| Title: Blood and Water Author: Ruth Hanna Chapter 6: It's a Vision Thing "Tell me again what it looked like." "It looked icky. Icky covers it. Do I have to go into details?" A set of traffic lights hanging above the road ahead flicked from amber to red, and Angel brought the black Plymouth convertible to a stop beneath them. Hip-hop blared from the car in the adjacent lane, and one of its drunken occupants leaned out, leering obviously at Cordelia. She ignored him, too wrapped up in her own despondency to notice. "It could be important," Angel told her. "Gunn's group have been finding sick vampires for the last few nights. There's something strange going on." Cordelia thought. "Well, he looked kind of feverish - not that I stopped to take his temperature or anything. And he wasn't acting rationally. I mean, he walked straight into the restaurant and tried to serve himself from the people-buffet. Not smart. Oh, and there was this really gross purple rash all over his face." The lights turned green, and Angel accelerated the car. "Yeah. We saw that too. It is the same thing." Cordelia brightened. "But I staked him good. Straight for the heart, and *poof*, all gone." She frowned. "And then I got back to my table and Todd had bailed. I guess he couldn't handle the whole slaying thing. You know, I'm beginning to understand why Buffy can't hold down a stable relationship. So where are we going?" Angel took a left and turned off the boulevard, on to one of the quieter side streets. "I'll leave you home. Then I thought I might drop by Wesley's and see if he's turned up anything useful." "Do you want help?" "No, it's okay. It is your night off." "Good," said Cordelia firmly, "because I wasn't offering. Angel, let me sum up my understanding of the situation. Number one, a lot of nasty, blood-sucking vampires are sick. Well, so what? Since when do we run the Undead Red Cross? Number two, and this is the really crucial point, no one is going to pay us for doing this. Jeez, anyone would think you're not in business to make money." "I'm not." Cordelia settled back in the convertible's front passenger seat and gave the long, resigned sigh of imminent martyrdom. "You might as well get Wesley and let him bring his books back to mine. Most of your library is there anyhow." Angel looked at her. "You don't have to..." "I know. But it's either that or watch late night movies and feel even more depressed than I already do about how my date ditched me. Did I mention my date ditched me?" "I'm sorry to hear that." "You said that already." "You told me Todd ditched you already," Angel pointed out. Cordelia frowned in mock petulance. "I need consoling, and you're not even trying." "I am trying," he protested. "It's just that I don't have a lot experience with this kind of thing. 'I'm sorry to hear that' pretty much exhausts my repertoire." Cordelia giggled. "Didn't you ever have a teenage sister, way back in ye olden days?" Angel looked at the road ahead. "I had a sister." "Oh," said Cordelia quietly. "Oh. Oh! Ohhhh..." "Cordelia?" There was no reply, and when he looked to his right, he saw that she was curled up in the passenger's seat, her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them in as close an approximation of the foetal position as the confines of the car allowed. Her face was contorted in pain. Angel pulled the convertible off the road and released Cordelia's seat-belt. He took her hand and gripped it tightly. "It's all right. It'll be over soon. I'm here." He spoke to her quietly, unsure if she heard but somehow feeling the need to let her know she was not alone. When the vision passed, Cordelia blinked twice and stretched her legs and arms. Angel noticed a row of tiny punctures on each of her shins, where her nails had broken the flesh. "Oh, God." "It's all right. It's over now." She swallowed, and nodded. "I was... uhh, it was a little girl. Her name is Lauren Tanner. She's sick; she's in a hospital." "Do you know which one?" "Yes. St Matthew's. I think I'll know where in the hospital when we get there." Angel pulled the car back out into the traffic and made a U-turn, accepting the change of destination implicit in her statement. "Angel, she's only eight years old, and she thinks she's going to die." He touched her hand. "You wouldn't have been given the vision if we couldn't change it." Cordelia nodded, and allowed her head to sag against the back of the passenger seat. "I could hear you," she said. "It was like you were a long way off, but I heard. I don't think I could stand these if I had to go through them by myself." Angel squeezed her hand more tightly, and drove faster. Title: Blood and Water Author: Ruth Hanna Chapter 7: Visiting Hour By the time they had arrived St Matthew's and found a space in the hospital's overcrowded short-stay parking lot, Cordelia's headache was beginning to fade, although the metallic taste at the back of her mouth and the odd sense of mental dislocation which always accompanied the visions persisted. She had forgotten to bring painkillers with her, so she had to make do with chewing a stick of mint gum, while sipping from the bottle of tepid mineral water someone had left in the Plymouth's glove compartment. She felt relief when the car's motion finally stopped. "We're here," said Angel. "Do you want to wait in the car while I go in?" She opened her eyes and looked towards the lights of the hospital's main entrance. "No, I'll come with you. Tonight's been so much fun so far, why stop now?" She got out of the car and waited while he locked it, then went into the hospital building. The E.R reception was crammed, mainly with mugging victims and weekend drinkers. Angel surveyed the mass of humanity, and looked back to her. "Where now?" She shook her head. "I'm not sure." "Well, we've got a name. I'll ask at the desk here, then the ICU. If that comes up blank, we'll find out where paediatrics is." He frowned. "You look pale, Cordelia. Maybe you should sit here until I get back." That was peachy, coming from someone who hadn't had a healthy complexion since the eighteenth century, but for once Cordelia didn't voice the thought. The harsh buzzing voices and fluorescent lights were aggravating her headache again, so she simply nodded and slipped into a moulded plastic seat at the back of the waiting area. She watched Angel disappear into the tangle of bodies crowded around the reception desk, then rubbed her aching eyes. She looked up at the ceiling and announced, "I hate this gig. You hear that, Powers-That-Be? It sucks." The veiny-nosed drunk in the seat beside her squeezed her elbow in ashow of inebriated solidarity. "They never listen to me either, honey." "Get off me!" She swatted his arm away and got up quickly. As she looked around for somewhere else to sit, her eye fell upon a short, dark-haired woman, dressed in a smart black pants-suit. The woman was weaving her way through the concourse, clutching a cup of coffee tightly and wearing a distracted air. Cordelia had never seen her before, but somehow knew instantly who she was. She picked up her purse and went after her. The woman took a route away from the ER and towards the ICU, along hallways which were busy but no longer jammed. Cordelia followed her at a distance, not sure what to do next. By the time the woman had arrived at her destination, a private room off a side corridor in the ICU, Cordelia had decided what approach to take. She waited for a moment outside the door, then knocked and pushed it gently open. "Hi. You're Mrs Tanner, right? Lauren's mom?" Inside the room, the woman started up from the seat beside the single bed. The bed was designed for an adult, and so the body of the little girl who lay in it seemed impossibly small and doll-like. Her head had tilted to one side on the pillows, so that she faced towards the door, and Cordelia could see the twin plastic tubes emerging from her nose, and the larger tube which snaked out of her mouth. "Yes, that's me. Are you..." Mrs Tanner was looking at her, and Cordelia shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware that her evening dress was hardly suitable attire for her current surroundings. "Oh, I thought you were one of the doctors. I guess not. You must be from the school." "I heard Lauren wasn't well. I just wanted to call by and see how she was doing." "She's sleeping now." Mrs Tanner sat again and took hold of her daughter's hand. With her other hand, she reached up and brushed the girl's hair off her face. "It was a good night. I thought the class sang beautifully. Lauren was so excited about her solo. She wants to be singer, you know, when she grows up." She looked up and smiled, and Cordelia saw that her eyes brimmed with tears. "Lauren's singing was great. She was just great. Mrs Tanner, she's going to be fine. I know it." Mrs Tanner shook her head, as if in incomprehension. "One minute she was fine, getting ready to go on to the stage, and then she was screaming, rolling on the floor, crying with the pain..." "Do the doctors know what it is yet?" "They're not sure. At first they thought she'd eaten something. They pumped her stomach. But now, with the fever and the rash, they're talking about an infection. I don't think they know." Her voice began to shake. "I just want to know what's wrong with my baby." Feeling helpless, Cordelia approached the bed and placed her hand on the older woman's trembling shoulder. She kept it there until the shuddering stopped. After several minutes' silence, Mrs. Tanner said, "I've been sitting with her since they brought her in and I haven't even... I should call her father." "Use my cell-phone," said Cordelia, opening her purse. "I can sit with Lauren for a little while." Mrs. Tanner nodded gratefully and accepted the phone. "I'll be right outside." Alone with the girl, Cordelia pulled the hospital bed's blankets higher around her still form. As she did so, her fingers brushed a piece of paper which had slipped between the sheets. She lifted it and found it was a flier for Glendale Grammar School's Music of the World Night. Seven o'clock, Sunday 25 June, All Welcome. She folded the paper in half and slipped it in her purse. The child stirred and moaned in her sleep, turning her head and tugging at the tubes. As she moved, she exposed the left side of her face and neck for the first time. Cordelia stared. The mottled red rash corrupting Lauren Tanner's skin was not yet as virulent as that which Cordelia had seen on the vampire in the restaurant, but it clearly sprang from the same source. "Lauren," she said softly, "If you can hear me, I want you to know it's going to be okay. You've got your very own guardian angel now. And he kicks ass." * * * Angel felt like kicking something, hard. The staff on both the E.R and the I.C.U main desks had refused to disclose any information about Lauren Tanner, or even to confirm that there was a patient of that name in the hospital. The second woman to whom Angel had spoken had threatened to call security unless he could produce documentary proof that he was a relative. Angel couldn't, so he had returned to the spot where he had left Cordelia, only to find her gone. "She's not here," said the drunk in the seat by the door, slurring the words. "Did you see where she went?" The man stabbed a finger in the direction of a hallway. "She went that way. Hey, you're cute." Angel left the drunk and followed the corridor, pausing at each open door or branch route to check for Cordelia. He had retraced his path almost all the way to the I.C.U with no success when he passed two doctors standing at the side of the corridor, deep in conversation. The first, a tall middle-aged black man, was examining the clipboard which his companion, a young Hispanic woman, had just handed to him. As Angel went by, he heard the name 'Tanner' clearly detach itself from the general hum of conversation. There was a water cooler sitting in an alcove opposite the doctors. Angel took up a position at it and slowly filled a disposable paper cone. "It's weird, Glen," the woman said. "She's not responding at all. The toxins are out of her system: we should be seeing some improvement by now." Glen frowned. "Hell of a toxicology report. How does an eight-year-old ingest silver nitrate?" Angel drank the water, listening. He refilled the cone and turned around. "We don't know. She was under constant supervision all day at school, and her mother says Lauren didn't leave her sight between coming home and going back in the evening. She was taking part in some kind of musical production." "And what are her current symptoms?" "High fever, muscular spasms, and a distinctive red-purple rash that started to develop about an hour after she was brought in." "From silver nitrate poisoning? No, I don't think so. Either she ate something else as well, or there's an infection at work entirely separate to the poisoning. In which case, I don't rate her chances." He returned the clipboard to the woman. "Get Mike to re-perform the blood tests. And find her a bed in the I.C.U." The doctors began to walk away, still talking. Angel screwed up the paper cup and threw it in the trash. He began to follow them. "Quite a thirst you've got there." Angel stopped. He turned around, slowly. "Hello, Lindsey," he said pleasantly. Lindsey ignored him, patting the top of the water cooler with his left hand. "Water doesn't hit the spot, though, does it? It must kill you to be around all these people bleeding. Waste of a good meal." "Let me guess," said Angel: "You're here for a prosthetic fitting?" Lindsey smiled smugly, and dropped a paper cone into the curve of the hook which jutted out incongruously from the right sleeve of his suit's jacket. With his other hand, he held down the cooler's tap, filling it up. "Come the next full moon, I'll have a replacement that's superior in every way. Just another part of the Wolfram and Hart employee benefits package." "They'll replace you part by part," said Angel. "One morning you'll wake up and there'll be nothing of you left at all." Lindsey dropped the paper cone on to the floor and stepped closer to Angel, raising his right arm until the sharp point of the hook pushed into Angel's cheek. "Funny. Because as I recall, it wasn't my firm that cut my hand off above the wrist." "Hey, if it isn't the clawyer. Can I give you a hand with anything, Lindsey?" Angel saw Lindsey's eyes flick away from him towards the source of Cordelia's voice. He took advantage of the distraction to step backwards, breaking contact. Cordelia came to stand at his side, and they faced each other in edgy silence for a moment, while staff and visitors flowed around them in the hallway, oblivious. Behind Lindsey, the door to a private room opened and a white-haired man in a wheelchair emerged, pushed by another man and pursued by an agitated nurse. "Excuse me, you cannot just remove this man from the hospital. He is seriously ill. He is in no condition to be moved. Who are you people?" "Well," said Lindsey to Angel and Cordelia, "don't think it hasn't been fun, because it hasn't, but duty calls." He shrugged and turned to the nurse, tucking his right arm behind his back. "I'm Lindsey MacDonald. My firm is Wolfram and Hart - we represent Mr Favard's interests." "This man doesn't need a lawyer, he needs a doctor. His pulse is so weak we can't even pick it up, his body temperature indicates severe hypothermic shock, he is..." "He's a vampire," whispered Cordelia to Angel. Angel nodded, and said quietly, "A very old vampire. Look at his hands. Cloven." "I can assure you," Lindsey was saying, "We are fully aware of our client's medical history. There is a bed prepared for him in a private clinic, and an ambulance waiting outside to take him to it. If you will simply release him into my care, I assure you, he will receive the best treatment." Angel watched the argument a second longer, then touched Cordelia's arm and drew her away. They began to walk back to the hospital's main entrance, Cordelia occasionally casting glances behind her in the direction of the escalating argument between Lindsey and the nurse. "Just when I'm thinking tonight can't get any worse, we run into Lindsey MacDonald. Next time, remind me not to think." Angel said, "That vampire, Favard - he was sick too. I saw the rash." "Lauren has it as well," Cordelia told him. Angel looked at her curiously, and she nodded. "I found her. She's sick, but they're looking after her. I don't think there's anything else we can do here." Her face brightened. "And hey, be proud of me! I got us a genuine, detective-type lead! Look at this." She opened her purse and handed him a piece of paper. Angel unfolded it and read the contents. "'Music of the World Night'?" "No, dummy. Look at the top. Glendale School, and there's the address. I talked to Lauren's mom. She said Lauren got sick real fast, and she was at school all day and in the evening, for the performance. We should check it out." She was brimming with enthusiasm, and it was somehow infectious. "Yeah. Good work, Cordelia." He smiled. "Clawyer. Give him a hand. That was pretty funny." She grinned at him. "I wasn't Sunnydale High's Queen of the Cutting Put-Down for nothing. And as for the one-hand jokes... God, I can keep those coming forever." She marched defiantly out into the night. Angel followed her. |