Angel - City of Fear

City of: Book 1. Doyle didn't have much with him, even after death. If he even decided to make something else as a neat reminder of him it probably would have been gone in a night. An Irish, half-bred demon who received visions from The Powers That Be. Angel and Cordelia had made a private investigation agency thanks to him; "Angel Investigations: We help the helpless". But one night, one night is what changes his fate and his path to redemption. It began with a chase. And ended in the way Doyle didn't expect...nor did Angel. (Second Angel Fanfiction on Wattpad, posted 3.2.2014) (Completed 6.4.2014) (Cover by EKShortstories)


24. After the questioning [We are not alone]

Doyle had got shot at his shoulder from the Theatre shooting. Wesley voluntarily drove Cordelia home. But taking out the bullet was not difficult for Doyle (Who treated it like it was just a scratch). Doyle refused going to the hospital. If he wasn’t going to the hospital then Angel would take the bullet out. It was the least he could do for Doyle, who had done the same for him after being shot at by Russell’s gunman in the beginning of Angel Investigations.

“I thought you weren’t allergic to theatres.” Angel said, dropping the bullet into a plastic and gray rounded bowl.

Doyle sighs, relieved it’s finally over. He puts pressure on the bleeding shoulder. Wait…did I just say theatre?  Doyle provides pressure on it long enough to wrap gauze around his shoulder. Great that hurt a lot more than it should had. He could see it slightly get red on the lightly white wrapping,.

 “Well…” Doyle then makes an excuse…Well more like a fib. “Somebody had cat fur on tem.”

Doyle puts on a clean shirt (That he kept in a desk) while his crunched up, bloody shirt is in a basket.

“…Doyle, you don’t have cat allergies,” Angel reminds him.

Doyle somewhat shrugs.

 “I felt comfortable with myself,” Doyle said. “And dat movie,”  He shook his head. “Man, I see why Wesley suggested Dragon Heart.”

“…Dragon—what?” Angel repeats, a bit confused people were making movies involving dragons. Hadn’t they been afraid of Dragons since…forever ago? Well they may be becoming fearless at this point but not too bold.

His friend, Doyle, is living proof that some people are still afraid of demons.

“Dat was some pretty nifty CGI on dah dragon.” Doyle goes on to explain Dragon Heart for Angel.

In interrogation…

…9:24 AM...Next morning..

Doyle is being questioned by Detective Kate Lockely. He assumed it was for the theatre shooting. The lights in the interrogation room are fine but the window is obvious to Doyle that other people are watching them. She came into the room holding a tan file. Something about her mood told Doyle this might be the time where he could tell her about being half demon.

Kate is holding coffee in her other hand.

“I swear, I wasn’t in dah theatre.” Doyle swore, raising his right hand up. Brachen’s could heal faster than humans (Which allowed him to take off the gauze just an hour ago). This allowed him to be out of the hospital for however long. “Tey got me confused with somebody else.”

 “What theatre?” Kate asks, sitting down on a chair holding a tan folder with paper sticking out from the sides.

Kate puts her coffee cup on the table.

Doyle’s face relaxes, as does his fingers and shoulders. His back goes against the chair he is sitting on. Good, Doyle thought in relief, Tey don’t know about dah  theatre.  Doyle puts his hands on the table similar to a kid who’s preparing to play with his fingers. Tey must tink dah demon’s dead as pixie dust.


 “Doyle, I asked you here for questioning because…”

“Tere’s a lead on dat mistaken identity?”

Kate sent him a ‘don’t-you-interupt-me’ warning glare.

 “No.” She said, in a sharp but efficient reply.  Kate puts the file on the table. Her mood changed from investigative to searching for answers.  “Why…why didn’t you tell me  that Mr.Jefferson McCoy was your brother?”

 Doyle leans slightly forward.

“Because it wasn’t relevant.” Doyle said. “Dat was somebody else. “

 Kate opens a file.

“And how do ya know?...” Doyle asks, seeing the open file,

“I have friends in higher places.”  Kate said, looking through pictures in the folder. “Who were advanced enough to match your DNA to him and other victims.”

 He was mentioned….in a sentence with Victims, Doyle thought as it became slow motion.

“H…He’s…He’s dead?”  Doyle said, looking quite unsure. 

  Doyle remembered Jefferson kicking him out when he was doing some stuff that drug addicts would do, and that he sneezed.  That sneeze was how Jeferson found out about their mom’s one night stand with a Brachen Demon. It was a day Doyle would never, ever forget.  That sneeze also alerted his brother to two worlds; The Demon world and the Drug addict word.  This happened sometime after Harriet left him.

Kate slides forth a picture of Bridget.

Doyle didn’t recognize the woman at all. He hadn’t even met her!

“He is, and so is an innocent woman.” Kate taps on Bridget’s photo. “Whatever feud your family is in…” She stops tapping on it, backing a hand away from the photo.  She picks up her coffee, takes a drink and then puts it down.  “This has to stop.”

“It’s not a feud.” Doyle said, in a low voice.

 “Then what is it?”  Kate asks even more. “Is it a Romeo and Juliet kind of Fued or is the Hatfield and McCoy kind?”

 Doyle turns his head towards the interrogation window, then back towards Kate.

“Ya better turn dat window off.” Doyle points to the interrogation window.  He is not kidding what is being said. The look in his eyes could say it all. “Dis is somethin’ dat should not be on dah record.”

Kate gives the signal, and then the window becomes darker.

“Now spill.” Kate said, picking up her coffee.

 Doyle switches to his demon form; Kate puts down her coffee, then took out her gun.

“What the—“ Kate got up, aiming her gun at him. She puts down her coffee.  

  “Go ahead,” Doyle puts his foot on the table.   He apparently is ready to hear what she has to say.  Doyle expected it to be short much like an insult. “Everyone says it.”

 Kate stood away from her chair. wary of Doyle.

“What are you?”

 Doyle rolls his right eye.

“…I wasn’t expectin’ dat.” Doyle shook his head.  His shoes squeak on the table. “Ah, put down dat gun.”  Doyle told her in amused voice, waving a hand down.  “I’m half demon.” Seesh. She’s got some fear in there. “Ya look ridiculous aimin’ at a harmless half-breed.”

Kate lowers her gun.

“Who...sent you here?”

Doyle rubs his chin.

“Uh, nobody,” Doyle said, shaking his head as he morphs to human form.

Kate’s eyes told him she could go with that.

“Are…are you from hell?” Kate asks.

Doyle laughs at her funny question.

“Are ya serious?”  He asks, folding his arms. Doyle looks at her in a funny way.  He could tell that she stood by her question through and through.  “I was born dah way all people are,” Doyle said, being patient with her. “I was not sent!”

“How can I be sure?”

Doyle puts down his feet off the table.

“Half of dah population entire world is half demon or mainly demon,” Doyle explains. “The X-Files aren’t just dah only ones who help others, Mulder and Scully both FBI detectives solving supernatural crimes.” He puts his hands together. “All right...Ya don’t understand.”

She nods, saying “I don’t.”

“If ya have dat window still on…” Doyle points to the window hanging on the wall. “…And recordin’ dis,” Doyle pauses. He remembered wise words Marx said to him. “… With some other people starin’ at dis, ten ya lookin’ to be responsible for…”

Doyle looks away from the window.

“About equivalent to 58 thousand lives bein’ lost ta revealin’ demons ta dah world and ta dah    president. Dah World isn’t ready ta known about Demons or half demons; we’re stereotyped.” He had to make this clear. “Ya remember the holocaust?”

Kate puts her gun away.

“It’s off.” Kate said, standing behind her chair. 

“And dah thin’ is, Jefferson’s very much human. My mom had a one night stand with a Brachen, drunk on dis world’s beauty,”  Doyle explains for her to understand.. “And ditched mom after I was born.”

 Kate’s forehead becomes full of wrinkles.

  “As far as I had been aware, I was dah only child tey had,” Doyle admits. “Until…”  Doyle didn’t finish what he was going to say, but, he really didn’t want to say it.  He shrugs.  “Dis happened.”

Kate’s forehead then loses its wrinkles.

 “Who is hunting down your relatives?”

Doyle’s face grew grim, a little dark.

“Ya know dat somethin’s don’t revolve around dah law enforcement.” Doyle tells her. “It’s my fault dat it happened…I won’t explain how it is…But dah other guy responsible is dead.”

Kate takes out a small notebook from her pocket as she sits back down.

“Other guy?”  Kate asks, taking her pen out.

Doyle sighs.

“Copy cat Demon, relative ta dah vampire…He helped Dean track down….” Doyle looks down towards his bruised knuckles.  “A toddler.”  Annie H. Scotch…Doyle continues that train of thought in his mind. Poor girl.

   Kate wrote this down in bullet form. But the toddler part, that alarmed her.  She looks up from the paper.


Doyle looks up from his bruised knuckles; He has a solemn face.

“Ya haven’t found dah body.”

Kate raises an eyebrow, puzzled by his confusing comment.

“There’s another?”

Doyle sighs.

“Detective  Kate, do ya realize how …” Doyle bit his lip. “Do ya realize dat a body can be hidden in a junk yard, inside a luggage in dah most gruesome way possible?”

The Detective’s calm, collected vibe was gone and replaced by horrified eyes.

“I was…kind of…given a tip about dis.” Doyle goes on, making an uncomfortable shrug. “It said tere was somethin’  waitin’ for me in dah junkyard.”

The scene shows Doyle walking towards a stinking luggage.

“And boy,” Doyle whistles, shaking his head. “If a cat was around…it would have died from dah stench.”

Doyle picks up a pipe, and cracks it open.

“I hope ya have a forensic team with a hard stomach,,” Doyle warns her. “It’s at  Los Angeles  Junk Yard.”

Doyle covers his mouth, ad he runs off behind a big junk pile.

Doyle slides Bridget’s photograph back to Kate.

“You…saw it?”  Kate manages to speak.

Doyle puts his hands together.

“Nearby, ya’ll smell something less bad tan dat stench.” Doyle said, in the lightest way possible.  He shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Doyle hesitates, and then after a few moments he tells her.

“A Killanobi Demon.”  Doyle said. “I’m serious. He comes from Africa. He can’t posseses anyone,sadly.”

Kate rubs her chin, interested about this killanobi demon.

“How do you know?”

“Dat’s one  of dah only things  that’s known about him.”


“He hates loud noises.”

Kate raises an eyebrow.

 “How do you know about that?”

Doyle briefly closes his eyes, then he reopens them.

“He told me.”

The words sent chills down Kate’s skin.

"Screaming hurts my ears; any kind such as yelling, shouting, and so on. The kind where a microphone is used." Dean goes on, brushing aside a beer. "You get what I mean?"

Doyle is uncomfortable.

 "I am not dah  mean  one in here," Doyle sarcastically said, folding his arms on the table. He looks towards Dean.

 “He’s been alive for 270 years,”Doyle adds, feeling her eyes on him. “His favorite hobby is torturing his victims—who he prefers ta be half-breeds—slowly. But when he’s mad; it’s very fast.”

  Doyle pats on the table.

 “Did you do a favor—“ Kate  tries asking Doyle.

“No.” Doyle cut her off. “I just…interfered in his business.” He shrugs. “Dat’s all ya need ta know.”

   ________________          ________________________     __________________

 Marx had come into the dark, not well lit room. Doyle had been here before too. To be truthful; Doyle is in here. Marx knew this room to be one of the dangers of passing through to children’s beds. But it wasn’t fine; it wasn’t as reckless or risky as it used to be. It felt…controlled.  It wasn’t quite safe. It felt so threatening towards him.

  “The hell happened here?” Marx said out loud.

 Marx heard a tapping from behind him.

 “I didn’t expect you to come,” A new, odd voice greets him.

 Marx turns around, flipping his night-light on.

“Oh my…” Marx staggers back, SCARED by this Boogie Demon.

 The Boogie Cannibal Demon cackles at him.

 “Are you..scared, old man?” He heard the voice again.

Marx didn’t have the best sight in the room.

 “No.” Marx said. “But feeding off a Half-demons fear isn’t your style. You feed off humans…am I correct?”

 He hears a low grumble.

 “Fast learner, I see.” The BCD said, walking around him.

Marx swung his axe to the right.

“Miiiissed.” The BCD taunts him, as the axe strikes an empty space.


The creepy, odd laugh seems to be laughing at Marx’s failure.

“He was looking for Mr.Cherriet’s pinkie finger.”  The BCD said, licking something he is holding.. “And that’s the best part of the body”

It disturbs Marx to hear him talk about bones this way.

 “The original boogie Man was my great, great, great grandfather.” The BCD continues, with a laugh that is not…usual.  “His legacy lives in me.”

  The bragging is starting to get on his nerves.

 He heard a muffle.

“You are abusing his legacy!” Marx shouts.

“Tsk tsk tsk.” The BCD said. “He (That ugly half-demon) was looking under the bed.  I couldn’t eat him….But I could devour that really, tasty fear. You should try it sometime.”

Marx could feel his blood is boiling.

“Fear is not solid food.” Marx said. “It keeps you ALIVE.”

“And it lets my prey know they are still alive, too,” The BDC said. “Ooh.I see more fear from others…not from him….not from you…but fear towards him.”

Marx could feel him breathing on his neck.

“Don’t you regret…”

“I have lots of regrets!” Marx said. “And some of them aren’t pretty.”

The nameless BCD shook his head, making a ‘tsk’ sound three times.

“… giving ‘them’ your soul in exchange to live a ‘normal’ life?” The BCD  asks, sounding further away from Marx.

Marx runs towards the darkness, hopefully towards the BCD.

“You miiiissssed.” The BCD teasingly said.


Marx heard a chair tip over.  That was enough sound for Marx to be more aware of his surroundings. Night-sight to his eyes is in neon blue light outlining what is alive. Boogie Demons had evolved over time they stopped using some senses.  One of those is being able to see shapes in blue. Marx could see his target  quite well in 4 seconds.

“No, I won’t. ” Marx said,  as he is crouching.

Marx turns slightly , and then he threw it right behind himself.


He cut off an arm to the BCD demon.

“Doesn’t mean not being in the business leaves you blind in the night!” Marx shouts twirling his weapon in his hand.

The BCD screams while staggering back a step.

“I know some demons…” Marx said, detecting he’s right across from him. “Who know their way in the dark…”

________           _______      _____________

   Angel awoke in the middle of a field. Had he just got…Abducted by aliens? The flash of lights and strange gray, small humanoid figures lingering over his view…Angel couldn’t believe it happened to him! To him of all people!  Besides being a broody vampire with a soul, he didn’t like this. It felt so odd. It is scary being in the middle of the cornfield shirtless and pant less (For sure) shivering.  

  “This…” Angle hurries into a barn. “Is embarrassing.”

…A few hours later…

   ….Night…Angel Investigations…

     Spike came in to Angel’s apartment. It was the most unusual and unexpected  move that Angel ever considered.  Let alone be the sire of Drusilla  (Who sired Spike ) who is being visited by Spike after an humiliating and odd experience. The bright lights, odd noises, cricket-alien-like sounds, and strange sensation hadn’t left Angel.

“How did you get in?” Angel is wary of him.

Spike rolls an eye, making a grunt like sound.

“Backdoor.” Spike said, as though it was matter of fact that Angel left the door open.  He waves a hand. “Nah, just kidding.” Spike laughs. “Wesley let me in.”


“And…. why are you here?”

Why would Spike come straight from Sunnydale, just to come here? He must have an important reason.

“To tell you that  whatever you are planning; don’t do it.” Spike goes on. “Dru and I were enjoying a good blood sucking, but then…this…” He fiddles with his feet. “She started rambling, like in one of her trances. But she was scared.”


 “She kept saying ‘They’ll lose faith in dad if he does that’,” Spike twirls his right index finger in circles. “Over and over. It was like gibberish at first. But then I understood…after using a recorder.”

“Spike, get out.” Angel demands, not wanting to hear what he thinks Spike I saying.

“Uh, no, I may be your grandsire but...” He raises a finger. “This doesn’t even sound good. The only way I was able to get here was by telling Dru I would warn you not to do it, and….

Angel rubs his forehead.

“You locked her in a room.”

Spike shrugs.

“Tough love.” Spike said. “But please, don’t even do that. Because I know this is working out for you;  helping those people who can’t get help from…You know…You are almost like the supernatural robin hood. I love Dru, and if she see a future that makes her a upset (Invovling those close to her)” He points down to the floor. “I get concerned. “

We briefly see Detective Kate looking up on the computer, something gets her attention and her mass clicking comes to a halt. Her eyes are stuck on a familiar face…all too familiar but not quite exact to the face she is familiar with.  She  slides back in the seat and then gets up, turning off the computer for the night. If one could ask why she is researching about some case it would involve being in her shoes looking to get a case solved.

Angel forces Spike out Angel investigations.

“So…could ya?” Doyle is on the phone with a friend of his in Australia.

The Austrialian friend taps on a desk.

“Well…” His Austrailain friend is named Cellen C. Smith. He is wearing a multiple colored scarf that nearly covers his face. “I dunno about you, Doyle, but how in the world did you get a Killanobi mad?”

Doyle explains what he did.

“Doyle!” Cellen screams. “Are you high?”

“No.” Doyle said, holding the phone away from his ear.

Cellen sighs.

“Great, you are crazier than that man called the Curator,” He lifts up a part of the scarf. “Of that…odd museum.” Cellen shifts in his seat as a kangaroo mouse hops on his desk. “Eh, atleast  I got a good scarf from him.”

Cellen puts a breadcrumb on the desk.

  “Doyle, if I do this, then you should not get into the affairs of another Killanobi demon again,” Cellen said, in a warning voice as the kangaroo mouse ate the breadcrumb. It looks up to him with begging, huge adorable eyes. “You owe me another favor.”

“Sure sure sure.”

"This is only to protect your mom in Ireland, it's only a favor until that Killanobi demon is dead."


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