Second Chances - Act 2
Logan walked through the halls of Dodd Junior Highschool, heading for the guidance office. The letter he had found in the drawer seemed to be burning a hole in his jacket’s pocket. Michael had been Fischer’s liaison — specifically to Logan. He must have known. God, he had probably known when Rachel had had him over for supper. Maybe he had delivered the letter. Maybe he had written the letter after Fischer had been ‘let go.’
Logan’s hands were fists as he stepped into the guidance office and moved to the small cubicle with the tag ‘Grief Counselor.’ Michael was sitting, patiently filling out paperwork. Logan stood before his desk for nearly a minute before the man in the white silk shirt and blue silk tie looked up.
“Logan,” he said pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”
Without thinking, Logan drew the letter from his pocket and let it fall to the desk. “Did you know about this?” he asked curtly. He waited with crossed arms for the man to read the letter, the counselor’s expression turning into one of genuine, or very practiced puzzlement.
“I’ve never seen this before in my life,” he said with a frown, handing the letter back. “Is too presumptuous of me to ask if it’s true?”
Logan stuffed the letter back into his pocket. “No, it’s not true.” He held Michael’s blank stare for several seconds. “I did have an affair with someone,” Logan admitted at last, “but it was years ago, and certainly not at work.”
Michael continued to be silent, staring calmly at Logan’s agitated state.
Logan held his position for several seconds before Michael’s calm gaze broke him. “Alright, fine, yes, I started up the affair again – recently. But it's over now. She was the murder case I would have won if Fischer hadn’t extorted me. I didn’t get a conviction, so Fischer wrote this letter —” Logan pulled the letter out again, “—as punishment. I want to know if you’re on her side.”
Michael shrugged. “She’s dead. She doesn’t have a side anymore.”
Logan sighed and frowned, sitting down at the desk, across from Michael. “Who are you?” he asked, tired of guessing and worrying about this man who had saved Niki’s life, then brought him the severed head of his boss.
The other man shrugged very subtly. “I’m Michael.”
“But Michael who? What are you? A demon?” Logan wasn’t anything but curious now, and perhaps a little irritated that he couldn’t figure it out himself.
“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell anyone else?” The dark face drew closer, his eyes narrowing in perfect seriousness. Logan nodded very slightly. “I’m an angel.”
Logan raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his chair. He frowned a little, then laughed out loud. “Yeah, right.” He chuckled a little more. “An angel... like, Gabriel or....”
“Michael?” the man offered gently. The smile melted off Logan’s face. Michael lowered his gaze for a moment. He took a deep breath. “You believe in demons — real, physical ones, with teeth and claws which you summon and vanquish. You believe in them because you’ve seen them, fought them. You don’t need faith for things you’ve seen with your own two eyes, fought with your own two hands. What’s so ridiculous about beings like that working for the other side?”
Logan’s heart was pounding now. He had, actually, believed Michael for a moment, then his cynicism had taken over and he came to the much more likely conclusion that Michael was actually some kind of demon posing as a good guy. Perhaps a more clever version of Whistler.
“You don’t believe me,” Michael noted. “That’s fine. Contrary to popular belief,” he smiled at the word, “you don’t need to believe in us for us to exist. We’re not like fairies,” there was a pause, “in any sense of the word.”
Logan nodded, keeping up the pretense of being convinced. “You don’t have wings. Don’t angels have wings?”
“How many angels have you heard of getting sucked up in jet engines?” Michael cocked his head. “They’re metaphorical wings...” With the sound of great rustling feathers and the pounding of air, a great wind washed over Logan, making him blink rapidly. Michael smiled. “If I want them to be.”
Logan took a breath and swallowed. “So... you’re really an angel.”
The man shrugged. “Technically, I’m an archangel, but I rarely brag.”
“The biblical... Real... Archangel Michael, from... heaven, I’m guessing?” Logan was now very unsure about anything. More than anything he felt a little queasy. He remembered he hadn’t felt this bad when he had been confronted with his first, real demon. Somehow evil hadn’t been as hard to accept.
“Not biblical,” Michael admitted. “I haven’t had a chance to read past Exodus, as a matter of fact. I’m an incarnation of Michael. And I’m not from heaven, I’m from Baltimore.”
Logan frowned, pausing to scratch his eyebrow with his pinky. “So... you’re not the Michael. You’re... a Michael.”
Michael shrugged. “No difference. A higher Power sends me to do some actual, physical things that need to be done. I don’t ask questions, I don’t get explanations. I get orders. Commandments, you might say.”
“A higher Power.... you mean, like, God?” Logan squinted, trying to see through whatever this was, scam or truth. He just couldn’t tell any more.
“No, his name was Cliff.” Michael leaned back and sighed, remembering his calling. “That was quite a day.”
Logan blinked, shaking his head and shoving all the questions aside to only ask to the important ones. “So... what? You’re here to see that corrupt law firm liaisons don’t get irritated by lowly lawyers like me?”
Michael shook his head. “I’m not omnipotent. My assignment was Fischer. She needed a liaison to you... I got the job. Not rocket science.”
“Why was your assignment Fischer?” Logan frowned. “Wolfram and Hart doesn’t seem like an appropriate place for an angel to find work.”
Michael allowed himself a little smile. “Are questioning the Will of Cliff?” He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “If you haven’t noticed, I hang around death quite a bit. The ICU, grief counselor, I did a stint as a fireman, I tried to get on board with the paramedics, but like I said, I’m not omnipotent. They turned me down.” He nodded. “And, yeah, liaison to your late boss. In case you thought it was a secret: lots of people die at Wolfram and Hart.”
“So, you’re like... the Angel of Death?” Logan was starting to get worried now. Michael had been eating with his family: his wife, his daughter.
Michael shook his head. “No. I’m not the grim reaper or anything. It’s not like if I touch you, you die or anything...”
“But you cured Niki,” Logan pointed out, crossing his arms and shifting in his seat. “What was that about?”
“It wasn’t her time,” Michael said cryptically. “I said I’m not omnipotent, I didn’t say I was impotent.” He took a breath, seeing the other man’s skeptical expression. “You’re worried because someone powerful who hangs around death has been hanging around your family. I’m telling you I’m not that kind of angel. I was sent to you. But I was sent to you as a gift.”
This threw Logan completely for a loop. “Cliff is sending me presents now? I don’t even know him!”
Michael nodded. “Then just accept the gift gracefully.”
Logan sighed heavily, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. The headache from that morning was back. “I need some time to digest this,” he said at last. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”
Michael shrugged. “In the afternoons I have a shift at the ICU, but I can leave you the number...”
Logan shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I have a feeling I’ll find you if I need you.”
Michael grinned. “Now you’re getting it.” He stood and so did Logan. They shook hands and Logan turned to go. “Oh, and Logan,” the lawyer turned and the angel smiled at him, “you’d look good in white.”
Logan smiled uncertainly and left the guidance office. As he walked back down the halls of the junior highschool, he passed the main office. On an impulse, he turned on his heel and entered the reception area. Standing at the desk, he caught the attention of the secretary there.
“Hi,” he said with a smile. “Could you tell me what classroom Hanna Kilpatrick is in? I’m her father and I just want to drop in and say hello.”
The secretary nodded and clacked over the keys of her keyboard. The glowing green list of names on her computer screen scrolled down until one name was highlighted. The secretary turned to him with an unamused expression.
“This says she’s absent this afternoon,” the secretary said evenly. “She apparently had a note signed by you and left this morning.”
Logan stood with his feet frozen to the floor. His mouth was dry. It took a very long moment for the information to finally settle in, it was so impossible. What?
Whoever Crowley was, he was listed and this was his address. Niki rapped on the door and stood casually before the peephole where no doubt this Crowley person was watching her. There was a long, deliberate silence on the other side of the door before the sound of locks could be heard.
Finally, the door opened and a middle aged man stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. “Can I help you?” he asked, betraying his British accent and nearly concealing the worry in his voice.
Niki frowned. She had assumed Crowley would be waiting for her... or at least recognize her. Maybe Whistler had finally lost it. Assuming he ever had it.
“Uh... I was told to come see you...” Niki craned her neck to see past the man. “My name is Niki.”
Crowley sighed. Finally, he stood aside. “Yes... Yes, I know who you are.” Niki walked past him into the large apartment. She looked around in awe. Whoever this Crowley was, he certainly liked his weapons. The walls were adorned with medieval tools of killing and idols of various deities.
“How do you know me?” Niki asked absently, stopping by the back wall to examine a very interesting looking saber.
The man sounded very reluctant to answer her. “I was once involved with the Council of Watchers...”
Without an instant’s hesitation, Niki pulled the sword from the wall and held it to the older man’s throat. He slowly raised his hands into the air and began to back away from her, but she advanced just as readily.
“I haven’t been involved with them for some time,” he said tiredly, looking as though he would very much like to put his hands down. “You see, Niki, I was once the Watcher to another Slayer...” She lowered the sword just enough for the older man to drop his hands and sink into the deep cushions of a large sofa. “Another slayer named Nikki. When she died, I...” He averted his gaze and shook his head. “I couldn’t be apart of that any more.”
“I had my Watcher killed,” Niki said simply, lowering the sword until its point rested on the floor.
Crowley glanced up. “Do you know why you were sent to me?”
Niki drew in a dejected breath. “Probably because things... kinda suck right now. Whistler’s all about me getting guidance.”
Crowley nodded gravely. “Then I know just what to do. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He stood and hurried out of the room. As he did so, Niki quickly raised the sword, readying herself should he reenter with a crossbow or bigger sword. He wouldn’t be so foolish... Then again, she didn’t know him at all.
A few minutes later, the brit returned with a large leather bag, setting it down with a clunk on the low table by the sofa. Niki watched as he reached into it and retrieved a large book. He flipped past some things and read down the page until he found what he was looking for. “Here it is.” He glanced up and narrowed his gaze, as if sizing the Slayer up. “But it won’t be easy.”
Logan slowed his little brown car outside Matt’s house, letting the engine idle. He looked long and hard at the front of the house, weighing whether or not to attempt it. Then he saw movement within.
With careful, precise and controlled movements, he turned off the ignition, opened his door and walked to the big bay window at the front of the house. What was moving inside was clear now.
As Logan watched what transpired within, his eyes began to glow and the grass beneath his feet turned to ice.
Niki sat in a circle of sand on the hardwood of Crowley’s apartment living room. Crowley was chanting something from the book and Niki was feeling very sleepy all of a sudden. The lights seemed uncertain whether they were supposed to be on or off and they faded in and out of the Slayer’s awareness.
Each time her eyelids dropped, the usual darkness was replaced with a hot biting wind and dryness. Bright glare off of sand and a deep pounding of tribal drums. She could barely even sit up straight any more, at the center of the circle.
Then her eyes opened fully for an instant. Only an instant. Standing mere feet away, as real as the hardwood beneath her was the very last person she ever expected to see again.
Richard J. Addison was frowning, as he often did, and his arms were crossed. He looked from the stunned Slayer, assuming she couldn’t see him, to the man chanting behind her. “Are you sure this will work?” he demanded authoritatively.
Niki’s hand shot out of the circle as her eyes drooped one last time. She grabbed the front of his pant leg and pulled. The surprised brit toppled forward into the circle with her as the hardwood dissolved to hot sand and the apartment around them faded to azure sky.
Niki stood next to her former Watcher in an ancient African desert, looking around, unsure about anything anymore.
Addison seemed unable to draw breath. His eyes were wide. It seemed to take him less time to figure out where they were than Niki herself. His mouth slowly dropped open.
"Oh... bloody hell." Then the demon attacked.
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