Chapter 3
"D.O.A."
By OldScout
The room was filled with shadows. How could a room be filled with shadows? The light always seemed to be behind something nothing was fully illuminated yet the occupants could still see. They got used to it.
Two figures wearing black robes and white masks walked down the middle of the room through other similarly dressed people. The others stepped aside as the two made their way to the dais at the far end of the room.
Several robed figures stood on the dais and one with longer, more luxuriant robes sat in a large chair in the middle. A large hood was pulled up hiding the man's face in its shadow and long billowing sleeves covered his hands. If it wasn't for the slight movement of labored breathing one might think this nothing more than a pile of robes.
The two approached and dropped to one knee. "Master," The taller servant said. "We beg your indulgence."
"Where isss the girl?" The Master asked, his hissing voice not much more than whisper.
"We could not control her." The shorter admitted. "She broke the imperius curse and stabbed Vintor. The immobulus curse only slowed her down and she gutted Heleena as well."
"She got away? You allowed a witness to escape."
"The killing curse stopped her." The taller said. "But it didn't kill her."
"Nobody is immune from the killing curse." One of the Wizards on the platform said.
"Yesss. One is." The Master stated. "Did you finish her?"
"It took several curses but the muggle is dead." The shorter proclaimed.
"And your unlucky colleaguesss?" The Master asked.
"We took them to Sebastian."
"So you are capable of intelligent thought. Amazing." The Master raised his arm revealing a hand so emaciated the skin stretched tight making it look skeletal. A black wood wand dangled from the finger tips. "Crucio." The single curse was so powerful that both wizards fell to the ground screaming and writhing in pain.
"Perhapsss," The Master stately under the screams. "The death of thisss muggle will work in our favor. When the next is called, she will look for the killersss. She will not be welcome in the Wizarding world, they will come to usss when they realize how weak they are."
"What kind of muggle is nearly immune to the curses?" One of the Master's Right Hands asked.
"The kind that the killing curse was created for, The Chosen One, the SSSSLayer."
Somehow it was exactly where Buffy had expected to end up, a warehouse. It was always an old warehouse in one of the worst parts of town. She walked along the lower roof and looked in the clerestory windows. The glass was covered with years of dirt and revealed only shadows inside the building. Glass was scattered on the roof where one of the windows was recently broken. Buffy squatted and looked inside. Faint light from the grime covered windows that circled the upper walls was just enough to reveal a debris covered floor scattered with broken boxes, old industrial equipment and piles of dumped building material. Through the stale odor of rotting wood, stagnant water and years of dust and dirt, Buffy could smell something familiar and fresh, death.
Stepping through the window, Buffy dropped two meters to a catwalk below the window. The contraption creaked and swayed from her weight but held up. Tracks on the dust along the platform clearly showed where somebody had run along it up to the window she'd just come in.
Buffy frowned as she pictured Sarah running along the catwalk avoiding those horrid little curses. She was just a child who'd never had a break. She'd finally found a place in the world and was creating a life for herself and now this. Was she afraid as she ran along here dodging the flashing light of the curses, or just concerned? She wasn't one of the originals; she hadn't walked into Hell and hadn't fought the Turak Han. She still knew simple fear. Buffy could feel Sarah's anxiety; hear her heart beat as she raced along this narrow path.
The path led to the floor where it disappeared in the litter and debris. Buffy didn't need a path to lead her to what she was looking for, her nose was enough. Even if it wasn't the destination was obvious. A body hung from the ceiling, its wrists chained together and stretched up over its head; its toes barely touching the floor. Buffy approached cautiously. In her normal life, the obviously dead, scorched and mutilated body would come to life and start thrashing about.
Buffy looked at it, no, this body was just dead. It was apparently male stripped from the waste up. Pencil thin burns crisscrossed his face and body. Deep cuts lacerated the torso and pierced cheeks, one eye dangled out of a socket and the few remaining tufts of hair were shriveled and singed.
Not touching anything, Buffy made a beeline for the door. The London police were a lot more thorough then the Sunnydale variety she didn't want to leave any more traces back to her as possible. The second she cleared the building she was holding her walkie-talkie phone. "Where you at?" She said into the bright pink phone.
"Parked a block away from the district." Willow had parked her car when Buffy had entered the warehouse district. A car driving slowly through the area at this time of morning on a weekend might have gotten somebody's attention.
"Okay, I'll meet you by Hathaway." Buffy said as she started jogging down the block staying on the east side, close to the buildings she ran mostly in the shadows. Just as she turned the corner and headed up to Hathaway, she saw a payphone. She stopped and picked it up. Down the street, she could see Willow's car roll slowly past.
Keeping her thin leather gloves on, Buffy held the receiver and dialed the police emergency number.
"What is your emergency?" A bored sounding voice asked.
"There's a body hanging in a warehouse." Buffy said very quietly. She gave the address of the warehouse before the operator could ask anymore questions, put the phone down leaving the line open and walked quickly up the road to meet Willow.
Inspector Clayson walked into the office late in the afternoon, it was almost time to go and it was the first time he'd been there all day. Two bodies just miles apart on the same day. Where they related? Probably not; but there were really very few coincidences in the world. The second victim was definitely murder. Sometime during the night somebody had done some terrible things to that man. The brass was already screaming. Imagine the head lines if how this man was tortured were ever leaked. They had to find the sadistic SOB who did it and find him fast. The girl, Sarah, he wasn't quite so sure about. He remembered being certain earlier in the day that she had to have been murdered. But that was before they found what appeared to be large quantity of drugs on her.
A slip of paper was placed on the desk in front of Inspector Clayson. He scanned it without looking up at the person who'd delivered the report and stood waiting for him to read it. "Speedball?" He looked up at the young man standing in front of him. "You think she was doing speedballs?" It matched the apparent contents of the baggies she was carrying but those details where not given to the lab. They didn't want other details influencing what was found in the victim's blood.
"This combination has become quite popular of late." The technician replied.
"How so?"
"This is the fourth D.O.A. I've had in here in the past year, and not one before that in the five years I've been on the job here."
"And this?" He pointed to a different line item.
"A little PCP mixed in. That's what's unique the quantities are always the same."
"PCP? That would explain the attempting to fly part." Clayson looked up. "Thanks, Jerry."
The young technician walked away as Clayson looked at the other report on the contents of drugs the girl had been found with. These weren't just personal use. If she'd been arrested carrying that much high quality stuff, she'd be looking at some really long hard time, juvenile or not. What about the other stuff? He was sure there was something else. He searched his notes and the inventory sheet. Why had he been thinking this was a murder? There were no weapons found, no blood, nothing, just a dead girl lying in an alley all pumped up on some pretty nasty shit. He looked at the ID card again.
Just exactly what is the Summers School For Girls? Why hadn't Miss Summers been so concerned about losing one of her students? Perhaps she didn't care. He looked at the toxicology report again and at the analysis of the bag. Was this girl carrying for Miss Summers? Was that school just some front for some kind of drug ring? How many more orphans were living at that school? What were they doing tonight? Clayson's heart sank and he picked up a phone. First he needed a warrant to search the girl's possessions, common practice when investigating a death. Next he'd call Family Services to see if there were any more of their girls living at that school, at least he be able to get them out before something happened to them. Perhaps a call to the licensing board was in order as well. He started making notes. Somebody had supplied that girl with some extremely potent drugs and the person at the top of his very short list was one Miss Buffy Summers.
To be continued.......