Song of the Beloved
The sound of chanting drifted across the night skies of Los Angeles, a city that doesn't sleep altogether, but on this occasion the staff of Angel Investigations had given the monster mashing for an evening and were getting some rest. Which in itself was unusual enough to give a whiff of the fates.
In an apartment across the city from the detective agency Wesley Wyndham- Price slept, and while he slept he dreamed.
In his dream he remembered one of the worst days of his life, a day he had never told any of the people who he spent his life with now. His feet crunched on the autumn leaves of fifteen years before, and he felt the butterflies in the stomach of his nineteen year old self as he walked towards what at the time he had considered an appointment with destiny.
His mind, his older conscious mind, tutted at how pathetic he had been when he was younger, but he remembered it as if it had all happened yesterday.
He talked to himself as he walked "Hi Elouise...Ellie...El...We've known each other for a while now...and... and...we've been friends for a while...and... I want you and I to...and... Ellie I love you...no, Price, no... Ellie I..."
The flashing lights interrupted his train of thought. The flashing lights that flashed from outside the home of the object of that train of thought.
His brain screamed, 'Oh my god Ell, what happened?' and suddenly he realized he was screaming it with his vocal cords as well.
He ran to the boundary of her home, desperate to see it was the burglary or a mistake or something other than what it looked like, but he knew he was wrong as he saw her face, her cold, pale, face, in the split second as the coroner drew up the zip on the black body bag.
As the realization that she was dead hit him, Wesley Wyndham-Price's nineteen year old dream self passed out, and fifteen years later Wesley Wyndham Price's conscious older self jerked sweating from his dream, sitting bolt upright in his bed, the image of the young girl, who he had been ready to pledge his equally young heart to, being zipped into a body bag, burned into his shrieking mind.
He rose from his bed and dragged on a robe, he had suffered with this dream/ memory less since he had met Angel and his other friends in LA, especially since Fred had been catapulted into their lives, but he knew he would not sleep for a while after it.
He wandered into his living room, a strange sound, maybe chanting, pushing at the edge of his now ragged consciousness, but slightly more worrying, in the dark he could make out a shape lying on his couch, and as far a he was aware there was nothing that he had left on his sofa that could throw this definitively human shape out of the darkness.