“What did you see?” asked Angel as he closed the door.
“In my vision?” answered Doyle as he flopped down in a chair. “I think it was the demon you were referring to when Prue’s dad walked through the door.”
“What was it doing?” asked Angel as he poured a glass of single malt whiskey.
Doyle looked through the door. He could see Prue and her father hugging through the window. “He was…he was…” Doyle took a ragged breath and looked at Angel, eyes filled with fear. “He was killing Prue.”
Angel closed his eyes. “We’ll save her,” he said. He handed Doyle the glass of whiskey. “That should deaden the side-effects of the vision,” he said as Doyle downed it in one gulp.
There came a knock on the door. Prue stuck her head in. “We need your help,” she said.
“Tell her,” Angel hissed at Doyle.
“Later,” Doyle shot back at him.
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