Author: Sandra Pascoe

Pairing: None

Rating: FRM - some violent situations and swearing

Archive: Sure - just ask first

Disclaimer: Giles doesn’t belong to me - I’m only borrowing him. Can I keep him, please?

Spoilers: I don’t think there are any

Setting: Giles is still in England during S6-though its going a tad AU…hehe

Notes: Sequel to "The Summoning". It helps if you’ve read that first. A few odd references in this one - mainly Dr Who. The title comes from the Barry Manilow song of the same name - it’s only available on his recent "Ultimate Manilow" album and is from his film "Copacabana". I’d advise you to listen - it’s a superb and moving song. (The song actually has nothing to do with this fic - but the title fits!)

Dedication: To Jules and Julia - cracking betas - especially Julia who beta’d this whilst recovering from a hospital stay - there’s dedication for you! Also thanks to Ruth for her valuable input.

**********

The hooded man waved a hand over the scrying glass and the images that seemed to float on the mirrored surface slowly faded from view. Ah, decisions, decisions, he mused. Which of you will die first? A soft giggle came from beneath the hood and he held up a finger. Eanie, meeny, miny, moe…catch a Watcher by his toe…when he squeals let him go…eanie, meeny, miny, moe. Perfect. You’ll do nicely. A sudden surge of pain swept through him and he doubled over, clutching his stomach, wincing and panting. Oh shit…not now…please not now. He stumbled across the cellar, his fingers scrabbling and fumbling with a drawer. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of pain, the drawer opened and he grabbed the syringe and small bottle that nestled inside. With shaking hands, he filled the syringe, quickly pushing up his sleeve and jabbing it into his arm. There was the familiar burning sensation as the fluid entered him and then, seconds later, he felt the pain receding. Thank God this still works, he thought, taking deep breaths, but for how long? No…don’t think of it. Think about him…think about revenge. He smiled and straightened up, taking out the syringe and replacing it in the drawer. He pushed his sleeve down and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the sweat from his face. That’s better. Pulling the hood forwards, he moved to the chalk circle and raised his arms above his head, palms facing up.

"You are summoned to this Realm. Come…do the bidding of your Master."

He took a step backwards, folded his arms and watched as the tall, imposing form of the demon gradually coalesced before him.

"Not a bad response time," remarked the hooded man and the demon bowed.

"As thy will, so mote it be."

"Good to see we understand one another. Now…" the hooded man paused briefly. "You have a name do you not?"

"You may call me…Sceleratus."

"Sceleratus…yes, very apt."

The hooded man rubbed his hands together and Sceleratus’ eyes flicked downwards. He noted with surprise the multiple scarring that covered both hands. So, he thought, signs of evident ill treatment. Does this mean he will be sympathetic to me? Grant me my freedom? Or has his heart hardened? Have any feelings of compassion been stamped out?

"I have questions regarding my predecessor," remarked the hooded man softly. "First of all, were the identities of the victims important?"

"No," replied Sceleratus. "I was told it was WHAT they were that was important, not WHO they were."

"So you were given no specific target?"

"No."

"I have very particular targets in mind. As I said before, you will kill the person I show you and none other." Sceleratus nodded and the hooded man continued. "Now, as to the manner of their deaths…were you given free reign or were you instructed as to method?"

"I was instructed to a certain extent."

"You will use the same basic modus operandi upon the victims I choose. Come here."

The hooded man moved back to the scrying glass, waved a hand over it and muttered softly. Sceleratus stood at his shoulder, watching silently, no flicker of emotion showing on his face. The mirror rippled and darkened to the accompaniment of a short burst of staccato mutterings from the hooded man, before slowly clearing to reveal an image that appeared to solidify on its surface.

"That is your first victim," the hooded man remarked.

Sceleratus leaned forward slightly, studying the image before him. A middle-aged man was in bed, fast asleep. Not much sport there, he thought, but he looks so peaceful, so…innocent.

"I have one other condition," the hooded man continued and Sceleratus turned to face him. "You will allow yourself to be seen."

"To be seen?" Sceleratus looked at the hooded man in surprise. "You wish these…humans…to see me?"

"Oh yes. Let them get a good long look at you. I want your appearance burned into their minds."

Sceleratus straightened up and bowed.

"It will be as you command."

**********

Giles opened his eyes and gazed blearily at the alarm clock. 3am…why am I awake at 3am? He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling. He glanced towards the curtains, which seemed to be almost shining in the moonlight, his gaze drawn to the ceremonial daggers on the wall that glowed in the half-light. He was waiting. Waiting for that oh-so-familiar voice to sound in his mind…a voice that at the moment was conspicuous by its absence.

"No need for YOU to keep quiet," he muttered. "I can feel your disapproval."

It has been a tiring day for you. You should be asleep.

"I don’t have one foot in the grave yet," replied Giles with a smile. "I do have a lot to think about though…maybe that’s why I can’t sleep."

Perhaps. You were quiet at dinner. You were uncertain of acceptance by your associates yet you did not feel uncomfortable in their company. As the evening progressed you felt considerably more relaxed and peaceful. Are you satisfied with what Quentin Travers has offered?

"I expected him to push me. I expected him to demand that I return to the Council full-time."

I believe Quentin Travers is attempting a compromise. He is giving you the freedom he thinks you need, by accepting your work with the Museum, yet, simultaneously, he is gradually drawing you back into the Council with his earlier offer. He is an intriguing person.

"Yes, he is," Giles chuckled softly. "I had a feeling you’d find him stimulating."

As do you. Your bitterness at some of his past actions is tinged with a certain admiration.

"Well, it’s never been easy to put one over on Quentin," replied Giles, getting out of bed. He put on his slippers and shrugged into his dressing gown.

Why do you feel the need for this? You have never shown any previous inclination towards solitary nocturnal wanderings.

"You make it sound like some disgusting personal habit," grinned Giles as he tied his dressing gown. "I just fancy a walk. Maybe the fresh air will clear my head."

Maybe it will. At the very least it will allow us to explore the reasons behind your wakefulness tonight.

"I simply have things to think about," replied Giles as he opened the door and stepped out into the brightly lit corridor.

It may not merely be that. I told you earlier that you might experience ‘changes’ due to my presence.

"You also said there wouldn’t be any dramatic change," muttered Giles as he jogged downstairs, waving casually at one of the many security cameras. "In fact, you implied it would be negligible."

That is quite correct. In my experience the changes that occur have only a small effect upon the human in question. I merely feel, however, that it is wise to explore the possibility of this being the cause of your wakefulness.

"Very well," muttered Giles as he smiled at the security guard who was sat near the front door. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sir," replied the guard, standing up and permitting himself a brief grin as he took in Giles’ night attire. "Nice night for a walk, sir."

"Yes, it is," Giles opened the door and stepped outside, heading off down the gravel drive without a backwards glance.

You were surprised to see a guard.

"They never used to have one," Giles slowed his pace, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown.

The forces of Chaos have grown stronger. It is as well to be careful.

Giles left the main drive and started walking along the lake path, grateful that the Council had seen fit to install little nightlights along the route. Giles smiled, his footsteps the only sound to break the silence. He felt happy, relaxed, and he was aware of a feeling of contentment sweeping through his mind.

"I see," he muttered with a grin. "You approve of solitary nocturnal wanderings now?"

There is something to be said for it…but I would suggest that you do not make a habit of it.

"I only do it here," replied Giles. "There’s something untouchable about this place, a feeling of innocence. It’s as though evil has never set foot here."

Giles sat on a bench, gazing out across the lake to where the mansion was barely discernible against the night sky. The reflected light from the lamps set along the drive shone indistinctly against the granite facade.

"This darkness that’s coming," he said softly. "Tell me precisely what you know or feel."

As you are aware, my purpose is to ensure there is a balance between light and dark. At this time, I have been called forth and darkness is in ascendance. I have faced the forces of darkness on countless occasions…conversely I have also frequently been called to battle the forces of light. This has happened many times…so it is with a degree of apprehension that I tell you I have never felt such a build up of Chaos before. I feel them coming together…combining. We have to take care. The Council stands with light and I fear we will all be brought to our knees before this is over.

"How close is it?"

It is still some way off. They are merely beginning…we do have a little time…and we must use it wisely.

**********

Bernard’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking around in alarm. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the blood singing in his ears. What the hell woke me up? He sniffed the air. What’s that? Smells like…sulphur…something burning. He turned, fumbling for the lamp on the bedside table. Bernard flicked a switch, bathing the room in light and, as he turned back, he felt a large hand grip his throat. The hand was cold, clammy and he could feel claws - immense claws - digging into his neck. He was pushed back onto the pillows, a demonic face looming over him: expressionless and calm. Bernard struggled to draw breath and he fought, scratched, gouged and kicked at any part of his captor he could get near. The hand never once loosened its grip and Bernard’s frantic efforts to escape lessened…his lungs felt as though they were going to explode out of his chest, spots danced in front of his eyes as his captor’s impassive face faded from view. Darkness surrounded him, icy tendrils clutching his heart and Bernard’s body slumped as he let Death finally claim him.

Sceleratus slowly released his grip on Bernard’s neck and stepped back, gazing down at the body before him. One more on my conscience, he thought, one more death to be counted against me. Sceleratus picked up the body and laid it on the floor almost reverently. Kneeling down, he extended a razor sharp claw and deftly drew it across the corpse’s throat. Nodding in satisfaction at the precision of the laceration, he cut through the pyjama jacket and pushed it aside, exposing the chest and stomach. Without hesitation, he sliced deeply into the abdomen and, in one movement, thrust a hand inside the wound, feeling around almost eagerly. Using his claws, he cut through tissue and veins, pulling a large section of intestine free and holding it up triumphantly. So, he thought, you want these humans to see me. Very well … as thy wish, so mote it be. He placed the intestines carefully just above the right shoulder of the body and then clinically removed a smaller section and placed it between the left arm and the body. Sceleratus stood, blood running down his arm and dripping onto the floor. He looked around the room, eyes settling upon the tea service on the dressing table. That should make a nice, loud noise, he thought, walking across and, with a sweep of his arm, sending it crashing to the floor. Sceleratus threw back his head and roared loudly, exultantly, the sound echoing off the walls. Now … come to me.

**********

Giles snapped out of his reverie as a piercing roar seemed to vibrate through the air, cutting through the silence like a hot knife through butter. All movement ceased and Giles felt himself go cold, a shiver running up his spine and the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Lights flashed on in the mansion, the shrill whine of the alarm system replacing the last echoes of the roar.

"Do I want to know what caused that?" Asked Giles as he jumped to his feet and started running back along the lake path.

Probably not. It was most intriguing. There was triumph and exultation but with an underlying note of sorrow...such sorrow as I have rarely heard. There is one thing we can be sure of: whatever caused this, there can be no doubt that it is a tormented being.

"Nothing human," Giles remarked as his feet crunched along the gravel drive.

Indeed. Nothing human.

Giles slowed as he reached the house, gently opening the front door and slipping inside. The first thing he noticed was that the guard was missing …the second thing was the now almost deafening whine of the alarm system. He frowned and closed the door.

"I can’t hear a damn thing over this racket!"

Then use your other senses…use your instincts. Concentrate.

*********

Sceleratus listened to the commotion in the corridor outside and chuckled softly. Raised, concerned voices competed against the incessant and invasive alarm. Time to emerge, he thought, casting one last glance towards the bloodied body on the floor before dramatically flinging the door open. He stepped into the corridor, relishing the panic and terror that his appearance caused. Some took to their heels; others stood still…watching with expressions of slack-jawed shock - which is to be expected, thought Sceleratus. Shots were fired and his flesh rippled as the bullets passed through, embedding themselves in the door behind him. He shook his head almost reproachfully at the shaking guard. You cannot kill me here, he thought, not in this realm. He chuckled and stepped forward, catching the eyes of a man walking along the corridor towards him. Confusion ripped through Sceleratus as the man looked back impassively. Something … something behind his eyes. He is different … not like these others. He stepped forward, a questioning look in his eyes. Are you my death? Are you my freedom?

Giles didn’t move as the demon stepped towards him. He no longer heard the alarm…didn’t see the people around him. All that existed was himself and the demon before him. He felt a connection…some kind of recognition.

"Is it you he knows?" He muttered softly.

I believe he recognises something. However, I feel that he is your destiny.

"Destiny?"

There comes a time when decisions create ripples into the past and into the future. The decision you make, the road you choose, as regards this demon will have consequences…important consequences.

"And the right decision is…?"

There is no right or wrong. You will make your decision. The time is not now. You will know…you will follow your heart.

Giles sighed as, with an almost pleading look, the demon shimmered and slowly vanished.

"Seems you were right," he muttered. "The time is not now."

**********

"Why did you summon me back?" Sceleratus advanced angrily on the Hooded Man.

"Patience," replied the Hooded Man calmly, holding up a hand. "I still have work for you."

"Ahhh…so," Sceleratus nodded, "that human IS my death."

"Oh no," chuckled the Hooded Man, "you are HIS."

"He is different. He is not like you … not like ordinary humans."

"He used to be - until he allowed that parasite in. But no matter … they will be separated soon enough."

"There is strength in him … there is purpose. He was unafraid. I am unsure if I could defeat him."

"You will defeat him. If all goes according to plan, he will come to your Realm and you will kill him."

"Plan? So that human’s death was incidental? You were merely…" Sceleratus stopped, struggling for the right words.

"Merely issuing a gilt-edged invitation: ‘The presence of Rupert Giles…and guest…is requested…’ " the Hooded Man chuckled softly.

"He may not accept...and I may not be able to defeat him."

The Hooded Man pointed a finger at Sceleratus. "If you still doubt then think on this: the only one who can give you your freedom is me. Remember that."

"I remember … human."

"Oh such disdain … such hatred in your voice. And from someone who used to be human himself."

Sceleratus’ eyes flashed at the mocking tone.

"What do you know of this?"

"A great deal. A lot more than you do it seems. Let’s just say it’s one of the reasons I selected you for this." The Hooded Man giggled, "in fact, it’s the main reason. It all ties in so neatly: you…him…it. Tell me … do you remember your previous life at all?"

"Only … only in dreams."

The Hooded Man waved a hand. "Then return to your Realm … and dream of what might have been."

**********

Giles sat quietly in Quentin’s office, gazing out of the window at the sunlit sky. Hours had passed since he’d found himself staring down in shocked disbelief at Bernard’s corpse whilst all around him Council staff had swung quietly into action. Like cogs in a well-oiled machine, they had efficiently photographed, inspected and questioned until, finally, with reverence and respect, the body was carefully removed. There was silence in Giles’ mind. Ever since his realisation that it was Bernard who had been brutally murdered, he had felt and heard nothing from Vulcan’s Bane. Sensing his need to be alone with his thoughts, it had withdrawn, giving him the privacy he needed. Grief is such a solitary thing, thought Giles. We are touched in different ways by those around us and on so many levels that each one holds a special place in memory, in thought, in heart. Loss makes you feel as though those special places have been ripped out … leaving you with such a feeling of emptiness. Giles smiled slightly as recalled the words said to him by Bernard many years previously: "Don’t judge a man by his words…judge him instead by the tears that mark his passing." I can’t shed tears for you, Bernard…not yet. To do that would mean I accept this…and I don’t…not by a long chalk. So, forgive me, my friend…but you’ll have to wait a bit longer.

"So," muttered Giles, tearing his gaze away from the window, "how do I call you back?"

It is merely a question of intent.

"Thank you," murmured Giles, feeling the soft touches on his mind once. "I’m glad you’re back."

Technically, I have not been anywhere. I simply withdrew.

"I didn’t ask you to."

No…but you needed me to. You wished to be alone with your thoughts.

"Not any more," sighed Giles. "I’m tired of…always grieving alone."

Neither of us is alone. Not anymore. However, think on this. When you die and I return to the Sphere, I take your knowledge, your experiences and your memories with me. That includes your memories of your friends. Therefore, through us, they will never be forgotten. I realise it does not bring him back, but it may provide some comfort.

"At the moment, I need answers rather than comfort."

In order to find answers, we need to ask the right questions. There are features of note, which, individually, seem almost insignificant. However, put together, they start to form an intriguing picture.

"Well let’s see what we have so far," Giles sat up and began counting off points on his fingers. "First, the roar. You said there was sorrow in it…as though the demon was in torment. That would fit with the expression in his eyes…he almost appeared to be begging for something. Would it also explain the handprint on his shoulder?"

Possibly. Traditionally there are many such marks of ownership. Handprints have been used in any number of cultures and therefore it is a logical extrapolation that the demon was either instructed … or acting under orders from a third party.

Giles nodded and took a deep breath. "Now…Bernard’s room. Would you agree that the blood visible on the broken crockery would indicate that it was smashed to the ground AFTER he was killed?"

There was a flash of enthusiastic approval in his mind. Yes, came the voice, which indicates that it was done deliberately to attract attention.

"And," continued Giles, "this creature seemed to be able to appear and disappear at will. He could have vanished from inside the room - instead he chose to draw attention to himself…but why?"

There are a number of possibilities, however, due to the connection you felt, I believe he was being used as bait. Why and for what is unknown. We must examine all the evidence closely - the smallest detail could provide the key.

Giles glanced up as the door opened and Quentin Travers slipped inside, closing the door firmly behind him. Giles’ eyes widened slightly. Quentin looked haggard and almost unkempt. His tie was askew; his shirt untucked in places and his hair was unbrushed. For someone as fastidious as Quentin, there was one obvious conclusion to be drawn: he cares, thought Giles, and this has hit him hard. Quentin dropped a folder on the desk and sat down.

"When do you leave, Rupert?"

"Well, I was supposed to be leaving this morning," Giles frowned slightly. "I gather the Council will be undertaking an internal investigation?"

"Oh lord, yes," replied Quentin. "We can’t trust anyone else with this and we DO have a very efficient team."

"And I would be more of a hindrance than a help if I stayed. You’ll keep me up to date on the investigation?"

"Of course. Any insights you can provide could prove invaluable." Quentin opened the folder in front of him. "The Doctor has now completed his Post Mortem. Cause of death was strangulation."

"Strangled? He was strangled first?"

Quentin nodded. "All the other…injuries…occurred after death."

"That could be significant."

"Indeed. I’ve ordered immediate research into killings of that nature…see if we can find a match. We also got some rather good pictures from the security cameras…so the team are going through the database to see whether we have any records of this particular demon."

"May I have copies?"

Quentin nodded. "I’ll make sure you get copies of everything before you leave. The funeral is arranged for Friday…at St Enodoc Church…I trust you’ll be there?"

"Yes, I’ll be there."

"Good. I’ll talk to you more then." Quentin sighed and stood up. "Now I have to go and do something that I usually left to Bernard…and to be frank, I’m dreading it."

"Oh?"

"I have to go and tell Bernard’s mother that she’s lost her only son."

**********

Sceleratus sat down next to his previously abandoned chains and sighed loudly. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, trying desperately to grasp the memories that floated agonisingly just beyond his reach. I was human once…I know that…so why are the memories hidden from me? What purpose does it serve to keep me ignorant of my roots, of myself? I want to know who I am. What did I do to deserve this punishment? I know I made a mistake…but what? Sceleratus opened his eyes and lifted his head. And this Rupert Giles…why does he seem familiar? What is so different about him? He appears average…average features…except his eyes. I KNOW those eyes. I know that piercing gaze. Well I will have my answer soon enough. He will talk before I kill him. I will make him talk.

**********

Giles squinted against the bright, morning sun as he got into his car and drove towards the Museum. Winding down the window and turning the radio on, he stifled a yawn.

Maybe you should not work today. You have had your sleep interrupted for two consecutive nights. Last night you were restless…continually waking. It is not good for you.

"Yes, thank you, mother," replied Giles. "You know why I kept waking."

You were thinking of your friend.

"Yes…I was. I’ll miss him."

But you are not ready to let him go yet. Is that what will happen at the funeral tomorrow? Is that the time for letting go and moving on?

"You’ve never been to a funeral?"

Not one that had significance for my…partner.

"Well I think funerals have different meanings for different people. To most, it is a time to remember…to say goodbye. Once you can do that, you can slowly move on. You don’t forget, but as time goes on, it becomes less painful to remember."

So it is a symbolic farewell?

"Yes, I believe it is…in a way…but as I said - funerals have different meanings for different people." Giles drove into the car park and stopped the car, leaning back with a sigh.

You are tired and emotional. As such, your judgement and research abilities may well suffer. I can help. If we are to solve this mystery then you need to be able to concentrate…close your eyes.

Giles did as instructed and immediately felt a series of soft ripples in his mind. Rather like an internal head massage, he thought with a smile. There was a sudden rap on the window and Giles eyes snapped open. He turned and saw Henry peering at him, an expression of gentle concern on his face.

We will continue this later.

"Mmmmm," muttered Giles, getting out of the car.

"Are you alright, old chap?" Henry looked closely at Giles and frowned. "You look rather tired."

Giles grabbed his case and locked the car.

"It’s been a rough couple of days but I’m fine…really."

"Anything I can do to help?"

Giles shook his head. "No…not really. I recently lost a very good friend."

"Oh…sorry to hear that, old man."

They walked slowly across the car park, Henry glancing continuously at a distracted Giles. This might explain his recent behaviour, he thought. He’s not ill as Nicholas thought; he’s reacting to the loss of a friend.

"I’ll need tomorrow off, Henry," said Giles as they reached the doors. "It’s the funeral."

"Of course, Rupert…and if there’s anything you need then please let me know."

**********

How much time do you need, Rupert? How many clues? You should hurry…or you won’t have any friends left. The Hooded Man stared intently at the scrying glass, watching as Giles and Henry entered the Museum. He absently scratched his hand and then glanced down at the scarred flesh. You did this to me. You and that Slayer of yours. Maybe once I’ve finished with you it’ll be her turn. The question is though…when she learns of your death will she actually give a damn? Will she mourn the loss of a good researcher…or a good friend? The Hooded Man chuckled. We will find out soon enough and, forgive the pun, but this is going to slay you, Rupert.