And then it would change.

Another voice would begin to fill my head.

And another.

And another.

And my head would fill with the cacophony of a hundred thousand voices, inundating me with their feelings. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch! It hurt and they wouldn't go away. I screamed and screamed in my mind, trying to drown them out or force them away. It didn't work.

Nothing did.

* * * * *

{A girl tosses in an institution bed. The building is made of gray stone. There is no moon. An orderly files papers at a desk.}

"Let me out!" came the shout. "Let me out! Let me out!"

The scream deteriorated into frantic sobbing. A pair of orderlies, dressed in deep blue scrubs, headed towards the door the shouts were coming from. Behind them, the doctor followed, fumbling with his keys. The crying grew louder and the occupant of the room began to hammer on the door.

The doctor unlocked the door and opened it. Out dashed a young girl, her face streaked with tears. One of the orderlies grabbed her before she could run off, and she fell to her knees, sobbing with relief.

"She's doing it again," she moaned. "The monsters come for her when she's sleeping, and they'll take me too."

"Can you give her something, doctor?" asked the orderly, "She'll never sleep like this."

"Here," said the doctor, handing him a pill, "Take her to that free room in the other hall. I'll leave a note for days that she's to be moved permanently. It isn't healthy for her to live in that room."

The orderly sighed, and began talking quietly to the girl. Finally, he persuaded her to accompany him, and they went away down the hall. The second orderly and the doctor entered the room.

Lying in the bed, still as stone, was a girl of about 20 years of age. Her red hair spread across the white pillow-case was the brightest thing in the sterile, white walled room. The name plate on the end of the bed read "Hannah Cormier".

"Not bad for your first night," said the doctor to the orderly. "The nightmare appears to have stopped. Usually it takes at least three of us to medicate her."

The doctor was measuring out a dose of pills with his back to the orderly. Accordingly, he did not notice when the orderly's forehead became pronounced, and his teeth sharpened. The doctor did notice the feral growl and the incisors on his neck, but by then it was too late.

{LA skyline, with lights and cars. A tangled mass of red hair, and two hands bound together.}

Angel picked up the sherds of a broken coffee mug and tossed them into the garbage can.

"You really should try not to have anything in your hands when you do that," he said, lightly.

"Thanks," grated Cordelia, hand held to her temple in a futile attempt to numb the pain.

"What did you see?"

"Red hair, tied hands, grayish basement walls," Cordelia recited. "Decorating nightmare, generic vision. You're welcome."

"That isn't very specific," Wesley pointed out. She glared at him. "But it was an excellent description, Cordelia."

The door of the lobby opened, and Lorne entered.

"Morning all," he said cheerily, removing his baby blue hat and coat and hanging them up. "Have a look at this."

Angel caught the newspaper as it flew through the air.

"What exactly am I looking for?" he asked, examining the cover.

"It's on page A26," Lorne offered, adding coffee to his sugar. "It's not exactly local."

Angel flipped a few pages, and then began to recite the pertinent details for his audience.

"Psychiatrist found murdered at the psychiatric hospital in Montreal. . .in a patient's room. . .patient is missing, as is one of the two orderlies on duty on that floor last night. . .cause of death was exsanguination from two small puncture wounds on his neck, though there was little blood at the scene. . .etc."

Lorne looked at him expectantly.

"It's a little out of our jurisdiction Lorne," Angel protested.

"But a psyche patient was kidnapped," said Gunn. "Or the patient was the vamp and the orderly. . ."

"Is there a description of the patient?" Wesley asked.

"Um, yes," Angel scanned the article. "She's twenty-three, five and half feet tall, red hair. It doesn't give her condition though, if that's what you meant."

There was a smash as Cordelia dropped her water glass and grabbed her head with one hand, and the counter for support with the other.

"Perhaps you shouldn't let her hold anything breakable," suggested Wesley, as Fred handed him the broom and he began to sweep up the pieces.

"Or buy plastic cups," added Fred. "They crumple nicely."

"When you're finished, could I have your attention?" Cordelia asked, acidly.

"We're all ears, Cordy," Lorne said. "What did you see?"

"The basement again. But this time, I can give you directions."

{LA skyline. Vampire fighting Angel. Gunn with a crossbow. Sunset.}

"What did it want?" asked Gunn, as he, Angel and Lorne drove off in search of Cordelia's basement. "Your sources don't usually come to you."

"Klumqut's an old friend," Lorne said. "He wanted to tell me that something is coming."

"Great," said Gunn sarcastically.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"Good or bad?" Angel asked, laconically.

"Ambiguous," Lorne replied unhelpfully. "Could go either way."

"I think your source needs a lesson in specifics," said Gunn.

"It's better than nothing," said Angel, stopping the car. "We're a block away. Let's go."

Gunn and Angel readied their weapons, and the three set off for the building Cordelia had described. There was a door on the side they were approaching, and it was flanked by windows, each emitting faint rays of light on to the street through the curtains. Gunn looked into the one on the left and saw three vampires who appeared to be guarding something that lay in a heap on the floor. He nodded to Angel, who kicked the door in.

Firing his crossbow, Gunn dusted the vampire that was farthest from the door, and then joined Angel in taking on the other two, hand-to-hand. Lorne crossed the room to the figure and picked her up. He turned just as Angel and Gunn dispatched the remaining vampires, and they set off back to the Hyperion.

{Cordy dropping the glass. Angel dusting a vamp. Lorne holding his head in pain. Glass shattering.}

"Her name is Hannah Cormier," said Cordelia, looking at the medic alert bracelet.

"She wasn't bitten," added Fred. "Just dosed with some sort of tranquilizer. She'll be fine when she wakes up."

"If she wakes up," Wesley corrected. "There's a drug called amadosium in her system. It's mystical, and coupled with the tranquilizer, could keep her unconscious indefinitely."

"Can you wake her?" Cordelia asked.

"I'm sure I'd find something," began Wesley, but Angel cut him off.

"I'm getting a strange feeling from her. Lorne, get back to your, uh. . ."

"Klumqut?"

"Yeah, and find out what she is. Then you can wake her, Wesley."

"What are you feeling?" asked Fred.

"I'm not really sure. It's a sort of pulling. Like she's trying to pull something out of me."

"I'll see what I can dig up," said Lorne. "Want to go for a walk, Gunn?"

Gunn nodded, and the two left.

"Well, I guess I'll hit the books." Wesley said. "Fred, if we need to make something. . ."

"I'll be right there."

"I'm going to get some sleep," said Angel. "It was a long night."

Cordelia and Fred, left alone, looked down at the figure in the bed.

"I wonder if anyone misses her," Fred thought out loud.

"Who knows," said Cordelia. "I'll see if I can dig up her records, but we'll probably have to wait until Wesley comes up with a way to wake her up."

Fred shut the curtains and flicked the light switch on her way out the door. She looked back at Hannah, and then closed the door. There was work to do.