Home / Fan Fiction / Angel / Epiphany / Leyden Creek, VA

Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe of the rights of Joss Whedon, the WB, Mutant Enemy or any other copyright holders of Angel.

Leyden Creek, VA
by The Brat Queen

Spoilers: Up to Epiphany, after which Joss and I go separate ways.

Rated: R

Summary: Wes and Angel work a case in Virginia. (Part of the Epiphany series, takes place after "I-10 to I-75")

Thanks to: Wolfling, Mer and WesleysGirl for the beta read.

Story Notes: Herein lies a non-crossover crossover with another piece of fanfic. Specifically, the town of Leyden Creek does not exist, but all credit for its creation goes to the wonderful Torch who wrote about it in her marvelous "Ghosts" story. I'm steal - er - using the town with her permission. All local color that you like is due to her. All that you hate I'll accept blame for. Laura Ann, as always, belongs to nobody but herself. The original "Ghosts" story can be found here. Even if you're not into X-Files, I highly recommend reading it.

PROLOGUE

Andrew Egan sat at his desk and stared at an envelope. It was five pm, which meant normal people were on their way home, fighting with the rush hour traffic in order to get back in time for whatever it was they did when they kicked off their shoes, took off their ties and/or pantyhose, and called it a day.

Normally he would too, except he had a deadline.

Also, he had an envelope.

It was a good envelope, as envelopes went. Heavy stock. The kind you'd use for resumes, assuming people folded up resumes anymore. Andrew hadn't had to write one for a while, but he seemed to recall the new kids coming in with resumes in big, flat envelopes. John over in Business had told him it was a scanner thing. Andrew didn't even know if they had scanners for that sort of thing. To him it was a miracle that he had a working computer. The Miami Herald was nice, but sometimes cheap.

Andrew looked at the letterhead. It made sense. This was the sort of thing that should have letterhead. It made it all look big, and official. They liked big and official. Half the time Andrew was convinced that being big and official was all they did. Get the job done in - what? - a half hour out of the day? Then spend the rest of the day designing letterheads and writing memos that used words like "proactive" "going forward" and "paradigm".

Andrew was certain they didn't know what half of those words meant.

He'd met them years ago. The Herald had just hired him, and kept him busy with stories that nobody gave a damn about, unless you needed to fill a few inches of space that no advertiser wanted. The stories usually came with a picture, to which Andrew would write a two inch caption that was always, without fail, cut down to a sentence. With no byline. Also which didn't sound like him. But it was work. And it paid his student loans. And it got him ready for his current job, which was working the sports beat, in the sense that it showed him that a trained monkey could do this job with few people noticing the difference.

Animals were big with those stories. Dog Goes Water-Skiing. Cat Nurses Baby Rabbit. That sort of thing. Something that pretty much told itself right there in the snapshot, and didn't need much else by way of explanation.

Things stuck in pools were also popular. It was Miami, so there was no lack of those stories. Alligator Found In Pool. Snake Found In Pool. Dead Snake Found Inside of Alligator Found In Pool.

It paid the bills.

It was on one such pool story that he'd met them. He'd gotten the call from his friend Larry, over at animal control, and headed over with Bill, the photographer. The house in question was huge, probably belonging to a lawyer or a drug dealer or even both. The pool had been in the back, shaped like a kidney with one of those arrangements that made it look like a real waterfall was pouring into it, if waterfalls were covered with fake plants and smelled not so faintly of chlorine.

Larry wasn't there yet, but the pool guy was.

So was it.

Andrew didn't know what it was. He knew now, years later, but at the time he'd peered into the water and saw something that looked like a shark.

Assuming sharks had legs.

Also claws.

And were copper red.

The pool guy stayed by the glass doors to the house, refusing to come near.

"Un demonio," the pool guy said. Andrew recognized the accent as Cuban. "Un demonio."

Andrew silently conceded that the guy might be right. He pulled back from the water. The thing was dead, as far as he could tell, but he felt you couldn't be certain with shark-lobster-copper type things.

"What the Hell is that?" Bill had asked.

"Fuck if I know," Andrew had answered.

They stayed back near the house, sharing some of the pool guy's beer, and waited for Larry. Bill took some pictures, but said he didn't know if they would come out considering the distance and the angle and the fact that his hands were shaking.

"Maybe when they haul it out?" Andrew suggested.

"Sure," Bill had said, in a tone of voice which added the words And good thing I brought the telephoto lens because I plan to be, bare minimum, in Texas when that happens.

Wind raised light waves in the water. They'd watched it silently, each one of them refusing to admit that they were hearing the theme from Jaws in their heads.

Ten long minutes later, Larry showed up.

Five minutes after that brought the suits.

There were three of them. All dressed in that way that asked you to understand that Brooks Brothers was very stylish and intimidating, because their budget didn't allow for them to actually flat-out buy Armani. They'd looked generic, in the way that anyone who wore a suit for both a personality and a living did.

They'd talked to Larry first, and then to Andrew.

Good evening, Mr. Egan, they'd said.

It's afternoon, Andrew had replied.

So it is, they'd said. We need to talk.

Fine by me, Andrew had said, more than happy to talk with anyone who didn't notice he'd flipped on his pocket tape recorder.

You can't publish this story, they'd said. Or the photos.

Interesting interpretation of the Constitution, Andrew had said. And you'd have to ask Bill about the photos.

You can't, they'd said.

Why? Andrew had asked.

I think you know, they'd said.

Andrew had looked at them. Oh? he'd asked.

Oh, they'd said, as though confirming something for him.

There had been a long moment of silence.

Do you work for the government? Andrew had asked.

We have government affiliations, yes, they'd said.

There had been another moment of silence as Andrew mulled that over.

We'd like to offer you a job, they'd said, as though this had been a sequitor.

You want to do what now? Andrew had asked.

They handed over a business card. It had an interesting logo. The address on it was somewhere in New York.

Offer you a job, they'd said.

Andrew turned the card over and over in his hands, taking in the situation.

Okay, he'd said. I'm listening.

Excellent, they'd said.

And from then on, Andrew had had two jobs.

Which was why he now had an envelope.

He tore it open and read the letter inside.

Mr. Egan, it said. You'll never guess who just drove through your town....

Angel turned off of the 460, catching the sign which said Leyden Creek, 3 miles out of the corner of his eye in spite of the rain.

"This gonna work for you?" he asked Wes.

Wes, who had spent most of the drive scribbling away in one of his journals (and how he managed to do that in the half dark while the car was moving Angel had no idea), looked around, then absently nodded. "Yes, assuming there's a place for us to stay."

"Sign on the highway said they had lodging," Angel replied, then wondered if they still used a word like lodging these days.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Wesley told him. He closed his journal, tucked his pen into his coat pocket, then put the book away into his satchel. "Besides, I can't imagine we'll find much different if we keep driving. I'd rather be somewhere where I know that you're safe."

"We've got maybe an hour and a half," Angel said. He looked at the sky, which in no way indicated that it wanted to be light. "Maybe more."

"Let's not chance it," Wesley decided.

Angel nodded, willing to go along with whatever Wes wanted.

The town of Leyden Creek wasn't large by anyone's stretch of the imagination. Angel found the main road easily enough, and felt that he knew all that he needed to know about the place once he saw that it didn't even have a Starbucks.

Few lights were on at that time of night. Even the streetlamps were rare. Angel followed them, figuring they lead to places people needed to know about, and was rewarded with the sight of a police station, and a well-lit place that proclaimed itself as Laura Ann's Diner, Delicious Home Cooked Meals.

"They've rooms to let," Wesley said, quicker on the read than he was. He looked back at Angel. "Shall I?"

Angel nodded, putting the car in park. "I'll get the bags."

Wes gave his hand a quick squeeze, then ducked out into the rain, making it inside before he got too wet.

Angel took his time getting their things and double-checking the security of Wesley's bike. The rain didn't bother him much, and he wanted to get a feel for the place. He found himself looking up and down the street. The police station showed some activity, but otherwise things were quiet.

He didn't even know what he was looking for.

He shouldered their bags and went inside.

Wes was at the counter, talking with a brunette who Angel thought might be Laura Ann until he saw that her nametag read Deborah. She looked tired, but was nodding along and making motions upstairs. Angel waited where he was and let Wes take care of it. He noticed a bulletin board beside him and idly wondered who in that town taught macramé.

"They've a room for us," Wes said, returning to him. "The rates are reasonable as well."

"Good to know," Angel replied.

Wes looked around, taking in the openness of the place. "Er - are you sure you will be comfortable?"

Angel shrugged. "Nobody says I gotta go out during the day."

"Apparently there's a motel not far from here?" Wes said, still eager to put options on the table.

Angel gave him a reassuring look. "Wes - it's fine. C'mon, lead the way."

"All right," Wes said, giving in. He got the keys from Deborah, signed something that Angel assumed was a credit card slip, then lead the way upstairs.

The place was a bed and breakfast - or a bed and any meal you wanted, Angel thought, considering the diner that was downstairs. There were hardwood floors, and a tall window that gave him pause until he saw that the curtains would keep the light out well enough. There was no TV, but there was a bathroom that was apparently all theirs.

There were also two beds.

Angel threw Wes a questioning look.

"I believe it's all they have," Wes told him.

"Okay," Angel said. He put the bags down and again looked at Wesley. "We gonna use both of them?"

Wes closed and locked the door, then gave him an arched look. "That depends on how much you annoy me in the next few minutes."

Angel grinned, glad they weren't suddenly having a fight. "We'll see. How tired are you?"

Wes shrugged out of his coat, pausing as he considered the question. "Somewhat," he finally told him. The eyes that met his now glittered with invitation. "You could get your hands on me."

"Pretty much a given at any time, Wes," Angel reminded him. He took off his own coat, draping it over a wooden chair when he couldn't find a hanger. He moved over to Wes, then, catching him by the wrist and pulling him into his embrace. "Feeling sleepy?"

Wes snuggled up, his body warm in spite of the weather outside. Or maybe it was just the contrast with Angel's own chilled skin. "No," he answered, knowledgeable fingers sliding their way up Angel's chest. "But I could be, under the right circumstances."

"You saying I put you to sleep?" Angel teased.

"When you do it right," Wesley shot back.

Angel chuckled, and kissed his lover.

He had to admit, this was by far the part of their trip that he liked the best. Finding a place, settling in, making it theirs. Doing this thing where he could touch Wes any way he liked because Wes wanted him to.

Okay - didn't exactly need a road trip for that, but still, wasn't like he'd ever fucked Wes in Virginia before. It was a first.

Angel saw no problem whatsoever with finding excuses to fuck Wes in every state in the Union. Then head up to Canada and cover all the provinces.

"Off, off, off," Wes was mumbling, his hand tugging at Angel's belt and scolding it as though that might make it work for him. "Why must you wear these large buckles?"

Angel nudged Wes's hand away and undid the item for him. "They hurt more when you hit people with 'em," he answered honestly, watching Wes's eyes carefully for his reaction. "Also, I like how they look."

Wes nodded, simply taking the information in, then replying with "I like how they look off of you."

Angel gave a low growl, not bothering to hide the unnatural sound of it, He slid his hands down Wes's arms and encircled his wrists. "Oh yeah?"

Wes's heart tripped in a happy rhythm at the touch. He bared his neck in what Angel was certain could not be a coincidence. Especially given the fact that Wes was grinning at him like a rat bastard. "Yes."

Angel licked a path up Wes's fine neck. "Ask me nice."

Wes turned, meeting his mouth, and breathed ever so softly into it: "Please."

Damn Wes knew how to push his buttons.

They both shucked their clothes off, then crawled into bed, meeting one another under what Angel vaguely estimated to be handmade quilts. Their bodies tangled together as each one of them, without being asked, wrapped a hand around the other and began to stroke.

"Could fuck you," Angel suggested.

Wes shook his head. "I want you to touch me." Then, as though remembering to do it after the fact, he added "Please."

Angel smiled. Wes could be positively cute when he had his mind set on it. He moved one arm under Wes, letting it be used as a pillow as he continued to jerk his lover off. Wes, in turn, snuggled closer, his hand keeping an even rhythm with Angel's.

Their lips met in the light, distracted kisses of two men trying hard to remember that they were supposed to keep their hands moving.

It wasn't long before Wes was pressing closer. "Angel - please."

"Come with me?" Angel asked, chasing after Wes's tongue with his own.

Wes nodded mutely, increasing the pace of his hand until Angel felt his balls tighten.

"That's it," he told Wes, hitting his lover's sweet spots in return. They stopped kissing only long enough for Wes to breathe. "Just a little - right there - perfect - "

Wes surged into him, body shuddering. The feeling of Wes squirming was enough to set him off in turn. They both cried out, belatedly remembering to try to muffle the sound from the diners downstairs, then collapsed in a happy, sticky mess.

"Could move to the other bed," Angel suggested, not really feeling up for it.

"Stay right here," Wes told him, curling on top of his chest and falling asleep.

Angel kissed the top of Wes's head and then did the same.

The bedside clock read 4. Angel pondered it for a good long while before deciding that it meant pm. It was still dark outside - based on the faint light that seeped in around the curtains - but it was apparently still raining.

During their sleep, Wes had aggressively snuggled up against him. Angel couldn't help but feel a little bit like a big teddy bear.

He would never, even on threat of hell, admit that he liked feeling like Wes's teddy bear.

He also firmly told the parts of himself that were more than happy to remind him that most teddy bears didn't want to, as for example, eat their owners in any sense of the word, to go fuck themselves.

Wes loved him.

For now, that was all that mattered.

He looked at the phone, telling himself he could do the responsible thing and call LA. Then he admitted once again that he was too much of a coward. He hadn't talked to Cordy since he left. He couldn't. He had this fear that speaking to her would make the vision come back. Wes had doubted it, but Angel thought Wes was being overly optimistic. Wes had thought that Angel was being a wanker but didn't press.

There were enough things to worry about.

Like the fact that the mark on Wes's neck was incredibly distracting. Angel licked his teeth, trying to make them stop itching from the desire to sharpen.

Wes, as though able to read his mind even while unconscious, raised his wrist in a clear offering.

"No," Angel said, pushing it away.

Wes sat up, looking tousled and hurt.

"It's not you," Angel said. He caressed the veins with his fingertips. "I'll do it again. Just - not now. You need to replenish."

"It's been days," Wesley protested.

"I'll be fine," Angel told him.

"You suspect there's a butcher in this town who won't mind your unique shopping list?" Wesley asked.

"I'll steal what I need," Angel said, wondering if Laura Ann did her own butchery. "Plus I can eat."

Wes gave him a dubious look.

"Fine, you should eat," Angel shot back. He moved his hand down Wes's chest, tickling his stomach. "Or are you gonna tell me you're not hungry?"

Wes swatted his hand away, not really mad. "All right, but if I find out you're starving yourself..."

Angel decided there was one way to settle the argument. He turned over, pinning Wes beneath him. "Then lemme have a taste of something else," he said, meeting Wes's eyes for a long, possessive moment before sliding himself downward.

It was a while before they made it downstairs.

The diner still held what Angel assumed was the dinner crowd when he and Wes returned to it. People stopped for a moment to look at them before resuming their meals. Angel couldn't blame them. Neither one of them looked like they really belonged, although Wes with his five o'clock shadow and faded jeans came closer than he normally would.

They found an empty table. Wes looked through the menu. Angel looked out, glad that it was twilight enough for him to sit by the window but not so dark that nobody noticed he wasn't casting a reflection on the glass.

"I'll have Laura Ann's pot roast," Wes said to Deborah, when she came to take their order. "And a coffee?"

"Coffee for me too," Angel said. "Black." He then saw Wes looking at him in a clear message of Order something so you don't look like a freak. He quickly glanced at a menu and added "Um - and one of Laura Ann's grill cheese sandwiches."

What, did this chick name everything after herself?

Wes was still looking at him.

"What?" Angel asked.

"I'd love to see you eat that," Wes told him.

"I could eat a grill cheese," Angel said defensively.

"Of course," Wes replied, clearly not believing it for a second.

"Fine," Angel said, changing his order to "Hamburger. Really rare. Nothing on it."

Deborah, who looked like she could give a shit, took the order and left.

"You could've said 'please'," Wes pointed out.

"True," Angel agreed, not knowing why he was suddenly cranky. Maybe he did need to drink something. But it was too soon to try Wes. Well - not really, but he didn't want to get into the habit of treating Wes like his personal bloodmobile.

He had to admit this was the part of the trip that he hated. The one where they were awake, and rested, and fully aware of their situation.

As though knowing he needed a distraction, Wes offered: "We could go to Jamestown?"

"I dunno," Angel said. They'd been debating this since New Orleans. On the one hand, part of him was curious to see where Darla came from. On the other "It's just a tourist trap."

"It's supposed to be quite accurate," Wesley said. "Thoroughly researched."

Angel shrugged. "Not like they'll know anything about her."

"They might," Wesley said. "The town wasn't precisely known for its large female population."

"But it's not her," Angel said. Deborah came by with their coffees. He waited until she left before continuing. "I mean, yeah, she lived there. He turned her there. But - it's not her. It can't be. She was a working girl. And - "

"Jamestown wasn't exactly known for its prostitutes either," Wes finished for him. He poured creamer into his coffee and then stirred it. "Still - perhaps it meant something to her?"

"I dunno," Angel said. He drank his coffee, trying to let it warm him.

"She must have had family there," Wes, who had done far more research into this than Angel ever had, said. "A brother, or perhaps even..."

Angel looked up as Wes trailed off. "What?"

A light of humor danced in Wes's eyes. "I don't want to make you jealous."

Angel gave him a dry look.

"You must have considered the thought that Darla may have had a husband?" Wesley said.

Angel slowly drummed his fingers on the table. "No," he said after a long moment. "I must not have considered it."

"I see," Wesley said, looking far too smug as he drank his coffee.

"I'm not -"

"Of course you aren't."

"A hundred and fifty years means something!"

A very British eyebrow quirked upwards. "We're admitting it meant something now?"

"Shaddup," Angel mumbled. He slumped back in his chair and didn't look up as Deborah brought their meals over.

"I was only asking," Wes replied with far too much innocence. He cut into his pot roast and began to eat.

Angel sighed. "So, what, does everybody get some big relationship before they hook up with me and shut up yeah I remembered Buffy just as I started to say this. Eat your pot roast, would ya?"

"Never said a word," Wes pointed out. He speared a carrot and nibbled it down.

Angel poked at his food, finally ripping pieces of the bun off and sopping them up with the fatty blood on the plate. It wasn't much, but it could take the edge off. Sort of.

"We could go to Williamsburg," Wesley said. "You could tell me how inaccurate the costumes are."

"Maybe," Angel said, not really certain how interested he was in an attraction that was mostly British in nature. At least Jamestown had the Darla connection.

"Or perhaps Washington?" Wes said. "I've never been."

Angel thought about it. "Washington could be fun."

"Have you..?"

Angel gave him a ghost of a smile. "Not so's I'd remember."

Wes nodded, giving him a sympathetic look.

Angel forced some of his bun down. He must have looked pained while doing it because Wes looked worried. Angel tried to shrug it off, then went on to his meat. This was a little better. Deborah or whoever had at least left it really pink for him.

The door to the diner opened, and a voice called out "Hey - Debbie in here?"

Everyone - Wes and Angel included - looked over. Deborah - who apparently went by Debbie - wrapped her arms around herself and went to talk to the two men who'd entered. Judging by their uniforms, they were either cops or two guys on their way to a costume party.

Angel glanced at everyone in the room. They all had various looks of we're-listening-but-not-really-listening on their faces. Wes looked at him curiously, and for the sheer Hell of it Angel took advantage of his heightened senses.

"..found her yet," one of the cops was saying.

"I'm sure it'll be okay," the other one, slightly older, said.

From her reflection in the window, Angel could tell that Debbie wasn't exactly buying it.

"It's been two days," she said, her voice quiet but urgent.

The older cop tried to placate her. "I know, I know. But, well, you know how - "

"Kathy isn't like that, Lou!" Debbie snapped. Angel heard her pronounce the first name with that tiny inflection that indicated she was used to telling people that this was Kathy-with-a-K. "You know she's not."

"We're just saying you shouldn't worry," the other cop, not-Lou said. "That it could be anything. Not necessarily - "

"Is something going on?" Wes spoke up, and Angel saw that a blond-haired woman had appeared at their table. She held a coffee pot in one hand and her eyes were mostly trained on the scene by the cash register.

She turned a false smile on Wes, and Angel could tell she trusted the two of them about as far as she could throw the diner's oven. "Everything's fine," she replied, filling Wes's mug and clearly getting ready to leave. "You boys need anything else?"

"Forgive me," Wes said, holding a hand up to still her. His British accent was working overtime as he played up the posh, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly aspects of himself. "We don't mean to intrude. It's only that my - " he glanced at Angel, then back at the woman " - partner and I are private investigators, specializing in unusual cases." Wes produced a business card and handed it over. "I thought we might offer our expertise."

The woman took the card in her free hand, studying it. "You help the helpless?"

"We do our best," Wesley said, somehow managing to speak the words in such a way that removed any doubt he was doing this to fish for some cash. Which was fine - not like they were hurting for any.

"Says California," the woman said.

"We're on holiday," Wesley replied.

She looked at them dubiously. "Here?"

"We're on our way to DC," Angel smoothly inserted the lie into the conversation.

Wes, in the meanwhile, had produced his private investigator's license in case that might help matters.

The woman looked at it, then pocketed the business card. She looked back at the cops and Debbie, the latter of whom did not seem pleased as the two men left her.

"Unusual cases, you say?" the woman asked.

"There are few things which can surprise us," Wes promised her.

"I can't pay you much," the woman said.

"That's not a priority," Wesley replied. He shot Angel a look which said he felt they needed to take this one.

"Could give you your room for free," the woman suggested. Angel figured out that she must be Laura Ann. He wondered if Wes had guessed it already.

"More than fair," Wes replied. He pulled a notebook out of his satchel and got out a pen to take notes. "Now then, how can we be of service?"

The town of Leyden Creek, it seemed, was suffering from an attack of kidnappings. Specifically, two high school girls had gone missing. Both had vanished sometime after school had let out, been gone for two days, then turned up again.

The first girl had been found wandering the football field in a daze.

The second was in the hospital.

The third had been kidnapped two days ago, was named Kathy, and was Debbie's little sister.

"Debbie's been taking care of her since their mom died," Laura Ann told them. "If anything happened to her - "

"I'm sure she'd hardly want anything happening to her under the best of circumstances," Wesley agreed.

Laura Ann nodded. She was sitting at the table with them now, speaking low so the remaining diners wouldn't hear them. "Lou and Doug are doing their best - " Angel figured Doug was the not-Lou cop " - but..." Laura Ann sighed, propping her head up on her chin. "They're a little by the book."

"And the case isn't?" Wes asked.

Laura Ann shook her head. "The two girls? Had these weird markings all over them. Kind of like - " she motioned for Wes's pen, then sketched out some symbols on a paper napkin. Angel glanced at them and looked at Wes with a question in his eyes. Wes gave a tiny shake of his head in return. "You telling me that's normal?"

"May I?" Wes gestured to ask for permission to keep the napkin. He turned it over at various angles before putting it with his notes. "Certainly not the typical thing one would expect from a kidnapping case. It could be any number of things."

"You've seen stuff like that before?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Wesley nodded. "Not those specific symbols as such, but things not unlike them."

"How bad are the girls hurt?" Angel asked.

Laura Ann made a small face as though she'd bitten into a lemon. "Bad."

"Bad like how?" Angel asked.

Laura Ann shook her head. "Their folks don't like to talk about it."

Which narrowed it down not at all, Angel thought, but he filed it away for later use anyway.

"The first girl - " Wes didn't even need to look at his notes to remember the name "Fay Socci? She's at home, you said?"

Laura Ann nodded. "Yeah. Hasn't been back to school yet."

"Do you think her parents would mind if we visited?" Wes asked.

Laura Ann shrugged. "One way to find out?"

The drive to the Socci house was quick. Angel imagined most trips inside of town were. Still, he had time to ask Wes -

"Why do you wanna take this case?"

Wesley shrugged, halfway lost in his own thoughts. "Instinct? Why do you?"

Trust Wes to know that Angel was interested in spite of himself.

"Kathy was my sister's name," Angel told him.

Whatever conclusions Wes drew from that, he kept to himself.

The Socci house was a white, two-story affair. The front garden was overgrown with shrubs and ivy. Angel parked in the street, then followed Wes up to the front door.

The woman who answered the bell was dressed like someone who didn't care much about company right now, and appeared to be in her forties.

She looked at the two of them as though she could make them vanish just by staring. "Can I help you?"

Wes attempted a smile. "I was about to ask the same thing. My partner and I - "

"Not interested."

"Laura Ann sent us?"

That halted the door.

Wes reached into his pocket, then pulled out the directions that Laura Ann had written down for them. Apparently Mrs. Socci knew the diner's owner well enough to recognize her handwriting.

"We're private investigators," Wes explained.

"Is this about Kathy?" Mrs. Socci asked.

Wes nodded.

Mrs. Socci accepted that. She unlocked the screen door. "Okay, come in."

Angel stepped over the threshold, happy when the technical details worked themselves out like this.

The inside of the Socci house was cluttered. It was the sort of place that looked very lived in without feeling messy.

"How's Debbie doing?" Mrs. Socci asked.

"About as well as could be expected," Wes answered.

Mrs. Socci nodded. Angel noticed that she had crosses hanging on the walls, and a picture of the Virgin Mary in the kitchen. "Whoever it is, I hope they catch the son of a bitch."

"Did your daughter say it was one person?" Wes asked.

Mrs. Socci shook her head. "Fay doesn't like to talk about it."

"Can I see your daughter?" Angel asked, tearing his eyes away from the artwork. Wes looked at him curiously, so he clarified for the both of them. "I'm very good with trauma."

"Are you a doctor?" Mrs. Socci asked.

"More like a counselor," Angel replied. He saw Wes nod, getting where he was coming from.

For some god-unknown reason, Mrs. Socci decided to trust him. "She's on the back porch. Right through the kitchen. Do - do you want water, or anything? While you're there? Mr. - uh -"

"Angel," Wes supplied. "And I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Now then - "

Angel let Wes take care of asking the mom whatever it was he needed to know. He went through the kitchen, bypassing the offer for a refreshment, and pushed open the back door.

A girl, maybe sixteen, sat curled up in a wicker rocking chair. She wore a terrycloth robe. Her hands were tucked into the overlarge sleeves.

"Hey," Angel said quietly.

Fay turned dull eyes on him.

"Name's Angel," he said. "I'm a friend of Laura Ann's?"

If Fay felt this was enough to like him, she gave no indication.

Angel stepped forward, projecting calmness. He could tell already her emotions were scattered. He'd left many a person in a similar state himself.

Actually - he usually left them worse.

"I wanted to ask you about what happened," he said.

"I told you what happened," Fay replied, looking away from him. Angel guessed she thought he was with the police.

"Tell me the rest?" Angel asked. He came closer and squatted down in front of her, making himself as smaller than her as was possible. He watched her movements, quickly able to catalogue every spot that must be broken or bruised based on the way she shifted her weight. "Tell me the stuff you don't think anybody'd believe?"

Fay looked down at him, measuring him.

Angel measured her in return, then gave what he thought would be the magic words: "I'll hurt them for you. Real good."

Fay's eyes flickered over him, then she nodded. "There were six. They had these robes. And masks. They said they were going to feed me to a demon."

"Did the demon hurt you, or did they?" Angel asked.

A fine tremor went through Fay's body. The rocking chair swayed. "I don't remember."

"Did they drug you?"

Another nod.

"Do you remember anything else?" he asked.

"I was underground," she said. "In a lab. Or it looked like a lab. I don't know where."

Angel found a business card of his own. He handed it to her. "You remember anything else, you call me. On the cellphone."

Fay took the card from him. As the sleeves of her robe parted, Angel saw a flash of sharp metal.

"I want them to die," she said, defying him to judge her for holding a knife.

"Me too," Angel told her. He stood up, noticing the tiny flinch which said she'd had more than enough of men getting anywhere near her. He felt his muscles tense with the desire to hit something but left before Fay could pick up on it as well.

The Lukas Cranach Memorial High School looked, in Angel's opinion, pretty much like any other high school the world over. Which was to say that it didn't look like anything special.

But it was where the girls vanished, then reappeared again, so he and Wes made it their next stop.

The rain had started to let up, but Angel parked close to the building anyway. It was past 8, at that point, and the only lights they could see were security ones faintly gleaming from the inside.

Wes had a lockpick kit in his satchel, but Angel was easily able to thumb the latch on the front door and pull it open.

"Someone here?" Wes suggested, vamp-soft.

"Or small town," Angel replied. He suspected that, kidnappings aside, Leyden Creek was the kind of place where people left their front doors open.

Not that that did him any good, as a rule.

They entered the building, Wes's steps the only ones that faintly echoed through the halls. Angel hung back, letting Wes do most of the observing. That was Wes's strength in these situations anyway. He kept his eyes and ears open for anything in the distance that looked dangerous.

Wes stopped in front of a glass case. Angel turned, wondering why he'd noticed it, then seeing that it was a memorial to students who had died. He scanned the names - Erica Cohen, Timothy Veit, Annie Clough - most of whom had, if their bios were right, died from some kind of car accident. Which, Angel thought, said a lot about how much kids in that town needed to drink. He lingered on Annie's name for a moment, noting that she'd died the year when he and Buffy had still had a relationship.

"We'll keep Kathy off of there," Wes promised him.

Angel kept his reply to a nod.

They continued to walk the halls. Wes searched for God knew what. Angel followed, then stopped him, putting a hand out to Wes's chest and motioning for complete silence.

After a minute, Angel walked a few steps forward, jerked open a door, and looked down at the teenage boy on the other side.

"Looking for something?" Angel asked.

The boy held up his hands defensively. "Don't kill me, man!"

"Do I have a reason not to?" Angel asked.

"We're not the kidnappers," Wesley said. When the boy still didn't look convinced, Wes produced one of the business cards in a move so smooth Angel could swear it was one of the sleight of hand tricks that Wes had been teaching himself. "I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Angel Investigations."

Now the boy looked less scared, but doubtful. "I'm not interested in a copy of your WatchTower," he said.

Angel rolled his eyes. "Private investigators," he said, just barely biting off the word "dumbass". And then thinking to himself that Cordy had definitely been a bad influence on his speech patterns.

"Laura Ann hired us," Wesley supplied.

"This about Kathy?" the boy asked. At Wes's nod, he looked immediately relieved. "Thank God. C'mon, lemme help you out."

The boy moved off down the hall. Angel and Wes exchanged a look, then followed him.

"Who are you?" Wes asked.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said. He held out a hand for Wes to shake. "Rob Kingston. Doug Kingston's nephew?" When that clearly didn't make a ball drop for either of them Rob added "The cop?"

"Ah yes," Wes said, recovering. "We met at the diner but were not formally introduced."

Angel shot Wes a look that said cut it out with the posh for right now. The kid wouldn't be impressed. Wes nodded, and shrugged apologetically.

"I was just doing a story for the school paper," Rob said. He led them to a room that had an open door and a few lights on. Inside were desks with computers. Angel looked around and saw framed copies of articles that he assumed were from previous issues. "Got everything you need to know, right here."

"That's rather convenient," Wes said, more for Angel's benefit than Rob's.

Rob, who'd heard it anyway, shrugged. "Kathy's a friend. And I've kinda got a personal interest."

"She your girlfriend?" Angel asked.

Rob blinked at him. "What? No. I mean - in what's happening. The abductions."

For some reason this made Wes frown. "Why do you call them that?"

"How much did Doug tell you?" Rob asked.

"Pretend like we're hearing this for the first time," Angel replied.

Rob nodded, clicked his mouse a few times, then turned the computer screen around so that Wes and Angel could see. Angel quickly scanned the document, which looked like a police report, and saw one word that caught his eye.

"Aliens?"

"Might I have a copy of this?" Wes asked.

Rob clicked something which made one of the printers turn on. "The new kidnappings are consistent with the old stories," Rob said. He took the papers that came out of the printer and handed them to Wes. Wes immediately began speed-reading it. "I figure something's gotta be up 'cause not many people know about the story. Or - they don't know this side of the story."

"How do you know?" Angel asked.

"Doug," Rob replied.

"Various members of the town," Wes said, summarizing what he read from the document, "including Annie Clough - " he and Angel shared a quick look over a name they could recognize "- have apparently at one time or another vanished, been gone for two days, then returned in various states of health and stability. Apparently some of them claimed to have been abducted by aliens."

Wes and Angel shared a look again.

"You think aliens are doing this?" Wes asked.

Rob shook his head. "Nah. I think maybe a copycat. Or whoever did it the first time is doing it again."

"What does Doug think?" Angel asked.

"He doesn't talk about it," Rob said. "Last time anything happened with it the Feds came to town. I don't think Lou and Steve want a repeat of that."

Angel guessed that Lou and Steve ranked higher in the force than Doug did.

"Look," Rob said, a hint of worry creeping into his voice now. "It's been two days. I love my cousin but if Kathy's not found..."

"Do you have any idea where the copycat might take them?" Wes asked.

Rob nodded, grabbing a map and pointing out directions. "The old Mitchell place. They said the abductions happened around there. Be careful when you go. There's a wicked turn not far from it. Lotta accidents happen there."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled," Angel said.

The rain had entirely stopped as they drove out to the location. Angel, as promised, watched out for the turn. Wes kept reading the print-out.

After a while, Angel finally had to ask it.

"You don't really - "

"God no."

Angel and Wes shared the smile of two men who, demons and vampires and Hellmouths and other dimensions notwithstanding would never, in all their lives, believe in aliens.

"Just checking," Angel said.

As Rob had warned them, there was a wicked 45 degree turn not far from their stop. Angel was pretty certain he'd have spun out there himself if he didn't have the vamp senses and the advanced warning. As it was he handled it fine, and pulled over to the side of the road.

"Couple of these skid marks look fresh," Angel said.

"I'm not surprised," Wes said, getting out of the car. He flicked a flashlight on and shone it around them. "This way, I believe."

They clambered over a stone wall and hiked across a field. It didn't take long for them to spot the ruins they were after.

"Apparently there was a fire," Wes said. His flashlight danced over the remains. "About three or four years ago, if this vegetation is any indication."

Angel looked at him. "You can tell that by looking at plants?"

"Yes," Wes replied. "And it was in the report."

Angel smirked at him.

Wes picked his way carefully over the ruins. "I'm not entirely certain what we'll find here."

"Evidence of kidnapping?" Angel suggested. He looked around himself. "Or maybe the rituals these assholes are trying to do."

"I'm not sure these assholes are trying to do rituals," Wes replied. He saw something on the ground which made him kneel down and start to brush at the wet dirt with his free hand.

Angel came over to help. "What makes you say that?"

"The markings Laura Ann drew are utterly nonsensical," Wesley told him. He sat back, letting Angel do the bulk of the digging. "Rather, they have sense, but not together. It's a random combination of cuneiform, Norse runes and hieroglyphics."

"Couldn't they make sense together?" Angel asked.

"Perhaps," Wes conceded. "But I'm hard pressed to figure out how. There's absolutely no pattern to it."

"Huh," Angel said, since he couldn't offer anything on the subject of translation. He finished digging and exposed a grate in the ground. Not sensing anything underneath them, he motioned for Wes to go ahead and shine the flashlight down it.

Wes knelt forward. "Fascinating," he said.

"What?"

"It looks like - "

"Down!" Angel slammed Wes to the ground at once as gunfire rang out. He covered Wes with his body, feeling himself get riddled with bullets and just daring Fate to try fucking with him by making one of the bullets go through him and hit Wes.

"Rifles," Wes whispered, equipped with mortal hearing but a highly useful gun hobby. "Two more rounds and they'll have to reload."

"Got yours on you?" Angel asked, meaning Wes's pistol.

Wes nodded, then squirmed his hand around to his back to get his gun.

Angel spasmed as more bullets hit.

"You get the assholes on the left," Angel said. "I'll go right. On three?"

"Three," Wes agreed.

They leapt apart, Wes diving for cover behind a boulder and firing in the direction of the shooters on the left. Male voices cried out in return just as Angel dove through the bushes on the right and tackled the shooter he found there, knocking him unconscious at once.

Then he stopped, and listened.

"Only three," he said, returning to the ruins. "No other heartbeats."

Wes stood up, keeping his gun handy. "Are you hurt?"

Angel felt blood trickling down his body. "I'll cope. Are you -"

"Fine," Wes reassured him, gesturing to his chest to show that there'd been no harm.

"Okay, so what the fuck - "

"Wait," Wesley said. He held up a hand for silence and Angel immediately shut up, recognizing when Wes's mental wheels were turning. Wes's free hand bobbed slightly, as though he were mapping out something in the air. Angel realized Wes was retracing his steps.

"Son of a bitch," Wes said, when he reached his conclusion. He immediately ran back for the car.

Angel kept pace with him easily. "Who?"

"Guess."

Angel thought about it, felt the answer click into place, and swore right along with him.

Actual torches lined the walls. Various symbols were sketched onto the floor. Smoke rose from incense burners. Three robed figures surrounded a teenaged girl.

And Angel was pissed.

"You know, I don't like a lot of things in this world," he said, striding into the room, "but being played is lowest on my list."

Rob, and two of his friends, jerked in surprise. "You -"

"I could say the same," Wes finished, coming right in behind him and looking as pissed as Angel felt. Of course for Wes the gun was doing most of the talking for him.

One of the random boys made a face - or as much as he could, with a mask on. "We're just having fun."

"Fine," Angel said, morphing into his own mask. "Let's play."

The boys were weaponless, which made subduing the two new members easy. Rob, on the other hand, grabbed the girl and bolted.

"I've got him," Angel said, chasing after him.

"I've got them," Wes replied as he pulled out rope to restrain them with.

Rob, encumbered as he was, knew the high school's basement better than Angel did. On the other hand, Angel was faster. He leapt over boilers, boxes and various other miscellany that every high school basement seemed to be made out of, appeared in front of Rob like magic, and knocked the boy to the ground.

Kathy tumbled out of his arms, too drugged, still, to fully get out of the way.

Rob scrabbled back. Angel advanced on him.

"I'll admit," Angel said, never dropping game face as he spoke, "that was kinda funny. Telling me and Wes that little story? Sending us on a wild goose chase? Having your friends try to kill us? Kinda funny."

"I thought so," Rob said. He pulled his foot up to his hand. Recognizing a concealed weapon when he saw one, Angel moved forward, stepped down, and smiled when he heard Rob's tibia and fibula snap in half.

"Of course," Angel said as Rob screamed in pain, "I think that's pretty funny too."

"God - " Rob gasped.

Angel swooped down on him, bringing their faces very close. He held Rob by the throat, just tight enough to make breathing something you couldn't take for granted. "Funny game, Rob. Hurting the girls. Using that old cover story. Pretending to call up aliens or demons. Except, know what? Now you've got me. And as demons go, I'm not real friendly."

Rob was crying now. Also he faintly smelled of piss.

"That's the thing about demons, Robbie," Angel said, squeezing the neck tighter. "There's always a nastier one lurking around the corner."

Rob, stupid soul that he was, tried to knock Angel's hand away.

Angel made a tsking sound of disapproval. "And here I thought you got off on power games. Fuck knows I do. Here's a game for ya - what do you get when you combine an asshole like you with a vampire like me?"

Rob tried to shake his head, whether to get a breath in or indicate he didn't know the answer, Angel couldn't tell.

"Nothing," Angel answered, slamming Rob's head back onto the floor and knocking the boy out. He stood up, brushing his hands clean. "'Cause you're a waste of my fucking time."

He turned, leaving the boy there.

And saw Kathy.

She was starting to wake up. Her eyes were fogged, but open, and her hands worked ineffectively at her bonds.

Angel watched her, taking in her struggle...

And felt hungry.

"Angel?" Wes's voice cut through his own mental fog.

"Get me the fuck out of here," Angel said, tearing himself away from the sight. "Get me out of here, now."

Wes stared at him, then nodded. "Okay."

A half hour later, they left Leyden Creek.

Fin.