"Insanity -- a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world."
--R. D. Lang
Angel woke up about an hour after sunset, and went to find Doyle, who was still sleeping in the room that had been prepared for him. Doyle stirred in the bed, and clear blue eyes met his.
”You ready?” he asked.
”Just a minute.” Doyle rolled out of bed and started to put on the jeans. He had changed back from his new clothes to the shirt Angel had let him borrow, and Angel smiled at the sight. At least there was something of his that Doyle would accept without all that suspicion. ”I’m a bit hungry,” he said.
”Okay. I’ll... make you some bacon and eggs.”
Doyle raised an eyebrow. ”You’ve got your time schedule severely mixed up, you know that? But thanks. Give me some time to get ready.”
”Of course.”
Angel went to the kitchen and started to fry the bacon and eggs. It was ridiculous to feel grateful that someone allowed him to make supper for them, but he did anyway. He was on the verge to start looking for Doyle when the half-demon entered the kitchen.
”This place is big. I thought I’d lose my way and never get out.”
”You’ll get used to it,” Angel said. ”If you decide to stay.” Pressing Doyle on the issue, he thought, would only increase the strained distance between them.
Doyle didn’t answer, and Angel turned around. What he saw caused him to drop the pan and grab for his friend’s shoulders. Doyle’s head was arched back, his eyes staring in panic, and although Angel said his name repeatedly, he got no response. The muscles under his touch were tense, and Doyle’s hands were clenched together in fists so tight Angel could smell blood seeping out under the nails. Not knowing what to do, Angel cradled Doyle and brought him down to a sitting position.
”Shh, it’s fine now,” he said helplessly, stroking Doyle’s cheek.
The only result of that was that Doyle screamed as if he had been touched by knives and started to shudder. Cordelia came running in and stopped when she saw what was going on.
”What’s wrong with him?” she asked, half concerned, half terrified.
”I don’t know.”
”Burning...” Doyle whispered, and Angel’s attention immediately came back to him. ”Can’t... breathe...”
Cordelia looked up to see smoke rise from the stove. ”Speaking of burning, that bacon is turning to coal,” she said and hurried to remove the pan from the stove, grateful to have something she could help with.
The connection finally clicked in Angel’s head. ”The Beacon.”
”I said bacon,” Cordelia commented, scraping the blackened meat into the trash.
”No. That’s what he’s remembering. The smell of frying probably set it off -- if he needs a trigger at all.”
Angel kept holding Doyle and try to soothe him until Doyle finally relaxed in his grip and looked at him with exhausted, but fully recognizing, eyes.
”You okay?”
”I’m fine.” Doyle stood up, hands shaking slightly as he straightened his shirt. ”But I think I’ll skip supper.”
”It’s ruined anyway,” Cordelia said, staring at him. ”You know, I think I prefer the visions. At least I only have to see every bad thing once.”
Doyle smiled weakly at her before turning to Angel. ”Shall we go, then?”
”Are you sure you...”
”I’m fine. Stop babying me.”
They left the Hyperion and drove down to the Ritz-Carlton. Angel watched Doyle in the rear mirror, but got no response; Doyle just looked out of the window and refused to speak.
The hotel was covered in cops, which was only natural since there had been a murder the night before. At the sight, Doyle looked around nervously for his friends. An old man in an oversized raincoat caught his eye, and he motioned for him to come closer.
”Well, if it isn’t Porky! I almost didn’t recognize you.” The man tried to sound fresh, but his voice was serious, and Doyle watched him closely, more worried by the minute.
”Les, what’s wrong? Where are the others?”
”At the shelter, they left today. You got out just in time, kid. They got to Hammer.”
”They who?” Angel asked, as Doyle paled considerably.
”The raids,” Les said, Doyle slowly whispering the same words. ”About three hours ago. They found him in the dumpster with his head cut off. Drained.” The look he gave Doyle was poignant.
”Demons, then?”
”That’s the scary part. Johnny’s almost certain it’s humans. Which only makes it worse, doesn’t it? They’re not just out for a meal.”
Doyle shook his head, looking as if he was about to faint or throw up or both at once. He started to walk off, too shocked to say anything, when Les called to him.
”Don’t do anything to yourself, you hear me?”
Doyle barely looked back, as he coldly replied: ”Don’t worry, I don’t plan to let those bastards outlive me.”
He sat in the car and told Angel, without looking at him, ”The shelter’s half a mile west of here. I guess we really need to talk to Johnny now.”
Angel didn’t reply to that or start the car. Instead he looked at Doyle so intensely that Doyle finally turned around to look back. ”What did he mean, ’don’t do anything to yourself’?” When Doyle didn’t answer, Angel quickly grabbed his arm and pulled up the shirt sleeve. What he saw just confirmed his suspicions. ”You did this?”
Doyle pulled back his arm. ”Don’t worry. The Powers don’t let me die. They’ve got it in for me.” He let out a sigh that was almost, but not quite, a sob. ”I didn’t even like him. Much. He was impossible to get along with, and he never watched anyone’s back except his own.”
Angel just listened without saying anything. He wanted to scream out for Doyle to not change the subject, but those faded scars would have to wait in the face of what had just happened. Instead he just started the engine and got going, keeping half an eye and most of his attention on Doyle.
”He was still one of us. Not some corpse with his head cut off. Not a *thing*.” Doyle looked at Angel. ”That’s what we all are to the residents, you know. It could have been any one of us. It’s not like they see any difference. And then there’s Tatiana... I knew she wouldn’t live long. Everyone who had met her could see that, she must have been the only one who didn’t know.” He drummed with his fingers on the dashboard. ”Everyone dies, don’t they?”
”Yes,” Angel replied. Two and a half centuries of losses, and yet his voice was so calm at the simple word.
”I’m not going back to fight...”
Since there seemed to be more coming, Angel waited.
”But this is my battle, and I can’t just turn away from it. Can’t make the same stupid mistake I did with Lucas.”
He silenced, looking up and outside. Then he gave a quick nod for Angel to stop the car. ”We’re here.”
They climbed out of the car and rung the bell to the shelter. After a while, a woman in her forties opened the door and looked at them in a way that clearly informed them this was not the best time of night for visitors. ”We’re closed for the night.”
”We need to talk to Johnny,” Doyle hurried to say. ”We just heard about Hammer.”
When he started to speak the look in her eyes changed, and although you couldn’t claim that she showed any surprise as she eyed him from top to toe, it was clear that she registered the new facts.
”Porcupine Doyle? Come on in.” She let them through the door, looking from Doyle to Angel and back, mind obviously racing to understand this. ”I didn’t expect to ever see you outside the alley. But I heard you left it.” The look she gave Angel was suspicious to say the least as she asked Doyle, ”How do you make a living these days?”
Angel found himself blushing at the implications of the glance she gave him. He wasn’t sure if she would be shocked to find out he was a vampire, or relieved. Doyle picked up his embarrassment, and actually seemed amused at it.
”Major Callahan, this is my old friend Angel.” There was a slight emphasis on ”old”, enough to get some suspicion away from the woman’s eyes. ”He’s a private investigator. We really need to talk to Johnny.”
”Of course,” Major Callahan replied, softened by the news that this was a man on the right side of the law. ”Third to the left. Good luck.”
They proceeded into the room she had indicated, and Johnny was indeed there, recognizing Angel instantly and Doyle a fraction of a second later. ”Hey,” he said, nothing more, although he caught every single change in Doyle’s appearance.
”Hey,” Doyle replied, sitting down next to his friend, close enough to show the intimacy of many months spent together on the streets. ”Les told us about Hammer.”
Johnny’s expression darkened and he nodded. ”Same guys that did the demon -- or at least the same type of guys. Fancy clothing and cars, efficient way of working. This isn’t just the average urge to clean up the city. I’ve talked to people, your kind of people, and it seems like Hammer is on his way to become samples for testing and spiked drinks for vampire junkies. No offence.”
”None taken,” said Angel, who hadn’t been fond of spiked blood even before his soul surfaced. ”Do you know who’s doing it?”
”I don’t have any names, but probably some warlocks, one or two scientists, mostly dealers. Not the ones that bother about people like us. We’re just the ingredients. Seven down just in Pasadena since the raids started.” He punched Doyle lightly on the arm. ”I’m really glad to have gotten you out of there.”
”Yeah, me too, I think,” Doyle admitted. ”Anything else? More specific?”
”Not at the moment, no.” The older man’s eyes warmed. ”But if you need pawns, there are a couple of *hundred* of us unarmed and ready.”
”You’re not a pawn,” Doyle said fiercely, and then, calmer, ”but I’m glad to have you here.”
Johnny grinned, but seemed very pensive as he looked at his friend. Finally, he said, ”Maybe you should go talk to Major Calahan for a while.”
Doyle grimaced. ”I don’t want to... Wait a minute, do you want me out of here so you can gossip about me?”
”Yes.”
He shrugged and rose from the bed. ”I’ll go talk to some of the guys then. You two have fun.”
Angel watched Doyle leave and felt a pang of jealousy. How come Doyle would relate so easily to this man, but not to him? After all the nights he had spent mourning, he deserved better.
”So, how has the day been?” Johnny asked.
”He had some sort of an attack right before he left,” Angel answered. ”But he won’t talk to me about it.”
”I’m not surprised. It’s his weakest point, after all.” Johnny talked slowly and calmly, looking for just the right words. It was peculiar to hear a bum talk like a school teacher -- but why not? Doyle had been a school teacher once, as well as a bum. ”He’s perfectly lucid most of the time, unless he’s stoned, and he doesn’t get stoned quickly. I don’t know if it’s demon metabolism or just that he’s Irish.” Johnny smiled, but the smile soon faded again. ”Then all of a sudden he won’t be. Sometimes it’s an attack, like you said, sometimes it’s just strange behaviour. He’ll walk up to strange people and beg them to forgive him. Most of the time it will be women, pretty-looking brunettes, but now and then it’s a tall, dark man. That’s what I thought you were until you started to talk back to him.”
There was a moment’s silence until Johnny said what Angel had been feeling. ”To be honest, I was a little resentful. I mean, they’re my gang, I’m the one who keep them together, and most of the time I was the one to hold him when things got bad. But I knew he had to go with you.”
”He just came because you told him to,” Angel said, not able to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Johnny nodded. ”Maybe. He thinks he’s being punished by the Powers, but if you ask me he’s doing all the punishing himself. He did stay away on purpose, left his friends and whole life behind. I don’t think it’s the first time, either. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Just that a lot of things have changed and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. It’s quite a special young man you’ve got living with you, but it’s not necessarily the same young man you once knew.”
”I understand.”
Johnny looked at Angel very closely, as if he was trying to find something. ”No, I don’t think you do.” He rose from where he was sitting. ”Try to act normal when he freaks, it won’t help if you don’t. And don’t let him anywhere *near* Valium, okay?”
”Okay,” Angel said. He was still pondering the conversation as he returned to the car with Doyle. He felt as if he had just been dismissed from an audience with a king.
”Bum guy wasn’t helpful?” Cordelia asked when the two of them returned with moping faces, and Doyle gave her a glance that told her clearly that he didn’t appreciate that comment. Not that he’d be angry at Cordelia for being tactless. It would be like being angry at her for having brown eyes; it was part of who she was.
”He was very helpful,” Angel replied. ”He just didn’t know all that much, even though he promised to do whatever he could for us. I think we just found ourselves another bunch of street allies.”
Gunn grinned at that. ”Don’t underestimate those guys. They may not be as mean as my bunch, but anyone who can stay alive on the streets of LA 24/7 all year long has to be tough. So, what’s next? Those other names on the list? We checked the phone book, and I think we’ve got all the right addresses.”
”Five of them, assuming they’re all involved,” Cordelia commented. ”And five of us.”
”Forget it,” Angel said abruptly. ”None of you goes out alone after people like this. I'll take that Owen guy, and I'll need Cordy to help me with the lawyer. Team up as you like to take the others.”
The other associates looked at each other, and Wesley’s eyes, even though he didn’t want them to, immediately went to Doyle’s. And Doyle was looking back. ”Sure, we can do that,” he said slowly, and he cracked a smile of the kind that used to be reserved for Cordelia. Wesley, although incredibly tired, started to rise, but was interrupted by Gunn’s sarcastic voice.
”You know, unlike you, we haven’t been sleeping all afternoon.”
”He’s right,” Angel said, putting a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. ”Get some sleep, all of you. I’ll go talk to Owen Madison. The rest of them can wait until tomorrow.”
The Madison residence was even flashier than the Pythia’s. There was lots of money in drugs -- particularly, Angel suspected, if you supplied something few others did. He rang the doorbell and waited. Finally, the door was opened by a girl that looked like she belonged in a Playboy bunny suit.
”Yes?” she said, in that flirtatious baby voice some men found irresistible. Angel wasn’t one of them.
”I’m looking for Owen Madison.”
”Uh-huh. Come on in,” she said, retreating back into the house. ”Owen, darling!”
She didn’t seem to have any doubts about inviting a perfect stranger into the house, or find this a peculiar time for a social call. It could be because she didn’t have much upstairs, but it probably had more to do with this type of visits being more common than not.
”What can I do for you?”
Owen Madison wasn’t particularly tall, well-built or attractive, but he had an air of well-living, benign businessman around him. There was none of that slight tackiness of his girlfriend in him -- in fact, Angel was slightly surprised to see a man like him with a girl like her at all. Sure, she was young and pretty, but that sort of man usually went for class. He probably had another one for dinner parties.
”A friend of mine recommended you,” Angel said slowly. He noticed a mirror on the wall and deliberately walked in front of it, knowing that Madison would notice.
”I see,” the man said, watching carefully. ”What friend would this be?”
”Her name is Polyhymnia.”
Madison raised an eyebrow. ”Mary sends me customers? How thoughtful of her. Is there anything in particular you are looking for? Most of the goods are crude, I’m afraid. You know what it’s like, the real delicacies stir up the wrong kind of attention. Mostly it’s the common goods mixed up with whatever fills your frenzy -- thirty-year-old male and LSD, perhaps? I got in a fine shipping of digitalis-filled eyes the other day, but that is obviously not quite your thing.”
”LSD is okay,” Angel replied, ”but I was looking for something more specified. Who is your supplier?”
”Well, most of it comes from a lab here in town, although I doubt you could get your thrills from them. There are a couple of warlocks doing the final touches. Don’t worry, I can get you what you want, whatever you want. Here, let me show you the LSD...” He leaned down over a chest of drawers.
”I don’t think so,” Angel said, kicking the drawer so Madison’s hand was caught and he dropped the crossbow he had tried to pick up. Angel slammed him into the wall and shifted form. ”Is this what you call hospitality?”
”Who the hell are you?” Madison panted. ”Mary would never send me a vampire, she hates the lot of you.”
”Yeah, well, I’m different. My name’s Angel.” It was obvious the name was familiar, because Madison started to fight more ferociously. ”Now, the address to that lab?”
”You can’t intimidate me. This isn’t your average one-track-minded demon. Do you have any idea how many customers there are out there? This is a massive market, you can’t stop it! Then are ten suppliers for every one you could possibly kill.”
”That won’t matter to you, because you’ll be the first one I drain.” Angel put his face near the man’s throat and growled: ”Now, where is that lab?”
A searing pain made him flinch, and he stared at the cross that had burned his face. The girl. He’d forgotten about her.
”Go away!” she cried, like a five-year-old with a scraped knee, but there was nothing childish in the way she held that cross. It seemed she had been around.
Angel sighed. He could kill them both in a heartbeat, but as much as he longed to sink his fangs in this smug little dealer, he knew killing a human was to cross the line. And there was no way he could kill the girl. He grabbed her and flung her against the wall as well. ”Stay quiet and I won’t hurt you. The lab?”
”Go to hell,” Madison muttered, and Angel twisted his arm. The girl muttered something, and he let go. ”What was that?”
Reluctantly, she repeated the Santa Monica address, and Angel silently thanked the PTB for letting him get out of this without having to kill. ”Thank you.”
He threw them back against the wall, hard enough to stun, and headed out of there. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do when he reached the lab, whether he was going to check it out or to bring it all down with a bang, but he knew he had to go.
When he finally got there, he did neither, because the place was empty. It was obvious that there had been a laboratory of some sort once, but it certainly wasn’t there anymore. The girl had probably thought she was telling the truth, but there was just one way to find out for sure. With a sigh, Angel turned the car around and went back to Madison’s place.
The lights were off and the garage door open. Suspicious, he went inside and found the car gone. He cursed to himself and went back to the main building, breaking the door to get inside. Nobody was there, and although there were still half-full coffee cups on the living room table, the chest of drawers in the hall was emptied. Angel picked up the phone and dialled the number of the Hyperion. He expected Wesley but got Gunn.
”Hey. I got to Owen Madison, but it seems I scared him off. His girlfriend gave me an address that turned out to be wrong. Could you guys do me a favour and search the house? Doubt he’ll be coming back.”
Gunn’s replies were short and certain, and Angel smiled. He might have messed this up, but at least his associates knew what they were doing.
Doyle gave Wesley a sympathetic ”here goes” grimace as they went up the stairs. They were heading out to the second dealer, after being kicked out by the first when they started talking about demon-suited drugs. Doyle was about to knock when he stopped and looked at Wesley, who nodded in agreement. It was too late to try a different approach now.
A tall, blond man opened the door, letting the security chain stay on. ”Yeah?”
”Sam Hartnell? You got anything for a Brachen demon?”
The door closed again and there was a rattle of the chain being taken off. Then it opened completely. ”Come on in.”
After letting them in, Hartnell sat down in an armchair and gestured for them to do the same. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ”Brachens are tricky. Most human drugs have little or no effect, and those that do could kill them. What have you been trying so far?”
”Valium, mostly,” Doyle said, keeping his voice amazingly steady. ”And ordinary drinking.”
”Benzodiazepines,” Hartnell muttered. ”Sure, does the trick, but it’s not much fun. If you don’t mind a bit of cannibalism, there’s skin of Mastema, usually works fine for low-level demons and hybrids.”
”Huh.” Doyle glanced at Wesley, trying to figure out his reaction, and found the Englishman looking just as calm as himself. Hartnell followed his glance.
”You’re no demon, are you?”
”He’s a friend of mine,” Doyle hurried to say.
”Friend.” There was an implication in that statement that made Doyle look straight into the man’s eyes and repeat his words. Hartnell didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged. ”Okay, none of my business what you guys do, as long as you don’t do it here. So, you’re looking for something out of the ordinary, right, or you wouldn’t be here?”
”Yeah. I heard about this lab in Santa Monica, but it doesn’t seem to be there anymore.”
”They moved it to Pasadena a couple of months ago. Things were getting a bit too obvious, you know? They’ve got plenty of fine stuff, if you come back in a few weeks I’ll have told them about your case.”
The phone rang, but Hartnell didn’t answer it, and Doyle got a strange frown on his face, hearing the repeated signals.
”Are you listening?”
”Shouldn’t you pick up the phone?” It was barely a whisper.
”They’ll call back if they need me.”
Doyle rose from his chair and walked up to the phone, keeping his hand on it without picking up the earpiece. ”They should have told you in person.”
”Who should have told me what?” Hartnell asked sharply, and Wesley suddenly realized what was going on. He walked up to Doyle and touched his shoulder, saying his name softly. Doyle didn’t respond, just kept talking.
”Fifteen years of marriage and almost twenty at the factory, and all she got was a phone call? Someone should have been there for her. I tried to be, but... I wasn’t even his, you know?”
”Yes, Doyle, I know.” Wesley took his arm and guided him towards the door. ”I’m sorry about this.”
”Hey, no problem,” the puzzled Hartnell said. ”Seems like your boyfriend is a bit too stoned already.”
Wesley blushed. ”He’s not my boyfriend.”
”That checkout he did on your ass said differently. As I said, none of my business. I’ll see you again, then?”
”Absolutely.”
Wesley took Doyle out of the apartment. He should have been able to react quicker to Doyle's episode, he thought guiltily, but this had been nothing like that seizure Angel had told him about.
”Wes?”
Wesley immediately paid attention, noticing that Doyle was looking at him now. ”Yes?”
”Sorry about that.”
”It’s alright.” They were outside the building now, and Wesley unlocked the car.
”No, it’s not alright,” Doyle said fiercely, sitting down. ”My mind is playing tricks on me, and it’s not alright at all.”
There was really no good answer to that, and so Wesley sat silent for a while, thinking. Finally, he said, ”Doyle, may I ask you something?”
”Sure, what?” Doyle asked wearily, bracing himself.
”Did you check out my... arse before?”
Whatever Doyle had expected, it certainly wasn’t this, and he started laughing. ”What!?”
”Forget it. Hartnell said you were, and... Never mind.” Wesley wished he had never said anything, but Doyle seemed very amused and not the least bit offended.
”I don’t know. I guess I did, then. It’s a very nice arse, I can tell you that.”
”Thank you. I think.” Wesley searched his mind for something to say, something that would be safe and manly and still have Doyle smiling that way at him. What finally came out of his mouth was probably not the best possible thing. ”Is mineral water below you?”
Doyle’s mouth twisted suspiciously. ”I check out your arse and suddenly I go from whiskey to mineral water? What a cliché.”
Wesley had to laugh. ”Well, if you don’t want any...”
”That depends on. Are you buying?”
”Do I have a choice?”
”Sure you do. I could swipe your wallet.”
Wesley laughed, steering towards a nice-looking bar. ”I’m buying.”
They were already sitting down with their drinks when Wesley dared to ask the other question: ”It was your father, wasn’t it?”
He didn’t need to explain himself further. Doyle looked down on his drink. ”Not as such.”
For a moment, Wesley was confused, until he remembered the circumstances around Doyle’s birth. ”Your stepfather then.”
”Frank.”
”What happened to him?”
”Accident at the factory.” Doyle frowned. ”I guess that was why mum always wanted me to study, to make sure I got a safe job that wouldn’t kill me.” The irony of this struck him, and he burst into laughter again. ”Didn’t work out that way, now, did it?”
”I guess not.” Wesley was amazed at the amount of tenderness Doyle’s voice had when speaking of his parents, even the one who wasn’t his own. ”Do you miss him?”
”Always. He was my da for thirteen years. That’s got to count for more than shagging my mum.”
Wesley, who had avoided thinking about his family for many years, simply nodded.
”I saw him, you know,” Doyle continued. ”When I was dead, or some time after that -- it’s all so hazy. He said, ’I chose you to be mine.’”
Doyle didn’t say anything else, and Wesley got a lump to his throat, understanding exactly how important those words were, what it meant to be chosen like that. He never had been.
Gunn and Cordy had even less luck. ”First one was involved alright,” Gunn said, as they all gathered together in the Hyperion. ”But he didn’t know much, got all his stuff from Owen Madison.”
”And Owen Madison fled town,” Cordelia concluded with a grimace. ”Which leaves this whole Martin thing.”
”We could use some more research for sure,” Gunn pointed out. ”I mean, come on, what have we really learned? Lots of icky things about what people are willing to get high on, but not much on how to stop these jerks.”
Wesley put his hands together, thinking. ”Their main location seems to be somewhere in Pasadena,” he suggested. ”Probably near the Ritz. That’s where most things have happened after all.”
He couldn’t help looking at Doyle, who was pacing the room and had yet to say something. Doyle noticed the glance and shrugged. ”So we search it.”
”Pasadena? We don’t have resources for that.”
”Yes we do.” Doyle swirled around, and his eyes wandered over the room, looking for something. Compared to his usual behaviour, this was almost enthusiastic. ”Do you have a phone book?”
Cordelia took one from a drawer and handed it to him. ”What exactly are we looking for?”
”Salvation army.”
”What?”
Gunn was the first to get it. ”You’re going to ask your pals for help.”
”That’s the general idea.” Doyle searched through the phone book and found the right number. ”Johnny’s in charge of fourteen blokes -- well, thirteen,” he corrected, remembering Hammer’s death. In those thirteen, however, he still counted himself. ”He’ll know some people, and they’ll know some people -- if we’re lucky, we can have a couple of hundred working on our side.”
”Are you sure we should drag them into this?” Wesley asked.
”They were dragged into this long before we were.” Dialling as he spoke, he abruptly broke off, distracted, and said into the telephone, "Yeah - ah, Marie, right? I'm looking for Johnny. Him and the guys there? Great. Can you put him on?"
He turned back to the others. "You haven't heard them talk about the raids like
I have. They're already involved, all right... hey, Johnny." He turned all his concentration towards the phone, explaining the situation. Wesley watched him carefully without actually hearing what he was saying, no more than he heard the discussion Gunn and Cordelia were having next to him. It hadn’t even been three days since their first meeting. This was insanity. If he had some time to think it over, he would get over this and get on with his life.
The hell he would.
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