Title" The Cop
Disclaimer. Usual. I own nothing but the plot and one character. All else belong to J. Whedom, UPN, etc.
There were eleven of them. Eleven skeletons tossed into a gully just west of Sunnydale. My first day. What a welcome to my new job.
"So what do you think?" Detective Stein hunkered dowb beside me. "Feeling woozy yet?"
"Just a tad." I glanced down at the skeleton I was looking at. "Take a look at that." I pointed at a hole broken into the side of a skull. They all had them, but this one was the more interesting. The ME had done his job, and I was closely examining this one. "This guy took quite a blow, probably from a wooden club." I hauled out a magnifying glass, a powerful one, and trained it on one section of the skull. "See theat little brown smudge? My guess is that's wood, probably from what killed this poor chap."
Detective Stein grunted.
"It was a mercy killing. The coup de grace."
"Huh?"
I picked up one of the neck vertibrae, showing Stein the front under the magnifiying glass. "See those marks?"
Detective Stein squinted through the glass to see the horzontal lines across the bone.
"This guy had his throat slashed five times. To mark the bone like that, the cut had to be deep enough to be fatal. There'd have been blood all over the place."
"What does that tell you?"
"One, that these people were not killed here. Two, that this person was bled before being killed by the blow to the head. Three, that it was all done quite recently."
"How do you figure that?"
"The ridges along the cuts are sharp. Time would have eroded them somewhat. Smoothed away the edge."
Detective Stein rose to his feet and stretched. "Anything in there to tell me who this poor guy was?"
"Nope," I said cheerfully. "My job is to figure out the mind of the person who did this to him. Who he is is best left to others."
"So, what do you know?"
I looked at the bones. "This was done by a person, or persons unknown, who slit his throat, probably for blood, then bashed him on the head to finish the job, and then removed the tissue and then deboned him."
That got his attention.
I pointed to an arm bone, then to a thigh bone. "You can see where the bones were cut, not as deep or slashing like as the neck, but quite deliberately. Like whoever was doing it was removing flesh from bone."
"Why?" Detective Stein was decidedly pasty.
"Dunno." This time I stood up and stretched. "Know more when, well, when we know more."
Detective Stein looked sourly at me. "Suppose you're off to school?"
"Yep, gotta put all them cop dollars to work, making me better able to serve the public good." I grinned. "Maybe it'll tell me what that is."
"What did this to this guy?"
I chucked. "No what the public good is."
"You!!"
I jumped and twisted my neck enough to see an irate looking red haired, green eyed student standing behind me. She held a disk in her hand and my guess was she wanted to use the computer.
"Why is is when I want to use the computer, you're always here."
"now I've only used this computer a couple times." I raised an eyebrow, and glanced aroung UC Sunnydales computer lab, taking note of all the unused one. She noted what I was doing.
"I always use this one."
"Not always, as in not at this time." I didn't have a particular favorite and any of the computers could have done what I wanted, but this one was the moe powerful, and could do intensive graphics faster. Which is why I had bee lined for it as soon as I got a free period and saw that it was free.
Her eyes widened when she saw what I was doing. She couldn' have known it but I had uploaded the pictures I had taken at the crime scene, and was in the process of fleshing out a skull. Side panels kept away mildly curious eyes, but she was directly behind me, just off to one side, and had a clear view of the screen.
"Wha...what are you doing?"
"Reconstructing a face." I used the mouse to better fit the outline of a face to the skull. "You see, you start with a skull.. Take a picture, all angles, and feed it into the software. It does its thing and fits the best average head/face shape it has in its database. From that point, its up to the operator, is knowledge of facial construction, human anatomy, and just good common sense."
"But why?" She seemed mesmerized with the guesome image on the screen.
"Oh, curiousity, the chance to play with a new toy, archaeology, police work. Maybe I just wanted to know what the person looked like." I glanced at the travel clock I had placed by the monitor, saved my work to a disk, and plopped it into my bag. "Got a lecture in five," I said shutting down the program and purging the memory. "All yours."
For some reason she didn't seem too enthused about using it.
I suppose I could have done the work at home. That would have avoided prying eyes. But I couldn't have done it as fast or as well on a cop's salary, a part time one at that. But I had beowofed together a few 486's, a 386, and a low end pentium into quie a fair system, that was almost as fast.
An hours work and it was up on my web page, along with the faces of other disappeared.
An hour later and I was finishing up my log entries for the day when Beo beeped.
"You are being hacked." Beo announced through deep bass speakers.
I brought up a menu, and selected number twelve.
"You have successfully hacked into the personal system belonging to Detective Constable Peter Attwood, of the Sunnydale Police Department." Willow stared as the tinny voice issued from her computer's speaker. "Your IP address is 230.545.323, the telephone number which you are using to access the net is 234.6547, attatched to The Magic Box, owned by a Mr. Rupert Giles. My name is Beowolfe, Beo for short. I run on Slackware 3.0. How may I help?"
Willow's mouth gaped open as she stared at the stylized picture of a wolf on her screen. A grin played across Xander's mouth.
"Looks like you're not the only genius hacker around."
I grinned as I thought of the consternation that must be going through the mind of my hacker, at what he, or she, must be seeing on the computer screen. Of course that wasn't all I programmed Beowolfe to do. With luck, the hacker wouldn't notice the hard drive light while I down loaded a directory of her hard drive, which was now playing across my screen, and downloaded any files I tagged as interesting. Okay, as a cop I should know that it wasn't exactly cricket, but I have this blind spot when it comes to respecting the privacy of those who do not return the favour.
"Thank you. I have had a fun time, and have downloaded the fles you gracciously shared with me." Willow's hands moved slowly to her computer. "I have also deleted any files determined to have come from me. Thank you and have a nice day."
The screen went blank, and her computer rebooted.
"We got names." Detective Stein was waiting for me at the station the next morning. He handed me a sheet as we headed for an interrogation room we were using as a meeting place. "Larry Burke, Thomas Howardson, and Tim Hardy. They all went to the same dentist, and records matched three of the skeletons. I talked to their fmilies, and they hadn't seen them since last Saturday, when they left for a game of street soccer, with a group of exchange students. From Peru, I think."
"Saturday?" I took a seat at the table, scanning the list of names. "As in four days ago?"
"Last Saturday," Stein confirmed. "I don't mind telling you, the Mayors got her knickers in a twist over this. Wants it solved and fast."
"This," he picked a file out of a pile and handed to me, "is Tim Hardy. Up to last Saturday, he was a student at UC Sunnydale. Thought maybe you could ask around since you're going to be there this afternoon."
"So did you find out who that was?" I glanced up from my sandwich to see the red haired girl from the computer lab. "Detective Constable Peter Attwood."
"Is that who I am," I asked as I pointed to a chair across from me. I got the feeling that she had a bit between her teeth, and if she was going to get it out, we could at least be at eye level.
"That's what Beowolfe said you were." The girl sat in the offered seat and was soon joined by a petite blonde with a green salad on her tray. It took a few minutes to place her, then the other.
"Willow Rosenberg right?"
"Hey, how did you know. I never gave you my name."
"Simple," I indicated Buffy. "I recognised her, recalled hat she hung around with a red headed computer whiz-hacker named Willow Rosenberg. If Beowolfe told you anything it must have been because you hacked into him, since he is not programmed to initiate any hacks. Therefore you must be Willow Rosenberg."
She looked annoyed. Buffy looked amused, then confused.
"I don't think we ever met."
"We didn't, but as your partner in crime said, I work with the police, and recognized you from police photos."
"Oh."
I turned my attention to Willow. "Now, that we've smoked each other out into the open, what now?"
She looked confused. "Uh nothing, not sny thing nw." She started to rise, but stopped as I pulled the picture of Tim Hardy out of a pocket, and placed it on the table.
"Tim Hardy. Up to a week ago, he was a student here at UC Sunnydale. Some classes he took with you. What can you tell me about him."
"Who," Willow glanced at the picture. "Nothing, I mean I think I saw him, but if he was in some of my classes, then, is he dead? Was he the skull you were working on?"
"As it happened it wasn't," I confirmed truthfully. "But he is missing. Last Saturday he went to play soccer with some exchange students. He hasn't been seen since."
"oh, uh, I hope he's okay. Gotta go, bye." Willow scooted away, leaving me with the distinct feeling that she knew more than she was saying.
That bit about the exchange students gave me an idea, so when I got home that night, Ihopped onto the net, and did some researching. Paying particular attention to northern Peru, I was interested in the sacrifical histories of the ancient civilizations there. Not tht I had any reason to believe that there was any relationship, but who knew the evil that lurked in the hearts of men.
Oh yeah, the Shadow did, but I hardly counted myself in his company.
Two hours and a couple blurry eyes later I had my answer. The ancient Moche practised rituals that were eerily like what had happened.
I had a theory. One that made sense if you could get past the surreal aspects of the thing. But if you substitute street soccer for intervillage warfare, it fit.
Two hours later, I had five pages of single spaced text, tying the known facts into my theory, and knitting in enough speculation to tie the whole thing together. Detective Stein would have something to take to her honour the Mayor, and I was somehow glad I wasn't the one who would have to explain it. I glanced at the clock. Suppertime.
"Never again." Willow huddled beneath the kitchen sink, pondering her first foray into a life of crime. She had done everything right. Checked the guy's work schedule, his class schedule, cased the joint, looking for lights, Was abosolutely sure noboy was home. There was no chance of her being caught and she was desperate to get those files back. Her daily log was there, detailing all of Buffy's exploits. Everything should have gone right. Yet she had just gained entrance, into the kitchen, the only unlocked window she ould reach, when she heard footsteps coming her way. There wasn't time for her to climb out again, so she dove into the cabinet under the kitchen sink, and pulled the door closed just as the kitchen door opened. The drain pipe dug into her back. "Never again," she thought miserably.
I knew right away that somebody was there. For one thing, I'm a man 100 percent all male. Which is, I suppose, not all that much in the bragging department, but it meant one ting. I did not wear perfume, and there was the faint scent in the kitchen. Not clared away by the opened window. The one I didn't remember opening. The one that looked out on the gate leading into the cemetery.
A quick glance around assured me that nothing was amiss, and the scent grew stronger as I neared the sink. Which was as clean as it was when I scrubbed it the dy before yeterday. No, it was coming from just a little lower. The cabinet under the sink.
I grinned ferally. My perp wasn't all that big a person.
I returned to the kitchen table, and sat while I pondered the situation. First, my perp hadn't gotten very far, and since nothing seemed to be missing, did I really want to go through all the paperwork that would accomany calling the cops. Yet as a cop myself, I had a duty to report law breaking. But then there was the paper work thing, which would be a real waste of time since no real damage had been done.
I made a decision. I decided to make supper. I thought the remains of Sunday's stew was the perfect choice. The perp could stew under the sik until I was ready.
I tossed in a few more veggies, some seasoning, and soon the savory smell filled the kitchen. I glanced at the cabinet ubder the kitchen sink.
Willow bit her lower lip and struggled to stay as still as she could. She was hungry and the bastard was cooking. She could smell it and her stomach growled. "Never again," she thought.
It took a half an hour to reheat the stew, and simmer the veggies I had added, not so they were thoroughly cooked, but crunchy enough to be nutritious. It also gave me a chance to set the table for two. A bowl of iceberg salad, a basket of crusty rolls, butter, and a pitcher of ice water. Then all was ready for a gleaming white urn full of beef ragout, with slices of cheese swimming on top.
I don't often have vivitors for supper. I was going to do it right.
Taking my place at the table, I unholstered my gun, and placed it on the table. I looked at the cabinet doors.
"You can come out now."
Nothing happened.
"Or I can haul you out."
The door opened slowly, and the red headed girl from school crawled out, looking wide eyed at me.
"Willow Rosenberg, as I do live and breathe." I pointed to the chair opposite me. "have a seat."
"You knew I was under there, and yiou let me..." She tried the indignant bit. I wasn't buying.
"No one forced you." I pointed at the stew. "Not quite prison fare, but help yourself. Later we can have coffee and you can tell me what you found so fascinating under my kitchen sink."
She stared at me. I might have been worried. It was the last ting I remembered about that night.
"Giles!" Willow pulled open the front door, and pulled him inside. "Thank goddess your here. I don't know what happened, it was a simple forget spell and..."
"Willow, Willow cam." Giles followed her into the front room, that was built into the rather odd looking tower built onto the corner of an otherwise basic ranch style house."Perhaps if you could start at the beginnign and slowly.
"I was," Willow sobbed, "just going to make him forget, and then this happened." She waved a hand at the chair where Atwwod was sitting, or rather slumping, more like a rag doll. "And then this. I just don't know what happened."
"Willow," Buffy looked confused. "You used magic on him?"
"Oh dear." Giles was checking for vital signs. "He's not breathing."
"But, but it was just a simple spell."
"Magic doesn't work the same way on all people. It had a deeper effect on him. I'd say he's forgotten how to breathe."
"Giles, nobody remembers how to breathe. So how could they forget?"
"Its just another form of memory," Giles snapped, starting lung mouth to mouth. "Buffy, you know cpr."
"Er yeah, we took it in health."
"Good, I need you to be ready just in case."
"Giles, is he going to be okay?"
"I don't know." Giles glaned down. "Willow, do you remember the spell you used, be exact"
"No," Willow whimpered. "I killed him. Oh god, I killed him."
"Not yet." Xander rushed in from the kitchen. "Willow, I need you to say this incantation."
"More magic?" Willow stared at him. "Haven't I ..."
"Xander," Buffy grabbed at the paper, missing as xander pulled it aside. "Where did you get that..."
"Do you want to save this guy, or do you want to argue while he dies." Buffy grew quiet at Xander's words, but suggested that Giles eread the spell first.
"No time," Xander said with an authority he rarely used, and the others didn't know he had. "Will?"
Willow took the paper and scanned through it. "It's simple but..."
"Do it," Xander snapped. "He hasn't much time left."
Willow did the spell.
"Okay Xander spill." Buffy led the way into the Magic Box, and turned to face him as the others found seats around te room. "Where did you get that spell, and what was with the orders?"
"Yeah Xan," Willow was dessperate to keep them focused on any one else but her. "Its not like you to be johnny on the spot with the answers."
"Hey it worked didn't it," Xander protested. "All these years of reseach parties? You thunk I never learned anything?"
Buffy glared. What Xander said was improbable but plausable enough to be true. "Okay Xander, you may be iright. Either way, you did good."
"UH, Time," shouted Willow, startling everyone. "Time, gotta go school tomorrow."
She very nearly made it to the door.
"Willow?"
She slumped. "Yes Giles."
"My office. Now."
"You want me to take this
Disclaimer. Usual. I own nothing but the plot and one character. All else belong to J. Whedom, UPN, etc.
There were eleven of them. Eleven skeletons tossed into a gully just west of Sunnydale. My first day. What a welcome to my new job.
"So what do you think?" Detective Stein hunkered dowb beside me. "Feeling woozy yet?"
"Just a tad." I glanced down at the skeleton I was looking at. "Take a look at that." I pointed at a hole broken into the side of a skull. They all had them, but this one was the more interesting. The ME had done his job, and I was closely examining this one. "This guy took quite a blow, probably from a wooden club." I hauled out a magnifying glass, a powerful one, and trained it on one section of the skull. "See theat little brown smudge? My guess is that's wood, probably from what killed this poor chap."
Detective Stein grunted.
"It was a mercy killing. The coup de grace."
"Huh?"
I picked up one of the neck vertibrae, showing Stein the front under the magnifiying glass. "See those marks?"
Detective Stein squinted through the glass to see the horzontal lines across the bone.
"This guy had his throat slashed five times. To mark the bone like that, the cut had to be deep enough to be fatal. There'd have been blood all over the place."
"What does that tell you?"
"One, that these people were not killed here. Two, that this person was bled before being killed by the blow to the head. Three, that it was all done quite recently."
"How do you figure that?"
"The ridges along the cuts are sharp. Time would have eroded them somewhat. Smoothed away the edge."
Detective Stein rose to his feet and stretched. "Anything in there to tell me who this poor guy was?"
"Nope," I said cheerfully. "My job is to figure out the mind of the person who did this to him. Who he is is best left to others."
"So, what do you know?"
I looked at the bones. "This was done by a person, or persons unknown, who slit his throat, probably for blood, then bashed him on the head to finish the job, and then removed the tissue and then deboned him."
That got his attention.
I pointed to an arm bone, then to a thigh bone. "You can see where the bones were cut, not as deep or slashing like as the neck, but quite deliberately. Like whoever was doing it was removing flesh from bone."
"Why?" Detective Stein was decidedly pasty.
"Dunno." This time I stood up and stretched. "Know more when, well, when we know more."
Detective Stein looked sourly at me. "Suppose you're off to school?"
"Yep, gotta put all them cop dollars to work, making me better able to serve the public good." I grinned. "Maybe it'll tell me what that is."
"What did this to this guy?"
I chucked. "No what the public good is."
"You!!"
I jumped and twisted my neck enough to see an irate looking red haired, green eyed student standing behind me. She held a disk in her hand and my guess was she wanted to use the computer.
"Why is is when I want to use the computer, you're always here."
"now I've only used this computer a couple times." I raised an eyebrow, and glanced aroung UC Sunnydales computer lab, taking note of all the unused one. She noted what I was doing.
"I always use this one."
"Not always, as in not at this time." I didn't have a particular favorite and any of the computers could have done what I wanted, but this one was the moe powerful, and could do intensive graphics faster. Which is why I had bee lined for it as soon as I got a free period and saw that it was free.
Her eyes widened when she saw what I was doing. She couldn' have known it but I had uploaded the pictures I had taken at the crime scene, and was in the process of fleshing out a skull. Side panels kept away mildly curious eyes, but she was directly behind me, just off to one side, and had a clear view of the screen.
"Wha...what are you doing?"
"Reconstructing a face." I used the mouse to better fit the outline of a face to the skull. "You see, you start with a skull.. Take a picture, all angles, and feed it into the software. It does its thing and fits the best average head/face shape it has in its database. From that point, its up to the operator, is knowledge of facial construction, human anatomy, and just good common sense."
"But why?" She seemed mesmerized with the guesome image on the screen.
"Oh, curiousity, the chance to play with a new toy, archaeology, police work. Maybe I just wanted to know what the person looked like." I glanced at the travel clock I had placed by the monitor, saved my work to a disk, and plopped it into my bag. "Got a lecture in five," I said shutting down the program and purging the memory. "All yours."
For some reason she didn't seem too enthused about using it.
I suppose I could have done the work at home. That would have avoided prying eyes. But I couldn't have done it as fast or as well on a cop's salary, a part time one at that. But I had beowofed together a few 486's, a 386, and a low end pentium into quie a fair system, that was almost as fast.
An hours work and it was up on my web page, along with the faces of other disappeared.
An hour later and I was finishing up my log entries for the day when Beo beeped.
"You are being hacked." Beo announced through deep bass speakers.
I brought up a menu, and selected number twelve.
"You have successfully hacked into the personal system belonging to Detective Constable Peter Attwood, of the Sunnydale Police Department." Willow stared as the tinny voice issued from her computer's speaker. "Your IP address is 230.545.323, the telephone number which you are using to access the net is 234.6547, attatched to The Magic Box, owned by a Mr. Rupert Giles. My name is Beowolfe, Beo for short. I run on Slackware 3.0. How may I help?"
Willow's mouth gaped open as she stared at the stylized picture of a wolf on her screen. A grin played across Xander's mouth.
"Looks like you're not the only genius hacker around."
I grinned as I thought of the consternation that must be going through the mind of my hacker, at what he, or she, must be seeing on the computer screen. Of course that wasn't all I programmed Beowolfe to do. With luck, the hacker wouldn't notice the hard drive light while I down loaded a directory of her hard drive, which was now playing across my screen, and downloaded any files I tagged as interesting. Okay, as a cop I should know that it wasn't exactly cricket, but I have this blind spot when it comes to respecting the privacy of those who do not return the favour.
"Thank you. I have had a fun time, and have downloaded the fles you gracciously shared with me." Willow's hands moved slowly to her computer. "I have also deleted any files determined to have come from me. Thank you and have a nice day."
The screen went blank, and her computer rebooted.
"We got names." Detective Stein was waiting for me at the station the next morning. He handed me a sheet as we headed for an interrogation room we were using as a meeting place. "Larry Burke, Thomas Howardson, and Tim Hardy. They all went to the same dentist, and records matched three of the skeletons. I talked to their fmilies, and they hadn't seen them since last Saturday, when they left for a game of street soccer, with a group of exchange students. From Peru, I think."
"Saturday?" I took a seat at the table, scanning the list of names. "As in four days ago?"
"Last Saturday," Stein confirmed. "I don't mind telling you, the Mayors got her knickers in a twist over this. Wants it solved and fast."
"This," he picked a file out of a pile and handed to me, "is Tim Hardy. Up to last Saturday, he was a student at UC Sunnydale. Thought maybe you could ask around since you're going to be there this afternoon."
"So did you find out who that was?" I glanced up from my sandwich to see the red haired girl from the computer lab. "Detective Constable Peter Attwood."
"Is that who I am," I asked as I pointed to a chair across from me. I got the feeling that she had a bit between her teeth, and if she was going to get it out, we could at least be at eye level.
"That's what Beowolfe said you were." The girl sat in the offered seat and was soon joined by a petite blonde with a green salad on her tray. It took a few minutes to place her, then the other.
"Willow Rosenberg right?"
"Hey, how did you know. I never gave you my name."
"Simple," I indicated Buffy. "I recognised her, recalled hat she hung around with a red headed computer whiz-hacker named Willow Rosenberg. If Beowolfe told you anything it must have been because you hacked into him, since he is not programmed to initiate any hacks. Therefore you must be Willow Rosenberg."
She looked annoyed. Buffy looked amused, then confused.
"I don't think we ever met."
"We didn't, but as your partner in crime said, I work with the police, and recognized you from police photos."
"Oh."
I turned my attention to Willow. "Now, that we've smoked each other out into the open, what now?"
She looked confused. "Uh nothing, not sny thing nw." She started to rise, but stopped as I pulled the picture of Tim Hardy out of a pocket, and placed it on the table.
"Tim Hardy. Up to a week ago, he was a student here at UC Sunnydale. Some classes he took with you. What can you tell me about him."
"Who," Willow glanced at the picture. "Nothing, I mean I think I saw him, but if he was in some of my classes, then, is he dead? Was he the skull you were working on?"
"As it happened it wasn't," I confirmed truthfully. "But he is missing. Last Saturday he went to play soccer with some exchange students. He hasn't been seen since."
"oh, uh, I hope he's okay. Gotta go, bye." Willow scooted away, leaving me with the distinct feeling that she knew more than she was saying.
That bit about the exchange students gave me an idea, so when I got home that night, Ihopped onto the net, and did some researching. Paying particular attention to northern Peru, I was interested in the sacrifical histories of the ancient civilizations there. Not tht I had any reason to believe that there was any relationship, but who knew the evil that lurked in the hearts of men.
Oh yeah, the Shadow did, but I hardly counted myself in his company.
Two hours and a couple blurry eyes later I had my answer. The ancient Moche practised rituals that were eerily like what had happened.
I had a theory. One that made sense if you could get past the surreal aspects of the thing. But if you substitute street soccer for intervillage warfare, it fit.
Two hours later, I had five pages of single spaced text, tying the known facts into my theory, and knitting in enough speculation to tie the whole thing together. Detective Stein would have something to take to her honour the Mayor, and I was somehow glad I wasn't the one who would have to explain it. I glanced at the clock. Suppertime.
"Never again." Willow huddled beneath the kitchen sink, pondering her first foray into a life of crime. She had done everything right. Checked the guy's work schedule, his class schedule, cased the joint, looking for lights, Was abosolutely sure noboy was home. There was no chance of her being caught and she was desperate to get those files back. Her daily log was there, detailing all of Buffy's exploits. Everything should have gone right. Yet she had just gained entrance, into the kitchen, the only unlocked window she ould reach, when she heard footsteps coming her way. There wasn't time for her to climb out again, so she dove into the cabinet under the kitchen sink, and pulled the door closed just as the kitchen door opened. The drain pipe dug into her back. "Never again," she thought miserably.
I knew right away that somebody was there. For one thing, I'm a man 100 percent all male. Which is, I suppose, not all that much in the bragging department, but it meant one ting. I did not wear perfume, and there was the faint scent in the kitchen. Not clared away by the opened window. The one I didn't remember opening. The one that looked out on the gate leading into the cemetery.
A quick glance around assured me that nothing was amiss, and the scent grew stronger as I neared the sink. Which was as clean as it was when I scrubbed it the dy before yeterday. No, it was coming from just a little lower. The cabinet under the sink.
I grinned ferally. My perp wasn't all that big a person.
I returned to the kitchen table, and sat while I pondered the situation. First, my perp hadn't gotten very far, and since nothing seemed to be missing, did I really want to go through all the paperwork that would accomany calling the cops. Yet as a cop myself, I had a duty to report law breaking. But then there was the paper work thing, which would be a real waste of time since no real damage had been done.
I made a decision. I decided to make supper. I thought the remains of Sunday's stew was the perfect choice. The perp could stew under the sik until I was ready.
I tossed in a few more veggies, some seasoning, and soon the savory smell filled the kitchen. I glanced at the cabinet ubder the kitchen sink.
Willow bit her lower lip and struggled to stay as still as she could. She was hungry and the bastard was cooking. She could smell it and her stomach growled. "Never again," she thought.
It took a half an hour to reheat the stew, and simmer the veggies I had added, not so they were thoroughly cooked, but crunchy enough to be nutritious. It also gave me a chance to set the table for two. A bowl of iceberg salad, a basket of crusty rolls, butter, and a pitcher of ice water. Then all was ready for a gleaming white urn full of beef ragout, with slices of cheese swimming on top.
I don't often have vivitors for supper. I was going to do it right.
Taking my place at the table, I unholstered my gun, and placed it on the table. I looked at the cabinet doors.
"You can come out now."
Nothing happened.
"Or I can haul you out."
The door opened slowly, and the red headed girl from school crawled out, looking wide eyed at me.
"Willow Rosenberg, as I do live and breathe." I pointed to the chair opposite me. "have a seat."
"You knew I was under there, and yiou let me..." She tried the indignant bit. I wasn't buying.
"No one forced you." I pointed at the stew. "Not quite prison fare, but help yourself. Later we can have coffee and you can tell me what you found so fascinating under my kitchen sink."
She stared at me. I might have been worried. It was the last ting I remembered about that night.
"Giles!" Willow pulled open the front door, and pulled him inside. "Thank goddess your here. I don't know what happened, it was a simple forget spell and..."
"Willow, Willow cam." Giles followed her into the front room, that was built into the rather odd looking tower built onto the corner of an otherwise basic ranch style house."Perhaps if you could start at the beginnign and slowly.
"I was," Willow sobbed, "just going to make him forget, and then this happened." She waved a hand at the chair where Atwwod was sitting, or rather slumping, more like a rag doll. "And then this. I just don't know what happened."
"Willow," Buffy looked confused. "You used magic on him?"
"Oh dear." Giles was checking for vital signs. "He's not breathing."
"But, but it was just a simple spell."
"Magic doesn't work the same way on all people. It had a deeper effect on him. I'd say he's forgotten how to breathe."
"Giles, nobody remembers how to breathe. So how could they forget?"
"Its just another form of memory," Giles snapped, starting lung mouth to mouth. "Buffy, you know cpr."
"Er yeah, we took it in health."
"Good, I need you to be ready just in case."
"Giles, is he going to be okay?"
"I don't know." Giles glaned down. "Willow, do you remember the spell you used, be exact"
"No," Willow whimpered. "I killed him. Oh god, I killed him."
"Not yet." Xander rushed in from the kitchen. "Willow, I need you to say this incantation."
"More magic?" Willow stared at him. "Haven't I ..."
"Xander," Buffy grabbed at the paper, missing as xander pulled it aside. "Where did you get that..."
"Do you want to save this guy, or do you want to argue while he dies." Buffy grew quiet at Xander's words, but suggested that Giles eread the spell first.
"No time," Xander said with an authority he rarely used, and the others didn't know he had. "Will?"
Willow took the paper and scanned through it. "It's simple but..."
"Do it," Xander snapped. "He hasn't much time left."
Willow did the spell.
"Okay Xander spill." Buffy led the way into the Magic Box, and turned to face him as the others found seats around te room. "Where did you get that spell, and what was with the orders?"
"Yeah Xan," Willow was dessperate to keep them focused on any one else but her. "Its not like you to be johnny on the spot with the answers."
"Hey it worked didn't it," Xander protested. "All these years of reseach parties? You thunk I never learned anything?"
Buffy glared. What Xander said was improbable but plausable enough to be true. "Okay Xander, you may be iright. Either way, you did good."
"UH, Time," shouted Willow, startling everyone. "Time, gotta go school tomorrow."
She very nearly made it to the door.
"Willow?"
She slumped. "Yes Giles."
"My office. Now."
"You want me to take this