Shadows of Dreams

Chapter One

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Angel moved amongst the shadows of the club, the deep bass beat throbbing through the floor and walls, the vibrations were such that it pulsed through him like a long dead heartbeat.  It was an illusion and would fool most of the mortals into believing that the regular patrons of the club were human, but Angel knew better. Demons, vampires and other nightmarish ghouls, they were the true clientele the club catered to.  Indeed the club attracted the type of mortals who wouldn’t be missed ~ lost souls, discarded by humanity, and an embarrassment to society. Many were barely more than children, young adults who had somehow lost their way. No one would care if they didn't come home, no one would mourn their loss or even identify the mutilated bodies as they lay on the cold shelves of the morgue. Angel knew that for many of them there was no one to care.

As he scanned the patrons, identifying the few demons scattered about, a tiny figure seated at the bar caught his attention.  Ragged red hair, hanging loosely in limp, knotted strands, falling across a face that was tilted down, concentrating on the drink wrapped in pale hands. Angel couldn't see her face, but the hair, even in its disheveled state, was alarmingly familiar. Hesitating, he stayed in the shadows, watching her, waiting.  For what, he wasn’t sure.  Even as the club buzzed around her, people coming and going, ordering drinks and the stools next to hers were abandoned, she barely moved apart from taking sips from her drink. 

The glass was nearly empty when a good-looking blond sauntered over to her and Angel grimaced, after all demons weren’t the only predators in the establishment.  The blond’s words did nothing to ease the vampire’s misgivings as he ordered drinks. 

"And another for the lady here thanks," the blond turned to smile at the girl. "You look sad for a person who holds such beauty."

Willow didn't even bother to look at the guy. She’d heard better lines, she’d heard worse. It all meant nothing, whether or not they believed what they said, it was all lies. To see the truth, she merely had to look at the mirrored walls of the bar and her reflection. There, and only there, was the truth as she saw it. A pale face, hallowed cheeks and dark shadows under her eyes, all framed by lackluster red rag of hair. Most frightening of all were the eyes. Once so bright, clear and brilliant were now bleak, blood shot and haunted.

"Let me put a smile on that pretty face,” it was the sound of the blond’s voice and his hand touching the small of her back that broke through her reverie, drew her attention away from the reflection that she could barely recognize as her own. “I can take you to heaven..."

"I've been in hell to long to even vaguely remember what anything else is like," her voice was hoarse and low.

"Well, let me show you how to get out of the pits of hell," he whispered into her ear. For the first time since he sat next to her, Willow turned her head to face him, allowing her eyes to roam over his body. Licking her dry lips, she gave a small shadow of a smile.

"Why don't you do us both a favor? Find yourself a nice whore and fuck off."

Angel stumbled back deeper into the shadows. He had recognized the voice the first time she’d spoken. When she’d turned her head to show her face it confirmed his suspicions.  But the face had changed so much and that comment...never, in all his time at Sunnydale, had he heard Willow use the word ‘fuck’ and coupled with the physical change in her appearance it shocked him to the core. What had happened to the girl he knew? He could only watch in disbelief, unable to reconcile the figure sitting at the bar with the girl he once knew, as she finished her drink and twisted around on the bar stool to stand.  With her head down and her arms wrapped tightly about her waist, she left the blond and the bar behind, making her way out of the club.

There was nothing Angel could do but follow. 

Even so, Angel kept his distance from the redhead, staying far enough behind to be concealed from her.  Not that he was in any great threat of being discovered, she walked on, hunched up and oblivious to his presence.  There was nothing familiar in the girl who walked in front of him, the clothes, a long sleeved top matched with a short black skirt and knee-high leather boots, hung from a skeleton and were a far cry from the usual fluffy items he’d been use to her wearing.  Gone too was the scrambled walk, like she was desperate to catch up, frantic and worried that she’d fall behind.  No, there was none of that now ~ she seemed almost disillusioned, her feet practically dragging along the pavement. 

Increasing his stride, Angel moved in closer, barely three steps behind her.  Still, she made no acknowledgment of being followed.  It wasn’t natural for a person not to glance over their shoulder at the sound of heavy footsteps, especially with all her time spent in Sunnydale, and Angel wondered.  He could feel the heat her body was generating, higher than normal, a fever perhaps.  Blood still pounded through the redhead’s veins, he could hear that, coupled with rattling lungs as she struggled to breathe.  But there was more to this change than a mere illness, he could tell by the way she was walking.  Her body was tense, arms wrapped about herself offering a physical comfort while she yearned for something more…some type of release.

The large glass doors of the cheap hotel stopped his tailing and Angel watched as she disappeared into the lobby. He’d nearly been walking on top of her, it would have been easy to raise his hand and touch her, he’d been that close and yet she never realized.  Glancing up at the name blazoned across the doors, Angel wondered if he’d been mistaken.  It couldn’t have been Willow, she couldn’t have changed so much in such a relatively short period of time.  Burying his hands in the pockets of his coat, he turned and walked away, heading back to his office. 

Of course denial never works and with every step he took the more troubled he became, his stride lengthening as his mind turned over what he’d seen in the last hour and the streets became a blur that resulted in his office.  Throwing himself into the chair behind his desk, Angel stared into the darkness, a darkness that couldn’t block out the painful image that was tormenting him.  There had to be some rational explanation for…for what?  He was grasping at straws, it probably wasn’t even Willow, just some girl who bore an uncanny resemblance and Willow was safe and sound in Sunnydale, helping Giles…

Angel glanced at the office clock that hung on the wall, smugly proclaiming it was close to four in the morning.  There was one way he could find out for certain if it was Willow and his hand hovered over the phone, unsure as to whether to wait until a more decent hour.  Resigning himself to the fact that he had to know, he picked up the phone and dialed.  While the mechanical buzz repeated itself over and over again, Angel grabbed a pen and wrote down the name of the hotel on his desk pad. The line crackled as the handset was picked up.

"Giles, it’s Angel."

"What?" asked the bemused English voice at the other end of the line. "Angel? What on earth is so important to call at this god forsaken time of night?"

"I’m sorry to call so late, but I need some information,” he hesitated, not sure he wanted to know the answer to the question he needed to ask.  “Where’s Willow?"  The relatively simple question was met with silence and Angel frowned.  “Giles?”

"Willow? Well, we don’t...I mean to say...well...she’s…” the voice had lost all traces of sleepiness, replaced instead by tones of anguish.  “I have no idea."

"What do you mean?” Angel asked quietly, sitting up in the chair and tightening his hold on the receiver.  Suddenly the hope that he’d been going senile in his old age and that he’d been mistaken seemed rather dashed.

"Sometime after you left Willow decided that she’d made a mistake in wanting to further her education at the local college and so she accepted a position at an university in Boston," Giles explained.

"She’s in Boston then?" Angel queried.

"No…my understanding is that she…well, she never made it there,” the Watcher paused for a moment and Angel could hear him fumbling about, the distinct click of a light was almost obscured by a despondent sigh. “She just…she disappeared.  Why are you asking?"

"I think…I'm pretty sure she's here, in LA,” Angel admitted, his mind flashing back to the scene in the club and he winced.  As Giles began a barrage of questions that he couldn’t even start to comprehend or answer, he wondered what had happened.  There was something seriously wrong, that was obvious ~ for a girl to go missing and then just show up…no, it didn’t happen like that and especially not with the Willow he’d known in Sunnydale.  “Giles, I can’t tell you anything.  Like I said, I only think I saw her.  I haven’t spoken to her and she certainly wasn’t aware of me…you’d better tell me what you know.”

"Oh, yes, well," Angel could hear Giles fumbling around on the end of the phone. "I suppose the place to start is at the beginning.  Unfortunately I am not exactly sure where that is. After you left, the main concern, anxiety, was of course Buffy. You can well imagine the emotional turmoil involved..."

"I know, Giles, but it was best for all parties concerned, " Angel sighed, Buffy's pain was understandable, it was something that he’d thought about and tormented himself with too much.  But at the moment, his concern was for Willow.

"Oh, no. I didn't mean to insinuate...” Giles cleared his throat as he gathered his thoughts.  “What I mean to say, is that Buffy was my main concern and she took precedence over everything else, or rather everyone else.”

The line went quiet for a moment and Angel rubbed at his forehead in frustration, all he wanted was an explanation to the changes he’d witnessed and at the moment he wasn’t getting any, nothing plausible.  Then the Watcher mentioned the very name he was concentrating on.

“Willow, well, she seemed fine at first, perhaps tired and a little more quiet than usual.  However, with my attention focused on consoling Buffy...well…I overlooked Willow’s behavior, dismissed it as nothing unusual,” again he paused.

“Was there anything unusual?” Angel asked, prompting the other man.

“Not at first. As I said, she appeared to be merely tired and withdrawn, which I perceived to be nothing more than a mild case of nerves with regard to her impending entrance into college and perhaps a reflection of the events that had taken place…” hesitation and regret crept into his voice and Angel frowned, concentrating on the words, trying to find some type of clue.  "A few weeks after everything settled down, well, it became obvious that there was something wrong.  The fatigue was constant, in fact at times it was overwhelming. When I questioned her, she merely dismissed it, claimed she doing too much and not getting enough sleep.”

Angel closed his eyes and leant back in the chair, listening as Giles continued his tale.

“Then, one day while she was helping me organizing the new library in my apartment, she fell asleep.  I thought, at the time, it was best to let her rest,” he paused and cleared his throat again, his voice growing lower as he resumed talking.  “All I can say is that she had some sort of nightmare, she…she became restless and started to cry out. I tried to wake her, but I couldn’t, and she just seemed to be drawn deeper into the dream.  Eventually, she seemed to come out of it, woke up, but she was hysterical and couldn’t be consoled at all.  Finally she calmed down enough to talk, but she wouldn’t.  She was adamant that she was fine, brushed it off as a very vivid nightmare and that she simply wanted to go home."

"She didn't say what the dream was about?" Angel was puzzled, how could a dream terrify someone so much?

"No. Every time I would try to discuss it with her, she’d shrug it off, put it down to stress and insisted she was fine.  It was clearly obvious that she wasn’t…she became far more withdrawn, exceptionally nervous….” Giles paused again, his voice catching as he fought to control his emotions.  “But she wouldn't tell us anything, Angel. Nothing. Within a month of my witnessing the nightmare, I suppose you would call it, she announced she was going to Boston,” there was another pause and Angel couldn’t even find the words to encourage the Watcher to continue.  “Willow left a few days after that and within a week her parents reported her as a missing person."

"That was six months ago, Giles," Angel barely whispered into the receiver.

"I know. I had, well…with her state of mind I was worried that..." he left the sentence hanging and Angel knew the implications of the statement ~ Giles thought that Willow was dead. Nightmares wouldn't destroy a person as much as this. Turn her from her friends and family who’d had to hopelessly watch as a young girl pushed them away and withdrew into herself until she was lost.  Angel glanced down at his desk and the name of the hotel he had seen her enter.

"Was there anything else? Odd questions?  Was she doing any research on her own? Nothing happened that you know of?" Angel scrambled for some type of clue that might help him.

"No, I have reconsidered every conversation we had, her interactions with everyone, every single comment she made. I have gone over everything a thousand times and each time I find less and less to offer any guidance or explanation as to what happened," Giles voice was quiet and full of sorrow. “Do you think it is possible…that the girl you saw was Willow?”

"Maybe, I don’t know.  For the time being I think it’s best that we keep this between ourselves, Giles.  Don't tell anyone we had this conversation. No one," Angel stated, the last thing he wanted was the Scooby Doo Gang coming to the rescue when he didn't even know what he was dealing with. "I'll let you know what happens."

"Don't let her get hurt, Angel," with that final comment Giles rang off and Angel was left listening to a dial tone. 

Letting the handpiece settle back into its cradle, Angel thought that maybe it was too late for that concern. He leant back in the chair, closing his eyes and the scene at the club replayed through his mind, her actions and words, her very appearance. It left him feeling sick, to think that she’d changed so much in such a short period of time. More so was knowing that whatever was happening she was totally alone. Angel knew what that was like; he had nearly a century of suffering, completely devoid of any support. He opened his eyes, no longer wanting to see the painfully vivid image of despair and his thoughts fell once more to the name of the Hotel. Picking up the phone he dialed information and then the number.

An undeniably perk female voice answered, brightly announcing the name of both the hotel and herself.

"Hi, this is James Harlow from the Blaze Club," Angel said, pausing to consider how to get the information he needed. "We had one of your guests leave her wallet here, a red-headed girl..."

Before Angel could even think up a plausible excuse as to why he didn't know a name the receptionist willingly supplied all the information he needed.

"Oh, that would be Jenny in room 28. She's the only redhead here. So quiet though, I wouldn't have thought the Blaze would be her type of thing. But you know what they say - it's always the quiet ones! I can put you through to her room if you like?"

"No. That's okay. I just need her details so we can send her wallet over in the morning...unless she’s only staying there for the night?" Angel was suddenly relieved to find a receptionist in LA who didn't mind giving out information.

"Oh no, she'll be here. She's paid up until next Tuesday, so I can't imagine her going anywhere. And it's not like she'll need her wallet - she never goes out during the day, stays in her room. I guess she's a bit of a night creature," the receptionist laughed down the line.

"So it's Jenny, room 28?" Angel checked the information.

"That's her," the receptionist cheerfully replied.

"Thanks," Angel didn't even wait for a reply before he dropped the hand piece back down.

'Night creature', that comment hit a raw nerve. Angel knew that there was no possibility that she had been turned. He had clearly heard a heart beat, the unnerving rattle of her lungs as she’d struggled to breathe…no, she was still very much a human. Glancing at the clock he reasoned the sun would be up soon and there was nothing more that could be done before then.  Writing a brief note to Doyle, leaving explicit instructions to call every doctor in Sunnydale regarding Willow Rosenberg, but under no circumstances was Cordelia to be involved, he wondered if there could be a medical reason for Willow’s situation.  At this point of time, he was open to all possibilities.

Dropping the note on Doyle's desk, safe in the knowledge that the little Irishman would be in hours before Cordelia, Angel made his way up to his apartment downstairs.  As usual, it was quiet and he made his way over to the gramophone, carefully moving the arm and letting the needle drop down onto the record.  The concerto began to weave its way through the apartment, filling the empty area with its melodic sounds, and it offered a distraction from his thoughts.  His usual early morning routine of feeding and showering was adhered to before he retired to his bed to get some sleep.  Or rather he tried to get some sleep, although it seemed to be the last thing he could obtain.  For hours, Angel tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and the small amount of time he actually spent sleeping, he dreamt of Willow. Holding out her hands begging for him to help her, but she stayed elusively out of his reach until she was consumed by a blackness, her scream waking him and letting him return to his tossing.

***

"Anything Doyle?" Angel looked at the little Irishman, hoping he’d been able to find something.

"Dr Jacobs, prescribed sleeping pills. Anxiety induced insomnia. That's it," Doyle stated, handing over a facsimile of the information. Angel scanned it quickly, looking for anything that could have been missed. There was nothing.

"Damn," Angel swore softly in his frustration.

"So," Doyle sat down. "You going to tell me what's going on?"

"How can I tell you something I don’t even know myself?" Angel passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing at his forehead. It was another hour before he could go out and look for her. Even if he found her, he didn't know exactly what he was going to do. He could feel the weight of Doyle’s stare and he glanced up to be greeted by a pair of troubled blue eyes. "Willow is a friend...she needs help."

"How do you know that?" Doyle asked calmly. Angel grimaced and told him briefly of the previous nights events.

"And if she doesn't want your help?" Doyle questioned. Angel stared at him; he had never even considered that to be a question. The look on Angel’s face was enough for Doyle to know to stay out of it. Reluctantly, the half demon stood and ambled towards the main office. "Okay, I've got things to do."

"Thanks," Angel acknowledged as he reached the door.

Another hour, it seemed a lifetime.

Five hours later Angel stood across the street from her hotel.  He’d searched the clubs and cafes in the surrounding area without finding any sign of Willow and the hotel was his last possibility. He was hoping that she hadn't left her room yet. Not that he had any idea of how he was going to approach her or even what he was going to say.  Anxiously, he turned to take a walk back up the street when the heavy glass door swung open and she stepped out onto the street. Relief washed over him and he crossed the street, easily falling into step behind her.

Angel watched as she walked, she was wearing the same outfit as the previous night and it was almost painful to watch. Her hands and other exposed skin were as white as bleached bone, her hair still hung in strands, and she appeared to be totally oblivious to what was happening around her. She seemed so tiny, so fragile, and so very alone.

"Willow," Angel spoke softly, barely two steps behind her. At the sound of his voice, she stopped, her head snapped up and he could see her shoulders tense. Stepping forward, he called her name again. "Willow?"

Her breath was coming faster and she turned her head slightly. That small acknowledgement, the recognition of his voice, was a great relief to the dark haired vampire.  It was a start. Or so he thought until she swung around to face him, her features set in a twisted grimace.

"Here you are ~ I was wondering where you’d got to," a smile quivered on her lips and Angel’s brow furrowed.  "You've been so quiet...I almost missed you. And you offer so much to miss, don't you?" she broke his gaze and brought her arms up to wrap protectively about herself as she nervously glanced about the deserted street they were in, searching for something, her eyes wide with fear. "I mean where would I be without your loving support, your encouraging words and your razor sharp wit? What’s it going to be this time?  Hmm?  Or are you here to tell me it's alright, to offer your comfort..."

She stopped her speech, looking at him with sheer hatred. It was the intensity of that hatred which alarmed Angel. Never had he seen so much anger and pain in those green eyes, confusion and anguish.

"Willow, I..." he didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure what she was saying.

"You can just go to Hell," spat Willow, bringing her hand up and slapping Angel hard across the face. The crack of her hand against his flesh seemed to reverberate around the alley and Willow stepped back, her eyes wide in panic. She stared at him for the briefest of moments and then looked down at her flaming red hand.

"Willow," for the first time Angel reached out and lightly took hold of her arm, trying to read her face through the mask of shock.

"Angel?" Willow kept staring at her hand, swaying on her feet slightly. It was almost like she had been the one to be slapped and she looked back up into Angel’s eyes. "No, no, no! You aren't real! You can't be!"

Before he could even answer, she began to desperately fight against his hold on her arm.  In a purely instinctive move, Angel caught her other arm as she struck out at him.  A scream of pain left her and she surged forward, lashing out at him using her feet and teeth, like some wild animal that had been trapped in a cage.

"Willow," Angel almost bellowed her name as he attempted to still her fight. She managed to free one of her arms and threw herself bodily at Angel, knocking him slightly off balance. It was enough for Willow to break free and turn to run. "Willow!"

Angel launched himself and caught her wrist, spinning her back around.

"No, please no," she begged, her eyes full of unshed tears. She scrambled back from him as far as she could, twisting her wrist trying to gain her freedom.

Angel stared at her, shock plainly visible on his face. He could feel the skin on her wrist start to tear under his grasp as she continued to struggle. Angel’s mind spun, if he let her go she would run, if he didn't let her go she was going to hurt herself.

"I'm so sorry, Willow," he whispered to her as he bought his free hand up to her throat and squeezed.

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