Title: Hell on the Soul 1/3
Author: JR
Email: JRR42@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Episode spoilers: 2nd season
Status: Complete
Archive: Yes, TPWFLD. Everybody else, please ask.
Series/Sequel: Companion story to 'Hell on the Body'
Archive category: Angst
Warnings: None really, but major angst alert.
Notes: Thanks and huge cyber-hugs to Jeana and Heather, the beta-reading girl wonders ;-) And also, thanks to everybody who sent me such wonderful feedback! It's what keeps me writing :-)
I have a series in mind based off these two stories, but if there isn't any interest in seeing it, I'll concentrate on other projects.
Archive summary: Angel's soul makes a painful journey.

I return to consciousness in a nauseating rush, Awareness hits me like a bucket of cold water thrown into my face -- shocking and unpleasant. It serves as a painful reminder of just exactly where I am and what I'm doing here.

Yes, I'm still in hell. Just in case anybody is wondering. It's not like I expected anything different. I'm still shackled within this black void of nothingness with only my demon to keep me company.

Feeling all of my two hundred and forty odd years, I steal a wary glance at the creature standing before me. Not for the first time, I consider how odd it is to be able to actually look at the demon that resided inside me from the day I changed into a vampire. It's a hideous creature, one with features distorted into a gross parody of a human face. *This* is what lived inside me for so long? The mere thought alone disgusts me more than anything else in my long years of memory.

Suddenly, the demon realizes that I'm awake, and that I am in the process of studying it. It's glowing yellow eyes rise to meet my own, watching me intently before the creature snarls at me in what I can only describe as sheer glee. Although I have no real idea of how long I've been stuck here in hell, it's been long enough for me to learn that when my demon gets that particular look, I should be afraid. Very afraid.

Sadly enough, I'm no stranger to pain anymore. I thought I knew what agony was -- both physically and mentally -- when I lived in the real world. How could I have ever been so naive? Since I've been here, I've been tortured in more ways than I ever believed possible. I've experienced pain so great, I would sell my soul to the devil to escape from it. Oh, wait, that's the reason I'm here in the first place, isn't it? Guess it was a limited time offer, and I'm past the expiration date. Groan, another pun. Somebody save me from my morose sense of humor.

Somebody save me. Period.

My hopelessness must show on my face since my demon is cackling outrageously at my misfortune. For eighty years, my soul held this demon at bay with the help of a gypsy curse. Now, that revolting thing has the rest of eternity for payback.

And judging by the look on it's 'face,' it's got something really nasty in mind for the time being. So, what's it going to be today? Another whipping? Another evisceration? Lost limbs? Man, did the demon ever enjoy that one. Liked it so much, in fact, that as soon as I recovered, it did the same thing all over again just for sport. Well, whatever it has in mind, I do my best to mentally prepare for the upcoming assault.

That's when I feel it, the chill that passes down my spine as soul is forcibly separated from my body.

Oh God. Not this! Please, do whatever you want to my body. C'mon, cut me open, make me bleed, make me scream, anything; but please, not this!

But the demon knows all too well that this particular torture is the one that hurts me most of all: the torture of my soul.

The darkness that has become my prison slowly gives way to an unbearable bright light. I try to use my hands to shield my eyes, but like my physical body, my soul is also bound by chains that connect the shackles on my neck, wrists, and ankles. With my movement held in check, I can do nothing but wait for the brightness to become tolerable.

When my vision finally does clear, I find myself standing in a large, open meadow. I've been here before, several times in fact, since Buffy trapped me in hell. This is the other place -- heaven, the Elesian fields, Valhalla, Nirvana -- whatever name the various religions assign to it, this is the place where good souls finally come to rest.

So many souls roaming about. I feel a sharp pain of remorse knowing that I will never be included among them. Most of them are engaged in various activities; everything from simple conversations to painting to playing games. Some turn to look at me as we shuffle by, my demon leading me with none-to-gentle tugs on my chains.

I keep my eyes trained on the ground, unwilling to meet the stares of disapproval and pity that I know are being cast in my direction. Tears of shame and humiliation flood my eyes, blinding me as we move along. I stumble once or twice, unable to see the ground with my clouded-over vision.

Finally we reach our destination. I know from painful experience that it will only be the first of many while we're here. A jerk to my collar forces my head upwards, until my eyes fall on the picnic taking place before me.

A sob escapes my throat as I see them all gathered together. I hear their conversations come to a halt as they become aware of my presence. One by one they turn to face me, their expressions ranging from hate to pity. They are my family, the first of what would become a long list of my victims.

I can feel tears rolling down my face as we study each other for what feels like forever. My mother offers me a hesitant smile, while Mary and Celine, my sisters, stare at me with unreadable expressions. The hostility pours off my father and older brother in waves, shaking me enough to drop my gaze to the ground in pure shame.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a sudden movement. Raising my glance slightly, I watch as Mary slowly makes her way towards me. Along the way, she stops to pick up Rory, the youngest of my siblings. Taking a moment to balance his weight against her hip, she smiles as he starts calling my name.

"An'gel! An'gel!" he cries as he squirms in Mary's arms. The sweet mispronunciation of my name rips my heart apart more painfully than the demon's claws ever could. All of three years old when I took his life in the madness of my first vampiric bloodlust, Rory was always the apple of my eye from the first day he entered the world.

The pair of them come to a stop once they reach me. It is only then that I actually steal a look at Mary. Of all my siblings, we were the closest in age, looks, and temperament. Born ten months to the day apart, our faces are so similar that we often used to be mistaken as twins. We fought fiercely and often as children, but as we got older, we finally learned to put our petty jealousies aside to become good friends.

The smile I offer Mary is shaky at best, and she gives me the same in return. With some trepidation, she raises a hand, and after moment of indecisiveness, she brushes a finger along my wet cheek. Only when I get the sense that she is not going to draw away do I look up at her from under the veil of my damp eyelashes.

"I forgive ya, Angelus," she whispers softly in her achingly familiar Irish lilt.

With the sound of those four simple words, I feel the same small measure of weightlessness that I always do when one of my past victims grants me absolution. With each one that forgives me, part of the heavy burden on my soul is removed. It is the one thing about these visits that gives me some small measure of comfort.

"I'm so sorry, Mary. Please, tell them all...," I stumble, not knowing the words to express just how deeply my sorrow runs.

My demon is openly scowling at the scene between my sister and me, enraged that yet another person has found it within themself to offer me forgiveness. It yanks on the chains binding me viciously, almost pulling me completely off my feet. My eyes catch Mary's as I am jerked along after my tormentor. The pity I see in her dark brown eyes is heartbreaking.

"Ah lub ya, An'gel," I hear Rory call.

"I love you, too, Runt. Mary...thank you," I whisper before we move out of sight.

Perhaps it's to help us with hunting, or maybe as a self-preservation tool; whatever the reason, one of the gifts that comes with becoming a vampire is an almost perfect memory. The problem, however, is that like all the other benefits of being a vampire -- great strength, amazing healing powers -- it comes with an unbearable price. From the second Darla embraced me, I can remember every face I've ever met, every victim I've ever taken, every cruel and menacing thing I did under the guise of Angelus.

Part of my eternal damnation is being forced to face every victim I ever wronged. And believe me, the list is absolutely staggering. I tried to count how many souls my demon brought me to meet on one of our trips here, but when I reached a thousand, I could no longer stand it. So many souls, and although some are more memorable than others, I recalled each and every one of them.

I saw the same kind of reactions from my past victims as I saw in the faces of my immediate family. From time to time, I was forgiven by a former victim, but such occurrences were rare. And until each and every last one of the souls that I wronged granted me absolution, I would remain in hell.

I supposed it would be cliched to say that seemed like forever until I reached the last of the souls I was to be brought before on this journey. Towards the end, I saw one of my last victims, one that caused me great emotional pain to see -- Jenny Calendar.

Lovely in life, the computer teacher's ethereal beauty was simply stunning in this place. When I lost my soul for the second time, I killed this woman and left her lifeless body in Giles' bed to torment both the Slayer and her Watcher. She was one of my first choices as a victim. That she was a Rom, a descendant of the gypsies who cursed me in the first place; but she also knew how to restore my soul to my body. As Angelus, I knew that she was a threat to the demon within me. The fact that her death would cause both Buffy and Giles pain was only an added bonus.

The last few times I faced her soul, she'd looked at me with nothing less than pure hatred. I'd taken her life just as she'd finally hit the prime of it with a good career, acceptance and friendship from those around her, and a new-found love with Giles. I remember clearly that it took me less than three minutes to destroy all that. And she hated me for it.

I never blamed her for how she saw me. I never offered her excuses like 'I was under the influence of the demon at the time.' Instead, I did my best to express my remorse through my eyes, allowing her to see how truly sorry I was for my unforgivable actions.

But Jenny surprised me.

Oh, there was no love in her eyes when she saw me approach this time, either. But there was something different in her face, something I can only describe as determination. I didn't know what to think, and that scared me more than her anger ever could.

"I f-f-forgive you," she said with an edge of anger still in her voice. I knew that in some ways she still hated me for the unexpected and abrupt ending of her life, yet she still spoke the words that would eventually lead to my salvation.

Stunned, somehow I managed to voice the question that was foremost in my mind. "Why?"

She was silent for a moment, stealing a glance at the demon by my side. It seemed to be distracted by a conversation taking place off to one side of us. When Jenny spoke again, her words were so soft, I strained to hear her.

"I...the time will come soon, and I want you to pass along a message for me." I was totally lost. Message? To whom? Most of the time, the only other creature I saw was my demon. Who was she talking about? Her next words answered my question. "Tell Rupert to stop blaming himself and to go on with his life. Will you do that for me, Angelus? Please?"

"Yes, but I don't understand..."

"You will soon enough," she interrupted as the demon finally noticed our conversation. As he pulled me away, Jenny called out to me. "You have a great deal more power than you realize, Angelus. Remember that. It might just save both of you!"

Still puzzling over her unexpected warning, I had no choice but to follow the demon as it yanked me away.

Fortunately for me, I was so wrapped up in torturing Buffy and her friends, there weren't many victims to face after Jenny. I couldn't help but mull over the late computer teacher's odd words. Now I know how frustrating it must have been for Buffy when I used to pull what she called my 'cryptic guy' act.

The demon must have sensed my distraction, for instead of returning to the dark void as we usually did, I felt my soul being pulled into the real world. I don't know which part is worse for me, having to face my past victims, or being shown what is currently happening with the few people I once called 'friends.'

Spiteful thing that my demon is, it likes to start slowly and let the anticipation build. Therefore, our first stop on what I call the 'Magical Misery Tour' is the sprawling house of the Chase family. Of all of Buffy's friends, Cordelia and Xander are probably the two I cared about the least. Oh yes, it wasn't as if I didn't risk my own neck for each of them upon occasion, but if it came down to a choice between either of them and say, Willow, I have to admit that I wouldn't hesitate to come to Willow's aid first.

That's not to say that I wished them ill -- alright, maybe I wouldn't mind seeing a piano fall on top of Xander -- but, I suppose that it's a moot point now. Sure Cordelia is conceited and whining, and Xander is, well Xander is Xander; but I would be willing to spend the rest of eternity with either of them rather than the hell in which I currently reside.

Before I realize it, the demon has led us into what must be Cordelia's bedroom. I know from experience that both the demon and my soul will be invisible to the mortals we encounter. And therein lies the torture. To be so close to the people I care...cared about, and to be unable to connect with them in any meaningful way slowly drives me insane.

Xander and Cordelia are entwined together on the bed, making love with the reckless abandon that only teenagers possess. For a moment, I am overwhelmed with a sheer hatred of Xander. Coward. He'd been asked to give a message to Buffy the night she consigned me to hell, a message he *willingly* chose not to deliver -- that Willow was attempting to restore my soul. I'll wonder for the rest of eternity whether or not receiving such a message would have made any difference in Buffy's actions that fateful night. But thanks to Xander, I'll never know for sure, one way or the other.

As quickly as my anger rises, it fades away into mere acceptance. Sure there's never been any love lost between Xander and me, but I guess I understand why he did what he did. Under the guise of Angelus, I not only threatened Xander's life, but the lives of the people he holds most dear as well.

As the gasping sounds of their moans reaches me, I almost smile as I considered the tableau before me. What an odd pairing these two are. Then again, maybe they were meant for each other -- since nobody else would put up with either of their immature antics.

The demon by my side is perversely enjoying the free show the two of them are unwittingly providing. I try not to notice. Instead, I use the time to try and guesstimate how long I've actually been away. I recall that Xander had a cast on his arm my first couple of visits, but it was gone by the third time we 'dropped by.' Cordelia's leather backpack lays abandoned by the door. It's different than the one she had when I stalked her as Angelus. So, it's probably a safe bet that they're still in high school. Finally, I brave a glance at the pair going at it on the bed. As mussed-up as Cordelia's hair is, it's difficult to judge if the style has changed overly much.

I feel like a voyeur seeing the two of them together like this. Before I can do anything to prevent it, my thoughts start wandering back in time. I can't help but think about the last time I made love -- not the animalistic... rutting I shared with Drusilla -- but the actual tender act of one body sharing ultimate joy with another.

Buffy.

She gave me her innocence, gave me the honor of being her first lover. And what did I do in return? I reverted back to the thing that tried to kill not only her, but everything and everyone she held dear.

I still remember everything about that night. The softness of her skin. The tremors that wracked her body out of both cold and nervousness. The soft cry she gave as I entered her. That one, eternal moment of pure happiness as we reached our release simultaneously. The horror of being unable to stop the demon from taking back control of my body. And finally, the sheer, sickening horror that Angelus had indeed returned.

As if my thoughts were a trigger, Cordelia's bedroom starts to shimmer around me, only to be replaced by the griminess of a decimated room. A quick look out the window shows an entire street filled with similar houses, so rundown and dilapidated, even the inky blackness of the night cannot hide their sad condition. It is then that I know whom I will find here.

A quick visual scan of the room shows it all -- the filthy blankets, the discarded needles, the dirty, unwashed bodies. I know this kind of place all too well. For the first sixty years I had my soul back, I hid out in hundreds of places just like this one. Sure, the cities changed, the faces changed -- junkies, run-aways that either soon moved on or lost their lives to any one of the evils that awaited them in living on the streets -- but the squalled dwellings were remarkably interchangeable.

For sixty years, I was just another forgotten person living among people like these. Until Whistler found me and lured me back by simply giving me a glimpse of the kind of beauty I thought didn't exist anymore. Without any knowledge of what she was doing, she lured me in like a siren calling to a sailor.

How ironic that she should now end up in the exact kind of place Whistler found me. Full circle. Fate. What a bitch.

I end up scanning the room twice before I finally find her. Not too surprising since I hardly recognize her anymore. Life on the street is never easy for anyone. The first couple of times I saw her, she was doing her best to get by -- waitressing, working in a factory -- any kind of legitimate job that paid money under the table. But it's hard to make ends meet like that, especially when you feel like you need to keep running before your past catches up with you.

Buffy knew full well that people were searching for her; the police, her mother, Giles and, with her computer, Willow. All of those things kept Buffy on the move. With no steady income, shoddy apartments soon degraded into stays at flophouses, the Y, and finally, shelters.

And then came the alcohol.

I remember the feeling of sadness that overcame me the first time I saw her with a group of runaways, all of them drinking from a gallon-sized bottle of cheap Vodka. 'Here's to forgetting the past,' she'd toasted with a drunken giggle.

"It won't work, Buffy," I whispered softly, even though I knew she couldn't hear me.

I was speaking from experience, having tried the 'drug and alcohol road to oblivion' myself when I was cursed the first time by the gypsies. Unable to bear the weight of my sins, I tried it all -- alcohol, heroin, opium, cocaine (somewhat a rarity back in those days). It didn't take me long to learn that using the stuff directly didn't do much for me -- the old vampiric fast healing deal and all. No, if I wanted to enjoy the 'drug d'jour,' I needed to feed from a mortal that was under the influence. Vampires digest blood slowly, so I could stay high for a day or two off of a couple of pints from a junkie. Although my conscience would no longer allow me to kill innocents, just taking a healthy drink or two of their blood was a different matter.

My memories of that time are muddled, but those that I remember clearly are painful. My powerful hallucinations only served to amplify the gory details of killing my past victims. It's amazing that I wasn't destroyed -- either by my own choice or somebody else's -- in the decade or so I spent like that. But then again, I was a vampire.

Slayer or not, Buffy is still mortal. Even with her augmented recuperation ability, it's only a matter of time before she accidentally OD's in trying to find her oblivion. And from what I see here, she's already well on her way.

Her once vibrant, blond hair is now limp and unkempt from neglect. Even in the dim light, it's plain to see that her eyes are bloodshot and unnaturally bright. I have no idea what she's on right now, but it's definitely something stronger than the joint she was smoking the last time the demon brought me to visit her.

Whatever the two of us had shared, whatever 'magic' we'd managed to create, was over and done. While I would always treasure the memory of the beautiful, young girl who gave me her love freely, she was gone; replaced by a slayer who told me she loved me just seconds before she banished me to hell. Whatever love I had for Buffy Summers died the minute that sword pierced my flesh.

Still, I take no pleasure in seeing her reduced to this. "Oh Buffy," I whisper sadly.

To my surprise, her head shoots up as I speak.

"Angel?" she slurs, confusion evident as her too-bright eyes flit across the room.

"Buffy? Buffy? Can you hear me?" Unable to contain my surprise, my frantic call attracts the demon's attention. Within seconds, the room begins to waver in a familiar pattern.

"Angel? I can hear you, where are you?" Buffy cries out.

"Jesus, the girl's tripping!" One of the junkies laughs. "You seeing angels girlie?"

'Can you hear me?' 'I can you hear you,' she said as we were fading away. But was she hallucinating and answered my question out of dumb luck, or did she actually hear me? For the first time since I was banished to hell, I feel something that I thought I'd lost long ago -- hope.




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