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How to Treat Your
Lover
by Tami
Chapter 19
Chapter 19: Step 2 – Understanding (Part
2)
Los Angeles, Cordelia’s Apartment
After they left Faith, Angel and Spike went to the public library, where Angel used the computer to search through the archives to find a photo of the hotel he had his eye on. He printed it out and they left for home. A home that Spike was praying wouldn’t be his home forever when he stayed with Angel. It was starting to sound like he was staying with grandma for the summer or some such human idea. Spike shuddered at that thought on the way out of the library.
Wesley was now holding said black and white photograph of the hotel built circa 1920s. “The Hyperion Hotel, it appears to be abandoned.”
“68 rooms, 68 vacancies,” Angel commented.
Wesley handed the picture to Angel, and summarized, “California Spanish, deco influence. I’d say built in the late 1920s.”
Angel nodded. “That’d be my guess. It’s just west of here in what used to be the heart of Hollywood. No telling how long it’s been empty.”
Cordelia came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with two cups and two tall glasses on it and set it down on the table.
“From the look of it – years,” Wesley commented.
“Hmm,” Angel agreed.
Cordelia handed Wesley a cup. “English breakfast tea.” She set another cup on the table. “Coffee.” Then, handed Angel and Spike the glasses of blood. “O-positive.”
Wesley sat down with his tea and asked, “Do we suspect its current condition is due to more than just the tourist trade drying up?”
“Yeah,” Angel said.
“Hey!” Spike yelled indignantly. “What the hell did you put in this?”
Angel examined the dark liquid in his glass.
“Something the matter?” Cordelia asked innocently.
“I, um, I-I think its gone bad. It’s starting to coagulate,” Angel said with a look of distaste and set the glass down.
“Huh?” Cordelia picked it up to take a closer look at it. “No. That’s cinnamon.” She handed back to Angel who gave her a look. “What, I can’t try something?”
“Try something, like giving me a sugar high?” Spike asked as he continued to stare into his glass.
“I wouldn’t be talking bleach-boy, you keep mixing Wheatabix with your blood,” Cordelia countered, cringing at the thought.
“It thickens the blood! This may as well be 50 packs of sugar!” Spike said defensively.
“Spike! Would you just drink it and stop arguing?” Angel asked tiredly.
“Uh, what’s the interest?” Wesley asked, shifting the focus back on the matter at hand.
“I need you two to look into the history of it,” Angel said. “Find out who owns it now and why they are letting it stay empty like that.”
“Who’s the client?” Wesley inquired.
“There is no client,” Angel replied as he started to leave. That drew a raised eyebrow from Spike before he went on, “I’ll check back with you later to see what you found out.”
Spike got up and followed Angel. Cordelia took his seat and wrinkled her nose. “Cryptic much?”
“Angel, this is more than just a sudden interest in real estate,” Wesley stated as he felt that there was something Angel wasn’t telling him, and Spike had decidedly kept his mouth shut, which was very uncharacteristic of the blonde vampire.
Angel shrugged into his jacket. “You’ll have to access police files. Focus on cold cases, homicides, and unsolved missing persons. Start at the beginning and take it to present day.”
“You believe that whatever made this place its home did so for some time?” Wesley deduced.
“Probably up to the end,” Angel stated flatly. Cordelia and Wesley shared a look of mild apprehension as Angel and Spike walked out the door.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, 1952
A bellhop opened the door of the hotel as people walked through the lobby. Over at the reception desk, the manager sorted through envelopes while another bellhop leaned against the countertop beside him.
The manager muttered as he went through the pile. “Returned mail from 315, Mr. Ferris really must stop writing to his mother postage-due.”
The bellhop picked up the letters while the manager took a bottle out of his jacket pocket. “Mrs. Miggin’s breakfast from Val’s Liquors,” he said as he handed the bottle to the bellhop. “Make sure she makes this one last. They’ve cut off her credit . . . and,” he went on as he handed the bellhop a small silver tray with a piece of paper on it, “The weekly bill for 217.”
The bellhop started and looked frightened at the manager. “W-w-why me? I did it the last time!” When the manager seemed unmoved, the bellhop whined, “The guy gives me the heebie-jeebies. How about instead of this bill I deliver an eviction notice?”
The manager looked at him strangely. “We cannot evict residents on the grounds of the heebie-jeebies. Now, if we did we’d have to shut down, wouldn’t we?”
The bellhop looked at him with wide eyes. “Ever looked into his eyes? There’s nothing there.”
When the manager laughed at his notions, the bellhop reluctantly left.
When the elevator door opened on the third floor, the bellhop just stared down the dingy hallway until the door was about to close on him. He put his hand between the doors, took a deep breath and, holding the platter out in front of him, and slowly marched down the hall to 217. He took another deep breath and knocked on the door ever so softly.
“Hello. Bellman. Anybody home?” the bellhop said in a low voice. When he received no answer he felt relieved. “Okay, I guess you've gone out, so . . .” He stopped when he heard a slight noise from inside the room. He quickly set the tray on the floor in front of the door and slowly backed away. “I'll just leave this, you know, outside your door, and you can pick it up when its, what you call, more convenient.”
He hurried back to the elevator, huddled against the wall and repeatedly pushed on of its buttons. When the doors weren’t closing fast enough, he became jittery. “Come on, come on, come on.”
The door of 217 opened and the bellhop glanced around the closing doors. The man that picked up the bill from the hall floor is Angel, with his hair slicked to the side.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, Present Day
Angel and Spike entered the deserted lobby from the basement. They looked around the huge room and listened to the eerie silence.
“Damn, Angel. You really know how to pick them. If you ever wanted to outdo the Mansion, you accomplished it. Why the bloody hell would you want this place?” Spike asked as he looked around.
When Angel didn’t answer, Spike looked to find him crossing the lobby and moved to catch up with him. “You’ve been here before.”
“Yeah,” Angel trailed off.
Angel looked toward a wall where he remembered . . .
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, 1952
People gathered around an old console TV that was showing the McCarthy Hearings.
“. . . that I have to teach this committee the basic principles of Americanism . . .” a voice on the TV said. A gavel banged and another voice interrupted with, “That’s not the question! That’s not the question. The question is: are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?”
The first voice broke in heatedly. “I’m framing my answer in the only way than an American citizen can frame his answer to this question . . .”
“Then, you don’t deny . . .?” the interrogator started to ask.
“. . . Which is completely invasive . . .” the first voice continued.
A man waved his hand dismissively at the TV and walked away from the group still watching. Another man ran after a young blonde woman who stormed across the lobby.
“Ah, come on, honey! How do you think Lana Turner got started?”
The woman ignored him and kept walking, past Angel and out of the hotel. Angel picked up a newspaper as he passed a table and glanced through it while he walked across the lobby in the other direction.
“Uh, n-n-no messages for 217,” the bellhop stuttered when Angel walked past him. The dark vampire ignored him and continued to the elevator. The bellhop shrugged and stepped behind the counter as the manager rang the service bell. He handed something to another bellhop to take to 515 and then turned to speak to a black family standing front of the counter.
“Yes, I understand what the sign says, but it's wrong. We really have no vacancies at the moment,” he lied.
“You’re kidding. The sign is wrong. Sure it is. Come on,” the father said indignantly.
Angel stepped onto the elevator carrying the newspaper and a brown paper bag. Taking it to the third floor, he stepped out. There was a man in a drab brown suit standing in the hallway. Angel walked past him and took out his keys as a door further down opened and two men stepped out into the hallway, laughing. One was fully dressed and the other, who had a vague resemblance to Rock Hudson, was in a housecoat.
“Oh, wait, wait,” the actor said. He reached over and straightened the other man’s jacket. “There we go. You look awesome, Larry.”
The closeness of the two men brought his William to mind. When they saw Angel looking at them, they stepped apart and shook hands, saying, “Good night” to each other. Larry walked down the hall and Angel and Actor shared a knowing look with each other for a moment before they both went into their own rooms.
Angel dropped his keys and newspaper onto a table, took a bottle of blood out of the brown bag, and set it beside them. Then, he grabbed an ice bucket and went into the hallway to fill it. When he got to the ice machine, he saw a salesman standing at the end of hall talking to someone hidden around the corner.
“Yes. Yes. Yes. I understand. Of course,” the salesman was saying. Angel couldn’t tell what his companion was saying even with his enhanced hearing. He chalked it up the eccentricity of the patrons of the hotel. It was probably some screenwriter going over a script in his head and talking it over with himself.
Angel filled his ice bucket and looked down the hall to see the drably dressed guy from before banging on a door, when he looked back the Salesman was gone. Angel shrugged and walked past the man, still standing in front of the closed door and entered his room. He locked the door. When he set his bottle of blood into the bucket, he sensed another presence in the room with him. He put the lid on the bucket before turning around. A dark-haired young woman wearing a light floral dress stepped out of the bathroom.
“I'll be finished here in just two shakes, sir,” she announced as she went over to straighten the bed sheets.
“You’re not the maid,” Angel stated flatly.
“I-I don't know what you mean,” the girl stuttered in surprise.
“You're not a maid in this hotel. There is no cleaning trolley outside the door. Those sheets are dirty.” He stepped closer to her and she stopped fiddling with the sheets. “And, you’re the wrong color.”
Judy turned, faced him, and was acting a little nervous, “I'm sorry,” she apologized before going on to explain, “Uhm, the door was open, and I was just . . . I-I didn't mean . . .”
“I've got nothing here to steal,” Angel commented.
“No! I wasn’t trying to steal from you. Honest. I can explain,” she implored.
Angel’s eyes narrowed, irritated that some birdbrain female had entered his lair, for the time being, “Not interested. Just go.”
“Uhm - I can't,” she said softly.
Angel took a hold of her arm and dragged her towards the door. “I'll help you.”
“Uhm - uhm - my-my boyfriend, he's kind of the jealous type . . .” she started to flounder for a way to save herself.
“Maybe you shouldn't go wandering into other men's rooms,” Angel said irritably.
“Wait, please! He can't find me,” she begged.
There was a scratching noise and Angel looked at the door. He saw the lock slowly turning. Angel sighed in frustration, pushed the woman against the wall so that she would be blocked from sight by the door, and opened it. The guy that was banging on the door in the hallway was kneeling on the floor a lock-pick in his hands.
The guy stood up and demanded, “Where is she?” When Angel just stared at him without saying anything, he tried intimidation. “Look pal, this really isn't something you want to get involved in.”
“That’s true,” Angel agreed. “Which is why you're gonna turn around and go away.”
The guy looked smug. “Sorry, I can't do that, partner. Because I know you're hiding her in there.”
“I’m not hiding anybody,” Angel said flatly as stared at the man.
“No?” The guy raised his brows and inclined his head toward the room. “Then why don't you send her on out here. That way I don't have to come in there and get her.”
“You're not coming in here,” Angel stated flatly.
The guy gave a short laugh and took off his hat. “You won't mind if I just come in and take a look around then.”
The guy pulled his jacket aside to reveal a gun in his shoulder holster. Angel glanced at it and then looked back at the PI. Finally, he let go of the door. The guy smirked at his triumph, put his hat back on and sauntered into the room only to have Angel slam the door against his face. The guy stumbled back holding his nose, groaning in pain.
“Gee, I guess I do mind,” Angel commented sarcastically.
The guy tried to go for his gun, but Angel twisted his arm up, took hold of his ear, and escorted him down the hall to the elevator. When the elevator doors opened to reveal the bellhop with a cart full of luggage, Angel threw the guy into the elevator.
“He’s going down,” Angel stated.
The bellhop, without saying a word pushed the down button as Angel walked back to his room where the woman was standing in the doorway.
“Gosh. I mean that was – gosh,” she gushed. “Listen. I know we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Judy.”
Angel walked past her and slammed his door shut in her face.
**************************
Los Angeles, Cordelia’s Apartment
“The hotel officially closed its doors on December 16th 1979. On that morning, the concierge, Roland Meeks, made his morning wake-up calls with a twelve-gauge shotgun, room to room. It's been empty ever since,” Wesley narrated from the case file.
He sat down at the dining table next to Cordy who was scrolling through news clippings on her laptop. “According to city records, it was declared a protected historical landmark. The property management company that owns it has been trying to unload it for ten years – no buyers.”
“Mmm, no wonder. Even a cursory inspection of these records indicates a storied legacy of murder of mayhem dating back to the hotel's construction in '28, when a roofer leapt to his death taking two coworkers with him,” Wesley said thoughtfully.
“Yeah that's all really interesting,” Cordelia said neutrally. She looked up at Wesley with a furrowed brow. “What are we doing?”
“Doing?” Wesley asked, distracted from his reading.
“Yes! You did notice that Angel neglected to tell us the, for instance, point of all this,” Cordelia stated with a wave of her hand.
“Ah, well, I mean, clearly he has us compiling incidents – ah, arranging data, organizing information in such a way that--” he started to explain when Cordelia raised her eyebrows at him. “Yes, I-I did notice that, the no point thing. Frankly, I haven't the slightest idea what to do with all this.”
Cordelia was seemingly not paying attention to him anymore. Her attention caught on the pile of old photographs she was flipping through. She noticed something on one of them. “Wesley!” She shoved the photo at him. “Look who was staying here in ’52.”
Wesley immediately spotted Angel in the background of the picture and swallowed. “Well. Now we know one thing for certain.”
“Yup.” Cordelia grinned. “It’s not that vampires don't photograph, it's just that they don't photograph well.”
“I mean that Angel had a personal connection to this place,” Wesley corrected.
“So, why didn't he just tell us?”
“Perhaps he was ashamed to,” Wesley answered.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, Present Day
Angel and Spike stood in front of the door that led to the room Angel used to stay in.
“Here I thought you just spent your tortured life in the back alleys dining on rats until you found Buffy,” Spike commented toward the door.
“This place seems a world away from where I was when I met Buffy. I was here during the decade of paranoia when the McCarthy Communist witch-hunt hearings were going on. People were suspicious of their friends, lovers, co-workers. They were scared of their own shadow,” Angel said as they strolled through the hall.
“Hate to say it, Angel, but they are like that now,” Spike said.
“It was worse then.”
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, 1952
Angel lit a cigarette in his hotel room, and looked over towards the adjoining room where a jaunty tune was playing.
In the adjacent room, a salesman heard whispering voices and turned down the volume on the turntable. The salesman stood up straight and started to talk to the barely-audible voices. “Yes? Yes, I did. Yes, I do.” He walked over to the bedside table, laid his hat down, picked up a gun and inspected it.
**************************
Angel poured a glass of blood.
**************************
The salesman sat down on the edge of the bed. He picked up a pillow and then slowly slid down the side of the bed to sit on the floor. He pressed the pillow against his head.
**************************
Angel was about to take a drink from his glass when he heard a gunshot muffled by the separating wall and then the repeated skip of the record player on the lyric ‘got me higher than a kite’. After only the slightest hesitation, Angel sipped his blood, emotionless.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, Present Day
Angel and Spike walked down the hallway leading to what used to be the salesman’s suite. Angel stopped at the door and tried the handle. Opening it on a light creak, he went inside with Spike following. The room had new carpet in it; nothing resembled the way it looked in 1952.
“So, you just sat there and did nothing?” Spike asked, glancing around the room. “Seems a little out the ordinary for someone who’s bent on saving everyone.”
“I was different then. I was still very much a loner. I lived here because of the anonymity. It was the heart of Hollywood, but it was also, where the rich and famous went to get lost. Here, they were just like everyone else in the world.”
**************************
Los Angeles, Observatory
As everyone was going inside, Judy walked down the circle drive to where Angel stood, smoking a cigarette and looking out over the valley below.
“World ends in ten minutes,” she said softly.
Angel glanced in her direction and then ignored her.
She cleared her throat and went on, “I saw you over here. I hope you don't mind. I thought I'd say hello.”
Angel continued to look out at the valley and she carried on. “Hello,” she laughed nervously. “Have you seen the show?”
Angel took a drag from his cigarette.
“You should. It makes whatever problems we have seem insignificant in comparison. I mean, the entire universe explodes.” She smiled, hoping to get a reaction out of him.
Angel refused to face her. “Sounds exciting,” he answered.
Judy shrugged. “Well, it's air-conditioned and it's cheaper than going to the pictures.” She took a deep breath to settle her nerves. “I had to get out of the hotel, after what happened.”
“He come back?” Angel inquired.
“Come back?” she asked, confused.
“Your boyfriend,” he clarified softly.
“Oh – no, I-I mean the guy in 215. You know he killed himself,” she said, covertly.
“Yeah, I guess he did,” Angel agreed nonchalantly.
“Can you imagine that wallpaper being the last thing you see before you go?” Judy pondered.
“Maybe it was the wallpaper that drove him to it,” Angel said noncommittally.
“Yeah, I sort of hate it there. Well, I-I guess it's nicer than some places.”
“It's a place,” Angel stated.
Judy stepped closer to him. “Listen, uh, I know you didn't want to before, but . . . you helped me. You did. I-I needed to thank you for that.”
Angel looked down. It was a rare experience when anyone thanked him for something he had done since his curse. He could tell she was sincere in her gratitude. He rewarded her by turning around to look back at her over his shoulder for the first time. “You're gonna miss the end of the world.”
Angel turned back to stare into the inky darkness of the valley below. “Right,” Judy agreed. “I’ll see you around, then.” After a moment, she turned and walked toward the observatory.
Angel looked after her retreating form. “Yeah.”
**************************
Los Angeles, Cordelia’s Apartment
Wesley held a newspaper clipping with the heading “BELLHOP ARRESTED FOR MURDER”. “Frank Gillnitz. He worked as a bellman the year that Angel was in residence, which would put him in ’52.”
He and Cordelia sat on her living room floor surrounded by folders collated by year.
“But he wasn't executed until ’54. Shouldn't we put him there?” she asked, putting the clipping on the folder marked 1954.
“He wasn't executed until ’54, but the crime that he committed: the murder of the salesman and the storing of the body in the hotel meat locker that occurred in ’52,” Wesley corrected. He snatched the clipping and placed it on the folder marked 1952.
Cordelia surveyed the stacks and commented, “It's kind of like a puzzle. The 'who died horribly because Angel screwed up 50 years ago?' game.”
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, Present Day
Somehow, in wandering around the huge hotel, Spike and Angel got separated. The blonde vampire didn’t worry about it, at first. He could still feel the links between them and thought he could track him. But, as he moved from room to room it became more disorienting. He didn’t know the hotel like Angel did. As far as he knew, he was on the third floor and that was all.
Spike cowered in a corner at the back of the hall. He could hear a demonic voice whisper around him, akin to surround sound. Why did Angel insist on living in a haunted hotel? He covered his ears to try to shut out the voice, but it was unrelenting.
“Do you really think he wants you?”
“How can you be so sure he doesn’t want the little girl back?”
“Maybe you’re just a substitute until he can finally have her.”
“Who do you think he’ll choose if his soul was ever permanent?”
“Do you really think he would choose you, a soulless demon, and an errant childe?”
“Why would he? All you’ve ever done is caused him grief.”
“It’s different now. He claimed me; mated with me,” Spike muttered defensively.
“How long will it be until he breaks it and leaves you for the Slayer?
“He doesn’t want the Slayer, he chose me! He chose me!” Spike said.
“How can you be so sure of that?”
**************************
Los Angeles, Cordelia’s Apartment
Cordelia held up another newspaper clipping. “So where do we put her?”
Wesley glanced at it. “When did she die?”
Cordelia scanned the article for the pertinent information. “Uhm, it doesn't say. Just that she was being tracked by federal authorities for bank robbery, she checked into the Hyperion in ’52 and was never heard form again.”
“’52?” Wesley asked, slightly puzzled.
“Yep.”
Wesley took the clipping from her and put it on the folder marked 1952. The headline of the clipping announced: “SEARCH CALLED OFF – FUGITIVE WOMAN BELIEVED DEAD” next to a picture of Judy.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, 1952
Angel, carrying the suitcase of money she had stolen from her former employers, led Judy down into the basement.
She looked around the gloomy place and shuddered. “I guess I'll be okay down here. It's only for a few days, just until the cops are gone.”
“Judy, there are no cops,” Angel stated.
“Well, not yet. Oh God, I can’t go to prison. It’s just – I can’t. Just the thought of being confined, trapped. It would be like death. No. No. It would be something worse than death. It would be . . .” Judy babbled as she paced while Angel hid the bag on top of some big, round pipes that ran along the ceiling. “It’d be like – like being buried alive!”
Stepping down from the chair he’d used, Angel heard the demonic whispering. Distractedly, he said, “I want you to go back to your room and stay there.” Judy looked at him as he took a few steps deeper into the basement. “There’s something in this hotel – something that’s making people crazy,” he explained.
Too worried about her own predicament, Judy anxiously asked, “Hey, do you think that if – if somehow – the money ended up on the bank’s doorstep and they saw that I didn’t spend any of it, do you think they’d call of that detective? Maybe I could be free of this whole thing.”
Angel was still focused on the whispering. “Maybe.”
“I mean, there is such a thing as forgiveness, right?” Judy beseeched.
Angel turned and looked at her, at a loss for words.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, Present Day
Angel was down in the basement. He pulled a chair over, stepped on it and pulled an extremely dusty suitcase down from the where he hid it in 1952. All the money was still in it, untouched. Suddenly, the whispering voice started again.
“Your boy’s in trouble.”
“For someone so rash, he’s such a fragile little thing, frightened of his own shadow now.”
“Doesn’t believe you care enough, only using him until you find something better like a pretty little blonde Slayer.”
“His fear is so . . . mmmm . . . tasty. Being immortal, I could live off him for centuries.”
Angel took the bag and ran up the stairs, two at a time. Getting to the ground floor, he dropped the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the first level of suites. He ran up those stairs and down the halls to another staircase that led to the second level, where he had last seen Spike.
The Thesulac was still here in the hotel. Fuck. It had Spike fearing the worst. Double-fuck. Scrambling up the steps to the second floor of suites, he stopped and listened. Angel concentrated on his boy. He tried to calm his nerves to detect Spike’s scent. It was hard, because the younger vampire’s scent was all over the third floor. Taking a chance, Angel dashed off down the hall.
“Spike! Where are you?!” Angel called as he jogged down the hall. He swerved around the corners, darting past the old ice machines. “Spike! Answer me!”
Angel stopped and tried to concentrate. It felt like his head was spinning and he put his fingertips to his temples as if that would stop it. He closed his eyes and zeroed in on the tie he had with his childe and slipped inside his mind. All Angel felt were jumbled thoughts.
Spike, where are you?
Angel! He’s mine! He chose me!
Spike, calm down, I need to find you. Can you give me a clue?
Just then, a roar echoed throughout the floor. Well, that helped. You never were subtle.
Angel took off at a run and after a few twists and turns, he found Spike with his knees drawn up, huddled in the back corner of the hall. He didn’t know how the vampire made it to this side of the building, it was still the second floor, but it was on the opposite side of the building from where Angel had left him.
Cautiously, Angel moved closer to Spike and crouched down in front of him.
“Spike?”
“Claimed me. Mated with me. Don’t want the Slayer. Chose me,” Spike was muttering.
“That’s right. I chose you as my mate. Whatever the demon whispered to you, it wasn’t true. We’re tied to each other, Spike. There’s an essence in this hotel that blocked the connection between us. That’s why I wasn’t here sooner,” Angel said softly.
Angel sat down beside Spike and pulled him closer. The blonde moved reluctantly and then collapsed against his Sire’s chest. Angel tunneled a hand under the duster and ran his fingertips over the younger vampire’s spine. In response, Spike nuzzled into the curve of his neck and started licking his skin. Angel encouraged him in low tones for a while, letting his boy taste him and surround himself in Sire’s scent.
“Spike, we need to get up off the floor and call Wes so we can get rid of the demon for good,” Angel said finally.
Spike drew away, framed Angel’s face in his hands and swooped in for a kiss. It was hard, hungry; full of longing, want, and need. He parted his Sire’s lips and teased his elder’s tongue into his mouth. Then, he sank blunt teeth into the slick flesh and drew on the blood.
Angel groaned into Spike’s mouth, tightening his hold around the younger vampire. He pulled the blonde tight against his chest and gripped the back of Spike’s head with his free hand to deepen the kiss.
For a second, Angel was aware that they were sitting on the floor of the second level of suites in a paranoia demon-infested hotel and he was rapidly getting hard due to Spike’s need for the reassurance of his blood. His favored childer were always different when it came to this type of thing, needing comfort from their Sire constantly.
When Spike had physically relaxed against him, the blonde pulled away and grinned. “Okay, let’s go.”
Angel was still in a lust-filled daze as Spike got to his feet and helped him up. He let Spike drag him through the maze of halls back to the ground floor. When they got there, Spike saw the suitcase and looked at Angel.
“It’s something I left in the basement,” Angel said by way of explanation. “It’ll help me buy this place after we dispose of the demon.”
Spike raised a brow and smirked. “Does this mean I don’t have to pay back your credit card bill?”
Angel looked at him with slight annoyance. “Nothing could ever save you from doing that.”
“But, I did you a service! I refurnished the mansion so it’s habitable, with real furniture!” Spike said defensively. “I used your ill-gotten gains for a good cause! Isn’t that what you want me to do, be good?”
Angel sighed. Now that Spike was out of danger he was back to snarking again. He supposed that should be a good sign. He gave Spike a stern look and went in search of the fuse box.
**************************
Los Angeles, Cordelia’s Apartment
Wesley was leaned over the dining table looking over all the information he and Cordelia had collected. “I can sense it. There is a pattern here. Some force was residing at the Hyperion over the last decades, affecting staff and residents. I just fear there is no real way to . . .”
Cordelia stepped up next to him and said knowingly, “A Thesulac.” When Wesley just stared at her, she went on, “Paranoia demon, whispers to its victims, feeds on their innate insecurities.” Wesley was rendered speechless by her knowledge of the demon. Cordelia pulled the cordless phone from behind her back and held it out to him. “Angel wants to talk to you.”
Wesley made a face and took the phone. Cordy turned away with a big grin on her face. “Hello?” Wesley greeted.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel
Angel was on the phone with Wesley while Spike was working on the wiring in the fuse box. He watched the blonde work as he explained, “A Thesulac demon claimed this place even before they started building it.” Angel winced when some electrical sparks went flying. “I thought if I had you trace the events we could track it and find out where it went, but it's still here.” Angel growled at Spike when more sparks flew, but then the lights came on. “Alright, I want you and Cordy down here as soon as possible, and page Gunn, we're gonna need all the muscle we can get when we raise this thing.”
“Raise it?” Wesley asked confused.
“We have to force it to become corporeal in order to kill it,” Angel said.
“Right. Thesulac. You'll want me to research the raising ritual,” Wesley surmised.
“Already done it,” Angel said flatly.
**************************
Los Angeles, Denver’s Occult Shop, 1952
A bookstore owner sat behind the desk, listening to a radio program with a laugh track. “They keep calling her a zany redhead. Could be a brunette for all I can tell. I guess I'll just have to take their word for it.” He looked up to see Angel standing on the other side of the counter.
“Are you Denver?” Angel asked gruffly.
“No other cat but me. What can I do you for?” Denver asked in mild boredom.
“I need information on demons,” Angel said.
Denver stood up and walked around the counter. “Do you now?”
Angel went on as if the owner never spoke. “Everything you got on possessing entities, demonic suggestions, exorcisms, cleansing rituals.”
“Try this one,” Denver said.
He picked up a book and tossed it to Angel. As Angel caught it, smoke began to rise from his hands. He glanced down and saw it was a Holy Bible. Angel dropped it and stared at Denver while wearing his demon before disappearing. Denver quickly pulled out a cross, stake from the bookshelf, and hurried through the apparently empty store to the open front door.
“That’s right! Run coward of the night! Tell your buddies I’m thinking very seriously about putting my bedroll right here, so you bastards can’t just walk in here uninvited! You got any idea who you’re dealing with?” Denver yelled at the street.
As some passerby stare at him as if he were crazy, Angel came up behind him and grabbed him in a neck lock.
“I know you got a reputation, that's why I'm here,” he said menacingly. “Now, it’s been a long time since I've opened a vein, but I'll do it if you pull any more of this Van Helsing, Jr. crap with me. Are we clear? I want the books in the back.” With that, he let the shopkeeper go.
In the back room, Denver sat on a staircase while Angel sifted through the selection of books. It was a strange idea for a vampire to save human lives. All the vampires he had run across were just bloodthirsty demons, yet this one was different, he wanted to save humans from a demon.
“So you were what, about my age when you where made?” Denver asked curiously.
“I don't know. How old are you?” Angel asked putting a book down and grabbing another.
“Just north of thirty,” Denver replied.
“No!” Angel said incredulously and asked, “This Thesulac demon, how do I kill it?”
“You don't. You run away from it,” Denver answered.
“There has to be a way to kill it,” Angel said adamantly, slamming a book shut.
“Well,” Denver drawled as he stood up. “First, you got to make it fat – corporeal. But, that only happens after it's had a nice big feed, or if you raise it, but that's tricky and dangerous.”
“How?” Angel demanded.
“The incantation's there in the book, but you're gonna need an Orb of Ramjarin. Now, I have one I can let you have for cheap,” Denver offered.
Angel glared at him. “For free.”
Denver went to retrieve it. “For free,” he corrected as he set the orb next to Angel. “Uh, you'll also need sacred herbs,” he added them to the pile. “Divining powder,” he added that to the pile. “And, something really big to hit it with.”
“And that'll kill it?” Angel asked.
Denver looked around his shelves. “Well, it might. Wouldn't hurt to have a lightning strike, you know, finger of heaven kind of thing. But short of that,” he pulled out a fighting ax, “I'd go with something big and heavy.”
Angel took the ax and said, “Pack it up.”
Denver bagged the supplies and mused, “A vampire wanting to slay a demon in order to help some grubby humans? I just don't get it.”
Angel grabbed the bag and commented, “To be honest, I'm not sure I do either.”
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, Present Day
Angel and Spike sat on the stairs at the back entrance of the hotel waiting for the team to arrive. Spike sat on the top step, legs spread, and
his duster draped around him. Angel was a few steps down, leaning back on the top step. They were passing a cigarette back and forth.
“So, you tried to help the humans and they did what?” Spike asked.
“They were frightened. They thought there was a murderer in the hotel, an actual flesh and blood person that they could blame the murder of candle salesman on. When I came back from Denver’s shop, the lobby was oddly deserted. So, I went upstairs to my room to see that they had cornered this girl I had tried to help. In her own fear, she turned on me. The mob beat me down and hung me over the rafters,” Angel said with melancholy.
Spike scoffed. “You are so dramatic; all your deaths are over women. Darla turned you, Buffy ran you through with a sword, this mystery girl pointed the finger at you and they hung you.”
“Hmm,” Angel hummed in agreement, as he took a drag on the cigarette and handed it over. “That was when I decided to detach myself from humans. I freed myself from the noose and the Thesulac demon materialized. He taunted me about what had happened and I just walked out and let the demon have the place and everyone in it.”
Spike sucked in a breath melodramatically. “Angel! You cad! You really let those people kill themselves with their own paranoia? Not very heroic of a champion.”
“I was angry. Why the hell should I have helped them when they didn’t want to help themselves?” Angel reasoned.
Spike reached down and carded his fingers through Angel’s hair. He tilted his Sire’s head back and leaned down for a kiss. Angel shifted so that he was propped up on one arm and ran his free hand along the inseam of Spike’s black jeans. He delved his tongue past his childe’s lips as his fingers slid closer to brush against Spike’s cloth-covered sacs.
Just as Angel was going to press Spike back and follow him, the sound of a door slamming shut caused the two vampires to spring apart. Angel looked guiltily at the door where Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn stood in the lobby.
“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered, taking a last drag on the cigarette.
“Let’s do this.” Angel stood up with a determined expression and Spike followed suit.
Cordelia immediately distracted herself with sprinkling the herb-powder on the stairs and surrounding area of the landing they had decided to use.
As she did so, Wesley started the incantation. “We call thee forth, Thesulac of the netherworld, we command you, leave our minds and join us on this, the physical plane.”
He held out a hand towards Gunn who was fiddling with a backpack and snapped his fingers to get the black man to hurry. “Orb of Ramjerin,” he all but ordered.
Gunn frowned in annoyance. “Orb of Ramjerin, please, makes it happen.”
Wesley dropped his hand. “Please! And do be careful. Ancient conjuring orbs are notoriously fragile.”
After being told for the billionth time about how to handle ancient artifacts since they left Cordelia’s Gunn tossed the orb to Wesley. Wesley dropped the book in favor of catching the orb. The former watcher turned to his boss and whined, “Angel!”
Angel thought that it was the demon doing a number on his crew, as it had to Spike earlier. “Guys, don't listen to it, alright? Whatever it's whispering to you, just ignore it.”
Cordelia leaned closer to Angel and said, “They were like this all the way over here in the car.”
“Oh,” Angel answered dryly while Spike snickered.
Wesley held up the glowing orb. “We invoke the by the power of the orb of priests of Ramjerin. What was once in our thoughts, be now in our midst.”
With the incantation complete, the air above the stair landing began to shiver and bulge.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, 1952
Angel stepped out of the elevator with the ax and the bag of supplies he got from Denver. The far hallway was full of angry people clustered around Judy.
“What gives you the right to hide out up here?” an old man asked.
Judy tried to wiggle free of their grip. “Please stop it,” she begged. “You're hurting me.”
An actress sneered. “We're gonna do more than that if you don't start telling us everything.”
“We know about you, missy,” an actor said accusingly.
“The name you registered under is a fake! We have proof!” the manager declared.
Angel slowly walked toward them, passing two guys leaning against the walls of the hallway. He watched the scene intently. The demon seemed to have worked them all over with their own fears and set them on a witch-hunt that ended at the girl’s door.
“Who knows what else she’s lied about, the little slut!” the actress charged
“I didn’t mean anything, please, I’m sorry!” Judy cried.
“Now you’re sorry! I thought you had nothing to be sorry for!” the old man taunted.
Angel dropped the ax and the bag and started walking faster as the commotion escalated. To him, Judy was just a frightened woman who was in the wrong place and the mob was crowded around her, ganging up on her.
“Stop lying!” the actress said.
“Come on!” The manager tried to pull her with him.
“It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!” Judy cried.
She spotted Angel and broke free of their grip. Tears streamed down her face and she took a couple of running steps towards him. Angel thought she was going to run into his arms or hide behind him for protection. He wasn’t prepared for what she did next, though he shouldn’t have been surprised when it happened.
“It was him!” Judy accused causing Angel to stop dead in his tracks. “Look in his room! Go ahead, look! He’s got blood! He’s a monster!”
Everyone fell silent and stared at Angel. The bellhop, holding Angel's paper bag, and the PI holding the dropped ax came up behind him.
“What kind of maniac are you?” the PI from before asked accusingly.
As Angel turned around to look at him, the PI hit Angel in the chin with the handle of the ax, then smashed it into his back, knocking him down. Everyone jumped on him, hitting and screaming, while Judy stood staring, her face wet with tears. Angel did not attempt to fight back. He just looked at Judy, whose form slowly blurred before his eyes as the mob continued to beat on him.
The mob, still in frenzy, dragged Angel out into the open hallway above the back of the lobby and pushed him up against the railing. The bellhop hurried halfway down the steps to get a better view.
“Get him over there!” ordered the manager.
“Ha-ha, we got you now!” the bellhop chuckled maniacally as he slapped the banister. “Come on! String him up! String him up!”
Somebody threw a rope over a rafter and slipped the noose at one end of it around Angel's neck while the other was being tied to the railing, with the whole crowd screaming encouragement. Angel looked over at Judy, who was still sobbing as the others yelled and screamed for his death. They set him on top of the railing.
“Good. Push him. Come on! Push him out! Push him out” the bellhop taunted from the stairs.
The PI and the old man pushed Angel off the banister and he dropped until he hit the end of the rope. Judy let out a scream while the mob cheered and the bellhop laughed at Angel’s demise. Suddenly the mob fell silent, staring at what they’d done. Judy sobbed in the background.
“Yeah! Swing, you freak! Yea, that's right, you had that coming, ha ha ha!” the bellhop jeered at the singing body.
The crowd silently and quickly melted away as the rope with a presumably dead Angel at the end of it, slowly stopped swinging.
The manager leaned on the railing. "Oh, my Lord. What have we done?”
“What?” the bellhop asked, still chewing his gum.
Judy turned from the awful sight and walked away, still sobbing.
The bellhop hurried up the stairs, looking around at the retreating tenants. “What’s wrong?! I don’t get it. Come on!” He stood next to the manager, who was still staring down at Angel hanging from the rafters. “Where is everybody going? Come on!” He looked down at Angel as the manager walked off. “It’s just a . . . what do you call . . .” He looked around, noticed that he was now alone, and ran off.
As soon as the bellhop was gone, Angel’s eyes snapped open. He took a hold of the rope above his head and pulled himself up. He pulled the noose from around his neck and dropped down to the lobby floor, catching himself on his hands. As he straightened up the air on the stairs began to shiver and bulge and the Thesulac materialized. The ugly gray-faced demon floated in a long hooded cape with tentacles sticking out form under it like a fringe.
“Well, I don't know about you” the Thesulac laughed, “but, I'm stuffed! God I love people! Don’t you?” He laughed cheerfully, for a demon. “They feed me their worst and I kind of serve it right back to them, and the fear and prejudice turns to certainty and hate, and I take another bite and mmm-mmm-mmm!” He laughed delightedly. “What a beautiful, beautiful dance!”
He floated down from the landing towards Angel. When the human-demon didn’t acknowledge him, he said, “Oh, you got your feelings hurt, didn't you? See what happens when you stick your neck out for them? They throw a rope around it!”
Angel ignored him and started to walk towards the door.
“And you thought you'd made a friend,” the Thesulac called out. “News flash! You had!”
That caused Angel to stop but he didn’t turn around.
“That's what made her the yummiest morsel of all.” The Thesulac laughed. “You reached her, buddy! You restored her faith in people. Without you, she would have been just another appetizer. But you plumped her up good! Now, she's a meal that's gonna last me a lifetime!” He laughed again and drifted closer towards Angel's back. “Hey, you know what? There is an entire hotel here just full of tortured souls that could really use your help. What do you say?”
The demon’s tentacles whipped back and forth, as he watched Angel contemplate his question. He thought for sure a demon with a soul would still try to help the people in the hotel, not just the frightened girl.
“Take them all,” Angel stated, not turning around.
The demon laughed at his answer as Angel walked out the front of the hotel.
**************************
Los Angeles, Hyperion Hotel, Present Day
The air still shivered and sparked as the demon materialized before Wesley and the others with a scream.
“Watch his tentacles,” Angel warned.
“Excuse me?” Cordelia asked incredulously.
“Tentacles!” Wesley clarified.
The Thesulac glanced around and addressed Angel. “I don't remember ordering take-out, but I like what you brought me. Not as delectable as the last one perhaps but full of tasty paranoia just the same.” He laughed and indicated Wesley. “Especially that one!”
Wesley looked over at Angel and Cordy. “What did he mean by that?”
“You had your last meal here a long time ago. You should have gotten out when you had the chance,” Angel said menacingly.
The Thesulac drifted closer to Angel and Spike. “Got out? Now, why would I wanna do that when the room service in this hotel is still excellent? It has been for 50 years. Paranoia here is like fine wine.”
Angel glanced at Spike and said quietly. “It gets better with age.” When the demon grinned at him, he scowled. “You're still feeding. Gunn!”
Gunn aimed his crossbow and pinned one of Thesulac's tentacles to the banister of the stairs. The Thesulac wrapped one of his other tentacles around Gunn's hand holding the crossbow and tossed him against the wall. Gunn dropped to the floor and looked back up to see the demon grab for Spike just before the blonde narrowly dodged its tentacle. Cordelia and Wesley ran in different directions and while the demon was distracted Angel jumped into a forward roll, grabbing a hold of one of the demon's other tentacles.
As he rolled back to his feet with the tentacle in his grip, Angel growled, “The kitchen is closed.”
With that, he shoved the end of the tentacle against the exposed wires in the fuse box. There was an explosion of sparks and bright blue electricity ran up the tentacle and wrapped around the demon. All five of them stood and stared as the Thesulac hung in the air, screaming. Several minutes later, there was an explosion of white light and the Thesulac disappeared.
“What did he mean, especially that one?” Wesley asked incredulously.
While Wesley tried to decide what the demon meant, Angel went up the stairs again as the others watched from below. After a few minutes, Spike followed.
Angel entered Judy’s old room to find an elderly woman sitting in a chair. He moved cautiously to stand in front of her. Spike stopped just outside the door and watched to see what his Sire was up to.
“Judy?” Angel said softly.
“I don’t hear them anymore. Are they gone?” Judy’s voice wavered.
“Yeah, they’re gone,” Angel reassured her as he got down on one knee in front of her and slowly reached for her hand.
Judy smiled when she saw him. “It’s you.”
Angel smiled back at her ever so slightly. “Yeah, Judy. It’s me.”
Judy reached up to touch his face. “You look the same.”
“I’m not,” Angel said wearily.
“They killed you – because of me. Angel shook his head in denial at her, but she nodded. “I killed you.”
Angel adamantly shook his head. “No. No. No.”
“He kept them from the door. He told me I’d be safe. Am I safe?” she asked with a hint of the scared girl she once was.
“You’re safe,” Angel assured her.
“Can I go out now?” Judy asked.
“Yeah, you can go out,” Angel replied.
Judy gave him a big smile and started to get up from her chair. Angel helped her up. “Let me help you.”
As Angel helped her over to her bed, Judy said softly, “I just – I need to take a little rest first, just a little rest.”
“Easy,” Angel said softly as he lowered her to the bed.
Judy held onto his hand in a grip that surprised him a little. “I'm so sorry I killed you. “Can you forgive me?”
Angel looked down at her. “Of course.”
Judy smiled faintly. “I'm just going to rest – just for a minute, and then I'm going to go out.”
She closed her eyes and passed away. Angel watched her for a long time. It hurt his heart to think she had been alive all this time, waiting here like he told her to – waiting for his forgiveness for supposedly killing him. He felt Spike in the doorway and then he felt the jacketed shoulder brush up against his own as his childe stood beside him.
“Where do we bury her?” Spike asked.
“We’ll find a place later tonight. I wasn’t upset with her when they hung me. She wasn’t the reason I let the demon have this place. I was angry at the others. They were sheep to begin with, susceptible to the power of suggestion. Being a demon, why should I have expected any more than that? They were human with human weaknesses,” Angel explained.
“Yeah even then you were on a hero trip, but let me tell you, you can't save them all. And some of them are not worth saving anyway,” Spike replied.
“It’s a weakness of mine, helping the distressed,” Angel said in slight humor.
“Let’s get out of here. It’s one thing to cause a death and enjoy the sight of your own abilities. It’s another to see an old person waste away,” Spike wrinkled his nose at the thought.
Downstairs, Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn were sitting at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Angel. Wesley was still concerned over what the destroyed demon thought of him.
“I’ve been accused of a great many things in my time, but paranoid has never been one of them,” he stated indignantly.
Gunn shook his head at the absurdity of Wesley’s paranoia over being called paranoid. He looked at Cordelia to see how she responded to Wesley.
“Unless people have been saying it behind my back,” Wesley pouted.
Just then, Angel and Spike came down the stairs. Gunn stood up and asked, “You all right, man?”
“Yeah,” Angel said wistfully, looking around the lobby.
“Are we finished?” Cordelia inquired.
“I think so,” Angel replied.
“Good. Because I, for one, will be glad to see the last of this place, it gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Cordelia said giving an exaggerated shudder.
“No lie,” Gunn agreed. “Plus it kind of got an odor to it. You notice that?”
Cordelia looked over at Gunn. “70 years of violence, mayhem and paranoia – bad vibes.”
“We're moving in,” Angel said coolly.
Cordelia quickly changed her tune to, “I mean, a few throw pillows what's not to love?”
Spike snickered at the sudden change in response.
Wesley moved closer to Angel. “Angel, surely you more than anyone must appreciate how, for the better part of the last century, this place has been host not only to a malevolent demonic presence, but the very worst faces of humanity! This is a house of evil.”
Angel looked around the hotel with new eyes and a new outlook at the place he had abandoned fifty years before. “Not anymore.”
Wesley looked around the lobby himself, trying to see what Angel saw in the place. Then, he leaned closer to Angel and asked worriedly, “Angel – you don’t . . . find me . . . especially paranoid, do you?”
“Not especially,” Angel replied.
“Oh, thank God!” Wesley said in relief. “I was worried.”
Spike couldn’t help it; he collapsed on the floor in a convulsion of laughter at Wesley’s fears. Mind you, an hour ago, his fears weren’t so funny. But, the way Wesley asked the question struck Spike’s humor. They all looked at him as if he were completely insane. Spike would have noticed the reproachful expressions had he not been crying from laughing.
“Spike! Get a hold of yourself!” Cordelia said before kicking Spike in the side.
“Oh, princess,” Spike said as he snatched her ankle. “You wound me so with your open toes.”
“Ugh, God that was awful poetry!” Cordelia said with a hint of disgust.
Spike was teasing his fingertips over her ankle and down her the instep of her foot in a light caress. The touch sent a shiver up her leg. Cordelia shook him off and cringed, “Ewww, Angel, your pet vampire is trying to make a pass at me!”
“Tattletale!” Spike smirked from the floor.
Angel sighed. First, Spike was arguing with Buffy and now he and Cordelia were arguing like two kids. “Spike, get up off the floor and stop trying to get Cordy wet with your sexual charms. She has no inclination to fuck the undead, even if you do have a whirlpool tub.”
“Ah! You wanted my hot little body for the tub, eh?” Spike asked teasingly as he got to his feet. “Tell you what, princess, I’ll forgo the sex if I can watch you splash around in it naked.”
When Spike smirked with his tongue between his teeth, Cordelia drew back and hit him in the nose.
“Ow!”
“I’m not Buffy the Vampire Slayer, who only slays the vampire if he’s not cute enough to date,” Cordelia started to say.
“Hey!” Angel yelled at the blatant insult.
“You couldn’t get me to fall for your vampire thrall or whatever you use to charm girls into bed. I’m Cordelia Chase, damn it,” Cordelia declared.
Spike stepped up to her and whispered, “So, the thought of the Big Bad trapped between those cheerleader thighs of yours doesn’t make you little quim hot and wet?”
Spike pulled away and watched her expression go from dreamy, to confused, to pissed, that he had gotten a reaction out of her. She turned to face him, stepped up to press against him and grabbed his balls making him choke on a yelp. Then, she whispered, “If you ever touch me there, it’ll be in your dreams buster.”
When Cordelia let go of him, Spike fell to his knees holding his precious, tender bits and rocking back and forth. At some point, it felt like she had dug her nails in to the skin. Angel was at his side, helping him up.
“Spike, you should know better than to do that with her. She’s not as gullible as she looks. She doesn’t fall for charm unless you have 3 houses and a private beach in your name,” Angel chuckled.
“I heard that!” Cordelia yelled over her shoulder as she walked out of the hotel.
“Course you did, princess. You have the sonar of a bat,” Spike yelled back as they followed her.
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