Title: Lost Connections
Author: Lilly Rose
Posted: 11-03-2003
Email: e_jones78@yahoo.com
Rating: R for theme, mild gore, and general Cordelia Mistreatment
Category: Drama
Content: C/A/W friendship
Summary: Who is calling Cordelia Chase at three a.m each morning? And why?
Spoilers: This is set Back in the Day, a.k.a Season One, between "Expecting" and "She"
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Anywhere, just keep my name/e-mail on it and let me know.
Notes: Unbetaed because it's late enough as is. If anyone would be up to it I would love for someone to take this apart. (Constructive crit is always welcome in my world. ) Okay. This is done. Does this mean I can go back to Giles and Cordy now? *g*
Feedback: Lived for.
Thanks/Dedication:
Halloween Fic: For DamedSkippy. Theme: Fear of the phone.The first time it happens, she thinks it's a prank.
The ringing wakes her from a deep sleep. She doesn't want to answer the phone but the thought that it might be Angel won't let her ignore it. She gropes for the phone, squinting at the on the clock on the nightstand. The red numbers read three a.m.
She picks up the phone. Mumbles vague threats against vampiric life and limb into the receiver. Her only answer is a series of barks, and the sound of a small child laughing. These are happy sounds. If this is a prank than it's the nicest prank anyone has ever pulled on her. She lets the sound lull her back to sleep.
The receiver is still against her ear in the morning.
"When I was in the shower I realized that it sounded a lot like Beverly."
Another morning at Angel Investigations- which lately meant a long period of inactivity. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce decided to use the time to hunt down a few select texts. If he were to be of any help to his new colleagues, his selection of research materials needed updated.
He'd intended to spend all morning in his search. Cordelia Chase, however, was making doing so rather difficult. She came into work half an hour early. Then she ate the only jelly donut. After that she proceeded to stretch out in the guest chair, with her back against one armrest and her legs hanging over the other one. (He thanked any number of Powers that she had worn a long skirt today, or he would accomplish nothing. ) She spent a few minutes immersed in the Italian edition of Vogue. (Wesley briefly wondered if the purchase explained the sudden shortage of petty cash in the office.) Apparently staring at the pretty pictures grew dull rather quickly. She'd spent the last ten minutes telling him about the call she'd received the previous evening.
He set aside the phone book. As much as he hated to admit it, even talking to Cordelia about such a mundane subject was more interesting than talking to yet another cagey bookseller.
"Beverly?" he echoed, and Cordelia rewarded his interest with one of her bright smiles.
"Beverly was a dog I had when I was little," she explained to him. "An Irish Setter. Really pretty dog, dumb as a box of rocks. My nanny made me play with Beverly in the fenced in back yard." She paused, and Wesley noticed a slight shimmer of tears in her eyes. "Well I decided one day that Beverly and I were going to play out front. She got away from me and got hit by a truck."
She was obviously upset by the memory, and just as obviously trying to hide being upset. Wesley let her have a moment then asked out of curiosity, "And this dog sounded exactly the same?"
"Pretty much," Cordelia made an exasperated face. " It was just really weird, you know? Trust me to get the prank call from the one dog loving psycho in Los Angeles."
Wesley wanted to inquire further, but the phone rang. On the other end was one of his elusive booksellers. He became caught up in haggling. By the time his business was concluded, Angel had come downstairs and was talking to Cordelia. She seemed fine and so Wesley went back to his search.
The second time it happens, she thinks it's a dream.
Again, the sound of ringing wakes her from a deep sleep. She looks over to the clock on her nightstand. Three a.m. She hesitates, but picks up the receiver.
The voice on the other end is one she hasn't heard in years. It belongs to Mrs. DeAngelo, her third grade teacher. She always had a smile and an encouraging word for "her best student". This is not the case now. Now, her mentor pours out her disappointment over her academic failures. She listens for as long as she can. When she can take no more, she hangs up.
"Cordelia, pass me the folder please?"
The third time he'd made his request- and like the previous two, the request was ignored. Looking over at his self-professed office manager, Angel's natural sarcastic response died unspoken on his lips. The brunette seer sat behind her desk staring off into space. Her expression was troubled.
"Cordelia?" he called her name again.
Cordelia started, then tried to smile at him. "I'm sorry Angel," she half-heartedly apologized. "I guess I'm just spacey today."
If he had to guess, he knew the reason why. "Another call?" he asked.
Cordelia shot him a look that clearly asked how he knew about the calls. "Yep."
He set aside the file she'd belatedly handed him. "Beverly again?" he asked cautiously. Wesley hadn't wanted to tell him but Angel had gotten the story out of him. Like Wesley, he wasn't certain the prank call was the coincidence Cordelia thought it was.
"No they got really creative last night." Her smile had a sharp edge to it. "Last night they dug up my third grade teacher. And by dug up I do literally mean dug up. The woman's been dead for at least ten years."
The inevitable conclusion came to Angel. he could tell by the look on her face that the same though had occurred to Cordelia. It didn't occur to him to ask politely; Cordelia never bothered with tact. In his short time working with her, Angel found that he was developing that lack as well. "Are you certain she stayed dead?" he asked bluntly.
Cordelia winced at the question, but they both knew it had to be asked. "I went to the woman's funeral Angel. I know that means jack in Sunnydale but really." Angel nodded in agreement; of he, Wesley, and Cordelia, he knew best just how applicable that little truism could be.
"No, some loser out there is trying to make me crazy because they think it's fun." She paused for effect, then smirked at him, an expression without warmth or humor behind it. "Do you think Xander has a calling card?"
The next night she knows it isn't a dream.
The ringing wakes her from a light sleep. As expected, the clock on her bedside reads three a.m. She doesn't want to answer the call; yet as if by itself, her hand reaches out for the receiver.
A child's voice greets her by name. She wants to scream at who ever this is- stop! She wants to hang up because she knows that the little girl on the other end is dead. She doesn't want to hang up because she knows the little girl on the other end is dead.
The indecision leaves her paralyzed. She sits listening until dawn as her childhood best friend talks about the good times that never happened. Slumber parties, dances, first heartbreaks. So many memories that were never made.
Wesley's suspicions have become full blown fears.
Cordelia was over an hour late for work. When she finally arrived, Wesley barely recognized her. Dark circles ringed her eyes; her make-up free skin seemed stretched too tight across her small frame. Usually carefully maintained, her hair was bound up in a careless ponytail. Unless he was mistaken, she was still wearing yesterday's pants.
Then there was her strange behavior. He caught her secretively unplugging the office phone. When asked, she explained that the ringing phone was giving her a migraine. Wesley took exception to not having a phone; he was waiting for an important call. Cordelia refused to give an inch, becoming confrontational when he tried to plug the phone back in. The phone was only restored after Wesley appealed to Angel.
Their employer insisted that the phone remain active. The moment it was plugged back in, the phone began to ring. At the sound, Cordelia all but ran from the room. But not before Wesley saw the look of real fear on her face.
Wesley knew he needed to speak with Angel immediately. Before he could discuss his concerns with Angel, a case came in. A case that required three people, or so Angel insisted.
"One to read from the book," Angel yelled at Wesley over the sounds of the fight. "Two to fight the demon." Wesley didn't need prompting, but Cordelia was clearly not paying attention. The seer paused again to look nervously around her.
Wesley wasn't certain what she was looking for until the first cell phone went off. The another one, and another, and still another. Within seconds every phone in the restaurant was ringing. Cordelia dropped the book, her hands going over her ears. Her face wore an expression of panic. The demon took advantage of her panic, shoving her aside. Angel abandoned the fight and went for Cordelia, as did Wesley. Together, they caught Cordelia before she hit the ground.
Tracking the demon took some time. It was after midnight when the exhausted members of Angel Investigations headed home. Cordelia slid into the back seat, silent and looking strained. Wesley made certain she was alright, then took his place in the passenger seat. From behind the wheel, Angel looked askance of Wesley.
"Angel," he couldn't help but feel relieved as he said spoke the words, "I think we have a problem."
Three a.m. She hasn't gone to sleep. She sits up waiting for the next call. It doesn't matter that Wesley made her unplug the phone. Nor does it matter that Angel took the battery out of her cell phone.
The phone rings.
She knows she has to answer it.
This call hurts. It hurts more than the other calls combined. The pain it brings is too recent; not enough time has passed to begin to heal the wound. Another familiar voice on the other end of the line, this one with a still-familiar rhythm and self-deprecating charm.
She begins to cry the first time he calls her Princess.
"That's the second day in a row."
Cordelia insisted on going home that night after the incident in the restaurant. Neither Angel or Wesley could have stopped her, and they both knew it. That didn't mean that they didn't insist on checking in on her at random intervals.
"Three," Wesley corrected Angel. He resisted the urge to slam the receiver back into its cradle. The third day since the incident in the restaurant, the third day he had no idea what had caused it. The third day that Cordelia refused to leave her apartment.
Cordelia's situation was...confusing. Certainly it was frightening, yet familiar at the same time. Wesley couldn't help but think he'd seen this behavior before.
"Angel have you noticed anything…odd about Cordelia?" Wesley asked slowly, the thoughts still forming in his mind.
"Besides the sudden hermitage?" Angel returned, sounding half serious in his question. Wesley decided to ignore the sarcasm and only nodded. Angel seemed to struggle with himself for a moment; Wesley gave him space to process whatever he was working with.
"She smelled…different," Angel said. "For the past few days. I just thought she was wearing a different perfume. Maybe switched soaps..."
Angel went on like that for another moment. Wesley hardly heard him. A half formed idea popped into his mind. If Cordelia had switched perfumes, Wesley himself would have noticed. (He would have noticed for a variety of reasons, the least embarrassing of which was he would have smelled it himself.) That he hadn’t smelt a difference wasn’t a solid clue but it was all they had to work with at the moment.
A scent detected solely by the undead. To Wesley, the first idea that presented was the possibility of magical interference. Certain strong magics left traces undetectable to living creatures. But most magic wasn’t practiced around a vampire. Without looking at the title, Wesley grabbed a book out of the pile in front of Angel.
"This scent," he began paging through the book seemingly at random. "Could you describe it?"
If it were possible for a vampire to sound nonchalant and embarrassed at the same time, Angel made it possible. "It’s not like I go around sniffing Cordelia." Wesley didn’t need to look up; he simply stopped flipping pages.
"Smoky, but with a sweetness under it."
"This scent you describe, was there a point when it noticeably increased or decreased?" Wesley asked.
This time Angel didn’t pause before answering. "Yes," he said with certainty. "In the restaurant, when the cell phones went off at once."
The idea solidified into a theory. Wesley was no longer a Watcher, but a lifetime’s worth of training was impossible to completely ignore. The first lesson he’d learned was simple: when confronted with a situation that didn’t fit the facts, find new facts. His friend and mentor had stopped at that point in the lesson. As clear as it were happening now, Wesley heard him saying that facts were all well and good, but it was intuition that could mean the difference between success and failure.
He decided to follow his friend's advice. "The phone again," he mused.
"What?"
He shut the book and looked up at Angel. "I’d spoken to Cordelia the day before that about unplugging the office phone," he explained.
Comprehension came across Angel's face. "And Cordelia's been getting those weird phone calls. You think it’s connected."
Acting on his intuition Wesley picked up the phone and dialed Cordelia's cell phone number. After ten rings he hanged up. Then he tried the house number- and listened as an automated system told him that the line was out of service.
"Yes," he told Angel, " I’m almost certain these events are connected."
Angel watched him evenly. "Could you be worrying just a bit too much Wesley?"
"Worried enough to invade Cordelia's privacy and thus ensure her hatred for at least the next month?" Wesley opened the door of the weapons closet. He found the sword he’d been looking for. He tested its heft, shifting it from hand to hand. Satisfied, he turned back to Angel.
"Absolutely."
The vampire stood up, an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment Wesley thought he’d overstepped himself. "I'm driving," Angel told him.
A small group of people gathered outside the door to Cordelia's apartment. Angel took them in. An older woman, her jewelry alone worth more than most people made in a month. A young man with a screaming infant in his arms. Last but not least an irritated looking older man Angel recognized as Cordelia's landlord. Angel didn’t need to ask why they were gathered outside Cordelia's door- he could hear the reason all too well.
To the others in the hall, the sound would be a horrendous jumble of ear-splitting noise. Angel discerned individual sounds in the cacophony. Tuned into a Spanish soap opera, Cordelia's television was turned up to maximum volume. The stereo blasted, switching channels every other minute. A rhythmic pounding shook the front door.
The manager of the building recognized Angel as well. "You more of her friends showing up for the party?" the man yelled above the din. The man and woman turned to glare at Angel as well. He ignored them all, focusing on Wesley. The ex-Watcher nodded once. He knew as well that this was no party. This was Dennis, Cordelia's ghostly roommate, calling out for help.
Shouldering past the landlord, Angel went up to the front door and pounded on it hard. "Dennis!" he yelled over the noise. "It’s Angel and Wesley- let us in, now!"
The door swung open abruptly, and Angel stumbled into Cordelia's living room. The television and stereo click off simultaneously. In the sudden silence, he could hear Wesley calming the irate neighbors and landlord. Angel barely registered the change. Another of his senses had all but grabbed him and slammed him into a wall with its immediacy.
He smelled blood.
Cordelia's blood.
He followed the scent into her bedroom. Cordelia lay spread out on her bed, covered only by a thin cotton sheet. A cordless phone was just beyond the reach of her outstretched hand. Loud enough for him to hear it, the sound of crying children echoed across the phone line. A group of children, perhaps seven children, crying for their mother.
For a moment he couldn't think; the blood called out to him. He followed it from where a straight razor gleamed red and wet on the carpet. He stood transfixed, his eyes following the elaborate patterns of scratches and cuts winding across the exposed skin of her stomach.
In his moment of hesitation, with a sudden burst of savage glee, the demon rose up to the forefront of his mind. It rejoiced in the degradation of the young woman the soul loved. Its only unhappiness lay in the knowledge that this beauty wasn't its handiwork. It would have enjoyed marking her for itself. This could be rectified. It took control of the shared body, and he stepped closer. Another step. Then another, and he was close enough to reach out and grab…
…and out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw a shadow move across the window. In a split second, he regained full control. He lashed out, putting his hands through the glass without a second thought.
He slammed the creature up against the wall. It had the height of a ten year old child, yet it couldn't have weighed more than twenty pounds. As black as pitch, its only discernible feature was a gaping cicular mouth. Like the mouth of a shark, it had rows of razor sharp teeth behind rows of teeth.
//Hold me tighter//
Its voice reached within Angel and withered the place it touched. He knew without a doubt- this thing was the reason behind Cordelia's suffering.
"Despite what you've heard, I'm really not into that," he snarled into its face. "How about we talk first?
//About her?//
The tone in its voice as it said her earned it another slam into the wall. Angel's demon, repressed but not gone, approved.
"That's a good place to start."
//She's beautiful. So beautiful when she's in pain. She was pretty before I found her. I made her beautiful.//
He heard Wesley come in behind them. Heard his muffled curses, heard him frantically dialing for an ambulance.
//She's almost beautiful enough.//
Heard him checking for a pulse. Angel slammed the creature into the wall again, and then again. "How do I get you to go away?" he demanded. He didn't care what this creature wanted to in order to free Cordelia. Angel realized that for Cordelia he would make any effort, pay any price, and he wouldn't think twice.
//Give me what should be mine and I will leave her in peace.//
"And what is it exactly you want?"
The creature only smiled. Angel wavered, his demon at the ready- and then Wesley spoke up. "Angel, that is a dantha demon. It is a master of lies and deception. Whatever it may promise you, it will most certainly renege on its promise." Soft in the stillness, Wesley's voice was steady. "To break the coercion on Cordelia, the dantha must die."
For once, both the soul and the demon were in agreement. "I was hoping you'd say that," Angel told Wesley. With one quick slice, his sword separated the dantha's head from its body. The carcass dropped to the floor, and the head rolled under Cordelia's bed. Angel and Wesley would worry about clean up later; he ignored the mess and went to Cordelia's side.
"The ambulance should be here momentarily," Wesley told him. "I called in a favor or two to assure its speedy arrival." Angel didn't answer; he stared down at his hands covered in the dantha's blood. After a moment, he slowly reached out and clasped Cordelia's wrist. Her pulse was weak but steady against his skin.
He didn't let go of her until they came to take her to the hospital.
Bark, bark.
You have so much potential. Where does it go?
Best friends forever!
Hey Princess.
Mama!
Cordelia Chase opened her eyes.
A panicked moment passed before she realized she wasn’t in her apartment. She was in one of the Hyperion's serviceable guest rooms. Her apartment wasn’t safe for her yet. If she were honest with herself, her apartment might not be safe for a very long time.
She forced her breathing back down to normal, pulling the blankets tighter around herself to ward off the chill of her dream. Despite her panic, she had to smile at what great friends she had. Angel didn't ask questions, but he and Wesley spent an entire day clearing a room for her.
In fact, Angel's room was right across the hall. The room Wesley sometimes used was next door to her on the right. Cordelia considered seeing if either one were awake and wanted to talk. She thought about it, then rejected the idea. She didn’t really want to talk, but she didn’t want to go back to sleep, either. Pulling the blankets along with her, she crawled out of bed. Sneaking out of her room, she made sure to shut the door quietly behind herself.
Dawn broke across L.A. Spread out below her, the night lights of the city began to flicker and go out. Above her the stars and the moon faded away. Between them, Cordelia sat on the roof of the Hyperion and thought about the past few days.
On the paper the case file was written on, what happened to her seemed simple. Wesley hypothesized that her continued exposure to supernatural phenomenon combined with her recent personal history made her irresistible to a creature called dantha. Dathna were empathic feeders, drawling energy off human regret and pain. They attached themselves to one person, forcing that person to relive traumatic experiences. Greedy by nature, they forced more and more emotion from their victims in shorter and shorter periods of time. Within days their victim either died or lost their mind. Cordelia escaped either fate due to her lack of physical contact with the dantha. The creature needed physical contact with its victim for the feeding. Yet the energy generated by Cordelia, and extension the residual energy left by Wesley and Angel, seemed to stave off the creature. It had to use the methods left it- in his case a series of phone calls. A slower process which gave Wesley time to realize the true nature of the situation.
"Hah," Cordelia snorted. "A psychic phone stalker. Only in L.A and only to me."
Which brought her to the center of her problem. In theory, Cordelia understood what had happened to her. In her heart, however, she still had doubts.
Wesley's logical explanation hadn’t helped as much as she’d hoped it would. A dantha demon picked her out of an entire city of unhappy people. The idea bothered her more than she thought it should bother her. She never considered herself particularly unhappy. Regrets, she had plenty of them, but who didn’t? Yet this creature had picked her out; he’d driven her to harm herself in a matter of hours. Nothing else in her life so far had brought to that place. Not even…recent events.
Cordelia knew Wesley told her the truth. "But what if it really was just me?" she mused aloud.
"Wesley also said that unnecessary guilt is a side effect of contact with a dantha," a familiar voice said from behind her. Cordelia sighed, squashing an irrational feeling of invasion of privacy. Pre-dawn sulks were meant to be spent alone, but apparently she hadn’t closed her bedroom door quietly enough.
Damn vampiric hearing.
"Angel, if you think I’m listening to anything Book Guy says during one his tangents, then that demon hit you harder on the head than we thought." The comeback was lame and she knew it. At three a.m. in the morning, however, falling back on old habits was easier than having a Deep Meaningful Conversation.
She heard him walk up behind her. He stopped just short of touching her. She didn't need to look at him to know this; she was constantly aware of where he was in proximity to her. "I know that’s what he said," she told him, speaking so lowly she could barely hear herself speaking. "I just can’t believe him."
"Because he’s wrong." Suddenly the feeling of dread that dissipated with the dream returned. "It is you."
Cordelia wanted to turn and demand what he meant by that. She couldn’t move. Angel wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight enough to leave bruises on her sore skin. Slowly he whispered to her, his lips pressed against her ear. "You’re the reason this happened to you. It’s because you’re so very, very beautiful when you’re in pain."
That tone. Cordelia knew that tone. Summoning all her strength, she twisted herself around and heard something tear in her arm. Pure adrenalin let her ignore the white hot pain and push the shock to the back of her mind. She could hurt later. Now she needed to get to the bottle of holy water wrapped up in her blankets. Then she needed to run like hell and find Wesley. If either option failed there was a stake in her room and if *he* thought she wouldn’t use it or die trying then he didn’t know her at all.
Yet as soon as she was free, he had her again. He yanked her back to him, sending another jolt of pain shooting through her arm. She couldn’t help it, she let loose a small scream of pain. "The screaming, good," he smiled as though she’d just told him wonderful news. "I was wondering when that would start."
"That Angelus," she spat. "Always the charmer."
If possible, the cold smile spread wider across his face. "But you’re not too bright are you?" Holding her in a death grip, he drew her in tighter against him. He gripped her chin with his free hand, forcing her to look at him. "Not Angelus. Not a dantha. Better. I forced my way into him because of you. He likes to cause pain and I need pain. You brought us together, and we want to," he paused, his dark eyes scanning her up and down and then coming back up to meet her eyes, "thank you."
His lips slid down her neck, coming to rest in the hollow between her shoulder and neck. The last thing Cordelia felt was a sharp, quick pain like fine silver needles puncturing her skin. Before she lost consciousness all she could think was that she'd been right. This. Was. All. Her. Fault...
...and many, many people were going to die because of her.
End.