All of us are travelers lost,
our tickets arranged at a cost
unknown but beyond our means.
This odd itinerary of scenes
--enigmatic, strange, unreal--
leaves us unsure how to feel.
No postmortem journey is rife
with more mystery than life.
----Book of Counted Sorrows by Dean Kootz
January 15, 2000
Will they ever forgive me? Will they ever understand? Will they ever accept me?
Can they? Once I tell them all..... once I say good-bye.... once I accept what I have done.
I come here to be close to him..... if only he knew how much I miss him...... how much I need him..... how much I......
They came. I never thought they would, I thought it was a myth passed on from generation to generation.... but it wasn’t.... it isn’t.
I hurt to cry, I’m so tired.... so tired. I want to sleep, but I can’t.... we don’t have time.... we have to leave..... go away forever......
I lay on the bed where we said goodbye, the same bed blood was shed, a bed where a beginning became an end.
I miss him so much........
But where do you begin; where do you find answers that are not your
own. I’ve hurt them, I know, but I also helped them and that perhaps they
shall never understand.
I hold the pillow closer to me; wishing the nightmare was ending. Wishing
somehow to return to another time. Wishing once more to be with him.......
if only in my dreams.
* * * * * * * * * * *
January 16, 2000
“Quite tonight,” Doyle commented as they walked down the dark block, a couple of blocks from Angel Investigations.
“Can’t be good,” Angel remarked as he tried to shake off a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“You know, this should be a good thing, no demons to fight, or vampires
to slay. Means it’s safe. And no mind splitting headaches either,” Doyle
encouraged.
“Yeah, or it could also mean there’s something coming worse.”
“As long as your optimistic,” Doyle replied sarcastically.
“Come on,” Angel said as he stopped in front of their local pub. “My treat.”
Doyle happly followed, smiling. It was about time they had some time to drink and get drunk.
It had been a quite night. The past week had only produced the slaying
of a wanna-be master vampire as well as three demons that were more slimy
then ferocious. Since then it had been quite, except for the woman
who had needed a ghost removed from her home. It was relatively easy, especially
with the help of Cordelia’s roommate.
Now as they sat sipping some whiskey, Angel couldn’t help but feel a
bit restless. Though it was a blessing for Doyle to have some off time,
it
unnerved Angel. To be honest, he had felt on edge for the past week,
feeling there was something going on... something he should know about.
Even
sleep offered no relief as he tossed and turned, his dreams a muddle
of images and light. He hadn’t felt this disgruntled since he had returned
from
Hell.
Doyle, however, was delighted that he had some time off. His time with
Cordelia in the office had increased and he thought maybe, just maybe,
he
was making some progress. He looked around the relatively empty bar
and took a look at the few ladies, something he thought Angel should begin
doing. Wasn’t pinning over Buffy for six months enough time?
“You know , the brunette down the counter is looking at ‘ya,” Doyle said.
Angel turned his head and caught her smiling at him. Politely, he smiled back quickly and went back to his drink.
“You know, I don’t think she’ll bite if you go and talk to her,” Doyle encouraged.
“I really don’t want to.”
“Come on, it’s time to move on. Buffy isn’t waiting for you, why should you wait for her?” Doyle said as bit annoyed.
“This isn’t about her,” Angel revealed.
“Then if it isn’t about her, then what.....?” Doyle asked.
“Nothing,” he replied as he finished his drink and stood up. “I’m gonna patrol a bit more...”
“Not again,” Doyle interrupted as he doubled over in pain.
Angel took hold of the half-demon and pulled him out of the bar, the
few spectators assuming he’d been drunk. Once outside Doyle composed
himself, the vision finally passing.
“What happened?”
“Fire.....” Doyle replied cautiously.
“Where?”
“Sunnydale......”
* * * * * * * * * * *
The final gust of water from the hose extinguished the last lingering
flames that had engulfed the entire house only an hour ago. The house was
left
half standing, must of the left side of the house in ashes while the
rest stood dark and broken. The two bodies were removed from among the
debre,
perhaps running to the kitchen to escape the burning inferno. Unfortunately,
they never made it. The flames it seemed had caught them first, burning
them alive.. Well that was what the coroner assumed not knowing completely
until an autopsy could be performed. The charcoal bodies were placed
in two body bags and shipped off to the morgue while the rest of the
firemen remained looking for the third victim, a daughter perhaps, the
neighbors had mentioned had also lived there. But by the looks of how
badly disfigured and burned the last two victims had been they had little
hope in finding the third.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was on the radio in Giles apartment that they heard of the fire on
Chelston Street. They had rushed over with blind filled faith that the
news
broadcasters report had been wrong... that not all three occupants
of the white ranch house had parished. But as they turned the corner and
saw the
remains of the crumbled home, what little faith they had carried disappeared,
welcoming in grief, pain, and sorrow. They fell to the ground as a
bunch, holding onto each other as the remaining police officers finished
placing the yellow ribbon around the premises, the little smoke rising
from
the ashes the only think remaining.
* * * * * * * * * * *
They had made it too late. That was the conclusion they were left with.
As they walked around the wet, burnt floor that was once the Rosenburg
house, Angel’s heart turned heavy as he realized they had failed her.
It was Doyle’s voice that shook him out of his thoughts.
“I’m sorry man,” he said softly and turned to walk back to the sidewalk.
Angel followed shortly after, walking with Doyle to Xander’s house where
the rest had set up a vigil to wait for a friend they had hoped had
somehow escaped the fate of her parents.
But as the night died to welcome the day, so did their hope.
* * * * * * * * * *