All of us are travelers lost,
our tickets arranged at a cost
unknown but beyond our means.
This odd itinerary of scenes
--enigmatic, strange, unreal--
leaves us unsure how to feel.
No postmortem journey is rife
with more mystery than life.

        ----Book of Counted Sorrows by Dean Kootz
 

January 15, 2000

        Will they ever forgive me? Will they ever understand? Will they ever accept
me?
        Can they? Once I tell them all..... once I say good-bye.... once I accept
what I have
done.
        I come here to be close to him..... if only he knew how much I miss
him...... how
much I need him..... how much I......
        They came. I never thought they would, I thought it was a myth passed on
from
generation to generation.... but it wasn’t.... it isn’t.
        I hurt to cry, I’m so tired.... so tired. I want to sleep, but I can’t....
we don’t have
time.... we have to leave..... go away forever......
        I lay on the bed where we said goodbye, the same bed blood was shed, a bed
where a beginning became an end.
        I miss him so much........
        But where do you begin; where do you find answers that are not your own.
I’ve
hurt them, I know, but I also helped them and that perhaps they shall never
understand.
        I hold the pillow closer to me; wishing the nightmare was ending. Wishing
somehow to return to another time. Wishing once more to be with him.......
if only in my
dreams.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

January 16, 2000

        “Quite tonight,” Doyle commented as they walked  down the dark block, a
couple
of blocks from Angel Investigations.
        “Can’t be good,” Angel remarked as he tried to shake off a very bad feeling
in the
pit of his stomach.
        “You know, this should be a good thing, no demons to fight, or vampires to
slay.
Means it’s safe. And no mind splitting headaches either,” Doyle encouraged.
        “Yeah, or it could also mean there’s something coming worse.”
        “As long as your optimistic,” Doyle replied sarcastically.
        “Come on,” Angel said as he stopped in front of their local pub. “My
treat.”
        Doyle happly followed, smiling. It was about time they had some time to
drink and
get drunk.
        It had been a quite night. The past week had only produced the slaying of a
wanna-be master vampire as well as three demons that were more slimy then
ferocious.
Since then it had been quite, except for the woman who had needed a ghost
removed from
her home. It was relatively easy, especially with the help of Cordelia’s
roommate.
        Now as they sat sipping some whiskey, Angel couldn’t help but feel a bit
restless.
        Though it was a blessing for Doyle to have some off time, it unnerved
Angel. To
be honest, he had felt on edge for the past week, feeling there was
something going on...
something he should know about. Even sleep offered no relief as he tossed
and turned, his
dreams a muddle of images and light. He hadn’t felt this disgruntled since
he had returned
from Hell.
        Doyle, however, was delighted that he had some time off. His time with
Cordelia
in the office had increased and he thought maybe, just maybe, he was making
some
progress. He looked around the relatively empty bar and took a look at the
few ladies,
something he thought Angel should begin doing. Wasn’t pinning over Buffy for
six months
enough time?
        “You know , the brunette down the counter is looking at ‘ya,” Doyle said.
        Angel turned his head and caught her smiling at him. Politely, he smiled
back
quickly and went back to his drink.
        “You know, I don’t think she’ll bite if you go and talk to her,” Doyle
encouraged.
        “I really don’t want to.”
        “Come on, it’s time to move on. Buffy isn’t waiting for you, why should you
wait
for her?” Doyle said as bit annoyed.
        “This isn’t about her,” Angel revealed.
        “Then if it isn’t about her, then what.....?” Doyle asked.
        “Nothing,” he replied as he finished his drink and stood up. “I’m gonna
patrol a bit
more...”
        “Not again,” Doyle interrupted as he doubled over in pain.
        Angel took hold of the half-demon and pulled him out of the bar, the few
spectators assuming he’d been drunk. Once outside Doyle composed himself,
the vision
finally passing.
        “What happened?”
        “Fire.....” Doyle replied cautiously.
        “Where?”
        “Sunnydale......”
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

        The final gust of water from the hose extinguished the last lingering
flames that
had engulfed the entire house only an hour ago. The house was left half
standing, must of
the left side of the house in ashes while the rest stood dark and broken.
The two bodies
were removed from among the debre, perhaps running to the kitchen to escape
the
burning inferno. Unfortunately, they never made it. The flames it seemed had
caught them
first, burning them alive.. Well that was what the coroner assumed not
knowing
completely until an autopsy could be performed. The charcoal bodies were
placed in two
body bags and shipped off to the morgue while the rest of the firemen
remained looking
for the third victim, a daughter perhaps, the neighbors had mentioned had
also lived there.
But by the looks of how badly disfigured and burned the last two victims had
been they
had little hope in finding the third.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

        It was on the radio in Giles apartment that they heard of the fire on
Chelston
Street. They had rushed over with blind filled faith that the news
broadcasters report had
been wrong... that not all three occupants of the white ranch house had
parished. But as
they turned the corner and saw the remains of the crumbled home, what little
faith they
had carried disappeared, welcoming in grief, pain, and sorrow. They fell to
the ground as a
bunch, holding onto each other as the remaining police officers finished
placing the yellow
ribbon around the premises, the little smoke rising from the ashes the only
think remaining.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

        They had made it too late. That was the conclusion they were left with. As
they
walked around the wet, burnt floor that was once the Rosenburg house,
Angel’s heart
turned heavy as he realized they had failed her. It was Doyle’s voice that
shook him out of
his thoughts.
        “I’m sorry man,” he said softly and turned to walk back to the sidewalk.
        Angel followed shortly after, walking with Doyle to Xander’s house where
the rest
had set up a vigil to wait for a friend they had hoped had somehow escaped
the fate of her
parents.
        But as the night died to welcome the day, so did their hope.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *
 The small group changed locations just before the break of dawn. Memories
much
too fresh for them to bare. They moved temporarily to Giles apartment, just
for some time
until night fell once again.
        It was in the privacy of the bathroom that Doyle found Angel, brooding.
        “How you doing?”
        Doyle stepped back the moment he saw Angel’s face shift to that of the
demon so
quickly. He’d expected him to be sad and blaming himself for this tragic
event, but never
the anger that was coming off in waves from the vampire.
        “Why the hell do they send you a vision for us to be too late to help?” he
asked
through clenched teeth.
        “I don’t.... I don’t know.... maybe we were too far....” Doyle stuttered,
intimidated
by this side of Angel.
        “They’ve never sent us a vision where we were too late.... never.... why
her...” he
continued, not paying much attention to Doyle, voicing the countless
questions that
plagued him.
        “Angel, man, their was nothing you could do,” Doyle said, trying to calm
him
down.
        “Why the fuck did they send it? Tell me? To show me how I failed her? To
show
me I can’t help the ones that I care the most for?” he asked growing madder
then before.
        “I don’t know..... I don’t know....” Doyle replied not having the answers
he
needed.
        Angel sat back down, his face shifting back to human.
        “We’ve never been wrong about a vision, Doyle” Angel said, guilt and rage
mixing
inside him.
        “I know... I’m sorry Angel... only if it had come sooner then.....” Doyle
offered.
        “Once the night falls we’ll head out. I have to go out right now,” he
interrupted,
changing the subject quickly.
        “There is that pesky sun thing.....”
        “Not where I have to go.”
        “When will you be back?”
        “Before the sun sets. I shouldn’t be long.”
        The vampire left the room and the apartment shortly after, heading to the
only
place he could think of to be alone.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

        The glare from the sun hit the windshield bothering her tired eyes. The
soft glow
from the back seat had finally died down, allowing her some peace of mind.
The light
sounds of snores weakened her resolve a bit, but she couldn’t stop.
        She glanced over at the clock. It was only noon, an hour before she could
wake
him to take over driving duties. She squinted at the sign ahead, relived to
see it this early
in the day. They would make it there sooner then she had expected.
Contented, she
zoomed past the welcome to New Mexico sign, counting down the miles before
they
could stop.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

        Angel entered the dark apartment with the spare key he had hidden inside
the false
wall socket. Nothing had seemed to have changed since he had left. Except
for the sweet
smell that greeted him as he stepped inside.
        The faint smell of jasmine grew stronger as he walked deeper into the empty
dark
apartment. He reached for the light switch and filled the room with light as
he tried to
detect where the smell was coming from. He was led to his old bedroom where
crumbled
sheets were in a hep in the middle of the bed. He reached for the satin red
pillow and
inhaled the sweet scent. One that brought back pleasant sensations that he
could not recall
from where. He turned and inspected the room finding nothing out of the
ordinary. He left
to check the apartment, but found nothing out of place.
        He returned to the bedroom, trying to place the smell. He sat on the bed
and
opened the nightstand drawer, wondering if something was left behind. He
checked the
chest and other drawers around but found nothing.
        Someone had been in his apartment recently, something that bothered him,
since
only a select few knew about this place. This had become a secret home for
him in
Sunnydale. It was a disclosed area that he had found before he left for LA.
        He sat down on the unmade bed frustrated. He slammed the drawer inside of
the
oak cherry nightstand, then growled slightly as he heard the wood break. He
pulled it back
out, the halves breaking apart and falling to the floor.
        “Great.”
        Before he could kneel down and pick up the pieces, his cell phone rang,
annoying
him more. He pulled the small Nokia phone out of the inside pocket of his
leather jacket,
fumbling with the answer button a bit.
        “What?” he answered, his eyes shifting down to the mess in front of him.
        “We have a bit of a problem,” Doyle replied on the other end.
        “What happened?”
        “I’m not too sure yet. Meet us at the morgue in about twenty minutes. “
        “The morgue?” Angel asked a bit surprised.
        “We’ll meet you inside.”
        Before Angel could reply, his eyes caught sight of a shiny small light
among the
broken pieces of wood.
        “Twenty minutes,” he quickly replied then shut off his phone. He dropped
the cell
on the bed and kneeled down, picking up the piece of wood. To his shock he
found a
silver key taped to the bottom. He pulled it off and inspected it, wondering
where it had
come from.
        He quickly stood and slipped the new item in his pant pocket. He could look
into it
later, he was needed at the morgue now.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

        “Are you sure?” Xander asked the coroner once more in disbelief.
        “Positive, I was present. Look, I’m sorry for your loss, but there’s
nothing that I
can do. That’s all the information I can give you.”
        Xander nodded and walked back to the group who were huddled together by
reception.
        “It’s true?” Buffy asked, her own pale face reflecting his.
        “They were cremated this morning,” Xander replied lowly, unable to believe
what
was happening.
        “How? I thought you said she didn’t have family here?” Giles asked
confused.
        “She doesn’t,” he answered.
        “Then who asked for this?” Buffy asked.
        “He said... he said he couldn’t tell me....” Xander answered.
        “Then I will,” Angel said. “Cordelia, would you mind speaking to the
coroner?”
        Cordelia nodded and smoothed down her skirt, putting her best smile forth.
        The group watched as Cordelia began to make small talk with middle aged
man,
keeping his attention on her. Doyle followed Angel, entering the office in
the far corner,
making sure not to be seen. The rest of the group remained watching, ready
in case they
were needed.
        Once safely inside Angel headed to the computer as Doyle moved the files on
the
desk.
        “We need to find out who ordered them to be cremated,” Angel told him as he
switched from screen to screen, trying to find anything he could on the
Rosenburg’s.
        Doyle found only two files, one for a Sheila Rosenburg the other for her
husband,
Ira .
        “There isn’t a file for Willow here....”
        “She’s not on the computer either...... Sheila and Ira Rosenburg were the
only ones
cremated this morning. It doesn’t mention Willow....Who would ask.......”
        “Sheila’s brother,” Doyle replied quickly.
        “Who?”
        “Franklin Cover. Here,” Doyle replied as he showed him the paper in the
file.
        “He ordered for them to be cremated and placed in an urn.”
        Angel looked over the paper quickly.
        “If Willow doesn’t have any relatives here, then how did Frank know about
the fire
so soon?” Doyle continued.
        “That’s what doesn’t seem right. Someone had to have sent some kind of
request
for this. Look for a fax print out.”
        Angel switched screens again finding what he was looking for. He printed
out the
page and went back to where the computer had been before.
        “I can’t find it.”
        “Take the file. We’ll look at it at Giles apartment.”
        Both men left the office the same way they had entered, undetected.
        The group left shortly after with the file, a printout and the coroners
telephone
number at hand.
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

        “Who the hell is Franklin Cover?” Xander asked.
        “We were hoping you knew,” Angel replied.
        “Willow never mentioned him.”
        “So this guy called this morning and asked that his sister and her husband
be
cremated?” Buffy asked still a bit shaken by the turn of events.
        “That’s what the report says. A called was received this morning, asked the
coroner to inurn the bodies and hold the ashes. They received his written
request with
Sheila Rosenburg’s birth certificate and did what he requested,” Angel said,
recapping
what he had found in the file.
        “This doesn’t make sense. Willow never mentioned she had an uncle. She
would
have told me....” Xander spoke, his mind trying to recall any information
Willow had ever
given him over the years.
        “Didn’t she say her mother was a single child?” Buffy voiced, remembering a
conversation she had had with Willow a long time ago.
        “She did, so was her father,” Xander said a bit suspicious.
        “Found something,” Doyle yelled out to them from behind the computer
laptop.
        The group moved over the laptop on the table, hoping to see what he had
found.
        “Franklin Cover?” Cordelia asked hopeful.
        “No. A death certificate.”
        “His?” Angel asked.
        “Better. Sheila’s and Ira Rosenburg.”
        “But we have them right here.....” Giles began to say.
        “From 1952.”
        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *
They stopped shortly after four p.m. just outside of the Texas border to
refuel the
tank and grab some sandwiches, hunger no longer able to be held off.
      He filed up the tank while she went inside and bought the sandwiches. There
was
no need to eat in the diner, the car could offer the same comfort but with
much more
privacy.
      With the items in hand, she stepped back out into the dry hot air and
headed back
to the red 1965 Mustang. She climbed into the back seat, sitting next to the
pale, young
woman. She handed her chips, a drink, and a turkey sandwich.
      “You need to eat,” she said softly yet sternly.
      She simply nodded and took the items offered. She munched on what she
could,
her stomach not accepting much.
      After a short time they were on the road once again, silence feeling the
space
around them.
      Willow looked out the window, wondering when she would awoke from this
horrible nightmare.
      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

      The room was filled with tension as they each began their own research. As
much
as Angel’s help was appreciated, the uneasiness among them was evident.
Angel and Buffy
hadn’t even exchanged five words among themselves since his arrival, nor had
Cordelia
and Xander been together alone in the same room, perhaps it was because Anya
never left
his side. The added presence of Riley among them afforded an added stress,
one that the
group did not need.
      He had afford the Initiatives help, but if they accepted it, they would
have a stake if
anything happened. That was something they could not afford or at least was
something
Angel was strongly against.
      Once their eyes began to blur, the group broke off into a much needed
break. They
ordered pizza and took a breather. It was the opportunity Angel had needed
to pull Doyle
and Cordelia to the side.
      “I need you both to try and find what this opens,” Angel said as he pulled
out the
silver key from his pocket.
      “How are we supposed to......” Cordelia began to complain.
      “Locksmith,” Angel replied quickly.
      “And the not so locksmiths,” Doyle added, knowing what he meant “Why?”
      “I found it in my apartment...”
      “Shouldn’t we be researching more?” Cordelia interrupted.
      “This might be hers,” Angel revealed.
      “Oh..... but how did.....” she questioned curious.
      Doyle grabbed Cordy’s hand and pulled her with him as they all went to the
door.
      “Call me when you find anything.” Angel said.
      Doyle nodded and left, Angel closing the door behind them. He resumed his
position in front of the laptop and began his second search.
      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

      Willow’s eyes began to droop, the silence in the car and the smooth drive
hypnotizing her. It was until she felt a tiny shake that she realized what
she was doing.
      “Let’s stop and stretched out our legs,” she said.
      He pulled over along the shoulder of the road, his emergency lights
flashing. The
hot dry air had turned into a cool breeze along the deserted road. They had
been cramped
up in the car for far too long, their backs, butts, and neck aching.
      Willow looked around the deserted highway, the night falling much to fast
for her.
She wrapped her arms around her, a cold chill running up her spine.
      “Where are we going?” she asked softly.
      “Somewhere safe,” the tall dark man replied, trying to offer her some
comfort.
      “It won’t be much longer,” the woman reassured.
      Willow simply nodded, knowing her life was in there hands.
      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

      “So how long has this social been active?” Riley asked.
      “The real Ira Rosenburg died in 1952 in Albany, New York but the social
remained
active.
      “But how can that be?” Xander asked.
      “As long as you pay your taxes, the government doesn’t really care. They
need to
be notified when a person has died to de-activate it. They never seemed to
have received
that bit of information.”
      “So someone else took his identity? How?” Buffy asked.
      “As long as you have the money and know the right people you can change who
you are. I know, I’ve seen it,” Angel replied as he clicked into another
screen.
      “Then Willow’s parents aren’t.....” Xander said a bit numb.
      “No. What we need to know is who they really are....... and if Willow knew
about
it,” Riley said carefully.
      “That’s why they were cremated,” Giles reasoned.
      “No body, no fingerprints, no dental recordings.....” Riley added .
      Angel was a step ahead of them, already knowing what they were thinking.
      “Xander, can you remember if Willow was ever sick?” Angel asked.
      “What?”
      “Sick. A cold or flu....... a broken arm or something?”
      Xander’s mind raced to think of something, but found nothing.
      “No.... she was pretty healthy..... never had a cast... why?”
      “There aren’t any records of her at the hospital.....”
      “That’s impossible. She was in a coma there when she performed the
restoration
spell on you. The bookcase fell on her.... she was there, in the hospital.
We saw her there,”
Buffy said.
      “Then it was taken out of the system. There is no trace of a Willow
Rosenburg
being looked at in Sunnydale Hospital.
      “How the Hell. She was there,” Xander replied freaked out.
      “What about the parents?” Riley asked.
      “Nothing. They aren’t in the system.”
      “Have you checked the bank records, work records, anything else?” Giles
asked.
      “Their clean. Savings and checking account is normal. They have themselves
as
next of kin and Willow as beneficiary. Work is clean, nothing out of order,
except that
they did not have medical insurance.”
      “Check her school records. Someone has to be posted for emergencies, maybe
even a doctor’s number,” Xander advised.
      Angel did as asked, extremely happy he had taken upon himself to learn more
about computers and hacking, an amateur at best. It also didn’t hurt that he
  had some
people in LA that gave him a few pointers. Compared to the security systems
in LA,
Sunnydale had very low standards. Angel was able to enter the school records
in less then
ten minutes.
      “She had her parents and Giles as people to call.”
      “No other names you can find on the form?” Giles asked.
      “None.... wait.... I found something.”
      “What?” Anya asked curious.
      “Her doctor. Dr. Franklin Cover.”
      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

      “Here, drink this. It’ll help you stay awake.”
      Willow took the green drink with a bit of hesitation. She was surprised to
taste its
sour and sweet taste, something her tastebuds liked.
      “Are we there yet?” Willow asked, not completely sure where they were
headed.
      She knew they had crossed into Texas an hour ago, she just wasn’t sure if
they
planed on staying in that state.
      “You’ll be staying with me,” the woman answered.
      Willow nodded wondering just how she would be meant to live her new life.
      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

      “Hand me the fax the coroner received,” Angel said.
      Giles fumbled with the file before handing it to him. In five minutes Angel
entered
the Sunnydale Telephone Company and  began his search.
      The phone number on the school form was registered to a Dr. Franklin Cover
at
150 Belmont, on the outskirts of Sunnydale. He placed in the fax number from
the top
page of the page where the request was made and found it belonged to a
Franklin Cover at
84 Southport, on the other side of town.
      He tried the phone, finding both numbers listed disconnected even the fax
line.
      “Time to pay a visit,” Buffy said as she marched out with the rest of the
group
behind her.
      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

      “Are you sure?” Doyle asked.
      “Positive. Make keys for them all the time. Usually for the new owners.”
      “Do you have an address?” Cordelia asked.
      “I’ll give you it to you, but it won’t do you any good. There closed right
now.”
      “Doesn’t matter,” Doyle replied happy.
      It had taken them four locksmiths and a referral to “Eddie” to find out
what the
key may open.
      “Here goes. Not many people know about it. Not many people use the Ferguson
Train station much. It’s in the lower level.”
      “Thanks. You have no idea how much you’ve helped us.”
      “No problem. Just make sure you don’t tell them who referred you. There
known
for their animity.”
      “No problem.”
      With address in hand, they walked out of the third floor greystone hoping
it
offered some help.
      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

      They arrived to the second location to find what they had found at the
first. Land
for sale. No buildings or houses. Just barren land.
      “This guy does not want to be found,” Xander commented.
      “This guy just might not exist.”
      “A fake brother, a fake doctor, fake names. What else can there be?” Buffy
replied
at wits end.
      They were all at the end of a rope they new would give out soon. They still
hadn’t
even been able to mourn for their friend or her parents and now learning all
these truths
threaten more their already fragile emotions.
      It was Angel’s cell that answered Buffy’s question. He quickly answered it,
knowing who it would be.
      “What?”
      “Found it I think.”
      “Where?”
      “Ferguson Train Station. Meet you in the front.”
      “I’ll be there.”
      With that said he placed his cell back into his jacket and told the group
to head
back to Giles home and rest.
      “Do you know something we don’t?” Xander asked a bit suspicious.
      “I’ll tell you when I do,” he replied and left.
      He hurried down the streets, knowing Doyle and Cordelia were most likely
there
already. His mind was a mixture of emotions he pushed to the side. That
would get him no
where right now. He had finally placed the sweet fragrance in the bedroom,
one that
belonged to Willow. How he knew, or where he had smelled it on her before
was still a
mystery to him, one that he intended on finding out.
      He turned the corner and found them standing in front of the car.
      “Nice of you to join us,” Doyle commented, hoping to lighten the mood a
bit.
      “What did you find?”
      “The key belongs to a storage thing or locker in the lower level of the
train
station.”
      “Nice and isolated,” Angel commented.
      “Hardly known. That’s what the guy said. Known for its animity,” Cordelia
added.
      “Also closed,” Doyle finished.
      “Best time. Cordy stay in the car. Doyle keep a look out. I’ll be back.”
      They did as told and saw the shadow sneak inside with a silver key in hand.
      It didn’t take long for him to make it into the lower level without being
seen,
by-passing the one guard in the lobby. The true problem would be which lock
the key
opened.
      Their were only eight rows of large lockers - at least twenty on each wall.
He tried
each, finally finding the lock to which the key opened after at least 25
tries, number 422.
He hesitated a moment then opened the locker, not sure what to expect.
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