* * Chapter 21 * *
The last bell rang and Xander made a detour through the library. "Yo, G-Man! I'm heading home. Want me to make dinner?"
"No, thank you, Xander. I'll be late. Meetings and such."
"Okay. Well, I've got a study date and then I was going to the Bronze with some friends from Geometry class since Buff got herself grounded and Wills is studying for a big Chem test. How about breakfast before training?"
"An excellent idea, Xander. Thank you."
"Okay. Laters."
Giles had not returned home until very late, or early, depending on your point of view, and had gone straight to bed, tired enough that he knew he wouldn't hear Xander come home. Things were finally calming down.
The following morning, Giles stood in the kitchen, rage and terror raced through him in equal parts as he read the contents of a beautifully calligraphied letter that had been propped ever so neatly next to a plate which contained the bloody remains of a partially eaten heart.
Dear Watcher-man;
Miss Edith told me that the bad men were going to steal away my our kitten. I shall go after him and do what I can to return him to his newly made family. He is happy with you, which makes me happy as well.
The stars say he shall be terribly hurt before I can get to him. He'll be scared and in pain, but will meet others who will help protect him until I can bring him home. Please do not be too angry, but Miss Edith told me several days ago that our kitten would be snatched. I wanted to prevent it, but she said that he would be in even greater danger if he remained at the Hellmouth this next month or so. You have a demon arriving who needs a blood sacrifice of certain particulars. Knowing our kitten as we do, you can guess that he fits the specifications and would most likely be the one the demon met first. So between being kidnapped, scared, and injured or staying at home and dying, I chose injured. I hope you can understand and forgive me.
I tracked down one of the bad man's men and he told me where they were taking our kitten. I shall not tell you, as you would try to follow us and then there would be no one here to keep beings from doing all kinds of nasty things while on the Hellmouth. The man was very ill tempered and spouted vile things about what would happen to our kitten. He acted so heartless, so I ripped it out. It did not taste very good at all.
Be well, Rupert. Try not to worry too much. Xander will be home again, soon.
Drusilla
* * Chapter 22 * *
Raul Frocetti didn't consider himself an evil man. Expedient? Yes. Ruthless? Absolutely. Brutal? When the situation called for it. But evil? When the Harris' had offered their son as payment on the sizable debt they owed him, he had been disgusted. None of his numerous businesses exploited children in the manner they had suggested. But as he watched the way the boy reacted to both his parents and the situation he was in, Frocetti couldn't help but be intrigued. Here was someone he could train, mold into a leader, and he agreed to take the boy. When the boy, Xander, had pulled that stunt in the kitchen, Frocetti had been pleased. It took cunning, wits, creativity, and some major guts to pull what he did against armed men. He'd nearly gotten away, too. The tackle Gianni had taken him down with had been a bit much, but Frocetti was confident that after a bit of time the kid would come around to his way of thinking.
That's when everything went to hell:
Gianni brutally killed and the kid taken by what was clearly a Master Vampiress. Not knowing how many more were with her, he couldn't go after the kid and cursed himself for not coming prepared. They only had weapons against humans. He should have known better, coming to Sunnydale. The sheer waste of both potential and talent infuriated him. Tony Harris' attitude didn't help matters any. He had Mario put them down like the dogs they were – no amount of money enough to put up with their whining, would never bring back Gianna – a man who had faithfully worked for him for years, a man he trusted and called a friend – would never bring back the potential of Xander's future – the boy was either eaten, or worse, turned. After checking that the coast was clear, the two men had gathered their fallen comrade, got in the car, and drove out of town.
A few days later, Frocetti had checked with some of his sources in Sunnydale. The boy had survived the night, cremated his parents, moved in with a trusted adult and returned to school. Pleased, Frocetti had the man, Rupert Giles, checked out, then subtly greased some wheels (as well as some palms) to see to it that the librarian got custody. 'Let the boy be,' he thought to himself. 'If all goes well, I'll hire him when he's older and try to explain myself if it becomes necessary.' But he directed a few of his people to keep an eye on him and send reports every now and then.
He learned of the small group defending against the Hellmouth, and his admiration for the boy grew.
Frocetti found out about the kidnapping over six hours after the fact, at about the same time Drusilla was showing her captive how heartless he was. To say he was displeased was an understatement. The boy was under his protection. Who dared touch what was his? He would find out and make them pay.
* * Chapter 23 * *
Victor Carmichael had a "friendly" rivalry going on between himself and Raul Frocetti. And what interested Frocetti was obviously of interest to Carmichael, as well. So when he caught wind that Raul had some of his men keeping a discrete eye on a teen in Sunnydale, well, he just had to know what all the fuss was. He decided the best way to find out was to ask the boy himself. He had a few trusted members go "invite" the teen to his home in Las Vegas.
It was two long days before Carmichael got to meet Alexander Harris. The boy sported a black eye and split lip and he limped as he was roughly escorted in by two of his men. Carmichael raised a brow in question. "Richie never made it to the meet point in Sunnydale. We left him as per your order," one reported.
"And Don?"
The other viciously poked the boy in the side, gaining a wince. "We had him doped in the trunk, but he woke a lot quicker than expected. Kicked out one of the tail lights from the inside and waved down attention while we were still in California. Cop killed Don. We killed the cop. Then took turns making sure junior here stayed out for the rest of the trip."
"I trust you took pains to lead any pursuit in other directions."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Carmichael, sir. That's what took us so long. We drove north a bit, laying a false trail. Traded vehicles a few times, too. No way anyone will be able to follow this kid to here."
"Excellent, gentlemen. If you would be so kind as to escort out guest to his room. I'm sure he could use some time to clean up and rest before dinner." He smirked a bit at the cold glance the teen shot him, the quick thinking the boy displayed gave him an inkling as to what interested his rival in him. This was going to be fun.
It was the fourth escape attempt that got the best results. This time, the spies that hid near Carmichaels' estate got a solid view of the person Carmichael had been "entertaining" over the past week. Other members of rival groups – those jealous of the man's power and position – reported the incident in blasé manners, but one recognized the boy, having been given a picture of him through some of his sources, and immediately called his superiors who decided to get involved.
Reports of gunfire had the police racing for the scene – an ambulance on standby.
CSI Warrick Brown stepped out of his car, green eyes flickering across the expensively kept lawn as he made his way to the mansion. "Hey, Grissom. Just got the call. What do we got?"
"Kidnapping, torture, and a minor mob war by the looks of it." Gil Grissom waved Brown in. "We have seven dead. Looks like these three men close to the door attacked the house. There was a gun fight. These three facing the door took out the intruders as they themselves were killed. Everyone was using a nine mil, so figuring out who shot who is going to be up to Ballistics." He moved further into the house, skirting areas to prevent loss of evidence. "Now, the house is registered to a Victor Carmichael, part of the Las Vegas Italian Mob. That's him over there, lying half in, half out of that back room. He fired twice into the room before someone snapped his neck."
Brown blinked. "How? You mentioned a kidnapped victim. They do it?"
Grissom shook his head looking perplexed, "When the officers arrived they found the young man, a teen by the looks of him, sixteen or seventeen years old, unconscious on the floor, graze to the head, bullet wound to the shoulder, opposite wrist still handcuffed to the headstand. He would never have been able to reach the door."
Warren examined the bed; there were several bloodstains, some fresher than others, on the sheets. He pointed to the opposite post where another set of bloody handcuff dangled. "Looks like they had him in both and he got out of one. Was probably working on the other when Carmichael came in and shot him." He took pictures and put both sets of handcuffs into evidence bags – he'd bag the sheets later and see if the blood was just the victim's or not. "The vic able to tell you anything?"
"No. He hasn't regained consciousness yet. I've got Nick processing the victim at the hospital. Sarah's looking through Missing Person's to see if anyone's looking for him," the older man sighed heavily. "Catherine should be here soon to help with the scene. Let's get started, shall we?"
"Absolutely."
Nick Stokes sat outside the hospital room of their John Doe, shaken; trying to come to terms over what he'd seen. Sarah Sidle sat beside him, handing him a cup of coffee. "I went down the street for the good stuff. Better than rotting your stomach on the battery acid they claim as coffee here."
A slight smile appeared briefly, "Thanks."
"What did you find?"
"Oh, man. Doc's sent him down to x-ray after stopping the bleeding. He's got five fractured ribs, and internal bleeding from what looks like a succession of severe beatings. Tox screen shows high traces of tranquilizers in his system. Shouldn't have been able to stay awake, let alone slip out of cuffs. Kid's stronger than he looks. He's in a coma right now, but whether it's from the drugs, shock, pain, blood loss, or skull fracture, the docs won't know until he comes out of out." Nick blew out a breath. "The kid also rubbed his wrists bloody to the bone getting out of the cuffs. I found both tape residue and rope fibers in the wounds. Obviously not the first time he'd tried to escape."
"Tenacious."
"Yeah." He sipped the coffee then turned to Sarah. "You find anything?"
She sighed, shaking her head. "His fingerprints didn't turn up in the system. He's never been arrested, but he's also never been registered in any school safety programs."
"We might want to check hospital files."
"Why?"
"Well, I found some pretty odd scars." He drew imaginary lines across his left side. "Four of 'em, parallel to each other, a good seven to eight inches in length."
"Knife wounds?"
"No. They were curved like an animal's. Claw marks. Doc said they'd been stitched so there should be mention of them in his file."
"I'll add it to the description we're building. I've got a program running, it'll check the rest of Nevada, then connect with other state data banks in case he's not a local, which is really starting to look the case."
"Of course, if he's visiting, he might not even be listed as missing, yet."
Sarah nodded ruefully. "Hope he wakes soon."
"Hey, guys!" Catherine Willow called over Grissom and Brown. "I may not know where he's from, but I know where he was going." She waved a piece of paper in emphasis.
"What do you mean, Catherine?" Gil adjusted his glasses to look at the page.
"Michael Garner. Recognize the name?"
"Wasn't he implicated in a white slave ring last year? Got off on a technicality?"
"Yup. Says here Garner was going to make a pick up tomorrow for a guy in Cairo."
"Good work, Catherine. I'll let Brass know about this. Maybe we can put Garner away for good this time."
* * Chapter 24 * *
"HOLY...!" Xander lay flat on the ground beneath the Willow's canopy staring blankly upwards - shuddering. When Carmichael had burst in brandishing his weapon and frothing at the mouth Xander had deliberately pulled on the energy within for protection. The first shot caught him in the shoulder rather than the chest. The pain enraged him and he unconsciously tapped into the Jabberwock. Carmichael had fallen with a broken neck, his finger pulling on the trigger in reflex as he died, the bullet clipping Xander's skull.
Head and shoulder throbbing horribly, Xander decided against moving.
Alex scrambled out from under the table to his side and gingerly laid the older boy's head in his lap, cushioning his head. "Xander? You okay?"
"No," he replied truthfully, wincing at his own voice.
Kingugwa and Cheshire Cat padded over, sitting on either side of his knees.
"Never been shot before. Think I'll stick to demon claws," the joke fell flat. He locked gazes with the younger boy, "You okay, Alex?"
"Headache and a sore shoulder. You took the brunt." The boy glared, "Stupid. You're not supposed to take it all any more, remember?"
"Forgot. 'Sides, can't stand to see others hurt."
Alex gave a rueful grin, nodding in understanding. "Silly. It's still you and this way, you can concentrate on waking up. Right now, we're in a coma. No one's in the driver's seat."
"Cub is right. Share everything and we're all stronger for it. You don't horde the good things," Kingugwa nudged his leg. "Don't horde the bad either."
"Go ahead, Xander. Then we can figure out how much damage that head shot caused," Cheshire Cat added his opinion.
Once Xander agreed, he felt the all encompassing pain level out to a much more manageable level and to his pleasure, none of the others looked any worse off. Blinking in surprise, he realized that even the Jabberwock voluntarily took some of the pain. "Weird." He sat up, Alex steadying him until he regained his balance.
The table was covered in cobwebs, only a few names legible through the silk. When he tried to brush the webs away, small spiders instantly replaced the webbing and threatened to bite him. "They're not hurting anything, are they?" Xander stared nervously at the numerous tiny arachnids, noticing they were in the branches of the tree as well.
"No. Just obscuring things. Once you're awake it looks like you'll get flashes of things." Cheshire Cat carefully examined the table. "Your trigger is Drusilla."
"Oh, great. I don't know where I am. It could be years before I come across Dru. And that's if she hasn't been dusted over my disappearance."
"Deal as it happens," Kingugwa stated sagely.
Xander nodded. "Okay. Time to wake up." He stared to push his way through the branches.
* * Chapter 25 * *
Three days had passed before he'd received the call from the hospital that the boy was awake. The doctors warned him that there was the possibility the kid wouldn't remember much due to the concussion and coma. "Hey, I'm Detective Jim Brass with LVPD. I was hoping you'd be able to answer some questions for me."
Dark brown eyes stared at him warily. "LVPD?"
"Las Vegas Police Department."
Surprise flashed across the boy's expressive face as he muttered, "Las Vegas? What the hell am I doing in Las Vegas?"
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me. We found you on the estate of a Victor Carmichael. Know him?"
A hand drifted to the injured shoulder, but no recognition showed in his eyes or face. "No," he replied slowly. "Though I feel I should."
"How about your name?"
The boy sighed, shrugging, slowly shaking his head. "I ... I can't remember."
"Nothing?"
Dark eyes stared at the ceiling as if the answers were written on the tiles. "Just ... nothing much ... only ..." he sighed, "Two names come to mind. I don't think Jesse is my name, though I'm pretty sure I'm not a Willow," a brief smirk skirted his lips. "Otherwise..." he shrugged again.
Jim could read the panic in the boy's eyes held under tight reign. "Okay. Relax. It'll probably come to you when you're not trying so hard," he stated kindly. "How are you feeling?"
"Fuzzy and like I've been hit by a bus. Repeatedly." The teen stared at him. "So, level with me. What's the damage? How long have I been out? No one here will tell me anything."
"You were in a coma for three days. Bullet wound to the shoulder, a total of five broken ribs, lots of bumps and bruises. Graze to the head gave you a concussion – probably why you don't remember anything."
"Well, I remember I hate hospitals." He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, "Any ideas when I can leave?"
"Hold your horses, son. You just woke up. The docs are gonna want to check you over, make sure everything's healing right." Brass had been on the force for many years and could tell when someone was lying to him. The kid really didn't remember who he was. Damn. "You should get more rest. I'll come by tomorrow. Maybe we can jar loose a few memories. How's that sound?"
"Great. I'll be here. See you then."
"We're at a dead end. Kid's amnesiac. Only remembered two names – Jesse and Willow. Friends I'd guess. Doesn't know anything else and was quietly freaking out about it. Hates hospitals – not that I can blame him. I hate 'em too. He's got a sense of humor and can tell when he's being placated." Gil raised a brow, Jim continued. "The doctors weren't telling him anything, so he asked me."
"Docs say when he'd get his memory back?"
"Could be in a few days, months. Hell, never is a possibility. They don't know much about the brain, or so they say. So, what next?"
"We look at the evidence. Maybe there's a clue we missed."
He introduced himself as Jesse McNally with a wry grin and a shrug. "It'll do until I figure things out. It's not right, but it feels a lot better than 'John Doe'."
"Think it's a friend?" Jim Brass sat in the bedside chair, suppressing a grin at the way the kid tore into his meal. The detective had snuck in a couple of burgers, fries and a soda and was proclaimed a minor god by the kid.
Soda chased down a mouthful of fries. "Pretty good friend. Probably best friend. Willow, too. Though..." a flash of pain crossed the boy's face. "I think he's dead."
"Mind if I check? It might give us a clue as to who you are."
"If you think it'll help," Jesse finished his first burger with a happy grin. "So, anything you can tell me about the case? I'm so bored, but the soap operas are going to rot my brain."
Jim grinned a bit, shrugging. "Well, from what we can figure, you were at Carmichael's for about six days before the rescue. According to some paperwork we discovered he was handing you over to an intermediary who was sending you to Cairo."
Jesse paused with a fry halfway to his mouth, a small tic at the corner of his left eye. "Wouldn't be to pay off gambling debts by any chance?"
"Not that we're aware of. Why?"
The teen blinked and shook his head. "Nothing, I guess. So what next?"
"Docs say they can release you by the end of the week. If you'd like, I've got a friend who runs a shelter. You can stay with them until you figure things out."
Sighing, he nodded, "Good as it's going to get. 'Preciate all the help, Detective Brass."
"No problem, kid."
* * Chapter 26 * *
David Mores stood in the doorway of the 12th Street Shelter watching the newcomer. Mores owed Jim Brass a favor or three and had been all too happy to help when Brass called about 'Jesse'. "We found him a week ago. He's been awake for about four days. Hospital's kicking him out, and until we can figure out who he is and where he belongs, he's got no where else to go."
"We can give him a leg up 'til he's steady enough to stand on his own."
The boy had only one set of clothes the hospital could scrounge for him: shirt too baggy, pants too short, and flip flops. When offered better fitting clothing, the kid had chosen a pair of loose pants, a t-shirt and over shirt, and a pair of slightly broken-in sneakers, unobtrusive, but good for running or fighting.
After lunch, the kids were given the run of the activity room and the yard which sported a half-court, a jungle gym for some of the younger kids, and the tool-shed where Goren Lang, the shelter's handyman, had his workshop. Lang had a policy – if you were hanging around his equipment he'd put you to work. It generally meant there was a no-man's zone around the shed. Yet, the shed was the first place Jesse headed. Now, Lang had Jesse sanding down the rough edges of a table he planned to sell – the income going to help with the Shelter's expenses. The older man glanced up at Mores and nodded, indicating he had everything well in hand. Returning the nod, Mores headed indoors to investigate a suspicious crash.
Lang watched the boy, appreciating the way Jesse attended to the work. "You're doing very well. Done this before?"
Jesse paused in mid-stroke. "Not sure. Feels familiar, though. And it's nice to have something to focus on other than the lack of memories," he resumed sanding the rough edges.
"Anytime you care to help, just come on by. I could always use an apprentice."
"You want me for your apprentice?" dark eyes locked on his incredulously. "Why? You don't even know me. Hell, I don't know me."
"Maybe not. But I know a good worker when I see one. The wood calls to you, no? I saw you examining the tools, they fit well in your hands, yes? I teach you, if you want to learn, for as long as you want to learn. Good carpenters are worth their weight in gold. Finish sanding. You think about it. Let me know, yes?"
A lopsided grin emerged on the formally serious mien. "Yes, sir."
* * Chapter 27 * *
Michael Garner was furious. He'd paid Victor Carmichael a pretty penny for the Californian boy, trusting in his previous dealings that the mobster would uphold his end of the bargain. Now: no boy, no money, and his buyer breathing down his neck. They'd seen a photo of the boy and apparently no other would do. Either Garner delivered the boy, or returned the money. If not, then Michael was in for a world of hurt. If Carmichael wasn't already dead, he'd gladly cut the bastard's head off and spit down his throat.
"Yo, Micky. Micky!" Nineteen year old Thomas Garner bounced into the room. "You are so going to love me." He sprawled across an armchair grinning up at his older brother.
Michael smiled indulgently, he'd practically raised the boy himself after their old man went to jail for offing mom. "I already love ya, Tommy. What's your news?"
"Battleship Mores' got a new resident this week. And you'll never guess who it is," he sing-songed, waving a photo of Xander at his brother.
"Tommy, you're a saint. This'll really save our skins. Call the boys – we've got a package to pick up."
* * Chapter 28 * *
Brass had invited Jesse out to dinner to check up on the boy. He admitted it, he actually liked the kid, the two got along – he wished he could have this kind of relationship with his own daughter. "How are things?"
"Pretty good, I guess. Mr. Lang is teaching me carpentry. Says I've got a real feel for it."
"Think maybe you used to do woodwork?"
"Maybe. Sure was weird, though. I zoned out for a bit and found I'd whittled a stake." He reached behind him and pulled it out, showing the detective.
Brass marveled at it. It was smooth, with slight indents for a perfect grip. It was balanced and came to a near razor sharp point. "Any reason you're carrying it around?"
Jesse grinned, "I wanted to show you and it just felt right to bring it with."
Brass handed it back with a shake. "Well, be careful with it. Last thing I need is to have to investigate a vampire staking."
He turned to accept his plate from the waitress and so missed the surprised took of recognition that flashed in the teen's eyes.
Brass walked Jesse up to the Shelter, only to be distracted by a disturbance in a nearby alley. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
Brass had his hand on his weapon and had called for back up, hoping it wasn't just a couple of animals. A guy in jeans and a leather jacket had a young woman in a bear hug, his face buried in her neck as she made soft choking noises, eyes wide in fear, the life slowly draining from her eyes. "LVPD! Let the girl go!" Brass aimed his weapon at the perp.
The man raised his head and hissed at him. Its face was deformed, with a ridged brow, eyes a sickly yellow, and fangs stained with blood.
"What the hell are you?" Jim had never seen anything like this before. Though shocked, his gun was kept steady.
"Your death!" the creature discarded the woman's body and lunged at him.
Brass fired twice with no discernible effect before the creature slammed him up against the brick wall. "Not so big now, are ya, pig?" A large meaty fist drove the air from Jim's lungs – he couldn't even curse his fate as the creature flashed fangs and leaned in.
The being's eyes widened in shock and pain before disappearing into a cloud of dust and Brass met the steady gaze of Jesse who stood across with him, stake in hand.
Brass coughed, regaining his breath and said the first thing that came to mind. "I thought I told you to stay behind?"
Jesse shrugged, eyes glinting merrily. "I decided to be rebellious. It felt nice."
Brass smirked, "Thanks, kid," then glanced down at the pile of dust at his feet. "What the hell was that thing?"
"Um, vampire?"
"Vampire?!
"Wood stake to heart makes it go ::poof::. Yeah. Vampire." Jesse knelt next to the girl, sighed, and gently closed the girl's eyes. "Damn." A whispered prayer and he rose to his feet. "We should get inside."
"We need to wait for back up. I've got to report ... something."
"We'll come up with something plausible after we get inside. Where there's one, there's usually more."
"How do you know?"
Jesse shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine."
"Oh, I don't know. I was going to say too much late night television."
"See?" the teen offered a small grin that disappeared as four men blocked the alley.
Brass automatically placed himself between Jesse and the men. "This is an active crime scene. I'd advise you to leave, gentlemen."
One snickered, "Sure, Officer. We'll be more than happy to go. The kid's coming with us, though."
Jesse sighed loudly, muttering not-so-under his breath, "Crap, man. I feel like I'm in a demented version of 'Musical Chairs'. Or maybe 'Button, Button, Who's Got the Button?'."
"None of your lip, kid. You've caused enough trouble for me already. Just come along quietly and we won't kill your cop friend."
Jim could see the kid out of the corner of his eye – he didn't look scared at all – just defiant. Of course, after vampires, a few thugs with guns weren't that threatening. "What makes you think I'd go anywhere quietly? I'm quite the talker, I've been told. In fact, the last guy to take me had to resort to drugs to shut me up." Jesse shifted his stance slightly, it made him look harmless, but Jim recognized it for one that would let him move in any direction he wanted at a moment's notice.
"Hell, once you've been passed on, your new owner can muzzle you for all I care."
"I'm no dog."
"No. You're a kitten." A silky, seductive voice echoed softly through the alley. "A grinning, laughing one. Aren't you, kitten?" A woman in a full length dark blue velvet gown drifted towards the group. She was pale as a star with the night in her eyes. Fragile and dream-like. Nearing, she gently caressed the teen's cheek with a soft smile upon her lips. "The stars told me you were terribly hurt, kitten. Mummy came as soon as she could."
"Hey, bitch! Get away from the merchandise." Guns were cocked.
The dark haired beauty turned slowly to stare at the four men, her eyes large and all encompassing. "Naughty, naughty. Little boys shouldn't play with guns." Her voice had an odd, hypnotic quality to it that sent shivers through the listeners' spines. "Little boys should be asleep in their beds."
The four thugs swayed, then, as one, dropped their weapons and collapsed to the ground. One even snored. Incredulous, and not sure that the woman wasn't the greater danger, Brass kicked the weapons away, frisked them thoroughly, and cuffed them together. Checking their ID's, the detective whistled lowly. "Well, well, well. Look who we got here. Michael and Tommy Garner. Been looking for you two. Thanks for dropping by."
The woman focused completely on the young man, "Kitten. It's not safe to go home yet. Watcher Man is terribly upset about it, but is helping to take care of the problem there while I helped you here. Miss Edith and the stars agree: you should stay another month and then come home during the summer lull."
"Thank you, Dru." The teen kissed the woman gently on the forehead. "Are you going or staying?"
"Staying, if I can visit my kitten?"
"I would be honored."
She kissed his cheek, giggled, and skipped out of the alley, quietly humming to herself.
Less than a minute later, back up arrived.
While Brass and the other officers took care of the business of arresting the Garners and their thugs, as well as transporting the body of the poor unfortunate woman, the teen sat quietly on the curb. He was glad for the respite – memories bombarded him, returning in a rush and all jumbled together. Sorting them would take days. But at least he knew the important stuff.
The officers hustled the suspects away, leaving the two alone. Brass ambled over and helped the boy to his feet. "I offered to take your statement. I figured this way we can try to avoid any mention of vampires and mysteriously disappearing hypnotic ladies."
"That was Drusilla. She came all the way from Sunnydale, California to find me."
"You know her?"
"Know myself, too. Hi. Name's Xander Harris," he stuck out his hand with a wry grin. "The shock of nearly being kidnapped again jogged my memory."
Jim Brass shook his hand with a matching grin. "Well, if I'd known that would trigger it, I'd have arranged something sooner."
"Actually, seeing Dru did the trick. Things are a bit jumbled, but I know the basics." The two headed back toward the Shelter. "I need to call G-man. Let him know what's the what."
"G-man?"
"School librarian. He took me in after my parents were killed last Halloween."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Xander shrugged, "I'll be honest, considering they were trying to sell me to cover their debts at the time, I have a hard time caring much."
"Sell you?!" Brass was shocked and indignant.
"Yeah, I know. Beginning to be quite the theme with me, isn't it?" Xander chuckled, "It's funny. Dru helped me get away that time, too. I owe her. Big time."
After reintroducing himself to David and Goren, Xander called Giles from the Shelter's office.
"Sunnydale High School Library. Rupert Giles speaking," the man sounded harried and weary.
"Hey, G-man. It's good to hear your voice."
"Xander! Oh, thank Heaven. I've been worried sick. Where are you? Are you alright?"
"I'm in Las Vegas. Apparently Frocetti's interest in me was enough to spark a rival's interest. Two goons snagged me on my way from school. Things came to a head a week ago and I ended up in the hospital with a couple of cracked ribs and amnesia." He deliberately didn't mention the beatings, the gunshot wounds, or almost being sold – again. Giles could do nothing about any of that and there was no point in putting the man into a further panic. "Drusilla showed up about a half hour ago and that triggered my memories. So I called you."
"Are you safe? I can be there tomorrow to bring you home, or wire you a plane ticket."
Xander smiled at the genuine concern in the older man's voice, a knot in his chest disappearing as he finally relaxed. "Love to, G-Man, but Dru mentioned something about staying here for a month because of some Big Bad at home?"
Giles sighed, disappointment heavy in his voice. "Yes, Drusilla warned us of an especially nasty demon trying to perform some sort of blood ceremony to bring an Elder God to this plane. Unfortunately, you have all the particular earmarks it needs for the perfect sacrifice. Drusilla foresaw your death if you stayed. Buffy spotted it once, but lost it down in the sewers. We haven't been able to locate it's lair, but we have thus far thwarted two of it's attempts at gaining another sacrifice. It has to perform the sacrifice during the upcoming new moon, which is in another three and a half weeks. So, at least we have a bit of time to discover any of the creature's weak points. Do you have a place to stay?"
"Yeah. I'm staying at the 12th Street Shelter. The shelter's handyman took me on as an apprentice."
"What about your education? Snyder was on the warpath after your disappearance, though quieted significantly after Joyce got her hands on him."
Xander chuckled at the mental image that produced. "I can pick up some of the core course credits during summer school. Was going to have to anyway for Math. You can send me work and I'm sure I can use a library computer or something to contact you and Willow if I have any difficulty."
"Let me speak to the shelter's coordinator, Xander. I want to make sure that there's no problems in having you stay there for a while. We can make other arrangements if necessary."
In the end, the fact that there was a "serial killer" running around Sunnydale and that Xander fit the victim profiles guaranteed that Brass, Mores and Lang had no hesitations in hanging on to Xander until the situation was taken care of.
"You have a very interesting life," Lang commented.
Xander quipped, "A blessing and a curse, but I'm never bored."
"Come. I have a new project for you. I'll teach you invisible hinges."
* * Chapter 29 * *
The Jabberwock was changing – becoming closer to the other three after the amnesia. The spiders had cut it off from everything during that week and it was slowly coming to understand that survival demanded cooperation. Instead of a bitter enemy, it was becoming a tentative ally. The Willow's branches moved aside for partial access, but not enough to allow it to come in completely, it understood that trust had to be earned.
