Scene 12
The present. Spike and Miranda’s hotel room in L.A.
Spike: [His memories are making him bitter] “Figured you didn’t want to burn your bridges—s’why you told her not to kill me, innit? In case he threw you out.”
Miranda: [hurt that he would think that, but resigned that he has no reason to believe/trust her] “You underestimate my confidence—I knew that he wouldn’t.”
Spike: “We’ve still got a bit of time to cover before tomorrow, so you’d best keep on with it...”
Miranda: “Things just sort of went on from there. At first, Angel was simply my little project. Darla was gone, but there was a lingering hopelessness and with that, vulnerability. I showed him what I knew of the good in this world. I did my best to be the perfect girlfriend for him. This was going to be my life now and I set my mind to fitting in. An amazing thing happens sometimes, if you pretend long enough and well enough. You start to believe. I was part of the team. I was doing good—it was the right thing. Happiness is selfishness, so you do what’s right and any happiness that comes is incidental. I found myself buying in to the whole business—broodiness and all. God, you would have been appalled. But there you have it. I was resigned and after a time, able to bury my sadness deep enough that I could almost forget it was there. Angel knew. I was the perfect girlfriend, save one little detail. I couldn’t say the words without meaning them. I’ve never been able to. You probably think I’m lying, but it’s true. He said it; I couldn’t and we went on from there. Strangely, I think he didn’t mind so much—it fit quite neatly into his world.
Of course there were times when it was clear that I didn’t fit in. Funny how one’s personal history repeats itself. I remember finally calling him out on his whole refusal to take blood from me. I’d offered on occasion and he always just brushed it off. He made a number of arguments, none of which made much sense to me, especially seeing the potential benefits. Perhaps I should’ve let it go, but something possessed me to press on.
[remembering to herself] “But you’d be less vulnerable—you could do more. I heal quickly—more so after the last Quickening. You wouldn’t be hurting me, in fact [with a coy smile] I rather like it. I don’t understand why...” He didn’t let me finish. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say—I knew kinky sex didn’t exactly fit in with his pseudo monastic lifestyle. I thought, maybe it was the whole Drusilla episode that made him hesitate—perhaps he thought I was still traumatized by it or something. Instead, he turned to look me straight in the eye and said, deadly serious: “Because it’s wrong”, then he quickly looked away. Unspoken was the logical implication that because I encouraged it—enjoyed it, even—that I was wrong. I was frozen for a moment. I’d seen that look—even heard those words before. Suddenly it was Cal standing in front of me saying in his Irish brogue: “But, it’s wrong, love. Can’t you see that?” I was whisked back in time some 60 years. Cal and I had been married a couple of years and were considering adopting a child. More than anything, I wanted his child. I had an idea. I discretely began searching for a surrogate mother. After some time, I’d found the perfect situation. A pretty young war widow with three children who was sympathetic to my situation and who desperately wanted to give her children a better life. She and her family would stay with us until the baby was born and afterwards, we would guarantee an income for her until her own children were grown. Of course, I’d kept it all a secret until I’d arranged it and was planning to surprise Cal with the news on his birthday. I knew he would object at first and I was prepared for that—this was before artificial insemination and he would, of course, be concerned about my feelings. But, once I made it clear to him that I really didn’t mind, I was sure he’d be as thrilled as I was. The day came and I’d already arranged for the family to come to the house so he could meet them after I’d told him the news. I was bursting with excitement. She arrived a bit early and I had them shown into the library so I could have a chance to explain to Cal in private. I was gushing when I told him what I’d planned, thinking myself so very clever. But as I articulated the story, I saw his face change from a happy curiosity to a deepening frown. Not letting him speak and anticipating the reason for his displeasure, I rushed right to the part about my knowing that he would object because of the required infidelity. I assured him that I wouldn’t be jealous—that I knew he loved me and this was simply a means to an end. Besides, it’s only sex—just a physical act. I wanted his baby so much that nothing else could possibly matter. This seemed to have the opposite affect of what I’d intended and he looked deeply concerned, or perhaps puzzled. “But, it’s wrong, love. Can’t you see that?” He looked at me like he didn’t know me—like I was wrong. And then he couldn’t look at me. On his way out of the room, with his back to me, in a calm, but forceful voice, he told me to give the woman what I’d promised and send her away immediately. We were not to speak of this again. I felt like a little girl who’d displeased her father. It crushed me. I didn’t understand, but I knew better than to ask him to explain. All I knew at that moment was that I wasn’t like him and he knew it, too.”
Spike: “Bloody Irishmen.”
Miranda: [small smile] “Yeah. They’re big on the moral absolutes, aren’t they? [moving on] Some time after that, I managed to gain the moral disapproval of the others. It seems our pal, Eddie, couldn’t keep his mouth shut and gave away my whereabouts to an inquiring mind. I returned to the hotel one morning to find it had been taken over by a gang of mortals—Cordy, Gunn and Angel were already tied up and before I had time to think how or why, I’d been knocked out myself. I woke to find myself rather securely tied to a chair with a whopping headache. Heading up the gang was this lovely 20-something woman—completely psychotic. Even killed one of her own men in front of us for some trivial infraction. She’d obviously come looking for me, though I didn’t recognize her in the least.”
Begin flashback.
Gunn and Cordy are tied back-to-back. Angel is chained a bit more substantially to a third chair and Miranda is on her own, facing them (tied to a chair), just waking up. There are maybe eight men posted around with guns and electric shock thingys. The psychotic woman is in typical evil-woman attire—leather pants, etc. and is pacing around obviously waiting for something. She notices that Miranda is coming around and she stalks over to her. One of the head ‘thugs’ watches.
Thug1: “You sure that’s her? Shouldn’t she be, you know, older?”
Psychotic Woman: [shooting him an annoyed glare] “Oh, it’s her. Eddie warned me not to be fooled [she takes hold of Miranda’s chin and inspects her face more closely]. How do you manage it?”
Miranda: “It’s all in the face cream. That, and lots of whiskey—works as a preservative.”
The woman roughly takes her hand away and moves a couple of steps back. Just then, another man comes in from outside and whispers something in PW’s ear. She frowns.
Psychotic Woman: “I was going to wait for everyone, but I’m getting bored. You really should enforce punctuality in your employees, Mr. Angel.”
Angel: “What’s this all about? If you’re interested in money, you must’ve figured out by now that we don’t have any.”
Psychotic Woman: “Funny way to run a business. [picking up one of the business cards] “We help the helpless”...and sadly, the helpless rarely have much cash. Or are willing to part with it once they’ve been rescued, eh? No, we’re not here to rob you.”
Cordelia: “Ransom? Because I don’t know what you’ve heard, but my parents are pretty much broke now and no one else around here has a dime to speak of—well, not anymore.”
Psychotic Woman: [ignoring Cordy] “So you’re a group of professional ‘good guys’. Hmmm, how wonderfully ironic.”
Gunn: “I’m guessing this’ll be the part of the program where you explain why.”
Psychotic Woman: “Miranda, perhaps you’d like to give it a go.”
Miranda: [flippant] “I’ll just take a wild guess here that it has something to do with me. Perhaps I have offended you on a personal level at some point, and hence you view me as the ‘bad guy’.”
Psychotic Woman: “I have to wonder how much your co-workers know about your past.”
Miranda: “Probably more than you, but I’m guessing you have a particular era in mind.”
Psychotic Woman: “Miranda used to be a very naughty girl, didn’t you?”
Miranda: [v. bad attitude] “Again, you’re going to have to give me a decade or a city...”
Psychotic Woman: [getting annoyed] “New York.”
Miranda: “And? Honestly, this is dragging on a bit, don’t you think? Can we get to the point, or are you intent on strutting around like a poorly written villain until we die of boredom?”
PW slaps Miranda hard across the face, drawing some blood.
Psychotic Woman: [to the rest of them] “She’s a killer.”
Miranda: “So are you.”
Psychotic Woman: “You made me that way.”
Miranda: “I think I’d remember if I had a trainee—I always worked alone.”
Cordelia: [confused] “What is she talking about? Sure, Miranda cuts off people’s heads, but those are just her kind of people and it’s self-defense, so I’m thinking this is all just a big misunderstanding.”
Gunn: “Yeah, this some sort of Immortal feud or something?”
Psychotic Woman: [still just talking to Miranda] “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
Miranda: “That makes you very angry doesn’t it? Perhaps you should give me more hints.”
Psychotic Woman: “You killed my father.”
Miranda: “I killed a lot of people’s fathers. Be more specific.”
PW takes Miranda’s throat in her hands and starts strangling her. After a minute, she abruptly lets go and Miranda is coughing.
Psychotic Woman: [calming herself] “No, of course you wouldn’t know me. I’m probably one of a hundred orphans made by you, you cold-hearted bitch.”
Cordelia: “I thought Immortals couldn’t have kids. What’s going on? [completely certain] Miranda’s not a killer.”
Angel shoots a look over to Miranda—she doesn’t acknowledge it.
Miranda: [remaining cool & calm] “You exaggerate—I suspect the number is barely in the double digits. [flippant] Why is it that they always turn into revenge seekers and psychotic killers—why not become a cop or rebel against violence altogether and become like a pacifist or something? That would be refreshing. This is all so very Xena.”
Gunn: [confused] “Why you acting like that, M?”
Psychotic Woman: “Guess you didn’t know that you’ve been fighting alongside a murderer?”
Miranda: “Please, I much prefer ‘contract killer’. So yeah, I mostly helped the Mob families kill each other off one by one.”
Gunn: “And that makes it OK? And what’s with the ‘mostly’?”
Miranda: “To quote John Cusack: “If I show up at your door, chances are you did something to bring me there.” I killed for money, not for the hell of it.”
Gunn: “Once again, that makes it OK?” [not]
Cordelia: “Wait, John Cusack is a contract killer? But he’s so cute.” [Gunn just shakes his head at her]
Miranda: [shrugging] “It was a phase. [turning to PW] Listen Callisto, Xena don’t play that game anymore.”
Cordelia: [just catching up—she’s obviously a bit crushed.] “So it’s all true?”
Miranda just looks at her and for the first time shows a bit of emotion (regret) on her face.
Angel: “We’ve all made mistakes.”
Cordelia: “Shoplifting a lipstick from Saks is not quite up there with professional killer. Gunn?”
Gunn: “Grand theft auto, but that’s about as close as I get.”
Angel: “Let’s not go there. I think we all know that I’d win that game, hands down.”
Cordelia: “Yeah, but you didn’t have a soul. What’s her excuse?”
Miranda: [the attitude mostly gone from her voice] “I don’t have one. [starts to say something, but then stops herself] It’s complicated.”
Cordelia: “But that was the last time, right? You haven’t, you know, killed anyone recently.”
Psychotic Woman: [clapping her hands together in glee] “Oh please, oh please, can I tell them? This is SO much fun.”
Angel: [knowing what’s coming, he jumps in to defend her] “She thought she had to...to help Spike. They were hardened criminals.”
Psychotic Woman: “Aw. Isn’t that sweet—you’re boyfriend jumping to your defense (she makes the ‘vomit’ gesture). What I can’t fathom is how a 15 year old girl could be a hardened criminal. [shrugging] Kids.”
Now Miranda is looking very defeated. Her attitude is completely gone. The others are all dumbstruck—Cordy and Gunn both won’t look at her.
Miranda: [in a soft voice] “You’ve been looking for me for some time now.”
Psychotic Woman: “Yeah. It took some doing, but boy, was it worth the wait. I’ll bet this part is going to be every bit as satisfying as killing you. Who knew the ‘reveal’ would be so devastating to your friends.”
Miranda: “They’re not my friends. We just work together.”
Psychotic Woman: “Don’t worry. I’ll probably let them go—a reward for the amusement they’ve given me. Except the boyfriend, of course. There is such a thing as payback.”
Miranda: “Revenge is sweet.”
Psychotic Woman: “You being sarcastic? Is this the part where you try to convince me that revenge won’t bring me happiness?”
Miranda: “On the contrary, based on my personal experience, it will feel fantastic. Happiness, though, is an entirely different matter. It’s too late for you, isn’t it?” [real concern on her face]
Psychotic Woman: [seething anger] “Don’t you dare pity me.”
Miranda: [looking closely into her eyes.] “You’re Emily, aren’t you?”
One of the thugs who’s been paying attention lets out a small laugh.
Thug1: “Emily?”
PW gives him a deep glare and then turns back to Miranda. Emily’s a bit taken aback, but then quickly composes herself and nods.
E/Psychotic Woman: “You remember.”
Miranda: [thinking back; sadness, apologetic] “I didn’t mean for you to see—I should’ve checked that the door was locked.”
Emily: [through clenched teeth] “Tell them.”
Miranda: “I quit the business after that. I couldn’t stomach it.”
Emily: [more forceful now] “Tell them.”
Miranda: “I was one of many bounty hunters after Emily’s father. He’d made a lot of people angry, but was so good at disappearing that no one could get close to him. I knew something they didn’t, though. I knew he had a daughter. I knew he must have loved her very much because he risked everything to come out of hiding to see her quite regularly. He was always clever about it—never in the same place twice. But I was clever too and after a time was able to make some educated guesses. One time, I got lucky. Found them in a rented caravan. After a brief struggle, I was able to secure him to a chair. The Family wanted his throat cut, so I was just pulling out the knife, when I turned around to see the girl in her pajamas come out of her room. She must’ve been 7 or 8. Seeing the distress in her father’s face, she started crying. He told her to go back to her room (“Go on, pumpkin. Daddy’s fine. Go to your room and pull the covers right up over your head. Do that for daddy”) but she didn’t move. I grabbed her and shoved her screaming into her room and shut the door. I came straight back and finished the job. As I turned around to wipe the knife, there she was again, staring wide-eyed at her father’s now hunched and bleeding body. She started to scream and I dragged her back into her room—this time putting something heavy in front of the door. I should’ve stayed and taken the body, but rather uncharacteristically, I panicked and bolted out the door. [to E] I’ve never forgotten that moment—seeing you standing there—it has haunted me. That night was the end of it for me—I swore I’d never do another job.”
Emily: “I’m so happy that my seeing you slit my father’s throat had such a profound affect on your life. Ok, not happy so much as ‘couldn’t give a fuck’.”
Miranda: “How do you intend to do it?”
Emily: “You know, I have given it quite a lot of thought and though I’ve gone back and forth a number of times, I think I’m just going to go for simplicity and slit your throat just the same—‘cept maybe a bit slower.”
Miranda: “It won’t work.”
Emily: “Interesting—haven’t heard that one before.”
Miranda: “You’ve talked to Eddie—He must’ve told you stories about how hard I am to kill. Fantastic sounding stories. They’re all true. I’m a different sort of person. It’s not the Oil of Olay that’s kept me young.”
Emily: “What, so you’re telling me I can’t kill you? That’s rich.”
Miranda: “Don’t be silly. You can kill me, but you need to know exactly how. We can go the trial and error route, but I’m guessing you don’t have the time.”
Emily: “Sounds fun—I’m not in any hurry”
Miranda: “You know we’re still missing one of our crew—he’s likely come and gone and will at any moment bring a police swat team. Time is short.”
Emily: “Well, then maybe I’ll just kill your friends—I’m guessing they die in the usual ways.” [She walks menacingly over towards Cordelia.]
Miranda: “No need to get shirty, I’m going to tell you how.”
Angel: [giving her the ‘what the hell are you doing’ look] “uh, Miranda?”
Emily: “If?”
Miranda: “Let them all go. Give me your word they’ll be safe and I’ll give you complete instructions. You won’t get satisfaction if I live and they die.”
Angel: [under his breath] “Miranda...what do you think you’re doing?”
Emily: “How do I know if you’ll tell me the truth? How will I know if you’re faking?”
Miranda: “Let’s just say, there’ll be fireworks when it’s finished—it will be quite clear that I’m dead.”
Emily: [to thug#1, indicating Gunn and Cordy] “Drive them out to the desert and leave them. [to Miranda, indicating Angel] He stays until you tell me.” [Miranda nods—the thugs take Gunn and Cordy out.]
Miranda: “Go downstairs to the room at the bottom—inside, you’ll find a sword tucked behind the dresser. Bring it up and I’ll tell you the rest.” [E goes with one of the thugs]
Angel: “You’re not really going to...”
Miranda: [with deeply saddened eyes] “It’s alright, Angel. I don’t have any excuses. This is what I deserve.”
Angel: “Um, no. That’s not how it works around here.”
Miranda: “Isn’t it?”
E comes back with the sword.
Emily: [admiring it] “It’s heavy. You could do some serious damage with this. Let’s give it a try, eh?” [and with that, she drives the sword into Angel’s abdomen.]
Angel: “Ow”
Miranda: “Ok, that was entirely uncalled for. This isn’t the time to be pissing me off.”
Emily: [to Thugs] “Take him out back—don’t think he’ll give us much trouble now. [they start to move him out] And…?”
Angel: [looking a bit panicked] “Miranda, don’t do it. It’s not over—there’s still time.”
Miranda: [when he’s been taken out the door] “It’s pathetically simple, really, you just need to...”
Suddenly the front door bursts open and there is, indeed, a SWAT team along with Wes and Gunn (Cordelia is waiting outside). The thugs start shooting at them and the police shoot back. In desperation, Emily starts to drive the sword into Miranda’s chest, but then gets hit by a number of bullets and falls over. In the chaos, Miranda is struggling to get free of the chair that’s she’s tied to. She gets free of it, but her hands and feet are still tied. She starts inching her way over to Emily, who is now on her back, spitting blood. More gunfire and general mayhem. Angel comes through the door. He immediately goes over to Miranda to see if she’s OK.
Miranda: [to Angel; a touch of desperation in her voice] “Can you see if she’s still alive? Is she breathing?”
Angel: [peering the few feet to Emily’s body] “Barely—she won’t be getting up.”
Miranda: “Quickly, bring me to her.”
Angel: “Why?”
Miranda: “Now! I might be able to help her, but I need to be closer.”
Confused, he does as she asks. He unties her hands and she’s now kneeling beside Emily’s body, leaning in close to her face. She puts her hand over Emily’s eyes and we can see that she is saying something over the body, but can’t hear over the gunfire. The fighting calms down and the others gather around Miranda & Emily’s now dead body. After a moment, Miranda sits back on her knees, no longer speaking. Angel looks towards Wesley.
Angel: “Did you hear what she was saying?”
Wesley: “Sounded like Latin, but I couldn’t make out the words.”
The police come and carry off the bodies. Angel and Miranda (looking morose), move off to one side and bandage each other while the others talk with police and each other. Miranda notices Cordelia glance over towards her, say something to Wesley and then he turns to look at her—it’s obvious they’re filling him in on what happened.
Angel: “What were you doing back there?”
Miranda: “Oh, I don’t know. Some religious mumbo-jumbo that a priest taught me once. At the time, he said I could lighten someone’s soul with it—that I could take on their mortal sin for them, so they wouldn’t be held down by it in death. He said it was my gift. Probably complete and utter bollocks, but I couldn’t think of what else to do.”
Angel: “You weren’t really going to let her kill you (?)”
Miranda: [not answering, she looks away] “I’m going downstairs.”
After five or ten minutes, Angel heads down to check on Miranda. He finds her stuffing her clothes in a bag.
Miranda: [explaining] “I’ll go. I saw the way they looked at me. They don’t want me here.”
Angel: “No. It was just a shock—they’ll adjust.”
Miranda: “To living with a cold-blooded killer? I doubt it.”
Angel: “They’ve been working with me for years.”
Miranda: “But you were different when you did those things. I wasn’t. I was just...confused. It’s too ambiguous for them.”
Angel: “It’ll take some time to win back their trust, but it will happen. Don’t underestimate them—they’re good people.”
Miranda: “Isn’t that the point? They are ‘good’ people. I’m not sure that I deserve their trust. I’ll go.”
Angel: “Now you’re starting to sound like me. Listen, you can’t give up on this at the first sign of trouble. This is where the whole redemption thing gets hard.”
Miranda: [sigh] “My shame over my past behavior doesn’t match their horror at it—If they knew that, they’d insist I go.”
Angel: “Miranda, you can’t go. I need you.”
Miranda: [She considers this for a moment—looking deeply into his face with a thoughtful frown] “No, I don’t think you do. Not anymore.”
Angel: “I love you.”
Miranda: [She doesn’t have a reply to this and she stops packing. Teary.] “Maybe I don’t have to leave town—I could get a proper hotel room or an apartment. Maybe if I weren’t living here...”
Angel: “I’ll call a meeting—we’ll talk about it. Tomorrow. I’ll get donuts.” [She flashes a quick smile]
He steps towards her and takes the bag out of her hand and sets it down. He continues to hold onto her hand as he pulls her towards him gently. She rests her head against his chest.
End flashback.