And Everything After By Kuzibah

Disclaimer: All characters and Situations relating to �Buffy the Vampire Slayer� and �Angel� are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Greenwolf Productions, the WB, and (apparently) evil Fox. The author has received no monetary or material recompense for her efforts. However, she does accept lavish praise and constructive criticism (whatever that is). Follows �This Thing Vengeance� Archive- Sure, but email me and let me know where it�s going. Feedback- Absolutely. ********************* Manhattan, January 6th, 1996 Angel crouched at the edge of a streetlight�s pool of cool illumination, leafing rapidly though a well-worn paperback book. �For me the experience of killing had been cataclysmic�� he read, ���You whining coward of a vampire who prowls the night killing alley cats and rats�� to starve, to wither in thought on the one hand; and driven to kill on the other�� It was a book called �Interview with the Vampire.� He had purchased it at a street bazaar in Greenwich Village the summer previous for a quarter, its title irresistible to him, and had read it almost a dozen times since. The author had gotten many things wrong about vampires. Her creations, for instance, had no problem with mirrors or holy relics, but in some things she was eerily correct. Angel read the passage over and over about how vampires were made, amazed at her accuracy. He also dwelled on what he took to be the book�s main theme, that perhaps it was not such a blessing to live forever, and in this the author was almost telepathic. He paused, suddenly aware of a person nearby. He looked up to see two young women holding the styrofoam boxes the Salvationists used to distribute food among the destitute. One also had two blankets over her arm. Angel shoved the book inside his coat, not wanting to give them an excuse to engage him in conversation. �We have a meal for you,� the first said, �and a blanket if you need one.� She held out one of the boxes. Angel took it warily. �Do you have someplace to stay,� she went on, �our shelter is safe and warm.� �No,� Angel murmured, drawing away from them. �I�m okay.� He walked off, through the unused freight yard which had become a makeshift enclave of men, who through insanity, addiction, or plain bad luck, were part of New York�s homeless population. A number knew Angel by sight and nodded to him. Only a few had heard his name, and only one, Aram, had ever spoken more than a sentence or two to him. Angel avoided humans as much as he could, but Aram had moved him to pity. The man was half-blind, and had never recovered mentally from the shock of losing his wife and young son the same year he came home from being a prisoner of war in Vietnam. As far as Angel could gather, it had been a steady decline until he had ended up on the streets six years before. He begged now, and gathered cans and bottles for the few pennies deposit in a shopping cart he pushed everywhere. Angel found him easily, huddled near a small fire with two other men. Aram held his dog, Sparky, in his lap, feeding him bits of food from his own styrofoam box. Angel handed him the meal he had taken from the women. �Here,� he said. �Share it with Sparky.� �Oh, I can�t take your dinner,� Aram said. �No, take it,� Angel said, �I�ve eaten, I�m not hungry.� This was only half true: Angel was always hungry. His diet this past century never really filled him up, but he had eaten better than usual tonight, two rats living in the upholstery of an abandoned car. Either way, the boxed food did him no good at all. Gratefully, Aram took the box, splitting its contents with the little mongrel. Angel crouched nearby and reached out to pat the animal�s head. It was a remarkable dog, the first he had found since becoming a vampire that reacted without hatred or fear, treating him just like another man. It was a small thing, but after so long, Angel found himself moved by the creature�s blind trust. They sat in silence for a long time before the men rose and walked off towards whatever shelter they had for the night, Aram leaving last, Sparky perched in the shopping cart's front basket. "I'll see you tomorrow, Angel," Aram said. "And thanks again for the food." Angel waved to them as they left, then stayed by the dying fire until it was ashes. Cold weather was moving in, biting and damp. Maybe snow. He hoped not. The ice storms the winter before had been almost too much. At last he rose and began walking back to the abandoned basement where he had kept his nest the last few weeks. He'd have to move soon, he thought, onto another before someone noticed him. As he lifted the slab of concrete he left over the window-well, flakes of snow started to fall. Angel sighed heavily. He should have expected it. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * When Angel awoke the next night, it took him a moment to get his bearings. It was completely dark in his lair, for starters, and his heart sank as he realized this meant snow had covered the windows. The second thing he noticed was the strange quiet. Now he was alarmed. Only something major could shut down New York City. He went to the window, opened it and tried to push the slab of concrete aside. The snow above collapsed and fell down over him. He withdrew back into the cellar, the snow already soaking into his clothes. �Damn it,� he said to himself, and then approached the window again. The snow outside was deep, unusually deep. He�d have to dig himself out through it. �Well,� he murmured under his breath, �it�s not as though you�ve never done it before. He pushed his way out, and found himself floundering in soft snow that had drifted as high as his waist. He waded through it, only to find the streets and sidewalks still unplowed. He looked down the street to a billboard news ticker several blocks away. �Storm of the Century,� it read, �East Coast buried. NYC- 14 inches and counting�� Angel felt like bursting into tears. The city had come to a standstill, and it would take days for it to dig itself out. In the meantime, any prospective food supply would go deep into places he couldn�t follow, and it had been an especially lean year already. There was only one thing he could do. He retreated back to his nest, and bolstered the window against the still falling snow. He had to wait, and save his strength. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It was three days before the plows made it down the side street where he had taken refuge, piling the snow into six foot drifts along the sidewalk. Foot traffic was almost non-existent, and Angel found the streets deserted when he finally emerged again. He wandered, directionless, nearly insane with hunger. He reached this point at least once every winter, and he knew it was dangerous for him. He'd been hit by cars more than once, and had occasionally become so disoriented he'd stayed out past dawn and had to spend the day in the shadows between buildings, sometimes only a few feet from the killing sunlight. He hadn't quite reached that point yet, but it was coming. If the weather didn't warm up, and he kept using his strength walking through the snow, it would come faster. He walked along the edge of the road, keeping an eye open for cars, when he came to an overpass. He broke from the snowdrifts and relief washed over him. It was dry here, protected from the weather, and shadowed from the streetlights. He sank down to the sidewalk. There might be rats here, he thought with sudden hope. If he just sat still they would start to stir... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * He awoke to the sharp scent of gasoline filling his nostrils, then felt the prickle of it against his skin. Then, suddenly, unbearable heat. Almost against his will, Angel was on his feet, howling in terror. He was burning. He tore at his clothes and ran, plunging into the snowdrifts. He burrowed into them, rolling and ripping the gas-soaked rags from his body. The demon had taken over, and Angel burst out of the snow, his torso clad in little more than an undershirt, his face warped and roaring with anger. Three teenage boys stood several yards away, one holding a gas can. When they saw the demon they turned and ran, screaming. Angel pursued them for perhaps half a block before collapsing in exhaustion. He fell into the snow, cool and soothing against his tortured flesh, pure and sweetly scented. He rubbed it over his skin and his hair, washing away the gasoline, then stretched out on it, the precious, blessed snow. "You okay, man," a voice said off to his right. Angel rose to his hands and knees and looked over, squinting to make out the man's face. The man moved closer. "What happened to you?" "Fire," Angel croaked. The man came to him quickly. "Oh, Jesus," he said, "those Goddamn punks. I heard about them." He helped Angel to his feet. "What's your name?" "Liam," Angel said. He looked up into the man's face. "Oh, it's you," he said. "Just take me to the tavern, man. They'll help me there." "Yeah," the man said. "I think you need to sober up, now. Why don't you let me take you to an emergency room. It looks like you've got third-degree burns, here." Angel laughed. "Come on, Penn," he said, "you've never been afraid of a drop before." The man slung Angel's arm over his shoulders. "Whatever," he said, "we'll let the paramedics take a look at you..." Angel pushed the man down and staggered backwards. "Forget it, Penn," he said. "I'll catch up with you later." "Damned drunk," the man shouted after him, struggling to his feet as Angel lurched away. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "Hey, sweet thing," the woman, little more than a girl, really, called to him. "Ain't you cold?" "Oh, my love," Angel said, his voice low. He came up next to the woman and touched her arm, drawing her slightly away from her companions. "Hunting among the casual brides, my dear. How clever." The woman gave him a look, then glanced back at the two other women who stood a few feet away. "You a hustler, brother?" she said. "No bites 'cause of the snow. We're actually thinking of calling it a night." Angel gave a low chuckle. "Oh, Dru," he said, "you mad witch." The other two had moved closer, and the first woman looked over her shoulder at them. "Who's Dru?" she said. "He's a crackhead," the second woman said. "Maybe he thinks you look like Drew Barrymore," the third suggested. "Did you see her in that movie with what's-her-name? Whoopi Goldberg." Angel leaned close to the first woman's ear. "Shall we feast together, my love," he murmured. "You got fifty dollars," she answered, laughing. He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a rough shake. "Don't tease me, Dru," he growled. The woman punched him in the face as hard as she could. "You get away from me," she shouted, backing rapidly away. "Leave me alone, you crazy fuck." Angel laughed mockingly at her. "Fickle as always," he soothed, then turned and wandered into the darkness. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "The world's changed around us, William," Angel said to the young heroin addict who sat beside him by the freight yard campfire. The young man, whose name was, by coincidence, also William, nodded slowly. "Time was," Angel went on, "I knew every face in my local tavern. Now look around..." He gestured broadly to the surrounding group of homeless men. "Strangers, every one. The blessing is also a curse, my friend, we go on while our contemporaries go to their graves. Soon, you won't be able to find a decent bootmaker or chambermaid in all the Empire." Some of the men around mumbled agreement, while others laughed. "Cracked another one," someone said softly. "And where has kindness gone," Angel expounded. �Humans are giving us a run for our money, these days.� �True, true,� William said absentmindedly as he considered whether his new friend might have enough on him to buy another fix. �Angel, what are you doing, boy?� said a voice behind him as a hand touched Angel�s shoulder. �Dear God, you�re as cold as ice. Where�s your coat? Are you okay?� Angel turned around. �Do I know you, my good woman?� he asked politely. Several men in the circle laughed at this, but Aram ignored them. �Oh, Jesus,� he said softly, �it finally got to you, too. Come on, come with me.� He took Angel�s arm and raised him to his feet. Angel chuckled. �I stand corrected,� he said, �I was hungry and you gave me food.� �Oh, you�re hungry, too,� Aram said, leading Angel to his shopping cart. �Well, you missed the Mission girls, but I think I have a can of tuna or something in here. But you need warm clothes, first.� He began to rummage among the empty cans, pushing them aside. �Where�s that blanket, now,� he said to himself. Angel touched the man�s shoulder lightly. �Now, madam, you�ll warm me soon enough,� he said. Aram shrugged Angel�s hand away. �Crazy bugger,� he said. �We�ll get you some food, dry you out a little, you�ll be right again.� But Angel was examining the contents of the shopping cart. �Now here�s an unexpected gift,� he said. �A sweet innocent. Just the thing to whet my appetite.� Angel lifted the little dog into his arms. It whimpered only once as he sank his fangs into its soft, fleecy throat and drained its blood. Almost at once his senses returned to him and the shadows of his past vanished. He dropped the dog�s lifeless body onto the snow. Aram turned around, holding a gray wool blanket. �Here we go,� he said, then froze as he saw the blood on Angel�s lips. �What the hell�� He dropped to the ground and cradled the dead animal. �Sparky, oh my God. Angel�� Angel drew back. �I thought he was a baby,� he said softly. With sudden horror he realized what he was saying and what he had done, and his stomach heaved with disgust and remorse. Aram began weeping aloud. �Oh God,� he cried over and over, and many of the men came to see what had happened. A few shouted with anger when they saw the blood on the snow. Angel drew back into the darkness and fled, ashamed. He stayed inside for days afterward, unable to bear the thought of going out into a world where children would set a man on fire, where he had again brought pain to another human being. But at last he was driven above by hunger, as he always was, though he cursed his own weakness. He walked the streets until weary, then moved down an alley, rummaging in a dustbin, and sniffing the air for any sign. As if on cue, a rat raced across the alley and dove into a pile of refuse. Angel pounced after it, but he was exhausted, and the animal evaded him easily. Angel slumped down to the ground. He was close to the edge, and he thrashed fitfully with rage and frustration. Almost a hundred years he had endured this; what good had it done for him to be cursed if there was no way to make amends? �God, are you disgusting,� said a voice above him. Angel looked up, startled. A strange-looking man stood before him, looking down. �This is really an unforgettable smell,� the man went on. �This is the stench of death you�re giving off here. And the look says, uh� �crazy homeless guy.� It�s not good.� This was a bit of a hard sell for a Salvationist, Angel thought, but he wasn�t in the mood tonight. �Get away from me,� he snarled. The man sneered. �What are you gonna do, bite me?� He jumped back in mock-terror. �Horrors! A vampire!� Angel�s heart almost started with astonishment. He looked into the man�s face, trying to work through the haze in his brain. �Ah, but you wouldn�t bite me, on account of your poor, tortured soul,� the man continued. �It�s so sad, a vampire with a soul. It�s so poignant.� Angel felt lost. Was this another hallucination? �Who are you?� he said. The man extended his hand. �Let�s take a walk,� he said. Main Menu   ~  Lost Angel

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