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Choice and Consequences	By : QueenB Category: Angel the Series > Slash - Male/Male > Angel(us)/Lindsey > Angel(us)/Lindsey Views: 2642 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Angel: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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The woman’s brows crease. “Darla? Who’s Darla?”
A few things at once become apparent to Lindsey. Firstly, this woman called the ex-watcher “Wesley” not Wyndham-Pryce as if she were a close friend not a fellow employee. Therefore she might be intimately connected with Angel’s old gang although he doesn’t recognize her.
Secondly, in spite of that connection, Angel hasn’t given her the details about the vision, either. Otherwise, she’d be taking the file to the vampire not Wesley. Thirdly, she’s sincerely clueless about Darla. The mention of her name just now sparked no hint of recognition in those anxious brown eyes.
Lindsey recalls all the gabbling one-sided conversations with Spike back when he’d been posing as his seer, Doyle, and tries to put a name to this face. He aims a cheery smile in her direction. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I guess I was surprised to see Connor’s face after what happened to him yesterday. I-I was thinking of something else.”
She smiles back at him, her brown eyes sparkling. “I-I guess you would be, seeing as you’re Connor’s dad and all. Funny, I thought you would be older.”
“Well, my height tends to make people underestimate my age.”
“So just how old are you?” When he stares at her, she giggles. “Oh, silly me. It’s probably in the file.”
“And I don’t like to brag about my age, Miss—?”
“Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Winifred Burkle.” She sticks out her hand and he shakes it automatically.
Ah, Winifred Burkle. Spike had spoken quite fondly of her; it seemed she was the only one of Angel’s team that he genuinely liked. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Burkle.”
“Call me Fred. Everybody does.”
“Fred it is then. What say you take this to this Wesley fellow and get his opinion about what’s after Connor?”
She frowned. “Wait, don’t you want to come along with me? I mean, you came here to talk about that van hitting your son, right?”
They have stood again and are pacing back in the direction of Angel’s office. Lindsey has to think fast to come up with a legitimate reason to keep from running into Angel again and avoid Wesley. This woman doesn’t know who Lindsey is but it’s unlikely the former Watcher will have forgotten him. “That I did. But I’ve just been to see Mr. Angel and, well, he didn’t seem interested for some reason. He was quite rude to me just now. I-I don’t think he wants to see me here again so I’d better avoid him.”
Fred bobs her head, dark strands flying around her face. “So I heard and I’m sorry about that. The boss isn’t like that usually; really, he’s not. Wesley doesn’t understand it and I don’t get it either. It’s not like Angel to turn his back on someone in need.” Now she gives Lindsey an interested look. “Did Angel say anything to you about why he won’t help you with your son?”
Lindsey shrugs helplessly. “Not a thing. I’m at my wit’s end. Then again, Connor seems to be all right, so I guess I shouldn’t worry about it. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“That’s good advice. Sounds like the sort of thing my daddy would say.” She tilts her head.
“What is it? Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”
“No. It’s just you really do look an awful lot like Connor. I guess it’s true what they say. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Reilly.”
“Likewise, Fred. Oh, and, if you do come up with something important, please call me.” He pulls out his pad that he carries with him everywhere now since he first started getting the visions. Finding a clean sheet of paper, he scribbles his cell number on it. “Now whatever you find, no matter how—bizarre it may seem to you, don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m pretty anxious about this whole affair, as you can imagine.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Reilly. I’ll be sure to give you a call if we come up with anything.” They shake hands again and Lindsey watches Fred walk around the corner. He leaves in the opposite direction, his mind whirling with the implications of this meeting.
Connor looks like Darla. He has her slight build, her light blue eyes. And this woman had said Connor looks like him. Thinking about that picture, he’d definitely been able to see the resemblance. But that’s impossible.
His connection with Darla not only had been fleeting; it had happened only a scant two years ago. Even if, by some miracle, Connor were the result of a union between him and the vampiress, he should have been a toddler of only two years old not a young man of nineteen or so. That’s what his reason told him. But somehow his instincts were telling him a very different story.
Darla and he had fucked each other once. But it had only been that one time. Still, once was all it took. But he had had her turned into a vampire again so a viable pregnancy would have been beyond the realm of possibility.
He’d wanted to sleep with Darla in the worst way. After hearing her talk about Angel incessantly, it was the easiest thing in the world for the two of them to fuck each other senseless just to drown their longing for the vampire they simultaneously hated and loved. But if he’d gotten Darla pregnant, why had she never come to him and demanded answers? Why had he never gotten so much as a hint of it? True, he hadn’t exactly left a forwarding address when he fled Wolfram & Hart. But a vampire as determined as Darla would have tracked him down sooner or later.
Lindsey shakes his head. There’s another mystery here, something even his visions haven’t shown him. And Angel is at the heart of it. He’d bet all his hard-earned money on it.
__________
Wesley goes through the papers Fred has handed him. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary here.”
“I know. Laurence and Colleen Reilly are the ideal couple, on paper anyway. Connor has a great track record at school. He’s at Stanford, solid A student, no criminal records or serious misdemeanors. He seems like a perfectly ordinary kid. And his dad is a really nice guy,” she adds.
“Really?” Wesley looks up at her, surprised by this intelligence. “How do you know what he’s like?”
“I met him in the hallway just a little while ago. Well, actually we sorta bumped into each other. He’d just been to see Angel and Angel, well, he was less than helpful.”
“I know.” Wesley sighs in frustration. “I don’t understand him. He’s supposed to be this powerful force for good and we’ve been laboring to help the helpless just as we used to do without being sucked into whatever agenda the Senior Partners may have for us. Then he turns around and does something like this.”
“Yeah, it really doesn’t make any sense. Maybe the Reillys hurt Angel in the past and this is his way of taking revenge?” Fred ventured.
“That doesn’t sound like Angel. Angelus perhaps but not Angel.” Wesley tilts back in his chair and shoves back from his spacious desk. Unlike Angel’s, his office lacks a view. But having a room with an outlook is a luxury more suited for the vampire’s tastes. He’s been without the sun for the better part of three centuries; he needs it more.
Besides, the closed-in atmosphere with books lining the walls reminds Wesley of the many hours spent in dusty rooms in the Watchers Council. Thus, it feels far more comfortable and comforting to him than a blank windowpane looking out on a lot of buildings.
Fred perches on the edge of Wesley’s desk, glad of an excuse to sit closer to him. “So, if Angel isn’t ignoring these people for a bad reason—maybe he has a good one?”
Wesley frowns, trying to follow Fred’s logic. “A good reason? What good reason is there for failing to follow up on an obvious attempt at murder?”
“I don’t know. You said Angel didn’t get all wiggy until he heard Connor’s name. So maybe the mystery is about Connor not the murder attempt.”
“Then it’s something about Connor that’s bothering Angel,” Wesley says slowly. He’s falling into Fred’s line of thought, attempting to piece together the puzzle. “Connor gets up after getting hit by a van at 60 miles an hour. He’s obviously not human. But we don’t know what he is.”
“But Angel does,” Fred replies. “Somehow he knows. Why else get all twitchy when Connor’s name gets mentioned?”
“Then if Angel knows what Connor is, his parents don’t and we don’t—”
“Then it’s some kind of conspiracy, something Angel is trying to keep quiet. That’s why he’s keeping us out of it,” Fred finishes.
Wesley stares at Fred in alarm. “That can’t be. Angel wouldn’t keep something like that from us. We’re his team.” Then again, Angel hasn’t always proven so forthcoming in the past.
A memory of Angel locking a bunch of lawyers in a room with Darla and Drusilla surfaces. Angel had fired Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn after that. No explanation, no apology; just a wholesale dismissal of his crew and friends.
Later, in Pylea, Angel had hinted that he’d known he was going off the deep end. Afraid of losing his sanity and turning on his friends, he’d forced them from him. He’d fired them all in an attempt to save them from his savage alter ego. But none of the Fang Gang had known that when he let them go. At the time it had seemed simply like a massive betrayal on his part.
Naturally, Fred is ignorant of all this. She’s encountered Angelus; she knows how vicious he can be. But she doesn’t know Angel’s history with Darla and Drusilla, the slaughtered lawyers, his firing of his team. There’s a whole back-story that she’s missing. Wesley sighs and gestures for Fred to sit down. “Fred, it’s time we had a talk.”
She perks up at that. “A talk? About what?” She eyes Wesley. He’s looking really good today in a dark blue shirt that really brings out his eyes. Fred’s feelings for him have changed over time. She’s just not certain how deep Wesley’s emotions go. He’s still interested in her; a gal can tell. He just never makes a move even though the thing between her and Gunn has been over for weeks.
“About Angel. There’s a lot you don’t know about him, things he might not want you to know. But you should hear them even if they are rather unpleasant.”
“Oh. Angel. O-okay, I guess.” Her disappointment is almost tangible and Wesley stares at her curiously.
“Fred? Was there something you wanted to talk about?”
Fred shuffles in her seat. “Me? No, no, not really. But I don’t see what you need to tell me about Angel. If it’s about Angelus, I think you pretty much gave me the full briefing when we had him trapped in that cage.”
He senses she’s not being entirely truthful but this isn’t the time to pursue it. “There’s quite a bit of history involved with Angel that you don’t know. For instance, when he was human, he encountered a vampire named Darla some time in 1753.”
Fred started. “Darla? Mr. Reilly mentioned that name when I ran into him.”
“He did? He couldn’t have. How would he know anything about her? She’s a vampire and she hasn’t been seen in L.A. since…” He casts his mind back. Darla and Drusilla had attacked and killed a whole room of attorneys. He didn’t know what steps Angel took against the two vampiresses after that. But Darla had been very conspicuous by his absence since that time. “Darla has been out of the picture since early 2001.”
“Really? But I’m sure that’s what Mr. Reilly said.”
Wesley straightens up and goes through the files again. There is a picture of Connor but none of his parents. “How very disturbing. That’s an obvious red flag if I ever heard one. Maybe this person you ran into isn’t what he seems to be either.”
“Really? But he seemed so nice! He even left me his cell number so we could get in touch with him.” She pulled out the paper with the number on it.
Wesley grasps it. “Well, this could be useful. You should have someone in the Science department look up this number. We’ll see who this man truly is.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Fred asked.
“I’ll keep an eye on Angel. You could do more research and find out what Angel’s hiding about this Connor.”
Fred nodded. “You got it. As head of the R&D Department, I can get Knox on it. The first time I was here, he hacked into my cell’s address book. He’s like this really smart technical whiz kid.”
“Yes. I’ve gotten a sense of how brilliant this Knox is. In the lab in any case,” Wesley muttered.
Fred doesn’t notice Wesley’s annoyance at hearing about Knox. “That he is. Well, I’ll get going now. And Wesley… be careful. If Angel really doesn’t want us involved, he might get a little tetchy if he catches us snooping behind his back.”
“Duly noted.” Just as Fred is about to leave, he says hastily, “You know what? I think I’ll go along with you.”
The room brightens as she beams at him. “Really? Well, come on, then!”
__________
As always, the R&D department is humming. In the beginning, it was totally bewildering for Fred to keep track of all the different things they had going: new developments in surgery, forays into other dimensions, spy ware, communication and tech equipment to beat the band. But she’s managed to get a handle on it. Now she finds working here to be really neat and energizing.
She rocks forward, her eyes trained intently on the screen in front of her. Her office is a glass-enclosed structure set separately from the rest of the lab. She can see out but the employees can’t see in, ensuring her a measure of privacy. The closeness lends it a womb-like feeling that others have found claustrophobic. But it is an unconscious reminder of the cave that she made her safe haven for five endless years and she’s rarely happier than when she’s behind her desk with the door shut.
However, having Wesley there completes the experience; it’s almost perfect. “You’re really going to like this, Wes. Watch this.” Fred putters around the computer and directs his attention to the computer screen. She’s seated in front of it and he hovers behind her. His closeness makes her tingly and nervous at the same time. But she keeps her eyes trained on the screen.
Wesley leans over her shoulder. She used to chide him about doing that, saying it made her all squirelly and nervous knowing people were watching her. But lately she doesn’t seem to mind. And that honeysuckle perfume she’s wearing seems particularly alluring today, the scent teasing and distracting all at once.
Wesley swallows and bends his attention harder on the monitor. The screen displays the cell number she’s shown him. Then a long list of phone numbers comes up. The same number keeps reappearing over and over again. “What number is that?” he asks, pointing at it.
“Give me a sec. I’ll get it.” Her fingers fly over the keyboard in a flurry of movement. “Huh. That’s weird.”
“What is it, Fred?”
“According to this, Mr. Reilly has been calling somebody in this building for the last few months. A Mr. Francis Gumm.”
“Good heavens! I know him,” Wes exclaims. “He’s one of our resident seers in the Prophecies & Omens department. What is his connection with Mr. Reilly?”
“I don’t see how he could have one unless this Mr. Reilly has been living in Oklahoma for the last two months,” Fred answers.
“Two months? That’s not possible.” Wesley picks up the file on Connor. “According to this, the Reillys have been living with Connor here in the suburbs of California practically their whole lives. There isn’t any note of them traveling to Oklahoma. Can you bring up any pictures of the Reilly parents?”
“I’ll try.” Several minutes of running through the files produce no visual pictures at all. “I’m sorry, Wes. Unless they’re in public office, have a criminal record or have done something of outstanding achievement, a person wouldn’t necessarily have his picture on a file someplace.”
“I see. And you’re sure those phone calls to Mr. Gumm came from Oklahoma?”
“See for yourself.” She points at the screen. “These records show the out-of-state calls all originated from there. Do we know anyone in Oklahoma?”
Wesley shakes his head. “No one I’m aware of.”
“But Francis Gumm knows him. What’s Mr. Gumm like, anyway?”
Wes shrugs. “He’s not particularly remarkable. He was a middling seer—until his visionary abilities began improving a few weeks ago.”
“‘Round about the time this guy started contacting him?” Fred asks, giving him a knowing look.
“You think this unknown person has been feeding Mr. Gumm visions? Why on earth would he do that?”
“He must be using this Mr. Gumm as a mole and giving him the visions as payment—or a bribe.”
Wesley frowns as he processes this latest bit of information. “If Gumm is a mole and this imposter was contacting him from a distance, why come here? Why risk blowing his cover by seeing Angel?”
Fred taps her fingers on the desk. “Maybe it’s because Angel isn’t following up on this latest case and this guy decides to come here and give him a little push by posing as Connor’s father.”
“That seems a likely explanation.” Wesley eyes her. “Did you give him any information when you saw him, anything vital to the case?”
“No, nothing really. I only told him about Connor being hit by a van…” Her voice trails away. “Oops.”
“Well, I don’t see how that could hurt. He knew about Connor already. Didn’t he?” Wesley queries when Fred hesitates.
“I-I don’t know. He just ran into me out of nowhere and started picking up papers after I dropped them and then he froze when he saw Connor’s picture.” She stopped, her mouth gaping. “He probably got Connor’s address from all that. Oh god. I’m such an idiot!”
“Fred, that’s simply not true,” Wes protests. “You’re the brightest, smartest woman I know. This man was obviously lying in waiting for you and knocked into you on purpose in order to get info on this Connor. But now we know he’s an imposter and we can alert security about him.”
“I-I guess. But I don’t think he’ll be back. He’s already seen Angel and Angel won’t help him. So that was a total washout and now he’s going to avoid him from now on. Unless he was lying to me about that, too,” she sighs. “And we can’t go to Angel about this because he warned us off investigating the case.”
“Right.” Wesley clicks his teeth, his annoyance apparent. “I wish Angel would stop being so secretive about this. It’s too confusing having him keep things from us and us keeping things from him. So how do we go about finding this false Mr. Reilly? Wait.” He snaps his fingers. “You’ve got his number, yes? Why not give him a call?”
“And what good will that do?”
“Well, I suppose you could trace the phone call and get an idea of where he is now.”
“Or I can pick up his picture from the security camera logs and run a background check. That’d be a lot simpler.”
Wesley looks surprised and then a trifle sheepish. “Yes. Yes, of course. Good thinking.”
It’s a piece of cake for Fred to log on to the line connected to the security camera feed. The images begin to run backward and Fred points out the man as his picture appears in the lobby. “Right there. That’s him!”
The mouse locks onto him, pulling up his image. Wesley’s eyes widen as the photo of the blue-eyed man fills the monitor. “I know that man. That’s Lindsey McDonald! He used to work for Wolfram & Hart before Angel took over the reins. He was a prime mover and shaker in their plot to drive Angel insane and release Angelus.”
“He was? B-but, he said he’d been to see Angel. Angel wouldn’t have just let this guy walk out of here if he was working for W&H back when it was still Evil Central.”
“How do we know he saw Angel? You have only his word for it,” Wesley observes.
“But wouldn’t Angel have, I don’t know, smelled him on the premises or something? Just how keen is a vampire’s sense of smell?”
Wesley recalls what he’s learned about vampires from the Watcher files. “Very. However, this building is enormous and we have hundreds of people coming through here every day. Mr. McDonald’s scent might very well have gotten lost amid all those others.”
“Then we go to Angel and tell him about this Lindsey.” Fred presses a few more keys. In moments, a black-and-white copy of Lindsey’s image, imprinted with the date and time, comes out of the printer. Then she also prints out the transcripts of the myriad phone calls between Gumm and his mysterious contact.
“Angel told me to drop this case. What do we tell him when he asks why we’re investigating this matter when he’s ordered us not to have anything to do with it?”
Fred slumps back in frustration. The chair creaks and swivels on its bearings as she spins around in dissatisfaction. “That’s a fly in the ointment.” Then she gets a speculative look.
“What is it, Fred?”
“What if we don’t get Angel into this? What if we find this Francis Gumm and squeeze him for information?”
Wesley is amused and impressed by the tough air she adopts. “‘Squeeze’ him? Are we talking intimidation or torture, Fred?”
“Intimidation. With the threat of torture if he doesn’t talk.”
“I like the way you think. Although I have to wonder if you haven’t been going through Angelus’s files behind my back,” Wesley teases.
“Angelus? I was thinking of when you told me to create a Spear of Infinite Agonies to use on that Skip guy.” She winks at him and then turns back to the computer. “First, let’s get a print-out of these phone numbers. We need to see if the exact correlation between Mr. Gumm’s new-and-improved visions and the phone calls he’s been getting.”
Wesley clasps her shoulders and grins at her. “Clever girl.”
A fiery blush rushes up to the roots of her hair, a reaction Wesley notes with interest. “Well, let’s get to it then.”
__________
It is only a few minutes before Francis comes striding in to Wesley’s office. He stops upon seeing Wesley and Fred, the latter staring at him with a slightly grim expression. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce?”
Wesley is looking through some dusty book and doesn’t immediately react to Francis’s presence. Then he glances up with an air of mild surprise as if he’s forgotten that the seer had been summoned. “Ah, Francis. Have a seat.” Wesley waves him towards one of the leather chairs in front of the desk and Francis hesitantly complies. Behind him, Fred quietly shifts to stand near the door. She locks it and turns to face the seer and the ex-Watcher.
Francis has enjoyed Wesley’s increased attention since his visions improved. But he’s never been called in for a private audience before now. The Englishman is smiling and looks almost friendly; maybe a promotion is in the works. “Mr. Gumm, first of all, I’d like to thank you for the great job you’ve been doing as one of W&H’s resident seers.”
He straightens and grins at this unexpected praise. “T-thank you, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce. I do my best.”
Wesley continues to smile. “We’re always pleased when our employees do so well. In fact, we’re even more pleased when they manage to exceed their limits. And you’ve certainly surpassed yours.”
“Oh, well. It’s nothing really.” Francis spreads his hands in a self-deprecating gesture. “The images just come to me. It’s not as if I do anything to summon them.”
“Is that so? Then how do you explain your sudden success, Mr. Gumm?” The question comes from the young woman behind him and the prophet cranes his head to see Fred staring at him with a hostile expression.
Francis frowns uncertainly. The woman—whose name momentarily escapes him—sounds unfriendly. What’s her problem? “Um, I guess my powers just evolved to the point where they became more manageable.”
“Manageable? Psychic powers aren’t hair, Mr. Gumm. You can’t shampoo them into behaving,” Fred chides.
“Nor are they muscles you can exercise,” Wesley says in a sterner voice.
“What do you mean? What’s going on here?” Francis asks, his voice rising. He tries to get up only to be met by Wesley’s slender hand on his chest.
“Sit down.” Wesley shoves the seer back into his seat and bends over the seated man. The ex-Watcher has shifted his position from behind the desk to sit on the front of it and the would-be seer shrinks back from his suddenly menacing presence.
Wesley continues in the bland tone he has adopted from the beginning of this interrogation. He’s learned a thing or two about verbal intimidation from the now-deceased Quinton Travers. “Mr. Gumm, my associate has come to me with some interesting news. About your visions. Shall I tell you what she’s told me?”
Mr. Gumm swallows slightly. His armpits start dampening from sweat. “Um. What is it?”
“Around about the time your visions started improving in accuracy, you began getting calls from Oklahoma. From one Lindsey McDonald, if we’re not mistaken,” Wesley replies, his even tone failing to hide the steel beneath it.
“Lindsey McDonald? I don’t know anybody by that name. Honest!”
“You don’t?” Wesley looks the man over and says nothing more for the moment. The silence lengthens, becoming more oppressive by the moment. That’s a tactic he’s also learned from Quinton Travers. “You don’t, do you? All right, I believe you. But someone has been feeding you your visions.”
“No, that’s not true.” Somehow the ex-Watcher has found out the truth. But Francis is damned if he’s going to admit to anything. Wesley isn’t the boss; he can’t do anything to him.
“We have the transcripts of your phone calls, Francis.” Now it’s Fred’s turn to attack as she waves the incriminating papers under his nose.
“Your contact has come here to Los Angeles, Mr. Gumm,” Wesley adds. The seer is surrounded on both sides; this close, Wesley notices the wet stain spreading under the man’s armpits. Well, well. Mr. Gumm is definitely afraid about something.
“He h—I mean, what contact? My visions are mine. I’m not getting them from anybody! So I’ve been getting a lot of phone calls. That’s no reason to get suspicious about my visions.” The psychic’s voice has gone stiff with denial.
Fred starts reading from the transcript. “On February 10th, you received a phone call from out of state. On that same day, you gave us information about a nest of demon eggs in Obispo. On February 26th, you received another phone call late that evening. The next morning, you came to Wesley with a vision about a group of Burweil demons about to conduct ritual sacrifices of small children.”
“I gave you those visions. But I didn’t get any phone calls!” He jumps when his cell phone sounds off in shrill tones.
Fred is holding her cell phone in her hand and the transcripts in the other. She gives Mr. Gumm a smug look. “I’d like to point out that the gentleman’s ass is ringing.”
Francis slumps back in his seat. “Okay, I admit it. I’ve been getting a little outside help.”
“Only a little?” Wesley murmurs.
Francis bristles at the unspoken accusation. “Look, it’s not as if my visions weren’t accurate before. I-I just had trouble interpreting them. But you people don’t know what it’s like for guys like me!”
“Do enlighten us, Francis,” Fred snaps.
However, Wesley isn’t interested in Francis’s troubles. “On second thought, don’t. We want to know about your connection with Lindsey McDonald. You may know him as Mr. Reilly. “
Fred chimes in again. The rapid-fire back-and-forth attack from her and Wesley is designed to keep Francis off guard and it’s working. “He came here today posing as Connor Reilly’s father.”
“You remember Connor Reilly, don’t you, Francis?” Wesley asks in a silky tone. “He was in your latest ‘vision,’ I believe.”
Shit, his contact really is here? Has he sold Francis out for some reason? Francis swallows and shrugs helplessly. “Sorry. He wasn’t using the name Reilly when I talked to him.”
Fred tosses the picture of Lindsey McDonald on to the desk and stabs it with a finger. “Have you ever seen that man, Francis?”
He shakes his head hysterically. “No, never. I never saw this guy; I never heard the name Lindsey McDonald before today or Connor Reilly before he gave me the visions. I mean it!”
“What does he call himself by when he talks to you on the phone?” Wesley demands.
“Just Mr. Smith. I know, I know. Total cliché. But all I cared about was the visions. I didn’t care how I got them. And they were real, weren’t they? You went out and fought evil because of them, didn’t you? So what does it matter how I got them? From out of state or beyond the grave—what’s the difference?”
He leans forward, fear giving way to petulant fury. “There are so many oracles working for you people. If one doesn’t come through, you can always use another. You don’t care if the visions hurt us or wear us out.”
Wesley interrupts. “That’s not true. You’re completely covered under our health plan. You also get visual and dental.”
Francis waves his hand dismissively. “I’m talking about emotional trauma. We see horrible things from these visions: crime, blood, bones breaking, ripped flesh, children being eaten, and the screams of the dying. It gets to you. It makes it hard to sleep at night.”
“We have trained psychiatrists working for us. They’re available to you day and night,” Fred protests.
Gumm ignores her, plowing on with his tale of woe. If he is about to be tossed out on his can, he wants to let these arrogant bastards know just what working here has cost him. “And for those whose predictions are hard to read, coming to us in stupid metaphors we don’t understand, then we’ve got the added burden of dealing with the headaches and trying to compete with those who have a better track record. It’s a dog-eat-dog world in the psychic pool. So I needed a little boost and this Mr. Smith gave it to me. Is that a crime?”
Wesley has had enough of this man’s self-pity. “Your problems in the psychic pool don’t concern us, Mr. Gumm, unless you’re being actively targeted for assault, abuse or sexual harassment. Things are tough all over. You can either deal with the difficulties of occupational hazards or you can get out, same as in any other job. Now we can accept that you may have gotten a little help sorting out your visions. What concerns us is what you have been giving your contact in exchange for this information.”
“Yeah, if visions wear people out so much, then this guy must have wanted something. You know, a little quid pro quo,” Fred states.
“Tell us what you told him, Mr. Gumm,” Wesley demands.
“Or you may find yourself out of a job,” Fred finishes.
The firmness of the statement leaves no room for disbelief and Mr. Gumm blanches. “You can’t do that.”
Wesley pins him to the chair with an unwavering gaze. “Once I tell Angel what you’ve been up to, I’m certain he’ll accept my recommendation to have you dismissed.”
“No! That’s wrongful dismissal! You try that and I’ll sue!”
“You’ll sue? You’ll sue Angel, the president of Wolfram & Hart? Definitely tilting at windmills there, Mr. Gumm,” Wesley observes in a bored tone.
“Besides, there’s nothing wrongful about the dismissal,” Fred declares. “Every employee signs non-disclosure contracts when they come to work at W&H, an agreement I’m sure you’ve broken with your phone calls. I think we can prove your guilt by these transcripts—”
“And your own confessions,” Wesley adds.
“And the evidence from some of your fellow seers,” Fred finishes.
Francis starts. “What evidence? They don’t know anything. I never said word one to any of them!”
Wesley looks at his nails as if the conversation has ceased to hold any interest for him. “Oh, I’m sure if we start asking around, we can find one or two who’ll swear, for a dramatic increase in their salary, that they heard you boast about how you received help with your visions. You said it yourself: it’s a dog-eat-dog world among the prophets. I’m certain they’ll be glad to be rid of the competition.”
“Then again, since the visions are so tiring, maybe we can just give you an indefinite leave of absence—you know, for your nerves,” Fred finishes with a sunny smile.
Francis slumps in his chair; to his horror, he can feel tears starting in his eyes. “Please. H-he didn’t want to learn anything much. I swear!”
“Forgive us if your swearing isn’t enough to convince us, Francis. You have been devious and underhanded—not qualities designed to make us trust you,” Wesley raps out.
“All right! I mean, I’m telling the truth. Sure, he wanted to know what was going on here in Wolfram & Hart…”
“Aha! I knew it!” Fred crows, shooting Wesley a triumphant glance.
“But he didn’t care about the office stuff,” Francis quickly adds. “He just kept asking me info about Mr. Angel.”
“What kind of info?” Fred demands. Her eyes narrow. “His living address for instance?”
“Not really. It was more personal stuff like what he was wearing, where he was going, if he’d been injured, was he seeing anybody—that sort of thing.”
“Whether Angel is seeing anyone?” Wesley is obviously baffled. “Why would he wish to know that? I can’t see what possible business it is of his.”
“Yeah. He sounds more like a jealous, possessive girlfriend than anything else,” Fred observes.
Wesley has to agree. This new information doesn’t track, as Gunn would say. But it’s definitely not enough to nail Francis on. He gives the cringing seer an abrupt nod. “Very well, Francis. I think we’re done here.”
“Y-you do?” Francis looks at him hopefully.
“That’s right. You’re free to go.”
“Go? You’re letting me go?” Francis asks, his voice rising on the last word.
“Yes.” Wesley notes his terror. “Not letting you go as in firing you. I mean, letting you go back to work.”
The man’s gratitude is so palpable Wesley fully expects him to fall at his feet and kiss his shoes. “Really? Thank you, thank you so much.”
Wesley flicks a hand at him. “Don’t mention it. But we are going to see your contact, Mr. Gumm. As said earlier, he’s here in L.A. and we’re going to have a little chat with him. After that, I think your little racket will be over for good.”
“Oh. W-well, that’s to be expected, I suppose.” Now Francis really does feel like crying. It’s back to the old grind for him and the metaphor-filled, wacked-out visions of yore. He can just imagine the return of Eugene’s smirking triumph and the taunts from the other seers. It’s going to be hell.
Wesley and Fred watch him leave. When the door closes behind him, Fred chuckles to herself. “Wow. That was kinda fun.”
“It was indeed.” They share a moment of amusement and camaraderie at their tag team effort. Then Wesley sighs. “What do we do now?”
“Well, like you said. We should go find this Lindsey McDonald. I-I can use your earlier suggestion and track his cell number. I should be able to find out where he’s staying.”
“I’m not so certain that will prove fruitful. Francis Gumm was ridiculously easy to cow. The Lindsey McDonald I remember had nerves of steel and a soul of ice. I doubt we’ll be able to intimidate him.”
“Okay. Torture then?” Fred grins as Wesley raises an eyebrow. “Just kidding. So what do we do about him?”
“Perhaps it’s time we spoke to Angel. He might be willing to ignore an outside case. But not if he learns an old nemesis is in town and somehow involved with an innocent family.”
“Maybe.” Fred is less certain. She had bumped into Lindsey coming from the direction of Angel’s office. If Lindsey McDonald is up to no good and still an old enemy, why come to Wolfram & Hart and risk having Angel spot him? And, if Lindsey had been to see Angel, then the vampire already knows about his presence in Los Angeles and he hasn’t told anyone. That means one more thing he’s hiding from his team.

TBC
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Choice and Consequences