Spike didn't really enjoy being pinned to a piece of wood on wheels since it was rather degrading. He stood there, one hand clenched slightly, as Willow leaned against his desk and sighed in the sort of tone that suggested he had just spilt grape juice on the carpet. He hated it when she did that. It made him was to apologize... Or cut out her liver, either one. Clear blue eyes traveled down her form, resting on the newspaper that was rolled up in one hand. Spike smirked.
"I'm very disappointed in you, William." She informed him, green eyes held wide open. Her bright red hair was pulled back into a bun. "We have given you postal and telephone privileges. You have been very well behaved up until this point."
Spike wondered if he was going to get spanked with the paper. He fought down the urge to bark.
"This, however, has made me regret my decision." Willow unrolled the paper, revealing the front cover of a tabloid magazine: William the Bloody Declares His Love. Spike stared at the small picture of himself, which had been placed next to a picture taken of Xander Harris. Xander was smiling, which proved that the image had been taken without him realizing it. Spike wanted to tear that picture out and pin it to his wall. "I must admit it was clever, you're little letter to Ms. Chase concerning your love affair with Mr. Harris, but I will not accept such behavior in my institution."
Spike merely stared at her, watching as she tapped on finger against his desk in annoyance. Maybe he wouldn't cut out her liver after all; maybe he would just play with that single digit of flesh and bone. It tapped again.
"I have been thinking of something for the past couple of months, Mr. Bradshaw, and I'm officially under the impression that perhaps this is not the best place for you." Willow crossed her arms and stared at him. Spike blinked. "While I understand Mr. Harris' need to visit you, I don't think receiving visitations is appropriate right now. I'm placing a request to have you moved to the quiet ward."
Spike didn't react, visually, but inside he was seething. The ward of silence, where your cell had only one window and you could scream as loud as you wanted without anyone hearing you. It was the type of room they displayed in movies. Only special cases were placed there, the ones that attacked a security guard or spit on their therapist.
"I believe that is all for today." Willow nodded toward the security guards, who stepped forward. As she began to leave, Spike straps were undone. A gun was trained on his shoulder, trigger simply waiting for an excuse to be pulled.
Spike's blue eyes darted quickly around the room, before he suddenly began to jerk and convulse. His body slid down the erect board that he had been strapped to as the guard fought to keep a hold on him. A gurgling sound escaped his throat as his legs gave out on him. Willow made a sound of shock and rushed forward, yelling something about keeping Spike from swallowing his tongue. The guard lowered his arm, the gun dropping until it pointed at the floor.
Inwardly, Spike smiled.
"I don't want to sound like a broken record here, but this doesn't seem to be helping us any." Faith pointed out from her perch across Xander's desk. She had her feet, enclosed in a pair of combat boots, resting on the edge of the desk. Xander stared at a bit of dirt that had fell from her shoe, before sighing.
"Tedious, yes, but necessary." Xander turned another page in the thick list he held. Faith fingered the edge of her own list as her eyes skimmed through it. "We don't know who he is, yet. We know his name starts with an L, he focuses on painting, and he's studied up on anatomy. He also uses the same brushes he received as a student, which means that he's probably around my age. It's enough to go by, we can eliminate at least three-fourths of this list from that alone."
"What happened to using computers?" Faith asked. "Isn't this the age of technology?"
"Computers aren't always right." Xander pointed out. Faith scowled. He had this conversation once before with Buffy before she had left on materinity leave. She seemed to think it was ridiculous that he was the only other agent aside from Giles who didn't have a computer in his office. Xander didn't mind anyone else using a computer to analyze data, but Xander felt the best part of being a member of the FBI was getting down and dirty with his evidence.
"None of these guys studied anatomy. We've got landscape artists and sculptors, an actor or two." Faith tossed her stack onto the desk. "This is pointless."
"I don't think so." Xander muttered, his eyes narrowed in on a name from his list. Faith frowned. "Sometimes it's the difference between finding the guy and not."
"You have something?" Faith asked.
"Yeah, I think I do." Xander set his list down and reached for the phone.
"Well? Aren't you going to tell me?" Faith demanded.
"Hello, my name Agent Harris and I was hoping I could speak to you about a former student of yours, from the year 2002." Xander spoke into the phone, raising a finger for Faith to be quiet. Faith rolled her eyes and pulled her feet down from the desk. They hit the commercial tiled floor with a thump. "I really don't want to do this over the phone, ma'am. Is there a good time we could meet?"
Faith watched as Xander grabbed a Post-It and scribbled down a location. Tilting her head, she read it quickly. "University of California, Art Department... Xan--"
"Grab your coat." Xander cut in, setting down the phone. "Call Oz and have him on standby, in case we need him."
"Wait, you're really rushing this." Faith protested chasing him out the office and snagging her jean jacket from its location on her desk. "What do you think you've found?"
"You'll see." Xander shot her a slight grin.
The drive over to the university was silent, broken only when Faith called Oz via her cell phone. The highway was oddly empty, something that Xander had never seen in Los Angeles before. He tried to take it as a sign. Across from him, Faith kept shooting him nervous looks. Unable to take the uneasiness, he turned the radio on.
"Why won't you tell me what you've found?" Faith asked, finally, after they pulled into the parking lot.
"Honestly? Because it might turn out to be nothing, that's why." Xander admitted, holding open the door for Faith to step through. They made their way down the corridor, the scent of turpentine and paint emitting from one of the classrooms. "Don't let too much go, unless you're certain. It's hard to reign it back in once everything's out fo the bag."
"I take it you learned this from experience?" Faith questioned.
"Maybe." Xander shrugged. He came to a stop before a plain wood door. There was no name on the front, only the room number F-131. Xander glanced at the numbers briefly, before knocking on the door. IT opened to reveal a curvy blonde with a pencil stuck behind one ear. She was dressed in a flowing skirt that swished as she stepped back to let them in, an inviting smile on her lips. "Ms. Maclay, thank you for seeing us at such a short notice."
"Please, call me Tara." The woman replied, walking over to a desk overflowing with sketches and sketchbooks. She shuffled through a few things, before pulling out a battered black grading book. "Ah, here it is. I had thought I lost it between you calling and now. You did say the 2002 school year, correct?"
"Yes." Xander replied.
"And the student?" Tara asked, flipping through the book.
"Liam O'Connor." Xander informed her. Tara paused, her eyes focused momentarily on the book, before she glanced up.
"Pardon?"
"Liam--"
"No, no, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Tara turned a couple of more pages and moved the book for Xander to see. "There is his attendance record. He came everyday, from what I recall. What exactly do you need to know?"
"Everything." Xander replied. Tara's eyes narrowed.
"I think, before I tell and show everything, that I'll need to see some identification." Tara raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, right." Xander sent her a sheepish grin, before pulling out his FBI badge. Faith did the same.
"Okay, then." Tara pulled the pencil out from behind her ear, tossed it onto the table, and walked toward an open door in the back of the room.
"Is it true he was kicked out of your class?" Xander asked, watching her.
"Yes. He got a little... Aggressive towards the end, I had to place a request in with the dean to have him removed." Tara replied. She stepped into the small storage room, her voice echoing out. "He didn't have much money, from what I could recall. He purchased the school's art supplies through a discount he received. Often times if a student is really hard up, they'll get special grants and such."
"What was he like? Personality, art style..." Xander trailed off as Tara reappeared from the closet with a large portfolio.
"He left everything." Tara explained, lifting the portfolio up with a grunt and placing it onto a classroom table. "He was a good student in the beginning, very hard working and determined. He submitted an art piece to a local gallery in the fall of his third year. They turned him down. Apparently, the images portrayed were too ghastly."
"Ghastly?" Xander asked. Tara looked to be debating something, her fingers playing with the zipper on the portfolio.
"I don't normally regulate my students' artwork." Tara stated. "I honestly don't see much of a point. Most students paint your average things, but Liam..." Tara slowly unzipped the portfolio. "I think it's best if you see for yourself."
The front cover of the portfolio was lifted away, revealing the first of a thick stack of paintings. Bright reds jumped out from the image as a pair of black wings spread across the picture. Xander winced as an angel with shining red eyes ripped open the stomach of a young man. As his eyes landed on the black signature of the artist--two L's touching at the corners--Xander spoke. "Faith, call Oz."
"On it." Faith pulled out her cell phone, thankful for an excuse to step away from the painting.
"Why did you keep these?" Xander asked, lifting one picture to look at what was underneath. Another angelic creature with silky black wings stared up at him.
"It's not very often one of my students leaves their artwork behind." Tara replied. "I'm the type of teacher that remembers every one of my students' names, so when I find a stray piece of artwork that belongs to them I keep it as a memory. Liam was a very troubled young man. I didn't know what to do with him or how to react to him most of the time. He started art classes the same year I began teaching."
"You said he got aggressive? What did you mean?" Xander pulled over a seat and watched as she moved two of the paintings to reveal a third. This one showed a demonic creature with ivory wings attacking the black-winged angel. Blood was splattered throughout the image.
"He was quiet in the beginning. His artwork was... simple and rather plain." Tara explained. "Slowly he began to express himself more. I think it was because he was more comfortable around me. His artwork began to depict themes of violence and gore. He didn't bother to hide his enjoyment behind what he painted. When the gallery turned him down, he blamed me for not teaching him properly. After he threatened me, I had no choice but to ask that he leaved."
"Do you think he was always like that and he just didn't show it until then?" Xander wondered.
"No one develops that sort of anger toward the world sporadically." Tara shook her head. "No, Liam had been like that long before it began to show. I don't think he had a very happy childhood, if I must be honest."
"No, they usually don't." Xander said, softly.