That'll hold him off for a while!>
Sean uttered a soft curse on the
other side of the door that brought a small, pleased smile to Willow's
lips. She turned to inspect her surroundings and found herself in
an office with a small library. Bookcases lined every wall and the
decor was done conservatively and tastefully in dark colors. Willow
ran over to the windows, only to discover the metal shutters already locking.
<Darn it! If I'd been a little bit faster.>
A soft tap came from the door.
"Willow?" Sean cajoled. "I don't suppose that you'd care to
discuss this?" Willow snorted to herself in disbelief at his audacity.
<Not likely!>
Willow spotted a cordless phone sitting
atop a walnut desk which graced the far wall. She lunged across the
room and snatched up the phone, listening with frantic anticipation for
a dial tone. Instead, silence greeted her ears, indicating that the
phone had been taken off the hook. <Darn it! He thought of everything!>
Disappointed, Willow set the phone
down again and found herself staring straight down at an IBM Thinkpad.
<Heehee! Except maybe the modem line!> Willow sprinted around
the desk, mindful of the fact that she probably had little time left before
Sean and his goons found a way in. Willow quickly glanced at the
back of the laptop, but to her immense disappointment discovered no modem
lines. <Drat! A vampire computer savvy enough to be on the
Internet was just too much to hope for!>
She pulled out a wheeled leather
chair and seated herself at the desk. In addition to the laptop,
the excited jumble upon the desktop included a desk lamp, various reference
books, assorted papers, a clock reading 7:25PM, and a mouse pad.
<Well, I might as see what's on his computer, seeing as how I'm trapped
in here anyway...>
Willow booted the machine and sent
an anxious glance towards the office door. So far, Sean had not spoken
again, nor attempted to break down the door and force his way in.
It took Willow less than a minute to correctly guess Sean's Windows
password. <You'd think that a two-hundred year old vampire would
be smart enough not to use a family member's name as his password!>
Microsoft Word's familiar screen
appeared as the startup menu loaded. Intensely curious, Willow selected
the File option and opened the last document used.
*****
Sept. 7, 1997
Peter just called to let me know
that they have successfully absconded with Ms. Rosenburg. In an act
of perhaps supreme stupidity, I have stolen my brother's consort*.
Doing so is no doubt foolhardy and reckless. Not to mention that
it is quite likely that he will kill me for this transgression. However,
time is running short and I'm becoming desperate to locate Angel.
Willow Rosenburg afforded an opportunity which seemed too good to pass
up.
*The girl's actual relationship
with my brother is at this time undetermined. It is my hope that
she will prove to be of sufficient importance to him to at least draw him
out enough to engage in a telephone conversation. It will be
to my utter chagrin if she is an innocent with whom Angel is merely toying.
However, such seems unlikely given the relative lengths to which he has
gone in order to protect her. As to Willow Rosenburg, her dossier is staggering.
Her intelligence, resourcefulness and ingenuity... This young woman,
reportedly, is a veritable computer genius and it would undoubtedly be
quite foolhardy to grant her access to one.
*****
Willow snorted and paged down.
She glanced away from the screen to scan the desktop but it did not yield
anything resembling a dossier. The desk drawers proved to be locked.
Willow stared thoughtfully around the room until her eyes came to rest
upon the round base of the desk lamp. Willow snapped her fingers,
grinning gleefully. <AHA!> She picked the lamp up and discovered
a small silver key hidden underneath. <Score two for the hacker,
zip for the vampire!>
A quick search of the desk drawers
yielded a file labeled with her name. She quickly flipped through
it, scanning its contents. It neatly summarized every minute detail
of her life, with the exception of certain glaring absences. Nowhere
did it mention her friendship with the Slayer or her involvement in various
supernatural occurrences over the course of the last year. <Lord
Oh Lord! How did they find out all of this.?! They even have
my.!!!> Willow blushed and slammed the folder closed. <How
could they know *THAT* and not know about Buffy.?!>
Willow became aware of her ankle
throbbing painfully. She glanced down and discovered that the hem
of her ivory silk skirt was stained bright red with fresh blood.
With regret she took hold of the hem and moved the material aside to expose
her ankle to view. <Too bad. It was such a pretty dress...>
A nasty gash still oozed blood from
a deep cut directly above her ankle knuckle. The blood had painted
the entire right side of her soft ivory slipper red. Willow grabbed
some tissues and patted it gingerly. <Ouch! I must have
cut myself in the kitchen...>
Willow frowned thoughtfully, trying
to reason the mystery of the missing information out. <If I assume that
Sean has subordinates who gather his information for him, then that might
account for the blank spaces. Either his lackeys are totally
incompetent or someone is deliberately withholding information from him...>
She maintained steady pressure on the cut in order to staunch the blood
flow and turned her attention back to the computer screen.
*****
Ironically, I find myself looking forward
to making her acquaintance. She seems to be a most intriguing young
lady. And although I am well aware of the grave importance and unlikely
probability of gaining her trust, I cannot help reflecting that Angel has
finally done well for himself. Perhaps too well. What this
child prodigy might have in common with my brother, aside from kinship,
I cannot begin to imagine.
*****
The journal entry ended there, as
if Sean were disturbed before he completed it. Willow closed the
file, musing to herself. <This supports what Sean claimed, about
Roger being to...!!! That's it! It's always "Roger this" or "Roger
that"; Roger's to blame. But frankly, Roger just doesn't strike me
as being all that bright! He must have been a scapegoat!>
Seeking an answer, Willow opened
the file directory structure and located journal entries by year and month
dating from the present back to mid-1995. <Let's see... Sean killed
Roger yesterday...> Willow opened the Word file dated September 6,
1997.
*****
Sept. 6, 1997
I staked Roger today in a fit of
anger when I learned of his bumbling. Now, I deeply regret this impulsive
action, as I did not properly interrogate the imbecile. Given the
opportunity to correct this oversight, I would have him drawn and quartered
in the most painful manner conceivable. I have long suspected that
one of my own was preparing to betray me and now I am certain of it.
Roger may have been the key to discovering who the traitor is. Today's
occurrence served as an unpleasant awakening which shocked me out of my
preoccupation and back into the real world. Apparently, I have permitted
my research to consume me so thoroughly that I have committed the foolish
blunder of allowing my underlings far too much autonomy. Six of my great-grandchildren
are dead. Their passing means little to me, for I was not acquainted
with any of them personally. However, their deaths will weaken the
Clan at a time when the strength of every single member will be needed
in the coming conflict.
*****
Willow came to the end of the entry
and paused to consider, while absently worrying her lower lip. <So,
Sean suspects that he's being betrayed... And that Roger was just a pawn
in a bigger conspiracy and the real "mastermind" is still out there somewhere...
Lord! This is twisted!>
Willow pushed away from the desk
and sprang to her feet. She paced across the room, expending nervous
energy, and consumed with putting together the puzzle pieces that she possessed.
<Angel's tattoo and a threat to his life, treachery and deceit, no mention
of Buffy... And don't forget Father Matthew's murder!>
Willow returned to the desk, deciding
that reading the remainder of Sean's journal entries might provide further
clues. She read backwards through the remainder of the last week,
skimming each entry hurriedly. Everything she read supported what
Sean had told her. To her relief, she found no mention of Father
Matthew, Angel's friend, anywhere in Sean's journal. <He must
have been murdered by the now deceased Roger.>
To her frustration, she found many
indirect reference to the "danger"or the "threat" to Angel's life but no
concrete explanation of its actual nature. In fact, Sean studiously
avoided mentioning anything specific regarding magic in his journals.
With increasing agitation, Willow began skipping further backward in time,
selecting dates at random. Finally, she reached the very first entry
made upon the laptop, dated May 5, 1995.
*****
May 5, 1995
Tanya and I quarreled again today.
Of late, our arguments grow more vicious and occur with greater frequency.
Over the last several years I have watched my wife changing from the lovely
creature with whom I fell in love with and wed, whom I embraced as my life-long
companion into something vile and malicious and, I confess, repugnant to
me. And then I realized today, with a blinding flash of insight,
something so obvious, so basic that I have not seen, indeed, have not wanted
to see. For it is not she who has been changing, but me. I find myself
questioning the veracity of all I was taught and all that I have believed.
Not since Guillaume first explained the natural order of things to me have
I been so full of questions and so full of doubt. Once I understood
his explanation that it is as natural for vampire to prey upon human, as
for wolf to prey upon deer, I never permitted such things as doubt or guilt
to enter into my conscience again. For such a relationship between
predator and prey is not unnatural, nor evil, despite what the deer might
say of the wolf, if he could speak. I'm reminded of that night on the road
to London, when Angel told me that some vampires, those not of our Blood,
actually believe themselves to be demons. I laughed so hard at their
ignorance that the carriage literally shook. Angel laughed with me,
but I did not miss the tension in his eyes and I realized that he'd once
believed this also. At the time, it served as a sharp reminder of
our differences, of the worlds which separate us. It is true that our powers
are demonically derived. However, I was taught that Vampire controls
Demon, that We are Their masters. However, now I wonder, what if
it is the other way around... What if They are the true masters?
I am remembering all of the newly arisen I have known who did not accept,
who died by their own hand or were easily "slain" by another. I remember
the ones who were too "weak" to accept what they had become and I wonder...
What if it was not they who were too weak but those of us who endured,
who surrendered to the blood lust and became monsters? Is this true or
merely my paranoid musings? The thought that I have been enslaved
to a demon's lusts and whims is revolting. It makes me furious to
think that I may be but a vessel existing merely to serve another...
So vexing are such thoughts that I wish to turn away and not consider such
again. However, even more powerful is my desire to resist and rebel,
to reclaim mastery of my own mind and heart and soul. And finally, I wonder,
is this what happened to Angel?
*****
Willow stopped reading, her stomach
heaving as bile rose up against her throat. Hot tears ran down her
cheeks and she threw up in the wastebasket, clutching at the cold metal
for comfort as her world reordered itself. In horror, she realized
that her most fundamental and cherished beliefs about vampires might be
terrible lies. <Everything Giles told us. OH, GOD! JESSE.
DID the demon take your soul after all...?>
Willow gasped frantically for air
as panic asserted itself. She wanted to run, but had no where to
go. She was trapped in this room, alone with more cold, ugly truths
than she wanted to face. Willow shuddered, feeling empty and betrayed.
A hot tear ran down her cheek and dripped into the trash can. <Oh
Angel... Why did you lie to me?>
<That's not fair!> A distant
portion of her thinking self protested the accusing thought immediately.
<Get a grip!> Willow mentally kicked herself in the butt, reaching
for strength and ultimately finding what she needed within herself.
Slowly, she began to calm down and
to reach past her panicked emotions in order to think rationally.
<Angel may have lied or it may simply be what he believes to be true...
I don't know for sure and I shouldn't judge without hearing his side of
it. After all, actions count a lot more than words and I *know* that
Angel is my friend.>
She disengaged herself from the waste
basket and returned to the chair. Thoughtfully, she reviewed the
Angel she'd come to know over the last several days. <He's cautious
to the point of being paranoid, secretive, and so fearful of rejection
that he's unwilling to open himself up to it for almost any reason.
He's also kind, sweet, and considerate... So I'll give him the benefit
of the doubt for now and chew his ear off later if he lied to me!>
Whether or not to give Sean the benefit
of the doubt still weighed heavily upon her, however. To Willow,
it seemed more than mildly peculiar that Sean and company hadn't tried
harder to get her out of the office. <I wonder why they haven't
just opened the window shutters and come in that way to get me...?>
Feeling paranoid, Willow got up and inspected the room more thoroughly.
Behind the last set of curtains she uncovered a full-length mirror instead
of a window. <So, Sean could have come in after me any time he
wanted to...>
Upon more careful consideration,
the whole situation almost felt like a setup. <What are the odds that
I'd just happened to lock myself in the one room that seems to hold
all of the answers that I need...?> A massive coincidence was more
appealing, however, than the thought that Sean somehow manipulated her
into this room. Mentally, images of the sequence of events which
led her to be here flipped by. <He COULD have provoked me on purpose,
Mike and Peter COULD have been waiting for me at the other end of the hall
so that I'd have no choice but to run into the office...>
Willow opened Explorer and quickly
verified the file creation dates against those of the journal entries;
they corresponded correctly. Next, she confirmed that Sean's laptop
did not contain Norton Utilities, nor any other utility which would have
enabled him to fake the journal entry dates. <That checks!>
Next she opened the DOS prompt and checked for deleted files. <AHA!!!
Now, I wonder why Sean felt it necessary to delete his Internet software...?!!!>
This new evidence of a setup twisted
her perspective of events and reality around all over again. Her
respect for Sean's intelligence and her wariness of his manipulative talent
rose to previously unreached heights. As to whether or not to believe
him, Willow decided to go with her gut. <Frankly, he's gone to
WAY to much trouble to try and prove himself to me. I'll trust that
he really does want to help Angel for now...> A smile brightened
her lips. <Sides, Angel will be here soon and then HE can deal
with his crafty little brother!>
That settled, Willow turned her attention
back to the task at hand. The laptop revealed no further secrets
and she felt satisfied that Sean's journal entries did not contain any
more truly useful revelations. <At least one's that I *want* to
know. It's hard enough to admit to myself that he really was telling
the truth...! Especially since it would be way too easy to start
liking him now! What I REALLY need is information about the Phoenix
Contract!>
Willow rifled his desk again, but
uncovered nothing terribly interesting beyond financial and other assorted
miscellaneous personal papers. Willow sighed, feeling drained and
ready to give up. She stared vacantly off into space, absently wondering.
<Gee, if I was a vampire, where would *I* keep secret and arcane knowledge?>
Her eyes drifted to the laptop. <Of course! But I'm *not*
a vampire SO...!!>
Her eyes flew to the bookcases.
Willow squealed with glee and bounced happily across the room. After
some searching, she located the "secret and arcane knowledge" section of
the library right next to Sean's pulp thrillers. Willow pulled the
most likely looking candidates off of the bookcase and carried them back
to the desk. The second book proved to be a hand-written volume with
a cover page clearly stating "Phoenix Contract". <Eiiiieeeee!>
She carefully flipped the page and
discovered to her endless annoyance that Sean kept his magical texts in
Latin. <And to think that I left my English-Latin dictionary down
in the limo...! Maybe there's one here somewhere...>
A through search of Sean's library
did indeed yield an English-Latin dictionary. Willow returned to
the desk and glanced absently at the clock. She nearly started in
surprise. <10:00PM! I've been in here now for two and a
half hours!> Willow flipped open the dictionary and spent the next
half-hour laboriously translating the beginning of the book into English.
When she'd finished the first paragraph, she stared down at her translation,
aghast with disbelief, reading and rereading it. <Surely, I made
a mistake! This CAN'T be right...!!!>
Willow rechecked the relevant passage
four times before she accepted her translation as valid. <I can't
believe this! Kindred are trying to seal the Hellmouths CLOSED forever...!!!>
Disbelief and excited agitation drove her beyond the limits of her patience.
Willow hopped to her feet and hurried over to the door. She armed
herself with her jumbo 14-inch skillet and cautiously turned the lock.
She opened the door slowly, ready to whack any lurking vampires or goons
upside the head, if need be.
She peered through the opening and
frowned. Sean looked up from where he sat across from the office
door with his back against the wall. He no longer wore his tux jacket,
or his tie. His shirt was unbuttoned half-way down his chest, revealing
an expansive stretch of firm muscle. His hair was tousled and he
looked more like Angel now than ever before. Willow cautiously scooted
into the hall, dangling her skillet bashfully behind her.
"Please don't hurt me, ma'am."
Sean offered her a lopsided smile and a meaningful glance at her skillet.
He carefully removed a book from his lap; as he closed it, Willow recognized
Giles' handwriting. <His Watcher Journal...>
"There never was a trap, was there?"
Willow asked quietly.
Sean's expression shifted, mercurial
with emotion. "No, there wasn't," he replied softly. "Have
you read enough of my journals now to believe me?" His eyes held
tension and nervous hope.
"Yes." Willow nodded, meeting
his gaze steadily. The presence of the Journal in his hands did not
calm her spirit however. <I believe that he wants to help Angel,
but there's no telling what he may try to do to Buffy...>
"I'm sorry I was so rude to you."
Sean glanced away, shifting uneasily. "Some of your comments really
hit home. Closer than I would have suspected," he confessed.
"I overreacted and got ugly."
"I'm sorry too." This time
her apology was not reluctant. She leaned over to gently set down
the skillet. "I still think that you're evil though."
Willow narrowed her eyes at him, letting him know he wasn't a member of
the cuddle-pire club yet. "Thirteen years doesn't change someone
THAT much."
"I am evil," Sean agreed mildly.
"I don't think even a century would change me that much." He sighed.
"Look, Willow," Sean began, drawing in his legs as if to stand.
"I know that you hate me for what I am and I accept that. But do
you suppose that you could look beyond that long enough to help me help
Angel?"
"I don't hate you," Willow
corrected. "And I'd do anything for Angel." Sean absently transferred
the Watcher Journal from one hand to another, drawing Willow's attention
back to it. <I need to know, so I might as well ask...>
"What are you going to do with that?"
Willow indicated the Journal.
"This?" Sean held it up.
His expression became dark and brooding. "Is it true?" he asked.
His eyes filled with sick anxiety.
Feeling lost, Willow frowned.
"Is what true?"
"Is Angel really serving the Slayer?"
Sean peered deeply into her eyes, searching her for the truth. "Has
he really betrayed us?" In his eyes, she saw fear, despair and hurt.
<He makes it sound like Angel is helping the Nazis instead of the...
Oh! I guess maybe from his perspective, Angel is...>
"He doesn't serve her, he helps her,"
Willow corrected gently. "They're friends..." Willow trailed
off. She could not say anything more. <I've revealed too
much already...>
Sean's jaw clenched. "This
will get him killed if it gets out." He came to his feet so fast
that he almost knocked Willow over. She felt her heart leap and adrenaline
surge with an instinctive burst of fear, as if a lion had just taken a
swing at her. Sean charged past her down the hall, taking the Journal
with him.
"Sean?!" Willow stared after
him in disbelief as her abductor ran off, leaving his hostage unguarded.
<Where is he going...?!>
Willow ran after the rapidly retreating
vampire.
|