•••

5 July 2001

I am in pain. Every evil, cruel act I have ever committed, in more than 100 years of vampiric existence, is swirling around in my head. I can see the bodies, the rivers of blood. I can smell the entrails steaming in the night air. I feel my victims’ pain as my own. They suffered and died at my hand for naught but a moment’s pleasure. I have taken infants from their mothers’ breasts and fed on them to the musical pleas of the doomed. And I remember them all, as clearly as if I had done it the night before. I am a monster, a parasite-beast that feeds on darkness and life. I do not deserve to live.

Wil

- - - - - - - - - -

Angel closed the journal, resting his head on the back of the chair. Wil was suffering just as he had. Reading his childe’s journal was like replaying his memories of the first months after he’d been cursed. The dark vampire replaced Wil’s journal and left the room, hoping to catch his coworkers before they went home. He needed their help with the younger vampire. Wil was still unwilling to talk to him; although from his journal it was obvious he desperately needed to.

“Wes?” Angel said quietly.

The ex-Watcher picked himself up off the counter. “Yes, Angel?”

“I need some advice.”

The human’s eyes widened in surprise. “About what?”

“Wil,” Angel said uneasily. “This may be a bad idea.”

“Angel, you know I will always help you, even if I’m not sure of the outcome,” Wesley reassured the vampire.

The older man grimaced. “I can’t get Wil to talk to me.”

“Ah.” The demon hunter thought for a moment. “How did you communicate with him in the past?” Angel’s face told the human all he needed to know. “I see.”

“It’s just that…well, when Wil was human, he was a lot like you used to be.” Angel said quickly.

“Like me?” Wesley replied, his voice very calm.

“Not sure of himself, and uncomfortable with personal topics,” Angel explained hastily.

Wesley relaxed. “And you want advice on how to make him talk to you?” Angel nodded guiltily. “Based on what would have worked on me when you met me, had you bothered to make an effort then?” Again, Angel nodded. The ex-Watcher paused, gathering his thoughts. “You keep asking him how he feels, don’t you?”

“Yeah, and he keeps brushing me off. When he’s not ignoring me completely.” Angel said in frustration.

“Then don’t ask him how he feels,” Wesley replied. “Oh, I don’t mean ignore the subject, just go at it from a different angle. If he is anything like what you’ve described, perhaps an intellectual approach is best. Emotions may simply be too much for him to handle.”

“Oh.” Angel said, taking in the information.

A thought occurred to Wesley. “He was born in Victorian England?” The vampire nodded in affirmation. “Then perhaps you should take into account those sensibilities, as well as the fact that as a human, Wil was rather well educated.” Angel’s face split into a grin. Indeed Wil had started out Victorian, although being turned ended that rather quickly.

“Thanks, Wes,” Angel said, relieved. “I’ll try it.”

•••

Angel pulled out Wil’s journal, hoping that several days of using Wesley’s approach had helped. He hoped that at least Wil had expressed more in his journal. Their conversations had been short, but in comparison to the first days the blonde had been here, they were epic in length. Still, the dark-haired vampire was unsure of his childe’s progress. In some ways, Wil seemed to be recovering from the initial shock much more quickly than he had. Clearing his mind, Angel took a seat, wondering what his childe had written this time.

- - - - - - - - - -

17 July 2001

It hurts. Everything hurts. I stare at this paper, trying to find the words to describe the pain, but I simply cannot. Indeed, are there words? This is the English language; a language of humans—evolved to describe the all-encompassing nature of human existence. Unfortunately for me, I am not human. No matter how hard I try to pretend, or how often I wish for it to be otherwise, I am a demon. What I feel is not a human emotion—how could it be? Humans’ souls are fundamental to their nature. No matter the crime they commit, the blood they spill, it is done with the soul present. Humans can rationalize what they do. I cannot take that luxury. The lives I have taken I took with the freedom and glee of a demon; no soul to remind me that I was infringing on another’s life. Now I look back at the blood, the tortures, and I am sickened. Not because I did them—after all, I was a vampire, a demon, and such things were what I did. I am sickened because despite the demon, I—the human part of me—was still there. I took pleasure from it as well. I enjoyed raping the innocent. I thrilled to the sight of hope lost. It was my passion. And I am revolted because even with this soul within me, those things still have their appeal. The idea of killing still excites me as does nothing else. That makes me a monster.

Wil

- - - - - - - - - -

The insights rattled Angel. How had Wil picked up on that so quickly? It had taken Angel decades to see how the demon and the human had worked in concert, how the human let the demon have control. Wesley’s methods seemed to be working; Wil was opening up more, at least in his writing.

Angel replaced the journal and went in search of the younger vampire. He found Wil in the library, pouring through a series of dusty texts. “Wil?”

The blonde looked up, squinting through his glasses. Angel sighed in frustration.

“Have you fed today?” Wil still had to be reminded to feed; otherwise he just forgot to do so. Angel hadn’t noticed until they were sparring one day. The blonde tripped Angel, who twisted, landing on top of the younger man. It was then that Angel realized how thin Wil remained; he could feel every one of the blonde’s ribs.

Wil shook his head. He’d forgotten again. “In a minute.”

Angel left to warm a mug of blood for his childe. The younger vampire was, at least, following the regimen Angel had set for him. He watched carefully as his childe drank the animal’s blood, noting that the blonde didn’t even grimace anymore.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Angel asked hopefully.

Wil set down the mug, staring at the books. “Sure.”

•••

- - - - - - - - - -

20 August 2001

Angel says that I should focus on redemption, that each act of good that I commit helps balance all the evil I’ve done. Perhaps he is right; perhaps The Powers That Be keep some great karmic chart with evil acts on one side and good acts on the other. As bad as I’ve been, I still have less to work on than Angel. Small consolation. I think, however, that I disagree with Angel. Having this soul is not about my redemption. Oh, that is certainly the goal—even according to The Powers I am working toward the elusive redemption. I would argue, though, that redemption is not the driving force behind my working with Angel and The Powers. Redemption implies that I might, some day, be able to balance that great karmic debt sheet and be truly good, or that I could somehow give compensation to the people I have hurt. It is something I cannot do—those people are long dead. I do not see the situation in the manner that Angel does. I have been given the means to see what I have done in my life from a different perspective. I am now working to alleviate that same type of suffering today. Is this redemption? No—the idea of working toward redemption is, to me, selfish. I would be acting in a selfless manner for a selfish goal. That defeats the purpose of having this soul and working for The Powers. Good, the elusive thing that The Powers both are and represent, is an end in and of itself. It is a goal—to alleviate suffering by replacing Evil with Good. I have caused great evil in my time; it is now my duty to cause great good. I find it a far better goal than redemption. What is the point in working for the redemption of one man when that effort can instead be spent working toward the eradication of evil? Angel would say that my argument is semantic, that the results are the same—the innocent people are saved. But it is not the same to me. I cannot be so inwardly focused. I do not matter that much.

Wil

- - - - - - - - - -

Angel smiled, closing the journal gently. He had, with Wesley’s help, found the way to reach his childe. Wil had been very much the intellectual as a human. In hindsight, it only made sense that the ensouled Wil would relate to the world from the same perspective. The brunette grinned, remembering how the human Wil had, at the same time, been a romantic, immersing himself in poetry and unrequited love. He wondered when that side of his childe would begin to emerge.

The older vampire was curious, though, at the differences between them. When Angel had received his soul, he did not begin to revert back to his human personality. This seemed to be what was occurring with Wil, however.

•••

- - - - - - - - - -

15 September 2001

I have had a soul for two and a half months. It was not until yesterday that I noticed that I no longer notice it. At first, the weight of the thing was a palpable presence—a stone lodged just at the base of my neck, choking me of unneeded breath. But if one bears a burden often enough, it becomes second nature. The pain has not gone away; it still swells and crashes over me like a neap tide. Angel’s techniques help, although of course I have to alter them. I was never one to simply take his teachings as they came—always the improviser, me. And if I never do tai chi again it will be too soon. At least he has relented and let me substitute that with yoga. And if you are reading this, Angel, one day I will get you on the mat. There is a certain irony in a vampire perfecting the Sun Salutation. This is, of course, naught but an inane preamble to my actual entry for the day. I have been ensouled for two and a half months; I have been writing in this journal, several times daily, for very nearly that long. And I have yet to make mention of Buffy. I have been avoiding the subject; unlike some topics, I have the words to describe what I feel. I loved her. Before she died, that love was built of lust and longing; lust for the body and longing for a delicate creature stronger than myself who fought for her passion with her whole being, consequences be damned. Some would say a vampire loving a Slayer to be an unnatural thing. Angel is one of those people. I am not. Slayers and vampires, are, after all, frighteningly similar. What separates them is, in the end, their cause. The vampire is inherently selfish; most vampires do not act so much to spread evil as to satisfy their own desires. Of course, vampiric desires are violent and bloody. Slayers are inherently selfless; they act to protect others before themselves. The Slayer’s life is by the very nature of Slayerhood forfeit. Beyond this difference, the Slayer and the vampire are almost identical. They live by the sword; their god is Force. They are prone to violence and their enemies die without mercy. When a Slayer or a vampire rules, that dominion is absolute. Such power is given up on only one condition: death. I could continue to chronicle the similarities, but I would rather not. Suffice to say that when I fell in love with the Slayer, it had nothing to do with her goodness. She would have made a perfect vampire. I still cannot punish myself for how my unsouled self loved Buffy. How else does a creature with no soul love? I still love Buffy today. But I cannot stand to be near her. There is a glow of purity around her that burns me. Moreover, she hates me with a driving passion, and I cannot bring myself to torture such a good creature by making her endure my presence. After all, who am I to think myself so worthy as do deserve her attentions? I am a wretch, the lowest of the low, so far from her that by all rights I should not even be able to see her. Angel, would you consider ceasing your perusal of my journals? I find it uncomfortable for you to have access to my private thoughts.

Wil

- - - - - - - - - -

Angel wasn’t sure what shocked him more; that Wil had written about Buffy, what he had written about the girl, or that he had just been unceremoniously kicked out of Wil’s journal. Even knowing what had driven his childe to accept a soul, he had underestimated the depth and nature of the younger vampire’s affection for the Slayer. He had also, in the interests of helping Wil, been invading the younger man’s privacy. The blonde was a very private person. Perhaps the reason that his journal entries were as they were was because Wil was reluctant to share his emotions with Angel.

Then realization hit. He’d told Wil to keep a journal because the younger vampire wouldn’t talk to him. Why would Wil open up any more in a journal he knew Angel was reading? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Angel couldn’t believe he’d done something that idiotic.

Resolved to correct the situation, Angel replaced the journal and left Wil’s room. This would be the last time he invaded his childe’s privacy.