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In the blink of an eye, everything changed.

Friends, loved ones, compatriots; all altered in one horrific moment.

In the blink of an eye, Connor was gone.

But I’m afraid I’m getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I should start at the beginning, which is as good a place to begin this story as I can imagine.

This tale begins with the birth of a child. Connor, to be exact. And though one would think this would have been a joyous occasion, as births usually are, this event was anything but happy. Allow me to better explain myself. Connor, although he was a perfectly healthy child, should never have existed in the first place. You see, life cannot come from death. You don’t have to know anything about biology to understand this. It’s physically impossible for something dead to create something living.

So, why am I emphasizing this point?

Well, to put it bluntly, both his mother and father are dead. Vampires to be exact. And being dead, it should have been impossible for Connor to ever have been born.

And yet, he was.

Born, so to speak, out of the sacrifice of his mother, Darla. She gave up her immortal existence, in order to allow her son to live. Ironic really, considering how brutal and dangerous Darla once was. But, I believe it was her son’s soul that penetrated through the evil that was within her and prompted this single selfless act.

However, that still doesn’t explain how Connor was able to exist, or for that matter, why.

Ever since Darla’s sacrifice, Angel took over as the primary caregiver, protecting and loving his son with as much passion as any human could. Only, Angel’s not human either. Like Darla, he too is a vampire. But unlike her, Angel was cursed with a soul, some one hundred years ago.

Was it Angel’s soul that made this all possible? Or could it have been the fact that Darla was once resurrected and made mortal for a brief time, before Drucilla turned her back to a vampire? It seems as though the more questions I ask, the fewer answers I find. Perhaps, these are not answers I’m meant to discover.

But I do digress and should return to my story.

Connor was indeed born, despite the impossibility of it. And for a time, everything seemed to be going well. Perhaps not completely well, considering all the foes that sought out the child in the beginning, but well enough to allow moments of happiness for the chronically brooding Angel.

But happiness, for those of us who continue to fight the good fight, is fleeting at best. Several days ago I learned of a prophesy involving Angel and his son. A prophesy, I’m afraid would bring the newly happy walls we worked so hard to build, crashing down upon us all.

‘The father will kill the son.’

God, how I wish I never discovered that damned prophesy. And I do so regret ever translating it. You see, prophesies are rather curious beasts. While they always speak of the future, it is not necessarily the future they predict. I can see you’re confused with that remark. Let me elaborate. What if I told you that there was a prophesy stating you were going to die in a horrible accident three days from now. But instead of giving into this doom and gloom, you did everything you could to avoid all danger, thereby living past the dreaded third day. Was the prophesy false? Or were you able to alter the future by simply surpassing the danger?

Now what if “three days” really translated into three decades, according to some ancient, lost language that no living being on Earth would have known? Did you really skirt around a violent death, or is it waiting just around the corner for you? That’s the trouble with prophesies, it’s not always precise.

I, above all others, should have known that, had I not been so desperate for a distraction from my own pain. What does my heart ache have to do with this? Everything, I’m afraid. Instead of dealing with my broken heart, I chose to hide form it, immersing myself in my work, which as it turned out was researching the origins of Connor. When I found that prophesy, I should have approached it with more caution. I should have researched it further.

But all the signs pointed to Angel devouring his son.

And then Angel began to crave human blood. At first we had no idea what was causing it, but I knew until we did, Connor would be in grave danger. What I didn’t know was just how much danger he really was in.

I thought I was doing the right thing, taking Connor to keep him safe. There was a person I knew who could cast a protection spell on him, if I could get Connor to her. Once I knew he was safe, I could work on helping Angel, while trying to avert the prophesy.

But as I said earlier, prophesy has a way of becoming quite convoluted in a very short time. What I thought was about to happen, already had. Angel had devoured his son, only not in the way I figured. Thanks to Wolfram and Hart they managed to get some blood from Connor, when the child was injured in the earthquake. They “spiked” Angel’s pigs blood, which caused his very temporary cravings. So in a sense, he did devour his son, killing a small part of him...his blood.

Of course, if that was the end of the story, I wouldn’t be here alone in my office, nursing several broken ribs, a nasty concussion and more bruises than I can count. Remember what I said about prophesies? Sometimes they are quite accurate. The prophesy about Holtz, who was brought forth from darkness to bring darkness, was right on the mark. Only I didn’t see it coming. I should have. Had I not been focusing my efforts on Angel, I would have.

Which brings me to the present, trying to make sense of what happened. You see, Holtz took Connor last night. Before I could bring him to be protected, I was ambushed. I tried to stop them, but everything happened so fast, and Holtz was not alone. Before I knew it, Connor was gone, and I lay there broken, bleeding and wishing I’d been able to protect the child as I had promised Angel I would.

Now, all the happiness is gone; sucked from the air like the vacuum of space. The only hope that’s left is that Angel and the others can find Holtz before he takes his revenge on the innocent child. As for me, well I know they don’t blame me for what happened, but I can see the pain in their eyes and hear the disappointment in their voices. I don’t know if they’ll ever trust me again. I can’t say as I blame them.

Everything has changed.

In the blink of an eye, nothing will ever be the same.

The end