It's a long drive. Two hours and a little bit. My arms start to ache and my fingers tremble but I don't stop because I think if I do, I will turn around and go home. Home. Funny word. It sounds different now. It used to smell like burnt cookies and hair spray. A real girls place. Mom's perfume would always float through the halls because she was usually running around late for work or picking Dawn up.

Now it smells like nothing. Like emptiness and silence. I haven't made any cookies and Dawn hasn't used hair spray and Mom doesn't spray perfume anymore. She doesn't do anything anymore.

(Buffy will you fasten my dress for me?

Sure, Mom, where are you going?

Your Daddy and I are having dinner. Look after Dawnie ok?

Do I HAVE to Mommy?

Ok…how about for ten bucks?

Fifteen…

(She laughs) Okay, Buffy…

(I kiss her) Have a good time…

(She touches my hair. Her hands are like silk.) I'll be home to kiss you goodnight…

…to kiss you goodnight

…goodnight…)

The car swerves. There are tears running down my cheeks and my stomach hurts. I'm not surprised because I don't even remember a time when it didn't. The road stretches ahead of me like a long grey ribbon. Beside me is the ocean. It curls on the shore, blue, blue, blue and far out, I can't tell where the sky starts and the sea ends. I once heard that pilots can get lost at night if they aren't able to make out the horizon line and then they can't tell which way is up. And which is way is down. Everything is just an endless black blob.

I wonder what it's like to be 30 000 feet up in a steel tube. Hearing the wind rushing by as you plummet. I wonder what it's like to feel the water ripping through you. And then I wonder if I'm insane. I'm thinking no, because everyone tells me it's normal to have weird thoughts after your Mom dies. Sure, yeah…Buffy, it's ok if you feel strange. These emotions are normal.

Then why do I feel crazy?

Pressing a hand to my neck, I poke the bandage. It's soaked clean through, and feels squishy underneath my fingertips. My thumbs are stained with a slight red hue. Giles said he was going to read up on it, and I have to admit that I'm not worried. What do I care anyway? It is making me feel slightly woozy which I almost enjoy. My slayer powers haven't closed the bite up again which is why Giles said he was so concerned. Dawn just kept crying. I don't blame her. I took her over to Xander's and let her stay there.

I have the heating up full blast and it's a hot sunny day outside. My shirt sticks to me in wet patches. Under my arms and in between my breasts. My belly button feels sticky. But inside I'm cold. Like a sheet of ice has been shoved between my muscles and bones. Reaching up, I touch my face and feel how flushed it is. The blood trying to escape from its bandage is hot and thick.

It takes a while to reach LA. Land of sun tan lotion and palm trees. And broken dreams and sour hopes. Maybe I'd fit in here. Driving as fast as I can, the white buildings a blur, I come to the heart of Los Angeles, where Angel Investigations is located. There is just a pile of rubble.

Stopping the car, I climb out and stare. Grey chunks of rock and old grass clog where the building stood. I know I'm not in the wrong place. With an aching forehead, I rub my neck and turn slowly. Tears well painfully behind my eyelids. I want to cry, but I won't, because that would be like saying something is wrong with him and I won't say that. Something in me would have felt it if he had been caught in whatever destroyed this place. Whatever part of me that I know is still connected to him. Would have felt it. Damnit, I'm sniffing back the tears but they are coming in great gulping sobs.

“Don't cry.”

Gasping a little, I glance up and into the wizened face of a man. Demon, I automatically smell. But I don't whip out a stake because he hasn't done anything to me and death isn't who I am and I feel crazy so I look at him closely. “I'm not crying.”

He smiles at me and leans in. “LA sucks,” he replies confidentially. “City of Angels? Yeah right… we all know it's the City of Devils.”

I almost roll my eyes at this sentence because some humour is still left in me. Somewhere in this dried up shell I used to call a body. Body.

(Mom…Mom…Mom…Mom…MOM!

My Mom…she isn't breathing.

I think I broke something.

She's cold…

NO! My Mom…should I make her warm?

We're not supposed to move the Body!

The body's cold? NO! My Mom…)

He's a demon, I think suddenly. Maybe he knows where Angel is. Besides I know I have to end this conversation. He may look normal but he's gazing at my neck with interest. “Do you know what happened to this place?” I ask and he shrugs.

“Fire, I think. Could have blown up.”

“Was anyone killed?” I inquire and my throat feels heavy.

“Sure, honey,” he answers absently, his beady glare on my neck still. Licking his lips, he darts a look around, and losing all patience, I grab him by the scruff of his neck with all my Slayer strength. He squeaks and stares at me wordlessly.

“Ok then,” I say firmly. “Tell me someone who does not have their head shoved up their ass. So I can get some clear answers.”

His face is bulging as he points down the road and chokes out, “Caritas. Demon bar. The Host will tell you…”

I drop him unceremoniously at my clog-clad feet and nod, before getting into the car and driving down the street. I see the sign, but the place looks empty. Trying my luck anyway, I park and knock on the door.

It takes a while, but finally I hear a “Coming. Coming, keep your pants on.”

It opens and there stands the strangest demon I've ever seen. In a bathrobe. He looks me up and down and sort of smiles. “Come in, honey.”

Taking a step inside, I realize that this is a bar. A stage is set up in front and empty tables look forlorn in the dim lighting. “I'm looking for the Host,” I inform him and he rubs one of the spikes set firmly in the green of his skull.

“That's me, honey. And you are…the Slayer, if I'm not mistaken.”

Blinking, I extend my hand and he shakes it. His hands aren't slimy or anything. Cool and clean. A weird colour, but at least they feel normal. His mouth is red as he grins at me and motions for me to sit down. “Now what can I do for you?”

“I need some help. In locating a person… and I was told that you were the person to…call in on.”

He looks thoughtful. “Is it the person who gave you that nasty bite?”

I flush and involuntarily reach up to touch my neck. “Yes, actually. But that's not the reason I'm looking for him. I just need to talk to him. I need some answers.”

He cracks his knuckles and crosses his legs, motioning to the stage. “Ok then, honey. Show me what you've got.”

“Ex- excuse me?” I mutter and he groans.

“Sing, angel. Sing, that's what you need to do to get answers in this place. I can only look into your soul if you sing.”

“Soul?” I screech quietly. “Soul? Oh…no, I just need to know where he is…I didn't say anything about you doing weird things to my soul…and besides, I can't sing a note!”

He gives me a little push towards the stage and flicks a switch. The spotlight goes on and I'm bathed in a soft golden glow, which glints, off my blonde hair, creating sparkles of light. There's a microphone and stool. Picking up the former, I sit down and look at him doubtfully. He's grinning and he looks like Kermit the Frog from Hell. Grimacing, I hear music begin to play.

I know this song. My voice wavering, I start to sing, at barely a whisper. I want to know where Angel is. I have to know and if that requires embarrassment, well then…

“Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again
It's so far, out of sight
I really need someone to talk to, and nobody else
Knows how to comfort me tonight”

I feel myself getting stronger as I continue. The Host looks on with his hand under his chin, his eyes alive as he sees me. Is he looking inside me right now? Can he see my Mom… cold and blue on that morgue table? Can he see Dawn's childish fingers reaching out for her face…that one last touch. Can he see me sobbing like my insides were going to open up after we got back from the hospital? Does he see the vomit on the floor…can he hear the wind chimes? Does he hear the children laughing?

Does he see Angel leaving me? Spinning away like a dime in the shadows? Can he feel the sword I held in my hand…the one I shoved into his chest? Does he sense the hunger I felt…the hot heaviness of my skin every time Angel touched me?

Does he feel my despair?

“Snow is cold,
the rain is wet, chills my soul right down to the marrow”

My eyes fill with burning tears. They drip down my cheeks like fire, but I ignore them because they are useless and won't make any of this different. Mommy is cold and still. Like a painting. I told Dawn that wasn't her and I meant it. She's not in that body. And I guess I wish I knew something. Knew what she was doing right before she died. Had she just finished putting the flowers in water? Had she smelled them…did she die with their scent still in the air around her? Did she feel a lot of pain…did she call for me?

“I won't be happy till I can see you alone again
Till I'm home again
And feelin right
Feeling right”

The Host sits up straighter and stares hard at me. I'm singing strongly, the tears running down my neck, mixing with the blood. The bite has opened up. It's like the thought of Angel makes it bleed. Again I think about how much I hate him for leaving me. How much I loathe him for what he left me to. How he didn't sense I was in pain and come rushing back. How much I hate the way I still love him and crave him and long for him. How much I hate myself.

“ Snow is cold
the rain is wet
chills my soul, you know you thrill my soul
right down to the marrow

I won't be happy till I can see you alone again
Till I'm home again
Till I'm home again
Till I'm home again and feelin right”

As the last chords die away, I look up and wipe my face and neck, smearing salt and blood on my shirt and skin. I can't care about that so I slide off the stool and look at the Host. “What can you tell me?”

He taps his chin and shrugs. “I think your answer is that the door right now.”

My whole body jerks as I turn and stare at the open door, coming from what I can only assume is the sewers. Angel stands, still and unmoving, staring at me like he's seeing a ghost. Realizing he must have heard me sing, I sigh and tell him,

“I've been looking for you.”

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