Chapter Three
Daniel Osbourne looked as though he hadn't slept in two days. Considering he was already finished with his analysis of the pictures, which had been taken the previous afternoon, that was fully possible. He immediately pulled a series of blown up images out of his portfolio, propping them up along the wall. Then, he took a step back and allowed Xander the room to inspect them.
"Damn." Faith muttered from where she stood next to Oz. She scrunched up her nose and stepped closer to the image that showed the angel wings in their entirety.
Each picture was mostly dark red in color, displaying textures that overrode Xander's brain. He didn't understand their significance, but he knew Oz did. Xander was thankful to have Oz at his side. The man was a genius and if Xander was honest he would admit that he never would have captured Spike if it weren't for Oz.
"He used a paint brush." Oz stated calmly.
"A paint brush? That's... Well, that's fucked up." Faith commented, before leaving the room and back to her desk. The door clicked shut behind her.
"Indeed it is." Oz smiled slightly. Then, noting the frown of concentration on Xander's face, stepped toward the first image. "Do you see this here? The blood is swept across the wall in an outward fashion. You can see the trail that the hair of the brush took. If he had used his hands, the blood wouldn't have developed this sort of fringed edged. Also, the blood is thin. He spread it out and didn't use much. Well, he did, but if he had used and other method aside from a brush it would have been thicker."
"Like finger-painting." Xander nodded.
"Exactly. Finger-painting causes spaces that are thick with paint." Oz agreed. Oz moved to the next picture. "He used two different kinds. Most of the feathers are painted with a round brush with hard bristles. You can find these are any arts and crafts store. But in certain places you can see very thin lines of blood."
Oz traced one of these lines with his finger. The line was thinner in blood than the rest, creating what could be considered the veins of each feather. It was hardly noticeable in the full picture, but Oz had zoomed in on one of the feathers, enabling Xander to see it easily.
"He used something to thin the blood, maybe paint thinner or something else. I'm not an expert on that." Oz stated. "The time of death was around two in the morning, correct?"
"Yes, between two and three." Xander replied.
"He must have began his artwork after they were dead, then. There is too much detail to have enough time between cutting those pictures out of the yearbook and finishing them off." Oz bit his lip in thought. "He used a specialty brush for these lines. It's not your typical liner brush. It's too precise for that. There's also no hair found anywhere on the painting. He used a quality brush, that's for certain. These weren't found at Hobby Lobby."
"Can you type them?" Xander asked.
"No, better let your guys do that." Oz said.
"Alright, I'll get Faith to send these over." Xander sighed. "So, our guy's an artist."
"Most likely. These brush strokes are too good for him not to have some lessons on the subject." Oz began packing them away. "You said Dr. Rayne claimed he knew anatomy?"
"Something along those lines."
"Well, a lot of art students take Anatomy and Physiology in order to get their human figures right." Oz told him.
"I don't know what's more disturbing, a bunch of a beret wearing artists taking biology classes or that our man's intelligent." Xander sighed. "I really appreciate this, Oz."
"What else would I do with my time?" Oz shrugged. "Did the yearbooks have any prints?"
"No." Xander shook his head. "No go on that, just another psychological problem to add to a long list of inquiries."
"I heard you paid William a visit." Oz stated, picking idly at his fingernails. The tips of his fingers showed wear from years of playing the guitar. Xander wondered if he still kept it in the back of his van, even though he wasn't a member of a band anymore.
"He prefers to be called Spike now." Xander told him, trying to give Oz as little information as possible.
"Why does that not surprise me?" Oz gave a half-smile. "How did it go? Are you okay?"
"I'm not invalid, if that's what you mean." Xander muttered. He walked around his desk and sat down, watching as Oz zipped closed the portfolio. "He just... Does something to me, and I don't mean in the nightmare way. I always feel weird when I think about him or see an image of him."
"In other words you have a crush, only the circumstances require you to ignore it and fear him." Oz commented.
"It's not a crush." Xander literally growled. He rubbed at his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "He just gets to me, okay? And... I need to ask for a favor." Oz opened his mouth, but was cut off by Xander. "Don't laugh. Promise me?"
"When have I ever laughed at you?" Oz asked.
"When we were in college and I asked that Jesse guy out on a date only to be turned down in the middle of the food quart." Xander replied.
"In my defense, everyone else was laughing, too. I'm a sheep." Oz defended. "What do you need?"
"I need a picture taken." Xander mumbled, looking away. He could feel Oz's gaze and was determined to not meet it. "I need you to promise me you won't tell anyone, especially Giles. If he knew I was having a picture taken of myself as bait for Will--err--Spike then he'd immediately cease all contact."
"Which you don't want to happen." Oz's voice was speculative.
"Not when Spike's agreed to help." Xander sighed. "It was his terms, not mine. He wants a picture of me... Shirtless."
"Shit, Xander." Oz shook his head and walked toward the desk. Xander looked up, watching as a serious of emotions flittered across Oz's face. They were quickly shut down. Oz never was the type to show real emotion. "Are you sure you should be feeding this guy's obsession? That doesn't seem very wise."
"It doesn't matter, Oz. Once he gives me what he's got, I'll be through with him." Xander insisted, pulling out the Colby file. "It'll be over and done with."
"Fine. Come over when you get off work. I don't think it's a good idea, but you've never listened to advice and I doubt you'd start now." Oz said.
"Thank you." Xander said, his voice sincere. Oz let out slight noise of annoyance, before giving Xander a tired smile as a goodbye. Xander watched him leave, before picking up his phone in order to call about visiting the Colby's storage.
The glossy coating that covered the photographs felt smooth in Spike's hands. Humming softly to himself, Spike dangled one picture in front of him. The large knife wound in Mr. Hurley's hip stood out in contrast to the grayish skin. Spike smiled, imagining the dried blood along the cut as liquid, dripping down Mr. Hurley's thigh and soaking the sheet below him.
"I bet you cried, Daddy." Spike whispered to the photographed corpse. "Watching the big bad man cut up your little girl. Did she cry? Or did she moan in pleasure?"
Spike tossed the picture onto his desk and glanced outside his cell. The small red light from the security camera stared back. Spike shrugged at it. "Hmm, maybe not? No, no, you're right. Silly of me to say such words about the little bitch."
Down the hall he could hear the orderlies handing out dinner. He wondered if it was beef tonight. He was craving chicken. Ah, well. He'd just have to send it back and demand something more to his liking. It was a pity that he couldn't put in an order for Harris as a meal.
"Alexander Harris." Spike said aloud. Spike smiled again, but unlike the last it looked more sensual than crazed. "Would you moan, whelp, if I cut into you?"
Spike chuckled and reached out to gently close the file on his desk. "Oh, but I already know the answer to that, don't I? No, you didn't moan. You quivered with fear. Quickly stopped those games, didn't I? Didn't want you to be scared... Never scared, not of me."
Spike allowed his eyes to slide across the wall and toward the glass. The white uniformed men were picking up a tray from their cart.
"You know the deal, Bradshaw." The man's voice said through the intercom. "Corner of the room, hands on the wall."
"I see manners are nonexistent these days. Does anyone say please anymore?" Spike asked, before following the order. As they inserted the meal into his room, Spike turned his head to the side and watched out of the corner of his eye. "By the way, gentlemen, I would like use of the phone. I feel it's about time to consult with my lawyer, don't you think?"
"Annoying bastard." One of the men muttered. Spike smirked.
They brought the phone once Spike was finished eating. It hadn't been beef, thankfully. Spike calmly took the cordless phone and, ignoring the steady eyes watching him, dialed a number that he knew by heart.
"Agent Harris' office." A deep, sexy female voice answered. Spike bared his teeth, not liking the thought of any woman being close to Xander.
"Ah, yes, I was hoping I could speak with Harris." Spike replied, keeping his tone polite.
"And what would this be concerning?" The woman asked. Spike fought down the urge to curse at her and continued to be polite.
"Simply tell him that Spike is on the phone and allow him to decide whether it is of importance or not." Spike said. There was a pause on the other line, thick with sudden tension. Spike managed to not lick the receiver in an attempt to taste the woman's nervousness.
"Yes, sir." She finally said. There was a click as Spike was put on hold. Spike smiled to himself as he waited, one hand reaching out to trail along the binding of one of his books. On the other side of the glass, his watchers grew impatient.
"This is Harris."
Spike closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping him. Such a sweet voice, nearly as tasty as the man himself. Though, he sounded tired. Spike wondered what time it was and realized his pet should have been home and in bed already.
"Good evening, love." Spike greeted.
"Spike... How...?" Xander cut himself off with a huff. "Never mind, I'll be sure to tell Dr. Rosenburg that you aren't using your phone calls appropriately. What do you want?"
"Haven't seen you since this morning, pet." Spike sighed. "I miss you."
"Fascinating." Spike could hear Xander gulp. "Now, what do you really want?"
"Want? Oh, lots of things." Spike lowered his voice, allowing a hint of lust to enter it. "I want to know where you live. I want to know what you're wearing. I want to be out of this bloody hellhole and in your bed. I want to taste the small of your back. Can I, Xan? Can I lick you clean?"
There was an audible squeak on the other line.
"Spike, this is... You need to hang up now." Xander finally stated. Spike could picture Xander rolling his eyes, getting that god awful and utterly adorable look of frustration along his jaw line. "This is ridiculous."
"Mmm, gonna fuck you, pet." Spike groaned out, breaking into a wide grin when Xander sputtered. Spike fell onto his bed, allowing one leg to dangle off and swing gently. Outside his cell, the orderly was yawning and glancing at his watch.
"You're sick." Xander hissed into Spike's ear. Spike didn't take any offence. He knew that if Xander wanted to, he would have hung up already.
"Love you, too." Spike whispered. "You know you miss my touch. Don't you remember our night together? You tied to that bed and shaking off the last bits of sleep, while I tested the thickness of your skin with my knife. You look good in leather binding, did you know?"
"...I still have the scar." Xander's voice was nearly a mutter. Spike shivered at the thought that he had managed to mark Xander before the local police had him pinned to the ground and arrested him. At least he had gotten a taste.
"Alright, Bradshaw, time's up." The orderly announced, scowling.
"Got to go, love." Spike made a kissing sounding before hanging up. With a smug grin, he sent the phone back to the orderly. Then, humming a happy tune, Spike decided it was time to get ready for bed.
A few miles away, in the Los Angeles chapter of the FBI, Xander Harris sat in the corner of his office and tried to remember how to breathe.