HydrogenJukebox

Disclaimer: The character of Angel and situations relating to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the WB Network. No ownership by the author is implied. Poetry excerpts are from the Lawrence Ferlinghetti collection "Starting From San Francisco" and are also used entirely without permission.

Follows �Dreamland�

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Greenwich Village, NYC- April 1960

It was a crazy scene to hitch-hike into
     what with all of it taking place
     on one small ball of earth
     like some kind of work-in-progress
     by some puttyball sculptor
     or nightmare novelist

          -excerpt from "Special Clearance Sale of Famous Masterpieces"

Angel stood in the window of the empty fourth floor apartment. looking down on the alley below. He had been watching for nearly an hour now, at a slow but steady stream of young people as they entered the back door of the building next door. All were thin and pale, and the women wore makeup that emphasized their paleness and the darkness around their eyes. Many of the men wore their hair long or sported neat beards of a style that had been old-fashioned when Angel was a child. And all wore clothing that was uniformly black.

Angel feared he knew what was going on. This was a vampire club. They came into fashion from time to time, though he had not seen or heard of one since he had come to America. But its appearance now did not really surprise him. Everything that passed out of favor eventually became new again.

Angel shivered. Something had to be done. He knew this. It was only a matter of time before a real vampire, a remorseless killer unlike himself, would take advantage of this naive adoration of their kind and use the club as his own private dinner buffet.

But Angel had been trying to avoid this kind of interaction of late. It seemed even casual meetings with humans had ended badly, for them and for him. What business was it of his if a few stupid mortals chose to feed the passions of the children of darkness. Unlike most victims, they were walking into it with their eyes open.

"Idiots," he muttered, and slipped into the hallway, heading for the stairwell.

He emerged a few moments later into the alley, and stared at the door to the club. He could hear music inside, slow, cool, and seductive with gentle rhythms, and muffled conversation, too soft for even his heightened sense of hearing to discern. Turning his collar to the chill dampness of the air, he glided across the alley and entered the club.

Inside it was dim, the only electric lights focused on a small stage at one end of the room. A three-piece combo consisting of a piano, electric guitar, and some sort of drum that the musician was playing with his fingertips was performing in a manner so restrained they might have been sleepwalkers. All other light came from candles on the small tables scattered throughout the room. The air was thick with cigarette smoke. Angel sniffed cautiously. The aroma of strong coffee filled his nostrils, with only the barest traces of alcohol. Odd, Angel thought.

He looked around the room, trying to glance at every face. No, no vampires here. Not yet, anyway. But this was strange. Maybe it was the passage of time, but this wasn't like any vampire club he remembered. Maybe he had misread the clues, he thought.

He slipped into a chair at an empty table rather far from the stage, and started to listen to the conversations around him, trying to figure out what was going on.

"...band is really cool. It's like they're playing the soundtrack to my unconscious self..."

"...don't really dig my scene..."

"...I can get behind it..."

"...it was such catharsis, man..."

It was English, but Angel had trouble following any of it. One thing was becoming clear, however. Whatever this was, it wasn't a vampire club. But Angel was still bewildered. What exactly was it?

A young woman came up to his table. Like everyone else she was dressed entirely in black, and had a beret perched atop her long flaxen hair. "Can I get you anything," she said softly, "or are you just enjoying the vibe?"

Angel blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

A slight expression of contempt passed over the girl's face and was gone, replaced by a placid mask. "Would you like some coffee?" she said flatly.

"Uh, yes.. please," Angel replied. She left and returned a few minutes later with a large mug of the dark brew, which she set down without comment, then walked away again.

Angel stared into it, thinking he had better leave, when a young man stepped up to the table. Like the others, he was dressed in black, but there was a glint of life in his eye that seemed to be lacking in most of the other patrons. "Do you mind if I share your table," he said, "the rest seem pretty full. Unless you're waiting for someone..."

Angel looked at him, coming slowly back to his senses. "No, sit down," he said, "I was just about to leave..."

"But you just got your coffee," the young man pointed out, "and the poetry will be starting soon. Stay awhile." And he slid into the chair across from Angel. "You're new here," he went on, extending his hand, "I'm Kevin."

"Angel," Angel answered, "and I guess it's pretty obvious I'm out of my element."

"There's always a first time for everything," Kevin said. "Some of the cats here can be kind of icy, till you slip into the groove, you dig?"

"I... not really," Angel said.

Kevin chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll pick it up."

"I'm sorry," Angel said, "I came in here thinking this place was something else. I don't really know what's going on here."

Kevin smiled reassuringly. "I feel like that every day of my life," he said. "This is really a sort of a refuge for people who feel cut out of society for one reason or another. They may not completely understand me here, but they won't condemn me either."

Angel gave a short, bitter laugh. �Would that that were true,� he murmured.

Kevin�s expression softened into sympathy. �You want to talk about it?� he said.

Angel shook his head. �Not really,� he said. �You�ll just have to trust me. If the people here knew the truth about me��

Kevin leaned closer over the table. �They�d despise you,� he finished. �They�d loathe you. You�re so different from them it�s like you�re not even human.�

Angel looked into Kevin�s face, startled out of his mood for a moment. �Yeah,� he said faintly, �how did..?�

Kevin shrugged. �You�re not so different,� he said. �Until I came here I felt like I wasn�t welcome in the family of mankind. I felt like I was dead, but still walking around for some reason. But here��

Angel looked around the room again, and now noticed the intensity with which each person listened to what his or her companions were saying. This definitely wasn't anything like a tavern, this was a place where ideas were explored.

The band finished its song, and around him the other patrons snapped their fingers in a kind of understated applause. The musicians left the stage and a slim girl with cropped black hair and eyes so darkly painted she seemed to be looking through a mask stepped up.

"I wake to the darkness," she said, "the sound of my blood in my head. The sound of my life, liquid in my body. The blood of my mother, and a thousand ancestors who died before me. It is a cry of rage in my veins. It is pulled by the moon. It tracks under my skin leaving blue lines like the mark of a ball-point pen, a road map, a snail's track. My blood tastes warm, and salty, and like old pennies. I bleed as proof of my womanhood..."

"I was wondering when she'd get to that," Kevin muttered under his breath to Angel, then glanced in his direction. "Hey, are you okay? You look a little pale."

In fact, the demon that still lived inside Angel, animating his vampiric form and sustaining it in unlife, was taking a particular interest in this poem, its hunger stirring and stretching out. Angel was suddenly very uncomfortable with the images it was creating in his mind. "I have to go," he said to Kevin.

"Yeah, I think you need some air," Kevin said, following Angel as he rose and headed for the door.

They exited into the alley, and Angel shook his head, trying to clear it. "Look," Kevin said, "my pad is only about half a block from here. Why don't you come with me, sit down and rest for a few minutes."

Angel nodded, trying to ignore the wordless demands from the demon within, and followed the young man. He was led to a two-room walk-up in a mostly empty apartment house. There was very little furniture, two chairs, a small table, a mattress on the floor, but there were boxes and boxes of books, stacked on top of one another. Kevin smiled sheepishly as he noticed Angel staring.

"My one great vice," he said. "If you see anything that interests you, help yourself. I know I'll probably never read most of these, but I can't help myself. I see somebody selling books at a rummage sale, before I know it, I've bought twenty."

Angel picked up a book from the box closest to him: �Ulysses� by James Joyce. Below that was a well-worn copy of �The Condition of the Working Class in England� by Friedrich Engels, and something called �The Book of the Five Rings.�

�The philosophy ones are my real passion,� Kevin went on, �especially Eastern philosophy. Zen Buddhism.�

Angel looked up at him. �I have to admit,� he said, �I don�t know much about that.�

�It�s so different from Western thought,� Kevin said. �I�m even studying Tai Chi.�

�What�s that?�

Kevin smiled. �It�s a meditative martial art. It�s really putting my head in a whole new place.�

Angel must have looked as confused as he felt, because Kevin said, �let me show you.� He stripped off his heavy sweater to the t-shirt underneath, and extended his arms to his sides. �You have to clear your mind,� he said, �and concentrate on your body. You must become aware of everything. Your heartbeat, your breathing�� He took a deep breath, and began what looked like a slow-motion ballet, his arms and torso moving sinuously. His eyes seemed to focus on a point in the distance, and Angel could hear his heartbeat and breathing slow.

Kevin returned to standing upright, and seemed to come back into himself. �I can show you,� he said to Angel. Intrigued, Angel stepped towards Kevin.

�How do I begin?� he said.

�First, get rid of the sweater,� Kevin said.

Angel pulled the sweater off, though unlike Kevin, he wore no shirt underneath. �Nice tattoo,� Kevin remarked, then told Angel to take a deep breath.

Angel did so, then followed the basic stances and arm movements Kevin showed him. And then an amazing thing happened. The Other, the demon inside, which had been stirring and agitating within him, grew suddenly still and quiet. It was as though it had gone into a hypnotic stupor. It was there, but for the first time since regaining his soul, Angel felt truly separate from it.

An hour or so later, the lesson had ended, and Angel felt a calm that seemed utterly alien.

�You�re a good student,� Kevin said, �you took to this right away.�

�I want you to teach me more,� Angel said.

************

Evil evil evil evil
World is evil
Life is evil
All is evil
if i ride the horse of hate
with its evil hooded eye
turning world to evil
Evil is death warmed over
Evil is Live spelled backward
Evil is lamb burning bright
Evil is love fried upon a spit
And turned upon itself

     -excerpt from �Big Fat Hairy Vision of Evil�

Angel knocked on the door to Kevin�s apartment, and when the young man answered, Angel handed him the copies on �Zen Buddhism: An Introduction� and �The Collected Works of William Blake� he had borrowed the day before.

Kevin was rubbing his hair dry with a towel slung round his neck as he took the books. �That was fast,� he remarked.

Angel shrugged. �Well, I don�t really get out much during the day,� he said.

They both took seats on the ancient chairs near the window. �I liked the Blake,� Angel said, �I liked the spiritual aspect of it. The book on Zen was interesting, but I think I need to think about it a little more. I mean, it�s so far outside my experience.�

�You have to kind of reposition your point of view,� Kevin said. �It takes some getting used to.�

Angel grunted noncommittally.

�Maybe you should come with me to the dojo,� Kevin went on. �You can talk to my instructor. I mean, you seem really interested in the Tai Chi, but I�m only a student myself.�

�Thanks for the invitation,� Angel said, �but I don�t think that�s such a good idea.�

�What do you mean?�

�I�m not like other men,� Angel said. �It�s not right for me to get involved with other people. I mean, there�s things about me they can�t know, and any friendship would be a lie. I may have let my interaction with you go on too long��

Kevin�s expression softened and took on an odd tenderness. �I thought you knew, Angel,� he said, �I�m more like you than you realize.�

Angel blinked in surprise. �What�� he said faintly.

In reply Kevin leaned across to him, put a hand on either side of Angel�s neck, and kissed him softly on the side of the mouth.

Angel jumped back and away from the young man. �Whoa,� he said, �oh, Kevin, I didn�t� I�m not� That�s not what I meant.�

Kevin blushed furiously and drew back into the chair. �I�m so sorry,� he said, his voice barely a whisper. �It�s just� everything you said, I felt the same way, I thought�� He lowered his eyes, his face clouded with shame. �God, I�m such an idiot,� he murmured to himself.

Angel�s memory flashed to some of the things he had done before his soul was restored, the search for novelty born of his long years of existence. But that was different, predatory and violent. This man was reaching out for affection.

�I�m sorry too,� Angel said, �I wasn�t clear. I can see how you thought��

Kevin curled his legs against his chest, turning away in his chair. �You must think I�m a freak,� he said quietly.

Angel crouched beside him and touched the young man�s shoulder. �Trust me, I don�t,� he said. "If you�re cool with it, I�m cool with it.�

Kevin looked up cautiously. �I really am sorry,� he said.

�We�re cool,� Angel said.

Kevin touched his lip thoughtfully. �You�re the first person I�ve ever told who hasn�t wanted to beat the crap out of me,� he said, �even my own dad� said I would be better off dead. I think he tells his friends I did die.�

�I�m sorry,� Angel told him.

Kevin shook his head. �It�s okay,� he said, �I�m just not used to it.� He rose and crossed to his books. �Since you�re done with those others,� he said, abruptly changing the subject, �I have a few novels you might like.�

*****************

Angel waited outside the coffeehouse for Kevin, a sack full of paperbacks under his arm. He had found that one of his talents as a vampire was the ability to read and absorb material much more quickly than he had been able to as a man. It was a talent he had so far underutilized, and was making up for now. He found he liked novels and romantic poetry, though Kevin needled him a little for not investing his effort in headier stuff, political and philosophical works. But Angel knew such things were meaningless to him, the courses of human thought. It was his soul that needed nourishment.

Kevin exited to join Angel. �I can�t believe how fast you go through those books,� he said, spying the sack. �You can�t be getting that much out of them if you just skim through them like that.� They started walking towards Kevin�s apartment, continuing their conversation as they went.

�I just read very fast,� Angel said. �I really liked �The Virgin and the Gipsy,� in fact. You don�t have any more D.H. Lawrence, do you?�

�You really like that emotional stuff,� Kevin said, �you�re in danger of becoming a sentimentalist, I�m afraid. I may cut off your line of Lawrence, and you�ll have to go cold turkey on all those Brontes. I think a little Alan Ginsberg may be just the thing to cleanse the palate.�

Angel must have looked a little stricken, because Kevin laughed reassuringly and patted his back. �I�m only kidding,� he said, �you can borrow whatever you want.�

�I wanted to try�� Angel started, but Kevin raised a hand to quiet him. Approaching them on the sidewalk was a group of young men in jeans and leather jackets. They did not even try to avoid Kevin and Angel, but shoved them aside. Angel was forced off the curb into the street, while another knocked Kevin into the wall.

�Faggots,� he growled, and his group continued on their way. When they were about thirty feet away, Kevin called after them.

�Sorry, man, you�re not really my type,� he said.

The thug stiffened and started to turn, but his friends took his shoulders and moved him along.

�I�m sorry about that,� Kevin said to Angel when they had gone. �Are you alright?�

Angel nodded. �Yeah, I�m fine,� he said.

Kevin forced a smile. �So where were we,� he said. �Oh, yeah, your taste in literature��

*****************

I keep hoping
I have misunderstood something
in this story
People still lose
and find themselves
in bed
and animals still
aren�t as cruel as people
because they can�t talk
but we weren�t designed
to live forever and ever
and design is everything
     -excerpt from �Overpopulation�

Angel and Kevin sat at a table in the coffeehouse. An earnest young man, his black hair tousled, was on the stage reciting his own poetry from a handful of papers.

�I�m alone in the darkness,� he read, �my mother told me not to cry. Then she sent me away. I am alone. I am afraid. If I fear long enough, my fear turns to anger. If I anger long enough, my anger turns to hate. But hate leads to suffering. Should I suffer? Should I turn to the dark side?�

Kevin leaned across to Angel. �I hate to say this,� he said, �but a lot of the poetry here lately makes even less sense than usual.�

�I was just thinking the same thing,� Angel said.

�Dark dark dark,� the man on stage went on, �the darkness comes into me. Intruder, interloper, trespasser, invader. Dark invader, you enter me, you become me.�

�This guy has problems that aren�t going to be solved by poems,� Kevin said. �You want to go?�

Angel nodded and the two of them left. �I want to learn some more Tai Chi tonight,� he said as they walked. �That is, if you feel up to it.�

They turned a corner, and the two stopped dead in their tracks. Facing them were the young men from the night before, waiting for them. One held a baseball bat, another a tire iron. Kevin made a soft whine deep in his throat and the men were on them, pulling them into an alley. Angel saw one holding Kevin�s arms behind him while another punched him in the stomach. Two others were holding his own arms against the wall while a third worked his body with the tire iron.

Tire Iron switched places with one holding his arm, and that one took the baseball bat and swung it at Angel�s torso. It hurt, and Angel was a little rattled, but they didn�t realize they were dealing with a vampire, and the force they used wasn�t nearly enough to faze him seriously. He shook it off.

Kevin, on the other hand, was doubled over in agony, his face ashen. Angel saw blood on his lips.

�What the hell�s wrong, faggot,� Baseball Bat said, �too stupid to feel pain?� He wound up and slammed the bat into the side of Angel�s head as hard as he could.

That did it. Angel collapsed forward onto his knees, his vision clouded with a crimson mist. He was dropped to the ground, and the men began kicking his head and body. The red fog turned to brown, then black. He lay still. Gradually the blows stopped, then a voice that sounded very far away said, �Vinnie, I don�t think he�s breathing.�

Only barely aware, Angel felt two fingers on his neck. �Oh, Jesus,� said another voice, �we gotta get out of here.� Then silence.

Angel didn�t know how long he lay there, it may only have been a few minutes before he recovered enough to struggle to his hands and knees and crawl to where Kevin was. The young man was only barely conscious himself, but he was coughing up what seemed to be a large amount of blackish blood. Angel lifted his head, cradling it against his knees.

�Kevin,� he said, his voice a desperate whisper, �come on, Kevin, we�ve got to get you to a hospital.�

Kevin was seized with another coughing spasm that filled his mouth with blood beaten to foam. Angel wiped it from his chin, and tried to pull him into a sitting position. �Oh, God,� Angel moaned, �you�re bleeding inside. Kevin��

�No,� Kevin said, his voice barely audible. �I don�t think I�m gonna make it. I�m dying.�

�You can�t,� Angel said. He tried to gather Kevin in his arms, but his beaten body betrayed him, and he sank down beside him. �I have to get help,� Angel said.

Kevin lifted his hand weakly. �Don�t, Angel,� he said. �It�s bad enough I have to die in the street like a dog, don�t let me die alone.�

Angel took Kevin�s hand and stroked the young man�s hair. �I�m so sorry, Kevin,� he said, �I wish I could��

�No,� Kevin said, �it shouldn�t be like this, no regret. Recite for me, something beautiful. I know you can.�

Angel swallowed hard. �When I am dead, my dearest,� he began, �Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale, Sing on, as if in pain; And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise or set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.�

Kevin smiled very slightly. �Romantic to the end,� he said, then the light left his eyes.

Angel heard the last beat of his heart echoing away to silence, then held him, weeping, until he heard the sirens coming. He laid Kevin�s body down carefully, then lifted a nearby manhole cover and disappeared into the earth.

********************

Angel prowled the streets for months afterwards, tracking Kevin�s murderers in the darkness like their own shadows. He wanted to take them one at a time, by surprise, and beat them the way his friend had been beaten. For the first time in many years, he longed to taste mortal blood for vengeance�s sake.

But they were not to fall to his hand, for Angel saw each one killed by other young men very like themselves, for the most trivial and foolish of reasons. One got into a knife-fight with another over who had looked at certain girl. A second had been beaten by a group of Puerto Rican boys for calling them a name. And so it went, until all were dead or maimed, and Angel could not even feel a cold satisfaction at their end.

Lost Angel 8: Jock O'Hazeldean
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