Shining Armor
Set in LA, a
few months after Of Monsters and Men. It involves Gwen, first introduced in
Out for a Stroll and several more familiar characters belonging to Joss Whedon
and Ebony Silvers. Angel adjusts to the new mantle of Master of LA, Cordelia
reigns supreme, Wes and Dru are Wes and Dru, AI hosts a party and Gwen has a
most intriguing case.
A brief background on Gwen may be in order. She was the victim that Wes and Dru saved from an impending rape on July 6th, 2002 while she was a sophmore at UCLA. As Monsters and Men occurs the weekend of May 8th, 2008, this story occurs in mid-October 2008, making Gwen 25 years old.
Thanks as ever to Kai for his wonderful Betaing and encouragement, and to Esme, for reminding me to take care of my muse.
Chapter One
October 2008
Gwen rubbed her eyes and shuffled the papers on her desk. It didn't matter how she looked at them, they didn't change. The file just didn't make sense. Sure, on the off glance it was a perfect solution. An ex-crack whore of a mother beat her son and blamed it on someone else. The mother was in jail in child abuse charges, and the boy was in foster care. Wasting away in foster care, actually. She frowned. And that's part of the problem.
He didn't behave like an abused child, and the mother didn't have any previous complaints. She'd cleaned up her act years before having Daniel. Gwen went every other day to visit with the little boy but he hadn't once said anything. It appeared he wouldn't talk to his foster parents either, despite their good track record with children. Granted, Daniel was only four years old, but something seemed off about him.
Neighbors found him courtesy of his mother's shrieks. She was howling like a banshee, as a matter of fact. Daniel was curled up in the corner of the room, with strange blisters on the palms of his hand and a vivid set of choke marks across his neck. Interestingly enough, the stove had not been on, and the mother, Tessa, didn't have the right reach for the strangle marks. But it didn't seem to matter to the police. She was a societal risk that snapped and abused her son, probably for something as innocent as spilling his drink. There was a large puddle of juice on the floor, near where Daniel was hiding.
Tessa swore on everything she could think of that she was protecting her son, not attacking him, but when she tried to describe his attacker, all the authorities could say was that it sounded an awful lot like a drug-induced hallucination and wrote her off. Nightmares weren't real, and it was a waste of red tape to assume otherwise.
But Gwen knew better. The monsters under the bed were real, and she had met them. Sighing, she refilled the papers in her briefcase and grabbed her purse, snapping off the light on her way out of the office.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The Pith and Peel was one of those ultra swanky LA lunch places, where people went to see and be seen. Gwen lurked near the potted palms and exotic flowers by the front door trying not to see anything and screwed up her nerve, like she did every week. The maitre'd saw her and gave her a sympathetic glance. No one he could think of would voluntarily eat with Francesca LaSalle. He figured that her daughter may have some genetic immunity to her holy terror of a mother, otherwise she'd be a locked away in some asylum somewhere. The waitstaff fell over themselves to rearrange the tables so they didn't have to serve her--no tip was worth the experience. And yet, every Thursday, promptly at 12:15, Mrs. LaSalle appeared to torment her daughter over watercress salad and iced tea with three ice cubes.
Gwen could see her mother's profile, etched against the sunshine from the plate glass windows. Francesca was tapping her French tipped nails against the side of her tea glass, flicking water on the table top in sparkling silver arcs. Gwen sighed, and edged around the plants, just wanting to get it all over with.
"Mother." Francesca arched one perfect eyebrow, and frowned in distaste.
"Yellow, Gwendolyn? Makes you look awfully sallow. You think you'd have picked up a modicum of sense about your attire. You had such promise. Sit here, I don't want the light reflecting that… lemon… back on me." She straightened her silverware with a little moue of dissatisfaction. "You'd think they'd learn how to properly set a table. Not that you ever did. That's probably why you could never keep a man around long. You didn't know how to take care of him properly. Drove them all off with that 'independent woman' nonsense." Already fidgeting, Gwen stared out the front windows. It was going to be a long lunch.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The soft late afternoon light filtered down through the lobby windows, haloing Wesley Wyndham-Pryce in a swirl of golden dust. He paused in his perusal of a moldy, crimped page, and reached for the cooling cup of tea. He had expected Drusilla earlier, but it seemed their night wore her down more than he thought. Regardless, he stood to heat the water on the hotplate for a fresh cup of tea. He could feel her waking slowly and it wouldn't be long till she came down.
Things had been quiet recently. Well, as quiet as the aftermath of a visit by Baby and Spike could be. He was glad to be in one piece and out of the hospital. Occasional headaches aside, the last few months had done wonders towards his recovery. He chuckled softly, almost thanking the over-amorous Qyeths for their help in sorting out family politics. Almost.
Angel seemed to be taking the role of Master of Los Angeles seriously. Or at least Cordelia was, and her drive propelled him out into society, both above ground and below. Wes had watched with a bemused detachment as Cordy had bullied, cajoled, or blackmailed Angel into a series of confrontations that left little doubt in the City of Angels just who was in charge. Cordelia was truly a force to behold, and he was sure she would make an admirable matriarch for the Clan of Aurelius. She had power and stamina, charisma and grace, and most of all, she had patience. Wes was proud of what she had become, having started as the Sunnydale High Razorbacks head cheerleader. Then again, the two roles weren't all that different.
He smiled as Drusilla purred a hello from her bed. Distance didn't matter; he could hear her all the same. Distance would never matter for the two of them. He sent her waves of love and affection, and politely invited her down for tea. He could feel her satisfaction, and set about finding tea sandwiches from the kitchen.
By the time he returned with a tray laden with cucumber sandwiches, curried pinwheels, and tiny buttery scones with preserves, Dru was already curled up in the chair behind his desk, neatly pouring tea into a pair of platinum-edged teacups. She glanced up, batting her ebony eyelashes. He smiled wryly--she knew he could never resist that look.
"Yes, my love? Is there something I can do for you?"
She set the cup in front of him as he pulled another chair to the desk. She frowned for a moment before swishing the steam away from the cup, wrapping the silver tendrils around her slender fingers. "I want to go out and play, Wesley, but they're hunting us."
He arched an eyebrow in response. "Who's hunting us? We're usually the hunters, you know." She smiled at that.
"That may be, but they're looking for you. To take you away from me; we were careless and left some of ourselves behind."
Wes sipped his tea contemplatively, fingered a cucumber sandwich, and searched backwards to the night before. There was nothing he could see, nothing he had done differently. Drusilla touched the back of his hand and whispered to him, "It was my fault, you know." She laid her hand on his forehead and he swirled into the hunt with her caress. He was bent over the thug, feeding Drusilla out of his hand, and she bit his finger. "I couldn't resist, you see." He nodded, and continued to watch. To his horror, Dru missed a drop of blood that smeared into a rough print of his forefinger on the lapel of the meal's jacket as the corpse was shoved roughly away. Their minds turned to other things, and the miscreant lay forgotten in the shadows by the wall.
Wes gasped in shock. "You see now, my Wesley, that we have a problem. But don't worry. A gift will be coming our way, if we only see it in time. She will save us, just as we did for her."
Caressing her fingers, the teacakes all but forgotten, he murmured, "Do you know who it will be?"
Dru shook her head and swirled the tealeaves about the bottom of her cup. "No, but we shall know her when we see her. And she will be frightened." They started up at the sound of the front doors banging, announcing the arrival of the rest of the team. Dru smiled a wisp of a smile and poured herself more tea.
The 32nd district police headquarters looked like most of the Los Angeles municipal buildings: drab, square, concrete, forbidding, and windowless. Gwen shook her head as she placed her purse and briefcase on the x-ray machine and walked through the metal detector, thanking her lucky stars she'd remembered not to wear an underwire bra today. That particular brand of humiliation was something she'd prefer not to have to repeat any time in the near future. She punched the button for the elevator and waited with the other members of the faceless throng to be hauled upwards to her destination. Passing floor two, she reminded herself why she should be taking the stairs instead of riding with the unwashed masses. The door dinged open and she strode across the entryway to the reception desk for the 'staging area.'
Myrtle Fawken eyed her distastefully. The fifty-something secretary made Gwen jump through the same hoops every time she visited, as if the demented rite of passage would somehow make Gwen more acceptable. She rolled her eyes.
"Hi, Myrtle, I'm here to see Sal."
"State your name and business."
She resisted the urge to throttle the woman and scream a number of pointless obscenities. "You know me, Myrtle."
Myrtle remained unimpressed. "Name and business."
"Gwendolyn LaSalle from Social Services. I'm here to see Detective Salome Hathwick. She's expecting me." Myrtle nodded and waved Gwen to a bank of uncomfortable green institutional chairs. She could see other police people wandering around, some talking on cell phones, some rustling papers, others drinking coffee.
A mildly overweight, balding man fluttered forward waving a sheaf of papers. "Hey Princess, I've got those files you wanted." A strikingly handsome man around 30 turned and snatched the papers from the round man's hands.
"Fuck off, Larry. Don't call me Princess." He grimaced as he looked through several photos. "Wonderful, a partial on jacket. In blood. See if you can match the print to anything on file. It's about time the bastard got careless. I'll send it to trace on my way out, and call over to make sure they file it in evidence locker 451 when they're done. We finally catch a break, I don't want anyone to screw it up." He ran his hands through thick black hair and grinned before stalking back to his office and slamming the door.
"Hi Gwen."
"Hey Sal. What's with him?" She waved in 'Princess's' general direction.
Salome shook her mane of dark hair. "Oh, Detective Montoya? He just got transferred over here. Seems the boys have taken to calling him 'Princess' cause of that movie back in the 1980s. Princess Bride--his full name is Domingo Montoya. There was this character called Inigo Montoya or something. He's alright, if a bit high strung. Caught that new Slasher case. Seems they may have a break."
Gwen froze. The Slasher. Oh my god. Quietly following Sal out of the building to their usual lunch spot, Gwen's thoughts were whirling. There hadn't been a night in the past six years she hadn't woken up in a cold sweat, thinking about the man and woman that had saved her life. Or at least, she thought it was a woman. She'd followed the coverage in the papers about the kills and when she'd joined Social Services, she'd asked for the files on him. No one was interested in showing her, but once Sal had joined the unit that handled the cases, she'd begged until her childhood friend had sneaked the profile for her. Professional curiosity my ass.
Gwen wasn't sure why she wanted to know what the police were up to regarding her saviors; she certainly didn't condone killing anyone, but she wasn't sure she wanted them caught. But just the thought of it all being brought to light was enough to give her a cold sweat.
"Gwen, are you alright? You look… ill or something. Lunch go that badly with your mom yesterday?"
Grateful for the diversion, she responded, "Like it always does. 'Let's catalogue your faults, dear, and see how you can improve on them and meet a nice man. Too bad you didn't marry Harrison when you had the chance, he was such a nice young man. And now you're throwing your life away on this pointless, not to mention depressing career, where the possibility of meeting a nice potential husband and producing grandchildren for me is unlikely.'" Gwen's imitation of her mother was dead-on and had Salome rolling in her seat. "So yeah, it was exhilarating. I know she loves me, but she should pick another way to show it. It's embarrassing having the wait staff tell me how sorry they are for me every time I leave. She's trying to set me up with the Wilsons' boy. Charlie or something-- big, blond, dumb and rich. The only redeeming quality I can see is he's handsome, but really-- he's so boring!" She rolled her eyes.
They snagged what they wanted off the dim sum cart and Sal poured them both some tea. "So how is work going, Gwen? Still trying to prove that mom's innocence? I know you believe in her, but the evidence is pretty strong. Mike isn't going to let you take that arrest away from him easily."
Gwen lifted her briefcase from the floor and cleared a place on the table. "I know. But look here… this doesn't make sense. And check out these photos of Daniel's neck. It's just wrong." They ate in silence for a few minutes, Sal poring over the photos.
"I see what you mean, but I can't offer an explanation for you. I don't know what to say."
Her face scrunched in thought, Gwen swirled her tea cup. "I understand. Sal, did you ever see things you can't explain? Don't you want to find out what really happened?"
Her friend regarded her sympathetically. "Yeah, sometimes I do. Then I remember what happened to Kate Lockley, and I put my nose back where it belongs."
"Kate Lockley?"
"She was a detective with the force back in the late Nineties. Seems she got it into her head to go all X-Files and started asking for help from this whack job private investigation company--Angel Investigations, I think. Anyway, the brass didn't like it, and eventually had her fired. Last I heard, she tried to kill herself. Then she disappeared. Some people think she went back east, or to some cabin in the middle of nowhere. All I know is, I don't want to follow in her footsteps. People in this town don't like you to look too closely, and I want to keep my job." Sal shook her head and munched on a powdered dough ball. "I know you just want to do right, Gwen, but sometimes it is better not. To. Know."
Outwardly, Gwen nodded and passed the fried pies. Inwardly, she was scribbling notes to herself. Angel Investigations. I wonder if they're listed. Private eyes should be open on Saturdays. I'll go tomorrow. "So, Sal, how's Gary? Still doing the flowers and chocolate treatment?" Diverted, Salome happily rambled on about the latest in her collection of men.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Fred was bored. It was Saturday morning and everyone else was gone. Charles was out with Lorne, visiting a temperamental client. Wes and Dru were still asleep, Angel and Cordy were taking Connor to some sort of school function, an indoor carnival or something, and she was manning the phones.
It's not like anyone comes on Saturday mornings anyway, I don't know why Cordy insists on having someone at the desk. Just then, the front door swung open and a slight young woman with short, blondish hair slid through. She turned and looked around the lobby, taking in the old school furniture and large potted palms. She glanced back towards the large glass doors, and as if making an internal decision, she started across the lobby, avoiding the large stain on the floor. Fred made a mental note to see about getting that buffed up again. Qyeth guts took forever to polish out of a floor.
She beamed a smile of welcome as the young woman approached the front desk. "Welcome to Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless! What can I do for you today?"
"Um, hello. My name is Gwen LaSalle and I work for Social Services. This may sound sort of odd… but there was an attack on a child the other day and the police have arrested the mother. I believe that she's innocent, but I can't prove it. I was wondering if your organization could perhaps help me discover what exactly attacked the boy and hopefully prove the woman innocent." Gwen was extremely nervous. It had occurred to her that she could be committing professional suicide, but if she could help Daniel, it would be worth it.
"Oh, don't worry. That's right up our alley. Unfortunately, our resident demon, or whatever, expert is unavailable right now. If you leave your particulars, we can pass the information on to him, and hopefully he can be of help."
Gwen nodded and slid a file folder onto the desk. "Here you go--all the information I have. My contact information is contained within, both personal and professional. I think I would prefer to have you contact me at home."
Fred nodded and took the folder, briefly flipping through the contents. "No problem. Hey, I just thought of something. We're throwing a party tonight for all our clients. You may be new, but you might like to meet some other people we do business with, as well as the rest of the investigation team. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, that's our demon guy, will be there. I'm sure he'd be delighted to talk to you." Gwen looked unsure. "Oh, come on, it'll be fun. We throw great parties!! Seriously, please come. It's at 8:30, cocktails and whatnot."
At Fred's enthusiasm, Gwen nodded. "8:30 then. I'd be happy to. Oh, I don't have to bring a date, do I?"
"Sure don't! I'm Winifred Gunn for short, but you can call me Fred. I look forward to seeing you there." Gwen nodded and waved as she walked out the front doors and down the steps to the street. The traffic was heavy but flowing, and she wondered how much time it would take her to get to her parents' and back. Her usual attire just wouldn't do; it was time to pull out some of her old LaSalle charm.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Upstairs, a sleepy Drusilla pinched her lover on the arm. "She's coming tonight, my love. Remember, be patient." Wesley mumbled and pulled her tighter into his embrace, shutting his eyes tight against the non-visible sunlight.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
At three to nine on the nose, Gwen stood at the base of the stairs into the old Hyperion Hotel, wondering what in hell had possessed her to come tonight. It wasn't that she didn't socialize, but hanging out with people that could get her fired probably wasn't a smart move. Sighing, she reached for the door handle, briefly checking out her reflection.
Thin frame, too many bones, honey-colored hair flipped out, gray eyes, slim-fitting slate gray dress that shimmered in the moonlight, bare shoulders covered by a gossamer wrap of the faintest pearl. As perfect as it's going to get. She took a deep breath and pulled the door open.
The lobby was overflowing with people, and some things she wasn't sure weren't people, but she kept a tight hold on her panic reflex. She didn't see the young woman she'd met that morning, but she did see a stunning woman with rich chocolate-colored hair and a striking man with hair that stuck straight up in front acting as host and hostess. She meandered down the stairs, keeping close to the wall. Not watching where she was going, she bumped into a short man with brown hair and glasses.
"Sorry, I should look where I'm going. Actually, I don't know where I'm going. Or anyone here. I'm Gwen La Salle."
The small man took her hand happily. "Lovely to meet you, Gwen. My name is David Nabbitt. I don't know that many people here either, though I've known Angel for years. They've never thrown a party like this before, and I was in the country, so I thought I'd go. Besides, they've got great hors d'oeuvres. Here, let me get you a drink."
Gwen smiled shyly and let herself be led to the bar, which was being overseen by a large green man with horns. "Hey, Lorne, I'd like to introduce you to Gwen. What'll you have?"
She looked over the liquor behind the bar. "I'll have a Bombay Sapphire and bitter lemon, if you have it."
Lorne cocked his head. "A lady with taste. It's nice to meet you. Coming right up!" He handed her the drink and David led her to a pair of couches ensconced by some delicious-looking trays of appetizers.
"So, what do you do, Gwen?"
She ducked her head and smiled a faint wisp of a smile. "I work for Social Services, actually, handling child abuse cases. I only came here for the first time this morning for help. I met a nice girl named Fred or something and she invited me to the party. That's why I don't know anyone."
"Fred's a very nice woman. Her husband works here as well: Charles. There's also Cordelia and Angel, the pair greeting people over there. Lorne you met, and lastly Drusilla and her husband Wesley."
"Wesley, that's the man that Fred said I was supposed to meet. Is he here?"
David shook his
head. "Not yet, but I'd be happy to introduce him when he arrives. They're
usually late, for good reason. So, are you from around here?"
The conversation flowed smoothly, and Gwen found herself to be having a lovely
time. David, though shy, was a wonderful conversationalist, and knew a little
about everything, it seemed. In no time, she found herself telling the story
of her mother, the Banshee of Bel Air.
"None of my friends can handle her for too long, she scares them to death. What about your family? Are you close?"
David sat very still. "We are not close. I haven't seen them for years."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I didn't know."
He smiled. "That's ok. There's no way you could. Here, Wes and Dru just walked in. Come on, I'll introduce you."
Gwen stood and turned to face the newcomers. The tall man turned, and the lady walked around his right side. Gwen took one look at his elegant face and the curve of his lady's waist and hip and fell against David in a dead faint.
"Wes, what did you do?" he demanded. Dru stepped forward, and laid a hand on Gwen's cheek. It was flushed and warm. She regarded Wesley with wide blue eyes, recognition flaring in them simultaneously.
"Come, David, bring her with you. There's something we should explain." David carried an unconscious Gwen up the stairs to a guest room, tucking her safely against his body.
Gwen was aware of two things almost simultaneously. One, she was lying down. Two, she wasn't alone. Ordinarily, the combination of these two things would be cause for celebration given the status of her love life. Unfortunately, since they were preceded by a fairly alarming turn of events, she wasn't all that happy about her current situation.
The figures from her last six years of nightmares were very real, and they were apparently sitting across the room from her, softly discussing something with the nice man she'd met at the cocktail party. If I just pretend to go to sleep I wonder whether they'll go away and leave me alone. Doesn't look like it, though. That creepy lady is humming something now. Panic threatened the edges of her consciousness and she repeated the mantra that got her through hundreds of frozen wakings: You're safe, you're safe, you're safe. The nightmares were never specific on whether she was afraid that they wouldn't save her from the thugs, or afraid she would be next. All she knew was that she was afraid. The horrible feeling of jerking awake, her limbs and voice strangled and petrified, her breathing just barely able to struggle around the silent screams, flooded her senses and she sat bolt upright.
"Good; you're awake then. We are sorry we startled you." The tall man stood but made no move to walk forward. Gwen trembled slightly but made no other sound. He sighed. "We knew we were expecting someone, but we rather thought we'd get a little bit more warning. I assure you, you will come to no harm here. David can vouch for that." She looked to the third person in the room, sitting at a chair on the other side of her bed.
Without his glasses, he looked younger. He also looked annoyed, but not upset or nervous. "Gwen, Wesley is telling the truth. No one will hurt you here, despite what you may or may not remember from… your previous encounter." Gwen had a horrified expression on her face, and David hastened to explain, "I don't know the specifics, but I do know that Wesley and Drusilla were out hunting and… rescued you… from an unpleasant situation. They are good… people, despite their peculiarities. They never harm the innocent and their own form of… justice is something that their friends learn to… live with, to some degree or another."
Calming slightly, Gwen unwrapped her arms from around her torso and sat up a little straighter. She faced Wesley and Drusilla and let out a deep breath. An internal decision made, she spoke. "The two of you have haunted my nightmares for years. Not the reality of you, merely the potential of you. Just your mere existence shattered all the childhood beliefs that the monsters under the bed were just that--monsters, figments of an overactive childhood imagination. But they're real aren't they?"
At Wes's sad expression, she continued. "And now we come full circle. I came here to ask you for help dealing with more of these living figments."
She strangled out a laugh. "Part of me is almost glad for that night. I think I needed to wake up." She smiled a little. "This may sound weird, but can I see it again, the face from that night?"
Drusilla nodded and let her face slide into ridges, teeth, and golden eyes. Gwen didn't move a muscle for nearly a minute. The room was silent until she nodded.
"That's it, then. You're a vampire, right? Yes, you would be. Which would explain the police reports." She gasped suddenly. "You know, don't you. You know about the jacket. That's what you meant about knowing someone was coming."
Putting his glasses back on, David cocked his head. "I thought you said you were a social worker. How do you know what's in the police reports?"
"Yes, how do you know? Drusilla sometimes gets premonitions, or visions if you will, and she knew someone we helped would be coming back to help us, but she didn't know how."
"Um, well, I guess you could say I had an interest in the subject. I have a childhood friend who is a policewoman. She was transferred into the unit that handles the… crimes… perpetrated by the LA Slasher. When she was assigned there, I begged her to see the files until she relented. We took some psych classes together in college, and she remembered my fascination with abnormal psych and serial killers, so she just thought it was some morbid curiosity. I was there to pick her up for lunch and overheard some of the guys in the stationhouse talking about the latest developments. I think you're in trouble." Falling silent, she stared at her hands.
This is it, then, that moment I dreaded. Could I help them? Knowing what they do? Argh!! She nearly spoke out loud but something held her back. Gwen rubbed her hands up and down her arms in a futile attempt to warm them. David stood, and with a shy smile on his face, offered her his dinner jacket. Taking it gratefully, she wrapped it around her slender frame. She rubbed her eyes.
"I've had sort-of a traumatic evening, if you know what I mean. I think I just want to go home. I'll be by later this week to talk about the case I brought this morning." Shaking her head at David's outstretched hand, she pushed off the bed. Wesley made a move to speak, but Drusilla laid a hand on his arm.
"Gwen, I know you don't really know me from Adam, but let me make sure you get home alright?" David had such a hopeful look on his face that Gwen couldn't say no.
"Sure; I live down in Pasadena, though, so it may be a drive for you."
"No matter, at least the traffic shouldn't be bad at three in the morning."
Gwen was shocked. "Three AM, how could it get so late?" She thought for a moment. "Well, time flies when you're having fun--and reliving old nightmares, it seems." This time, when David extended his arm, she took it, grateful for its solid warmth. He led her down the hallway and down a side stairwell, where his limo was waiting. He opened her door, and helped Gwen inside, shutting the door with a thoughtful expression on his face.
Still upstairs in the guest room, Wes and Dru looked at each other.
"She's still frightened of us," he said.
Drusilla merely cocked her head in response, listening to sounds only she could hear. She fluttered her hands around her waist then turned very perceptive eyes towards her lover.
"Yes, but we are lucky. Without him, she would never return and our advantage would be lost. She does know what we need, but it will only be through him that we'll recover it. Patience for now, the game is not over yet." She held her hands out to Wesley. "Come, I believe the party is still on, and some of the more interesting guests have arrived. Lorne finally convinced Cordelia to let him hook up the Karaoke machine, and if we hurry, we can catch Charles singing 'American Woman.' He's very enthusiastic," she giggled.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
The car was silent. David sat across from Gwen, watching her as she stared out at the 134 as it sped by, lit by passing cars and faded streetlights. She made a small, strangled noise in the back of her throat and he raised his eyebrows in question.
"Do you ever have one of those days where it feels like the whole world shifted beneath your feet and you're not sure where you are anymore?"
He nodded. "Every once in a while," he said softly, a half-smile lighting his face. "Like when you walked into the party tonight, for instance."
She smiled fully in response. "How smooth of you--but I do believe you. That Drusilla woman is something other than a vampire, isn't she? She can see things, know things?"
He nodded again. "Drusilla is unique. She is psychic, as well as having a fair aptitude with magic. She makes a perfect complement to Wesley, who is still human, though I doubt he will be forever. Not all vampires are the same. The first one I ever met was Angel, the nominal head of the organization. He has the dubious distinction of having his soul, his human soul, which other vampires don't. Drusilla is his daughter, vampire-wise. Vampires of his line have proven themselves on more than one occasion to be more than other vampires could aspire to." He blushed a little. "I must admit, I know most of this through gossip. A few years ago, I tried to help out with Angel Investigations after they did some work with me. But, alas, I don't have the physical fortitude to be a hero. So I helped other ways. Financial, mostly."
Gwen tilted her head, puzzled. "I thought you said you were a computer programmer?"
"Well, I was. I own Nabbitt Enterprises. Our holdings include Star Microsystems amongst others…"
Her mouth open in shock, she barely formed a complete sentence. "You own Star? Like worth-billions-Star? Now I'm feeling inadequate," she added with a wink. "Well, that adds a whole new perspective to you. Here I just thought you were my knight in shining armor, saving me from my nightmares."
She sobered. "I mean that, though. I feel more… comfortable around you than I have around any man in a long time. I suppose I should tell you a bit more about how I met Wesley and Drusilla. I was a bit… frivolous when I began college. I didn't think past my next kegger, and one night, while stumbling home by myself, I met two thugs. I found out afterwards their names were Melvin and Ramon, the LA Slasher's second and third victims. They cornered me and tried to rape me…"
Her voice trailed off and her eyes were distant, seeing bloody, ripped clothes and a butterfly purse that were promptly burned in the dorm trash can--the fire marshal be damned. She shook herself and continued. "If they hadn't found me, I would be dead, I'm sure of it. Ever since that day, though, I have felt out of balance. Like I traded my life for theirs, and those demons that saved me would be around to collect the debt. Which, in a way, they are."
At his protests, she continued. "I know they're your friends, or at least business clients. But they know I know how to get them out of their current mess. And I know I wouldn't be here if I wasn't supposed to do something about it. Do you believe in fate?"
"Well, I know that there are things called the Powers That Be, or something like that, meddling in the lives of those of us on this plane. If they're fate, then yes I do believe. But as far as no free will? Not at all." He reached out and took her hand. "All my life I've been on the outside looking in. Now I have everything I could ever need, but it isn't enough. Success is great, but unless you can do something with it, what's the point? I think you know that they're fighting on the side of good or you never would have gotten in my car. That said, it is up to you to decide what to do with your information." He knocked at the window separating them from the driver. "Hey, Ralph, it's the next exit." Gwen turned to look at the streetlights again but she didn't remove her hands.
They rode the final few moments in contemplative silence. When they pulled up to her apartment, he placed his free hand on her arm. "I know we didn't meet under the best of circumstances, but if I don't say this now, I'll never get it out. I'm not that good with the ladies, most don't give me a second look. I'd like to see you again if you're free, but I understand if you're not interested."
She regarded him for a moment, seeking something she couldn't define. The moment passed and she nodded imperceptibly. "I'm listed in the phone book. Call any time after seven." She stepped from the limo and fished her keys out of her purse. With one last look over her shoulder, she slipped through the doorway and closed the door firmly behind her.
David Nabbitt stared at the closed door for a few seconds before rapping on the glass once again. Ralph pulled the limo away from the drive and headed out of Pasadena.
To Be Continued….