Future Imperfect

Chp 9 Inside his head

The morning had dawned sullen, as if a storm was brewing somewhere, just over the horizon. The sky was covered with low, brassy grey clouds and thunder rumbled somewhere, a long way off.

Joyce and her twin brother, Billy, were sitting astride a big branch in a tree outside their grandparents’ house. Joyce’s face was pale and sullen, her blonde hair pulled back from her face in two braids that were so tight the skin on her temples looked stretched and thin.

Billy glanced at her curiously. He could have listened into her thoughts but he knew what he’d find – a horrible swirling mess.

“Why are you so cross?” he asked eventually, picking a couple of twigs and throwing them down into the yard.

Joyce stopped the twigs in mid air and made them hit each other violently, like swords, all the way to the ground. “They’re still arguing, aren’t they? They haven’t stopped, except when we were eating breakfast.”

Billy shrugged. “Grown-ups are always arguing.”

“Not Granny and Grandad! It’s about me, isn’t it?”

Billy punched her shoulder. “Everything isn’t about you, it’s about us, poop face! Grandad doesn’t like me listening to what people are thinking about. He reckons it’s weird.”

Joyce looked at him curiously. “I didn’t think he knew. He’s clever, isn’t he? But why is he all cranky about that? It’s not naughty, is it? Not like being a witch.”

“Being a witch isn‘t naughty. You know Auntie Willow said it wasn’t. It’s just what you are.”

“Well, I wish they’d stop arguing about it. My head hurts.”

Billy groaned silently. His twin’s headaches usually meant one thing – she’d take them away somewhere different, which was usually fun, but he had the feeling that now wasn’t the time to go missing. And he was getting a bit fed-up of always being dragged along wherever Joyce wanted to go.

“I wish we could go somewhere really nice, with lots of animals – I bet I could find a universe where there’s just penguins. I like penguins.”

Billy frowned and sort of - prodded - her thoughts from inside his head - he’d never tried this before, but if he could read what people were thinking, then perhaps he could change it, too.

“Or maybe we’d better stay here and see what happens,” Joyce said reluctantly.

Billy grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Wow. It worked! Well, it did with twin, but that was almost like going inside his own head and changing his mind. He wondered what would happen if he tried it inside someone else’s head….?

Inside the house, Buffy snapped shut her phone and glared at Spike. “Shanny’s still not answering. I’ve left countless messages. Nothing! Shall I ring David at work and ask him to tell her we need to speak to her?”

Spike was draining a glass of breakfast blood. “No point, pet. You know what she’s like – stubborn as her mother when it suits her! She’ll only speak to us when she wants to.”

“Oh great, blame me! Honestly, that girl drives me insane.”

Spike sighed. He was only too aware that his wife and daughter had a love/hate relationship that swung from one extreme to the other. They were so alike in some ways. Both as stubborn and headstrong as each other. Yes, alike, except, of course, for the one thing that mattered the most to Shanny. She was not a Slayer. She was just his little girl and loving them both as much as he did sometimes left him feeling as if he was being pulled apart by Drixtlle demons.

“Well, sweetheart, Shanny and David didn’t ring last night to speak to the twins so they’re sure to this evening.”

Buffy sighed and pouring herself another cup of coffee, stared out of the window. She could see the twins sitting high up in the big tree at the end of the yard. They’d been silent over breakfast and had escaped outside as soon as they could.

They looked so small and helpless; skinny, fair-haired kids, wearing jeans, T-shirts and scuffed red baseball boots. But they weren’t helpless. Strangely enough they would have been in far less danger if they were! Joyce used her powers so wildly, without thinking. Oh, it was fine for Willow to say she was an incredibly powerful witch, but power without control was wrong. She remembered how Faith had been when she first knew her. What was to stop Joyce ending up like that as she grew older? Going her own way, doing exactly what she wanted, just because she could.

And as for Billy! If Spike was right about the mind-reading, then they were all in big trouble. Buffy shuddered. She could still remember vividly how she’d almost lost her mind when she’d caught those powers for just a short time from a demon. How was a small boy going to be able to shut out that dreadful clamour of pain and joy, emotions like hatred, despair, fear, love?

A rumble of thunder broke into her thoughts and she opened the window and yelled at the twins to come indoors. A storm was heading their way….

In L.A. it was hot, the glare of sunlight on a million panes of glass glittering relentlessly down on the streets below. Shanny stood on the sidewalk, trying to see through the dark glass windows and doors of a building in the centre of the city.

She glanced again at the little card in her hand. She’d had it for some time; when her Aunt Willow – no, she must remember to call her Willow now she was an adult - had flown to England, she’d left several old purses behind for Shanny to put in a garage sale. This little card had been zipped into an inner pocket.

Oh, she knew who he was. Not that her Mom and Dad had said much about him, but Willow, Dawn – who refused to be called Auntie – and Uncle Andrew had all told her bits and pieces of the old story.

It had seemed magical when she was little. Part and parcel of the marvellous, fantastic Buffy and Spike story that was her parents’ life before she’d come along to spoil it for them.

This man, Angel, had been a vampire, too, like Dad. He had a soul, too, and tried to do good. He was a detective and somehow -although she had to admit she was a bit hazy on these details because, hey, when you were seven or eight, they could be a bit boring – he’d received the other part of the Shanshu Prophecy, the part that Dad didn’t get.

She’d lain awake the whole of the night before, lying with David’s arm heavy across her back, pretending to sleep, taking deep slow breaths. She’d learnt how to pretend when she was tiny. If her parents thought she was asleep, they would stay in the same room and she could hear them laughing and kissing and the warmth of their love flowed over her. She could almost pretend that they loved her as much as they loved each other.

She would listen to them making plans for battles, fights; lay there under the covers, taking those same deep breaths as she realised how difficult she made their life, how if she didn’t exist, they could run and fight and kill and not have to worry about a small, brown haired girl who wasn’t special.

So last night she’d pretended to dear David that everything was fine, that tomorrow they would ring her parents and speak to the twins. He missed them as much as she did, but although he was obviously well aware of her background, he didn’t truly understand what Joyce was becoming. How could he?

But this Angel person. He’d been a friend of Mom and Dad, he was a vampire, and so he’d know all about everything Slayerish, just like they did. And he was a detective. And that was what she needed more than anything at the moment.

She squared her shoulders and pushed through the imposing doorway. And there was no one to tell her that at that moment she was being just as brave as her mother.

Angel was sitting on the balcony, sipping his breakfast orange juice and blood cocktail. He gazed out over his rooftop swimming pool to where the skyscrapers faded into the distance. He knew he’d never ever get used to this gift. His part of the Shanshu – to walk in the sunlight and not die. He craved daylight, even after all these years of having it, he still made certain he was outside as he sun rose every morning. Although the PTB certainly had a wry sense of humour because the Gem of Amarra would have given him this all those years before. Well, that was water under the bridge.

His phone purred and the girl on the reception desk said, “There’s a Mrs Green to see you, Angel. I told her to make an appointment but she says it’s very important. She must talk to you.”

He frowned and stretched. How many times had he heard those words over the past years? And it rarely was important. Oh he helped everyone he could, and occasionally there would be a demon involved who put up a hell of a fight, sometimes a vamp, but they were all very low key. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been puzzled or worried about a case.

But it was odd for a customer to come to his apartment. They usually arrived at the downtown office. He couldn’t think how anyone had found this address. He gave it to so very few people these days. So perhaps important really was important this time.

“OK, send her up.” He leant across to a panel set in the table and pressed a button that unlatched the front door. He smiled sadly; in his mind he could hear Wesley saying, “Really, Angel, it wouldn’t do you any harm to get out of your chair once in a while.” But then Wes had never been truly convinced by modern technology.

He was pouring out coffee when the sliding door from the apartment to the terrace opened and a slight figure in a white jacket and dark red dress stood there. The shock was violent – scalding coffee splashed over his hand and the jug went crashing to the tiled floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I make you jump? Did it burn you?”

“What, no, my fault. Sorry, I’m fine. Do sit down, Mrs Green. Can I get you anything – ?” He ignored the burn on his wrist; he knew it would heal within minutes.

“No thank you. Mr Angel – ”

“Just Angel.”

“Right, Angel.” She hesitated, looking at him. He was very tall, with a lot of black hair worn in a very old-fashioned way. He was supposed to be a friend of her parents but he didn’t look as old as them. “I’m sorry to bother you at home, but it’s so important. I think you know my Mom and Dad, Buffy and Spike?”

Angel swallowed. Oh yes, he knew them. He knew who she was; he’d known since the first second he set eyes on her. And now he was gazing into the same greeny-hazel eyes that had haunted his dreams for years.

But apart from the eyes, she didn’t look like either Buffy or Spike. Although she was small and thin, her hair was brown and the tense set of her face owed nothing to the parents who’d produced her.

So this was the result of Spike’s Shanshu gift. Shanny Summers – he’d forgotten her married name was Green, now he remembered. She couldn’t be more than what – twenty-four, twenty-five?

“Angel?” She was looking anxiously at him and he realised he hadn’t replied, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. “Yes, I know your parents very well, Mrs Green,” he said at last. “In fact the reason I was so startled was that you look so like your grandmother. I knew her, as well.”

Shanny looked pleased. “Joyce. I named my daughter after her. I wish I’d known her.”

Angel had recovered his senses. “You would have liked her. Now, how can I help you?”

“My godmother, Willow Rosenberg, she had your card. I…she’s spoken of you before. When I was young. And you’re a detective and I need one desperately.”

She rummaged through her purse and brought out a small envelope. “Here! This picture. It’s of me and a man I met in a nightclub, ten years ago. I need to trace him. And I need to trace him quickly.”

Angel took the envelope. “Surely your parents - ? They’re both pretty good at finding people when they want to.” He watched, curious, as an ugly red flushed over her face.

“I don’t want to bother them. This is – personal. And I can’t go to an ordinary detective agency because this man – well, he could be a….a….”

“You’re scared he’s some sort of demon?”

Shanny nodded, glad that this tall, dark man had understood so quickly. “He wasn’t a vampire.” She laughed, a little bitterly. “I’ve been brought up too well not to know a vamp when I meet one. Oh!” Her hands went to her mouth and he smiled at how young the gesture made her look. “I’m so sorry. That was very rude.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry. So, this guy could be a demon. Well, let’s have a look at him.”

He shook the envelope onto the table and a little strip of photos slid out. He picked them up and felt the world slip away from him and a great roaring sound echoed through his head.

From a long way away he could hear Spike’s daughter saying, “So do you think you can trace him, Angel?”

And he was looking at a picture of Connor, his son.

To be continued