DISCLAIMER: I do not own Angel (to my eternal dismay) or Darla or any
of the other characters in this story which for some reason are also
on the show. Mutant Enemy (aka Joss, sorry Joss) and WB do. Kai and
the travel agent are mine.
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT WARNING: Violence, though not too graphic, and some strong
language.
SPOILERS: "Becoming" pt 1
SUMMARY: Angel's POV from the night he died to the night he left for
America, skipping all the Angelus POV. (All right, that's a lot to
leave out. But it's a short story. Relatively.) And if you don't feel
sorry for Angel by the end, not only will you never, but you are an
unfeeling cold-blooded demon (or maybe a gypsy) and I will want to
track you down, with a carrot peeler and two plastic salad forks.
"You're never gonna die!"
--Buffy, "Prophecy Girl"
The tavern door crashed open, spilling yellow lamplight onto the littered cobblestone streets. Hoarse shouts and smoke drifted out of the door as the light was eclipsed by three silhouettes.
Two of them stumbled onto the streets, unsteadily, as the third one shouted something very rude in a heavy Irish accent and slammed the tavern door again.
One of the boys straightened up, shaking his longish brown hair out of his eyes. "C'mon, we'll sneak in and take some of me father's silver," he suggested to his companion, who was quite valiantly trying to keep from being sick on the street. "He'll never miss it. Eats with his hands, the pig." During this speech, he had hooked an arm around his accomplice's shoulders and helped him to his feet. Together, they staggered off down the torchlit street.
As the shadows shifted, a band of light fell across the young man's face for the first time. He was startlingly attractive, his face full of life and a youthful exuberance that the immortality of childhood grants all teenagers. His name was Angelus O'Reilly.
Only a few yards down the lane, his drinking companion decided he'd had enough, and collapsed onto the cobblestones. Angelus looked down at him, his feelings faintly hurt by this abandonment, but he was in far too good spirits, and had imbibed far too good spirits, to care.
"Why don't you just rest right here?" he asked his friend.
Bereft of accompaniment, Angelus looked around for something to do. The night was still young, no matter what the clock claimed (it was quite clearly demon-possessed), and there was much to be done before he, too, collapsed. Drinking seemed to be out of the question, if for no other reason than that it wasn't half as much fun alone. In fact, Angelus was quite a people person, and doing anything alone was misery for him. The preacher could yap on all he liked about morality and purity, but, Angelus reasoned, what are we put on the good earth for, if not to have fun? The preacher had no doubt lived the same way at seventeen, and he was surely bound for heaven.
But tonight, Heaven and death seemed a long way off, and Angelus was bored now. Glancing down a side alley, he was quite surprised to see the silhouette of a lovely young girl in a daringly cut dress, standing alone beneath an arch. Though her back was turned to him, she glanced at him over her shoulder and gave him an inviting smile. Then she gathered up the skirts of her dress and moved off down the side street.
Angelus grinned back at her, and moved to follow. This could end up as more fun than drinking or tavern brawling.
"So I'd ask meself," Angelus said as he stepped down behind the lady, "What's a lady of your station doing alone in an alley with the reputation that this one has?"
She smiled, and turned to face him. She was as beautiful as he had expected her to be, from his brief glimpse of her back. Her hair was long, golden, slightly curly, and quite natural. Her face was constructed of soft lines, especially when she smiled, as she did now. "Maybe she's lonely."
-----------------------------
Darla smiled at the boy who had trailed behind. Young, strong, and handsome -- he would make a perfect meal.
"In that case," he said pleasantly, "I offer meself as escort. To protect ye from harm." Darla grinned. He had no idea, of course, and nor would he, until the very end. "And to while away the dull hours." He stepped towards her, and Darla's eyes widened appreciatively as she realized just how handsome this one was. Tall, well built, and that face -- in fact, she could think of much better things to do with him than eat him.
"You're very gracious," she said, still smiling as she considered.
"It's often been said," he smirked. Apparently he was having something of the same ideas she was, only with less biting.
"Are you certain you're up to the challenge?" she said sharply.
He laughed as he took another step towards her. "M'lady, you'll find that with the exception of an honest day's work, there's not a challenge I'd forbear to face."
I just may take you up on that, Darla mused.
-----------------------------
Angelus, much closer now, was able to make out the lady's face with much less blurring. "Oh, but you're a pretty thing," he breathed appreciatively, studying her fair complexion, pearly white teeth, and sculptured face. With effort, he dragged his thoughts back to casual conversation. "Where're you from?"
She caught his eyes with her own. "Around," she said coyly. "Everywhere."
Angelus smiled a bit wistfully. "I've never been anywhere, meself. I always wanted to see the world, but --"
The lady interrupted him. "I could show you," she proclaimed in an unargumentive tone.
Angelus raised an eyebrow. "Could ye then?"
She didn't notice his skeptical tone, or, if she did, she didn't mark it. "Things you've never seen." She reached for one of his hands, drawing him closer. "Never even heard of."
"Sounds excitin'," he remarked, very interested. An offer like this from a highborn lady to someone as young as he was had to be more than it seemed.
"It is," she replied seriously. "And frightening." There was an unmistakable note of challenge in her voice, and the humor faded from Angelus's face as he watched her.
"I'm not afraid," he stated.
A different smile came on her face now, a smaller, tighter one.
"Show me," he urged. "Show me your world."
Her smile widened. "All right," she agreed. "Close your eyes."
Smiling slightly, he did so. Angelus still wondered exactly who this strange mistress was, but not enough to ask her and risk spoiling the moment.
Her fingers stroked his face caressingly, pushing the stray strands of hair out of the way. "After all," she murmured into his ear, "Some are born great --"
She cupped a hand under his chin and tilted his face upwards. "-- some achieve greatness --" Her other hand slid to the back of his head, holding him firmly enough that he couldn't have backed away even if he'd wanted to. He wondered if she was going to kiss him. He hoped so, but he didn't dare open his eyes.
Her mouth right next to his ear, she whispered, "-- and some have greatness thrust upon them." Angelus opened his mouth to reply.
With a sudden cold dread he realized that something was very wrong, and that he was in very grave danger. In the same heartbeat, he felt a sudden searing pain in his neck, and the hand in his hair clenched and twisted painfully. The breath that he had taken to speak, the breath he might have used to scream, escaped from him in a strangled gasp as his eyes flew open.
Time froze. He saw the girl's face, the twisted visage which had lurked beneath the angelic mask, as if it were an abstract painting, not a horrible reality of a demon which had its fangs sunk into his neck, sucking out his life.
Cold sober from terror and in the same frozen instant, Angelus tried to fight. He knew it meant his death if he could not break free.
His death. His death at her hands. The pain of betrayal bit as deeply into his heart as the thing's fangs did into his neck, but he couldn't respond to it.
No! he shouted silently, the only way he could now. No, let me go! Please! But the demon could not hear him, and even if she -- it -- could, it wouldn't respond. The demon had been clever, clever, and he was too close to break free. Even though no time seemed to pass, he could feel himself grow steadily weaker, his struggles slackening and the terrible pain in his neck spread to a terrifying cold numbness which enveloped his entire body. As his strength dribbled steadily away, his emotions turned to ice, outlined with black light. The color of death. Dark spots exploded before his eyes, shutting out the sight of the shadowy, cold alley. And the girl. Demon. Vampire.
Time moved even slower as the word called up images to his mind. Feeling was gone, replaced by cold thought. Vampires. Fairy stories of evil creatures which roamed the night, taking the young and unwary for their prey. Could be held off by the holy symbols, or by garlic. But once they had caught a victim, the tales went, there was no escaping their unholy strength.
No escape.
It isn't fair!
It wasn't fair to end this way. Not like this, alone in a dark filthy alley at the hands of a merciless demon. It wasn't fair.
I'm seventeen years old! I don't want to die!
A new thought and a new sensation burst upon his rapidly fading consciousness. A bitter, metallic taste on his tongue.
For an instant, although that did not seem possible because the entire world had narrowed to one second, he found himself back in himself. His futile struggles had all but ceased, and he had sunk to his knees in the filthy alley. The vampire had cut herself, and it was her blood in his mouth that he was tasting. Then sight faded into white blankness once more.
Of course, the stories said, a vampire could make its victim another vampire by taking his blood and giving him its own. Once that happened, the speaker would conclude with a shudder, the victim's soul was arbitrarily condemned for all time, and he or she became a demon in truth.
The thought was almost enough to set him struggling again, but it was too little, too late. His last frozen moment of life was gone, and he could feel his consciousness dissolving like water through his hands. Blackness descended onto him, boundless, hungry, colder than ice. Behind it, a malevolent consciousness invading his own, taking up the space where his soul had been.
And behind that, the laughter of a demon.
With his last thought, Angelus screamed, unable to make a sound. Too late, too late, too late for his life and too late for his soul.
Help me, please! Oh, God, somebody help me!
No one was listening.
Blackness.
-------------------------------
"You have no idea what it's like to have done the things I've done...
and to care..."
--Angel, "Angel"
Darkness.
Running.
He was dimly aware, for the first time in a long, long, time, that he was somewhere. Not in the familiar torchlit streets, though, but somewhere strange, out in the wilderness. He could barely catch glimpses of scenery, glaring shapes of trees outlined black on black.
There, up ahead. A glimmer of light.
Angelus still was not sure where he was, or how he had come there, or even exactly who he was. All he could feel was violent, churning darkness all around, and a sense of purpose in the direction of the light.
Something frightened him. That much he knew. But that was all he knew, except that he must keep running, running, in the direction of the light. Something there was pulling at him, tugging him in like a fish on a reel.
Darkness.
Reality slammed into him like a sword in the vitals, and the scene suddenly snapped into focus like a bowstring released. Angelus found himself on his hands and knees beside a campfire. He had no idea of how he had come to be there, or what had just happened to him. He remembered, as if from a dream, spending another night out... a brief vision of a beautiful blond lady...
Angelus shook his head, sharply. Something was nagging at him, as if there was something he ought to have known, but without even thinking about it, he pushed the memories deep down inside. He didn't want to think about them. He wasn't even sure why not. Something was very, very wrong.
"It hurts, no?" said an unfamiliar voice. Angelus looked up to see a roughly dressed man striding towards him. He stopped at the edge of the circle of firelight, studying Angelus' face. Whatever he found there pleased him immensely. "It will hurt more," he chuckled.
Angelus swallowed. "Where am I?" he managed to get out. He looked around, as if hoping some explanation would be found in the barren landscape.
Several oddly shaped, oddly painted wagons stood in a ragged circle off to his left. People of all ages, dressed similar to the man by the fire, were moving about busily, seemingly in the act of packing up. He had never seen anything like it before, but he had heard stories. Gypsies.
Annoyance passed over the gypsy man's face. "You don't remember," he stated flatly. It was not a question.
Angelus shook his head slightly, feeling sick. Something about the gypsy man's voice brought unwelcome images to mind, things he didn't want to think about, all the more so because they were so horrible... yet so familiar.
"Everything you've done, for a hundred years?" The stranger's voice
bore into him relentlessly. It was full of hate, and a simmering rage,
directed at him, that Angelus could not explain. He wanted to shut the
voice out, to shut the old man up, but he couldn't move. Angelus cast
about for some reference point, something that made sense in the
middle of this waking nightmare. He lifted his blurred vision to meet
the man's burning gaze. "In a moment you will," the gypsy chuckled.
"Already it's coming back to you, the faces of everyone you killed..."
Angelus tried to get his mouth to work again. "Killed?" he asked
dazedly. The word set off a flood of images; Angelus was overwhelmed.
"I... I don't..." I don't understand, he wanted to say. He began
shaking his head, trying to deny it.
He did understand. All the memories came flooding back, in a rush.
The night with the blond vampire -- Darla -- had been one hundred and
twenty-five years ago. A century and more of killing.
"No," he choked out, his eyes filling with tears. He did know the
gypsy girl. He had killed her. Like he had killed -- and more than
killed! -- hundreds of others. And worse, worse than even that
knowledge: he had enjoyed it.
"No," he moaned, as guilt, grief and horror thundered down on him like
an endless waterfall, sending him back to his knees again. He was only
seventeen years old, but he wasn't. Not anymore. The memories, and the
guilt, drowned out any voice of reason that might have protested that
it wasn't his fault he had been taken by a vampire. Blind loathing,
even self-directed, was not a logical emotion.
"No," he repeated, whispering, as his emotions overwhelmed him
utterly. He curled himself into a ball, covering his face with his
hands, and was not even aware that the gypsies, including the one he
had been talking to, were leaving.
Angelus did not know how long he sat there, tormented by his emotions,
but he was jerked into awareness by the cold, logical knowledge that
the sun was about to rise.
His first thought was to stay where he was, and put an end to this
nightmare. He almost sank back into the sea of feelings, but was
jerked up short (figuratively speaking) by a new emotion: Fear.
Angelus had been raised Catholic, and the whole issue of "taking one's
own life is a deadly sin" aside, he was positive that what awaited him
on the other side of death did not include forgiveness, mercy, or
peace. Nobody could have done the things he'd done and expect to be
forgiven.
He pushed himself to his feet and went searching for a cave or
something where he could spend the day. His memory told him (No! Don't
think about that!) that he had been rooming with Darla in a cave
system not to far away. He could easily reach it before dawn.
He shook his head. He couldn't go back to where Darla was. He wouldn't
be able to stand her presence, and she wouldn't understand what was
happening to him. Couldn't. For a moment, he felt almost sorry for
her; when he was still her lover, she'd loved him as much as one
soulless creature could love another. All that aside, Angelus couldn't
face her again, so he kept looking. Just as dawn broke over the
forest, he found a place to shelter. Once that was settled, he
submitted to another wave of emotion.
The worst part, Angelus reflected bitterly, was that all this pain was
self-inflicted. But there was no way to make himself not care, short
of becoming a demon once again. A choice which his human soul now
denied him. The gypsies had done their work well. Of course, that was
the point.
He didn't know how long he'd stayed where he was -- hours, maybe days
-- when a new thought penetrated his awareness through the chaos of
his conscious mind.
Shit. I'm hungry.
Already he craved blood; human blood, and fresh. At the same time, he
was utterly horrified and repulsed by the very idea of living like a
-- vampire, again. Perfectly balanced between the hunger and the
guilt. Truly cursed.
Too human for a vampire, too much a demon to ever be human again --
what was he? The silence of the cave, the bright sunshine outside,
forever out of his reach, seemed to mock him. He was a vampire. His
unnatural thirst proved this, his memories confirmed it. He was a
monster, and forever would be, an outcast even among the demon
society. For an instant, just an instant, he felt as if he could see
his own future.
What he saw was an endless string of nights, just like this one. Alone
forever. And maybe it was just a matter of time before his hunger
defeated him and drove him out to kill -- again. There was no hope.
Welcome to eternity, Angelus.
He pressed his hands against his eyes and wept until the tears that
dropped onto his disheveled coat stained it red.
"The loneliness, the constant exile... It's no wonder she's quite mad.
"
--Giles, "Invisible Girl"
Kai peered out into the growing gloom. Was that someone coming down the road he saw? No. It was just the shifting shadows of the trees. He lowered his rifle with a low curse, and hunkered down to wait until nightfall.
For the last eleven years, Kai had been searching for the demons that had killed his family. He rested in the sunlight and hunted during the night, and he had read about vampires in every book he could get his hands on.
He had been only five years old on the night of blood and fire, fourteen years ago now, but he always remembered the faces of the demons who had led the slaughter. Three of them, there had been. Three vampires who had ruined his life, and, ironically, become it. His entire universe centered on revenge. He didn't even know what he planned to do once his vengeance was complete.
Kai came hyperalert at a slight crackling in the bushes, but he relaxed when he identified the noise as a sundown snake. He glanced around. It was dark enough by now to get moving, so enough with the reminiscing. He pulled his backpack on, fingered the cross in his pocket, and set off through the forest, following a barely-visible trail.
Angelus watched the youth go from his perch in the tree. He remembered. Oh, he remembered this one. Kai was a leftover from one of his last banquets, with Spike and Dru around 1894. Angelus didn't run across old victims often; in fact, he avoided them like the plague, but this kid was running straight into a danger he couldn't ignore.
Somehow, Kai had stumbled onto Spike and Dru's trail, and he was headed straight for their hideout. While his rest-by-day-hunt-by-night tactics were useful to a vampire slayer, the boy would only get himself killed if he met up with Spike and Drusilla at night.
Angelus sighed, his mood darkening even further. There was no help for it. He would have to warn Kai to leave. And he didn't think the kid would pay attention to a telegram.
A few hundred yards down the road, Kai became aware that there was someone, or something, following him. He slowed to almost a stop, scanning the underbrush and road about him for any sign of pursuit. Nothing. The silence pressed at him from all sides as he turned, searching.
"Kai," someone called softly from right behind him.
He whirled like a scalded cat, his gun coming up into firing postion at his shoulder. For an instant, just for an instant, he glimpsed the face of his stalker, and that was enough to shoot his already-dubious self-control to where the sun don't shine. He fired once, twice and a third time, his rage only mounting as the demon staggered back beneath his unexpected assault.
"You!" he snarled, dropping his smoking gun and yanking out a cross. "After eleven years, I've finally caught up with you." He advanced, holding the cross out, using it to pin the vampire to the ground as he hunted around in his pockets for a stake.
Angelus coughed and spat blood. This interview, so far, was not going too well. "You did realize, Kai, that if I'd wanted to, I could've killed you then?"
The youth's face was contorted with fury as he yanked out a stake. "Things are different now, demon. I'll be doing the killing now. Kill you. Like you killed my family! Like you killed me that day!"
"Kai..." Angelus started, but Kai wasn't in the mood for casual conversation. He just shoved the cross closer as he held the stake over Angelus's chest, effectively shutting the vampire up. Luckily for Angelus's continued health, Kai wanted to vent a little first.
"I remember. I remember them lying there, with their throats torn out, drowned in their own blood. I remember you. Did you think I wouldn't recognize you after all this time? Did you think you could get away with slaughtering them like pigs? The constables may have said nothing could be done, but they didn't believe me when I told them that demons had killed my family. Burned down my home, with them still in it! Some of them were still alive, you bastard! Now you'll get what's coming to you!"
Angelus closed his eyes, exhausted, as Kai's words hit him harder than the bullets had. The everpresent guilt was close on its heels, and in that instant he truly didn't care if Kai killed him. But if he died just then, then Kai would walk right into Spike and Dru's lair...
He opened his eyes to see Kai regarding him uneasily, drawing back slightly. The point of the stake left his chest as he backed away slowly, his rage diminishing. The boy looked him up and down, taking in his emicated frame, haggard face and seeming inability to fight back, and comparing it to his memory. And coming up with NO SALE.
"What's the trap?" he asked warily, glancing nervously around. "Where are the other two?"
Angelus pulled himself painfully up to a sitting postion. "No trick, Kai," he said wearily. "You've got to believe me when I tell you that if I could erase what I've done..." His voice gave out, and he tried again. "Kai, I know you have no reason to trust me, but you're heading to your own death here. Spike and Drusilla are camping out in Prague, not too far away, and if they see you, you'll die."
Kai sneered at him. "The word of one monster selling out another. Right. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't stake you now. Christ, why haven't I? God knows you deserve it..." He raised his stake again.
Angelus didn't say anything, only held the teen's eyes until Kai had to turn away. "Just go," he snarled. "I don't know what your deal is, and I don't particularly care. But you've told me what I need to know." He pulled extra bullets out of his backpack and began reloading the gun.
With a great deal of difficulty, Angelus pulled himself somewhat upright and gasped out, "Kai, you don't know what you're doing. You go there now and you won't last five minutes, gun or no gun. If you're lucky. You won't even get the chance to take them down with you..." He trailed off as Kai, not listening to a word he was saying, hoisted his gun and strode off into the darkness.
Angelus stared after him. "Chalk up another failure," he whispered bitterly. His fingers lost their grip as the ground rushed up and struck him.
In a vacated -- well, recently vacated -- tenement in the outskirts of Prague, Spike and Dru were preparing for an evening outing when a gunshot rang out and the glass of one of their windows burst inwards, spraying shards all over the floor.
"What the bloody hell?" asked an irritated Spike, face morphing into vamp mode as he turned to face the distraction. Another bullet whizzed harmlessly by and collided with an innocent gas lamp, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Following the bullets came a young man not quite twenty, with a rifle, a will to use it, and murder written on his face.
Kai climbed in through the broken window, eyes fixed on the two vampires. "Got you," he whispered. He yanked out a cross and advanced on the pair, his eyes burning with the unholy light of vengeance long delayed.
Spike was unimpressed. "Dru..." he complained, rolling his eyes at the vampiress. But she was fussing with her skirt, trying to work the pieces of glass out of it, and didn't answer. He turned his attention back to Kai, who was working himself up to a good rant again.
"...eleven years, thought I wouldn't find you, didn't you? Thought you could get away with what you did? Destroyed the whole household, down to cinders --"
Spike leapt at him, striking the cross out of his grip, and slammed him against the wall. Kai made a peculiar strangled sound before his air was cut off. "Look who came to visit us, Dru!" Spike called cheerfully. "Another vengeful family member!"
Dru looked. "How nice to have company," she said calmly. "But you weren't invited."
"Can I torture him, pet?" Spike asked. He was never one to tolerate crashers.
Dru shook her head. "Not now, dearie, we'll be late for the show."
Spike sighed. "All right," he said. He twisted the teen's arm, which had been reaching for a concealed cross, and broke it, swinging Kai into Dru's arms.
"S'long," she mumbled into his ear, and sank her teeth into his neck.
Dru let the lifeless body fall to the glass-covered floor and smiled coquettishly at Spike. "Can we go now?" she queried.
Spike smiled, slightly amused. "Yes. Let's. The night is young."
Arm in arm, the smitten pair waltzed out the door. Kai's body lay where it had fallen. Biting his lip, Angelus slipped out of the shadows and checked for a pulse, a heartbeat, anything. It was much too late. Gathering the body up in his arms, he made for the door. He had met a man in the pub, raving about Drusilla, who had killed his family -- lovely pattern of hers, which she had definitely picked up from him, almost as delightful as her tendancy to wipe out whole orphanages at a time -- come to think of it, the man had been the former owner of an orphanage, too.
Spike and Dru hadn't been keeping track of their atrocities. Angelus had seen it before -- the man was ripe to rally a mob. The site of this new drained body would set them off for sure. Pity they didn't know they were up against a vampire; they weren't likely to use the correct slaying techniques. Still, Dru, and maybe Spike, were going down.
The travel agent was a fairly standard man; he had been working at his desk job for nearly thirteen years. He had never been married, and in fact was quite lonely, but he was nice enough. He had certainly never had experience with demons, vampires or any of the other supernatural things that men such as he like to ignore. Therefore, when a vampire showed up at his post one night, he had absolutely no clue that anything was out of the ordinary.
The first indication that someone was in the room with him was when someone came between him and his light. He looked up, startled, to see the young man that had somehow made his way into the room looming above him. Although the stranger couldn't have been much over twenty, he had a worn, haggard look about him that made him seem much older.
"Hello?" asked the agent, startled. "I'm sorry, I was rather engrossed in my work, didn't hear you come in..."
"That's all right," muttered the newcomer. "I'm sorry to bother you, this late at night."
"It's nothing," the agent assured him. "Can I, ah, do something for you?"
The man slowly looked up. "I was hoping so," he answered. His voice was hoarse. "I need passage to America."
The travel agent's eyebrow rose. He'd seen this sort of thing before. The homeless beggar, often one who had lost everything, who wanted to start a new life. "I, ah, see. I'll see what I can do. What's your name?"
A fraction of pause, before the man answered, "Angel--" He broke off, as if bothered by something. "Angel," he said more firmly.
The travel agent shrugged. Who was he to judge a man by his name? "Well, Angel," he began. "You see, we're not really a traveling agent anymore. We've gone more the shipping route. And even if we weren't, I can't just hand out tickets to any stranger who happens by. But maybe I can help you--"
Angel sighed, and leaned against the wall. He was so tired of dealing with it all, with the past and his memories and all the things from long ago that wouldn't be put to rest. Things he felt he had to make up for and couldn't. All he wanted was to escape it, to make a new start somewhere. Dammit, if he had to be alone, couldn't he at least do it right, without his past haunting his every step?
He came out of his brooding thoughts to notice that the travel agent was watching him with something resembling sympathy on his face. Studying his every move, his gaunt frame and exhausted demeneor, the man apparently came to some decision.
He wouldn't find himself being nice if he knew, oh no, Angelus thought bitterly.
The travel agent's voice broke the silence. "I think," he said, "that I know something of what you feel. Something awful has happened to you, hasn't it. Did it involve a girl?"
The faintest of smiles tugged at Angel's lips. "You could say that," he responded. "Several, in fact."
The travel agent shook his head sadly. "How the mighty have fallen," he quipped.
"Tell me about it."
"Well, I might be able to stretch the rules a bit. I can't book you passage, but you could probably sneak aboard one of our freighters, if you think you can manage to stay in a cramped cabin for six weeks, probably never even seeing the sun."
Angel gave a short laugh. "I think I'll survive."
"Well, it leaves day after tomorrow, shortly after midnight, if you're still interested. I'd advise you to wait until they're done loading, but before they're cleared to go. And if something goes wrong, you never met me, say? Go down to Pier 39..."
Angel listened carefully trying to repress the glimmer of hope springing determinedly inside him. With a renewal of purpose, he could maybe live once more.
America could be his chance. To wipe the slate clean, with no repercussions. To start again.
end