*****

His dreams are of water.

When he sleeps, black water closes over his head. When he closes his eyes, his ears are filled with the sound of waves breaking, the hum of a boat engine, slowly receding in the distance.

Cold water surrounds him, presses against him like an unwanted lover. He knows he should feel terror, but all he can feel within the world of the dream is a hollow despair as he opens his mouth to let the black water in. The water rushes in, crushing him against black iron walls, smashing him to the black iron floor, until there is no words, and no world, only iron and ice.

The dreams were disturbing enough, and frequent enough, that after months of being on the road, after months of trying to ignore them, he found himself heading back to LA. There was only one person on the limited list of people he called "friend" who he'd trust with something like this, and that was Lorne. Lindsey rented a room at the first Best Western he saw, took a shower, changed his clothes, and drove down to Caritas.

Which wasn't there anymore. All that was left was a burnt out shell being further demolished by construction equipment. Gone. Just gone. Lindsey had an insane desire to pick through the rubble, looking for some evidence that his friend was alive. Instead, he drove by, more or less in a daze. After driving aimlessly for an hour or so, he found himself in front of the Hyperion. The building was dark, not even a light in the front office windows. And no cars in the parking lot. It was only seven pm, there should have been cars, there should have at least been lights, either on the upper floors, or the front office.

Unnerved, Lindsey parked his truck, grabbing the sledge hammer he'd taken to keeping on the floorboard of his truck. There was something wrong here, something that stank, and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He hopped out of the truck, locking and shutting the door behind him. The sledgehammer swung casually at his side, as he walked up to the Hyperion's front door, murmuring a protection spell as he went. He wanted to be over-reacting. He wanted Cordelia to answer the door, and shout that "born again boy" was here, he wanted Angel to make a comment about Lindsey coming back for a second try.

What he got, was an unlocked door, and an empty hotel. The lobby was a wreck. Furniture had been smashed, hacked to pieces or upended. The air was stale, and a thin film of dust covered every surface. There was a crudely drawn pentacle in the middle of the floor, and a cold spot not far from it. What the *hell* had Angel been up to, here?

And where was everyone now?

Further exploration upstairs revealed more destruction, and where Lorne had apparently gone, after his bar/apartment had burned down. From all appearances Lorne had left again, after leaving a few belongings behind. Odds and ends, a couple John Bradshaw self help books, a singed sport coat, and a cufflink. In addition to Angel's suite, he also found a messy, cluttered room that had apparently been occupied by the world's first packrat-physicist, and a another room, which had been prepared for occupancy, but never slept in. Angel's suite had been wrecked in a fashion similar to what Lindsey had seen down in the lobby, destroyed with a --Lindsey wanted to say "vengeful"--ferocious abandon.

Who had done this? What had happened to Angel's...friends?

Lindsey returned to his hotel room before evening, setting his sledge hammer where it could be easily reached. With some seasalt, and water from the tap he warded his room from prying eyes and negative energy. With a candle as a focus, and a cone of jasmine incense, he tried to calm the turbulence of his mind. The former was more successful than the latter. Eventually, Lindsey's attempt at meditation ended with him curled on top of the covers, asleep.

Water laps around him, black and cold, he sinks like a stone, numb with grief. He sinks, he falls, and the falling seems to last forever until his prison gently bumps against the bottom of the sea. He wonders if the sun will reach him when daylight comes, then forgets why that would be important, or disturbing. He's alone, and it's cold and dark--this is hell, and worse than hell, because in hell, he was never this *alone*.

Hell?

The dream shifts, and Lindsey is standing in green grass among spindly pines. It's a park, with trails running through it. Not far from where he's standing are a pair of men in SCA garb attacking each other with bamboo swords. Ravens call to each other in the trees, and a squirrel scampers along a low stone wall. Also watching the men, while also playing some obscure game involving pine cones, pebbles, and circles drawn in the dirt with sticks, were three children. Two boys and a girl, with white, cataract filmed eyes.

The girl gestured for him to come over with the stick she held in her hand. Lindsey found himself walking over to the three children, and squatting down. Three concentric rings had been drawn in the dirt. Stones represented people, and pinecones were buildings. Grass scattered over part of the circle was intended to indicate water. The ocean. "This is LA, isn't it?"

The children nodded.

"This is the Champion," One of the boys said, and picked up a round red stone from near the pine cone that Lindsey knew represented the Hyperion, and set it back on the ground.

"One of many," the other boy said with a frown, and picked up three stones from one of the out rings. Two black, and one grey. "This is the son of the Champion, and two bad guys." The other two children frowned ferociously at the third child. "They *are*," the boy muttered, and Lindsey couldn't stifle a grin. For a moment, surreal mysticism was replaced by purely childlike behavior as the other two parts of the Triumvirate glared at the third. The feeling Lindsey got, was that a carefully choreographed presentation, full of metaphor and symbolism, had just been wrecked.

Then Lindsey blinked as something the boy said registered. "Wait... the Champion is Angel, right? How could he have a son?"

The boy shrugged, and set the three stones together, slightly apart from the "Hyperion" pine cone. The girl snatched up two of the stones, one grey and one black, placing a dead leaf over the third black stone. The other boy picked up yet another stone, and set it between the Hyperion and the "Wolfram and Hart" pine cone. The girl drew a line between the two pine cones, just below the stone.

"Who?" Lindsey asked, wondering if the stone represented himself.

"That's you," the smaller boy stabbed his stick at a uneven piece of quartz balanced on the edge of the center ring, then at the stone that had been placed between the Hyperion and Wolfram and Hart. "That's Wesley."

Stones were taken way, moved or replaced, as the story unfolded. Images that flickered in a strange third person viewpoint, as if he was in three or more places at once. Wesley and his fear, Angel and his rage. Holtz and his revenge, with Angel's son a willing tool. Cordelia and her choice. A confusing nightmare blur of images, ending with Angel in a metal box, sinking into the ocean, while Cordelia rose high in the air toward a bright light.

The bright light expanded from a twinkling point, to a stream of sunlight coming from the gap between the curtains. Vivid images from the dream flashed through his brain. The children and their game of stones. Wesley. Angel sinking in a metal box. The musty smell of pine, and for some reason, the squirrels. He didn't understand half of what the children had shown him--maybe *they* didn't understand. Powerful as the young Triumvirate was, they were still kids, with a kid's understanding of the world.

"What do you want from me?" Lindsey asked aloud. Of course, there was no answer. He hadn't really expected one. Apparently, he was expected to play this by ear. If the content of the dreams he'd been having for the past six months were any indication, the kids (he assumed that the dreams had been sent by them, though he couldn't be absolutely certain) wanted him to rescue Angel from his watery grave. He could also assume, from his most recent dream, that they also wanted him to try and keep Wesley on the side of the angels. Pretty tall order to ask of just one man--but again, they were kids, so their perspective was off.

By about a mile.

Lindsey took a shower, got dressed, and headed out. He didn't have a direction in mind, he just drove, randomly along half-familiar streets, and stopped at a magic supply store. It wasn't a place he'd ever frequented before, so hopefully, he wouldn't meet anyone there who might recognize him. After browsing through the selection of books both ancient and modern, studying tarot decks and rune cards, over priced crystal balls and pink quartz pyramids, he bought some beeswax candles, a few extra candle stick holders, a rosemary wreath, and a few bundles of sage.

He returned to the Hyperion, and parked his car behind the hotel, in front of the service entrance. Taking his sledgehammer and magical supplies he cautiously re-entered the hotel through the back entrance, which Lindsey assumed had also been left unlocked when it had been...vacated. Lindsey made a careful sweep of the building, assuring himself that he was alone in the building, before entering Angel's suite. The spell he had in mind to try would leave him vulnerable, during it's casting and after, so he didn't want to take any chances, even though, to all appearances, the place was deserted. He took a comb he found in the bathroom, and a black silk shirt he found hanging in the closet, and laid them out on the floor.

Lindsey lit one of the sage bundles, and smudged the room before setting up the rest of his magical supplies. He set a candle at each of the cardinal points of the room, and lit them. The two placed on either side of the shirt he left unlit. With the rosemary wreath in hand, he cast the circle, then sat down on the floor. Lindsey chanted the spell, lighting the remaining two candles as he did so.

The honey smell of beeswax mixed with the evergreen sharpness of the rosemary, and the acrid bite of sage. Images flickered through his mind.

Greenish black, light-shot water, and the hollow roaring sound that occurs when your ears are full of water. He was under the water again, this time as an observer. It was like watching a security camera, or being one. He ran the "camera" backwards from the time the box hit bottom, slowing down and commiting things like names, addresses and faces to memory so that he'd be able to write them down later.

Lindsey came up out of the trance a few hours later, exhausted and a little nauseous. He reached for a note book and a pen to write the addresses down when he became aware that he was not alone. He froze. "Hello Wesley," he said calmly. He sat back on his heels, but otherwise, made no other movements. He could just make out Wesley's form in the doorway, shadowy and indistinct out of the corner of his eye.

"What are you doing here?" Rough, bruised voice, as if the inside of his throat had been scraped raw. A voice that made Lindsey's own throat ache with sympathy. Wesley stepped slowly into the room, until he stood before Lindsey. Though he thought he had known what to expect, Lindsey was still surprised by Wesley's appearance. This was not the reserved and carefully groomed man that Lindsey vaguely remembered--this was someone else entirely. Unshaven, rumpled, a fading, twisted scar on his neck. A dark, half mad look in his eyes. And a gun that was aimed toward Lindsey.

"In general, or specific?" Lindsey asked after a few minutes. He held very still, though what he wanted to do, was slump to the floor and take a nap for oh, about a hundred years or so.

There was a brief, scimitar curve of a smile. "Both."

"I was sent...to find you, and Angel," Lindsey said. The room spun in slow circles, and it was an effort to keep his eyes focussed on Wesley.

"Indeed?" Wesley squatted down on his heels, elbows resting on his thighs, and his gun now at an angle, pointed away from Lindsey. "Who sent you then?"

"Tri-trium...the kids, the kids me an' Angel saved," Lindsey said. "Sent dreams...under the water, sinking but not drowning..." Lindsey trailed off--tired, so damn tired....The black water was closing over his head now, and Lindsey sank to the bottom.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lindsey resurfaced, awakening on the bed in Angel's suite. His head ached dully, and his mouth felt like something had crawled in and died. The only sound in the room was the sound of music playing softly--something classical--and the crackle-hiss of pages in a book being turned. Wesley was seated in a chair next to the bed, reading by the light of a flash light. On the nightstand, a radio was playing. He looked up as Lindsey shifted on the bed. "Would you like something to eat?"

Lindsey nodded, and sat up.

Something to eat was take out Chinese--some eggrolls and fried rice--and a can of warm Pepsi. Wesley watched him eating for several minutes before speaking. "The Triumvirate sent you to find me, you said." Wesley's tone was clinical, detached, as if he were discussing the weather--in another country.

Lindsey swallowed some Pepsi. "Yeah," he said. He paused a moment, to try and put his thoughts into something resembling order. "About four months ago, I started getting these dreams--not quite nightmares, but I'd wake up in a cold sweat, scared out of my mind--dreams about being dropped into the ocean in a metal box." He paused, glancing up at Wesley. There was almost no expression on the man's face. "Anyway, the dreams got so bad, I decided to come see Lorne--and Caritas was gone."

Wesley nodded. "Lorne was staying here, for a time, after his home was destroyed. He left, shortly before Angel and Cordelia's...disappearances." The blank mask cracked a little. "Did...did your dream involve Cordelia? In any way?"

Lindsey shook his head. "No, but when I got back to my hotel after looking around here, I tried to meditate...and I had another dream, this time though, I saw the kids. I remember them talking to me..." He frowned, trying to recall the details of that dream. "I don't remember a lot of that dream, but I remember her rising up in the air on a beam of light, and her thinking that she was ascending to a higher plane or something like that....At the same time, I saw Angel, sinking into the ocean." He looked up. "They showed me what happened..." He trailed off, glancing up at Wesley, at the scar across Wesley's throat.

"She thought--do you have reason to believe that she was...mistaken?"

"I think *she* believed she was ascending to a higher plane." Lindsey shook his head. "But if she actually was or not? I don't know."

Wesley nodded. "I...when I realized that both Cordelia and Angel were... missing, I attempted to locate them." Wesley looked down at the book in his lap, for a moment, then looked up. "I was unsuccessful...I believe that I was being...blocked from seeing anything."

"By who?" Lindsey asked.

"I'm not sure," Wesley said, after a moment. "I have suspicions however, though precious little by way of real evidence." Wesley paused for a moment, wincing slightly, and reached for a glass of water that had been sitting on the bed side table. He sipped, before continuing. "You however, were successful?"

"I know what pier the boat left from, and I know roughly, where they dropped him. Other details...are kind of hazy." Lindsey said carefully. He was feeling more awake now that he'd slept and had something to eat, and he was feeling more alert. And cautious. "I...didn't get a chance to write anything down, of what I saw."

Wesley nodded. "I am sorry for that, Mr. Mc Donald--"

"Lindsey."

There was an odd, almost startled look in Wesley's eyes, then a very faint smile, gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Lindsey," he corrected himself. "I...When I discovered that someone was here, had been here recently--" Wesley broke off, a pained expression flickering across his face. "I had thought...that perhaps Lilah or some other person in Wolfram and Hart's employ was also attempting to...discover Angel's whereabouts. When I realized that a spell had recently been cast, I was sure of it." Wesley's voice cracked slightly as he spoke, fading into a strained near-whisper as he spoke. He paused for a moment, and drank some more water.

Lindsey nodded. "My being up here must have been something of a suprise then," he said with a smile.

"It was at that," Wesley said with a faint smile of his own. "You were the last person I would have expected to be here." He gave Lindsey a speculative look. "Perhaps that's why the...children...sent you."

Lindsey shrugged. "Maybe." He drank some more Pepsi, and tried to gather his thoughts. Wesley was looking for Angel. Wesley thought Wolfram and Hart was looking for him as well, most notably Lilah. Lilah was, or had been trying to get Wesley to sign on with Wolfram and Hart. The kids wanted...he still wasn't quite sure what they wanted, but it involved Wesley *not* being taken in by Wolfram and Hart. The kids had *sent* him the dreams, but they hadn't actually said *"Go rescue Angel from the briny deep,"* or anything to that effect. They'd somehow seemed more interested in *Wesley* than in Angel, for some reason.

"So, you now know what became of Angel," Lindsey said casually. "What are you going to do now?"

Wesley's brows raised in faint surprise. "You don't propose that we rent a boat and attempt to rescue Angel?"

Lindsey shook his head. "No, I don't." *Not until I know who or what side you're on, anyway.* He paused a moment, finished off the Pepsi, and set the empty can on the nightstand. "Tell me what happened here, my...information pretty much ends when Angel gets buried at sea."

Wesley smiled, a faint, bitter twist of his lips. "Connor happened, I believe. After Angel was buried at sea, he and Justine returned to the hotel. They attacked Winifred and Gunn, who according to my sources, were barely able to escape with their lives." Wesley paused for a moment, regret and bitterness both flickering across his face. "I'm not sure what became of Fred and Gunn after word...my sources believe that they're no longer in LA."

Lindsey wondered who Wesley's sources might be, but didn't ask. He suspected that Lilah might have told him about it. He could almost see her, with that cream-fed smirk of hers, telling Wesley all about it. "Then Connor and Justine wrecked the place?" Lindsey asked.

Wesley nodded. "I'm not sure if it was in simple rage at being thwarted, or if...they were looking for something," he paused thoughtfully. "They took a large number of books from my--from the collection downstairs."

Lindsey wondered *what* books had been taken, but didn't ask that question yet. "What about Connor and Justine...are they still in town?" Lindsey had a sudden, nagging worry that the pair might go after Lorne. After all, Lorne had been living in the hotel, a de facto member of Angel's merry band.

"That's...difficult to say," Wesley said after a moment of thought. "My sources believe that both he and Justine seem to still be in LA...yet no one has been able to trace where they might be hiding." He looked at Lindsey, an almost amused look on his face. "I might add, that in addition to some rather random demonology texts and collections of various prophecies, several grimoires were taken."

Lindsey blinked. "You're saying that one of them is a sorcerer? Or might have gone to one?" Or gone to Wolfram and Hart themselves, though he didn't think that was likely. A memory of the game board from his dream came to him. The positioning of the stones. Himself, outside the circle, but apparently being put in play, Wesley's stone standing between the hotel and Wolfram and Hart...and Connor and Justine being taken out of play? Or had they simply concealed themselves so well that the Triumvirate couldn't locate them? Which was entirely possible...the kids were still young, and wouldn't reach their full potential for years and years.

"It would explain...a great deal, I think," Wesley said carefully. "A very great deal." Wesley rose to his feet as he spoke, and Lindsey followed suit. "You've given me a great deal to think about, Mr. Mc Donald," Wesley said with another speculative look. "I would like to...continue this conversation...perhaps tomorrow?"

Lindsey nodded, warily. "Sounds good to me, where do you want to meet?"

Wesley appeared to consider the question carefully. "There's a deli not far from my apartment." To Lindsey's surprise, Wesley tore a end page from the book he'd been reading, pulled a pen out of his coat pocket, scribbled out an address on the piece of paper and handed it to Lindsey. Lindsey took the end page, though not without a questioning look. The smile on Wesley's face was nearly a smirk. "Dante's Inferno...Lilah sought to make a point of some kind or another."

Lindsey smiled. "Comparing you to Judas, maybe?" He guessed, then laughed at Wesley's nod. "Not the piece of literature I would have chosen, personally. What time should I meet you at this deli?"

"Ten thirty," Wesley said and headed toward the door, Lindsey following after. They made their way downstairs in silence, and from there, to where their vehicles were parked. Lindsey was just about to get into the truck when he heard Wesley calling his name. He looked back at Wesley, who had just started the motor on his bike. "What piece of literature would you have chosen, Mr. McDonald?"

"The Tragical History of Doctor Faust," Lindsey said.

"Why, this is Hell; nor am I out of it." Wesley quoted with, with a slight questioning note at the end.

Lindsey grinned. "Something like that."

*****
tbc