He opened his laptop and logged on. This job search was not going well. He just might be stuck here in Oklahoma longer than he had expected to be. Now that he'd given the simple life a whirl, doing the auto mechanic bit by day and singing in a cowboy bar at night, he wanted the challenge of practicing law again. And, to be honest, he'd like to make more money. Unfortunately having Wolfram & Hart on one's resume does not exactly inspire confidence in would-be employers.
Wait! Here was one that looked promising. The address was jjmccoy@nycda.gov. He opened it.
“Mr. McDonald, we are currently in search of new assistant district attorneys. The turnover is high. I understand that you were employed by a firm which is at best amoral and at worst diabolical. However, this might be useful in that you should have a unique insight into the criminal mind. Please call me to set up an appointment for an interview. Sincerely, Jonathan J. (Jack) McCoy, Executive Assistant District Attorney, New York City.” A phone number was attached.
Lindsey looked at his watch. It was too early to call New York just yet. It was only 5 am there. He had to go to work at 8, but he'd take his cell phone and call on his break.
Then he saw one more message. Although he didn't recognize the email address, somehow he knew who it was from. He opened it.
“If you are reading this, Lindsey, I'm either dead or on the run. Things are going to hell here, and I mean that literally. You were smart to get out when you did. I wish I had. Linwood is dead; I killed him. Gavin is dead, but he's a zombie (so what else is new?)), as are the rest of the people at Wolfram & Hart, even including the girl in the white room, our link to the Senior Partners. I'm sending this from Wesley's, but I'll have to start running again soon. Check this file. I found it and hid it just in case I needed to use it against you one day. I'm sorry. You were at times a friend, even though you were mostly a rival. Anyway, open this file. Again, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never slept with you, too. Oh, right, you never asked me to. Think of me kindly, please. Lilah.”
Lindsey clicked on the attachment. My God, it was his name. There was his entire life history. Everything. His friendships, his sexual encounters including his one-night stands, his shoplifting when he had to have new baseball shoes for the tournament and couldn't afford them. He hadn't been caught, but somehow they knew. How?
The last paragraph, though, was the one which made his mouth drop open in shock. It was family. He hadn't known what had happened to his two siblings after welfare had taken them away. Elaine had been allowed to stay with him, Dad, and Aunt Maeve. She had died giving birth to her daughter. Little Lindsay had died just moments after birth.
Joseph McDonald. Adopted by Ralph and Janet Harris, Sunnydale, CA. Renamed Alexander Lavelle Harris. Now heads his own construction company in Sunnydale. Association with Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer, Willow Rosenberg, a witch, Rupert Giles, a former member of the Council of Watchers, and Anya (Anyanka) Emerson, a vengeance demon, makes him a liability. At this point no action is to be taken.
Susan McDonald. Adopted by Roger & Trish Burkle, Dallas, TX. Renamed Winifred Burkle. Physics graduate student. Too intelligent and curious to be allowed to stay in Los Angeles, in case contact might somehow be made. Sent to Pylea for safekeeping.
Escaped from Pylea, aided by Angel, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, Cordelia Chase, and Charles Gunn. Now residing in the Hyperion. Attempt to return her to Pylea foiled by Charles Gunn. As McDonald is long gone from the firm, no need to continue surveillance.
Lindsey sat for a moment, in shock. Then he printed up the attachment and moved the email into his personal file. He punched in the number of the Ford dealership where he worked on his cell phone. As expected, he got the voice mail. “Harry, it's Lindsey. I'm leaving. Today. Sorry for the lack of notice, but an interview at a law firm came up. Just go ahead and deposit any pay I'm owed into my bank account.” Another call went to Woody's, where he sang. Some of the regulars would be disappointed, but a new singer would come around soon; after all, he had.
A couple of hours later he made the phone call to Jack McCoy, setting up an interview for the following Tuesday. The call had gone very well, and he had hope that he might indeed have a future in New York. The last call was to Southwest Airlines. “I want a ticket to L.A. as soon as possible. Then I'd like a ticket from L.A. to New York City on Monday.” That would give him a couple of days to meet his sister and maybe to drive to Sunnydale to meet his brother as well. He'd also go to the storage company and pick up some of his good clothes that he had left there. He had a feeling that things might be looking up for him after all. If only he had known about his brother and sister sooner, he might not have wasted so much time in Oklahoma. Damn you, Lilah, for not telling me sooner. Of course, you're probably damned by now anyway. Still. . .On his way to the airport to catch his flight, he stopped briefly in St. Raphael's Church to say a prayer for Lilah's soul.