Chapter Nine out of Ten
Xander listened to the ring of his cell phone, pressed against his ear. The art gallery could be seen from the inside of his car, but he didn't look in that direction. The post-it note, where Liam O'Connor's address was written, had been attached to his dashboard. Xander glanced at it on occasion, making certain it didn't disappear.
"Hello?" Faith's voice answered.
"Faith, I've got it." Xander didn't sound as excited as he felt. There was a pause on the other line, then a rush of sound as Faith let out her breath. "I need you to alert Giles, we'll need a full team. Put them on standby. I'm going to scan the building first and see if there is anyone inside. I'll call you when it's time."
"Are you sure? Maybe one of us should—" Faith started.
"No, Faith." Xander reached forward and turned the car keys, listening as the engine roared to life. "It'll be safer with just one person, I'll be less likely to get caught."
"I have a bad feeling about this, sir." Faith said, softly. Xander smiled at the title. "But I'll do what you say. Just… Don't do anything stupid."
"Hey, this is me we are talking about." Xander replied, shifting gears.
"Exactly." Faith muttered, before hanging up.
It always amazed Xander when he found a real residential neighborhood in Los Angeles. The city was made of smog and steel, so the sight of quaint little homes within the urban setting made him uneasy. Not that being anxious over his location changed the cold chill that hit his spine when he parked five houses away from his destination. The house was a one-story building made of red brick and plain windows. The curtains were drawn.
Xander unlocked his glove compartment, pulling out a shoulder holster and gun. He slipped it on, before putting a light coat on over it. His cell phone went in his pocket, while the badge was attached to one of the holster's leather bands. He was ready, fully prepared to deal with whatever he came up against.
Except the nerves wracking his body. Xander took a deep breath, closing his eyes in order to calm himself.
It was close to two in the afternoon when he stepped out of the car and walked toward the house. The street was practically deserted, except for a dog a few homes down. The dog watched him, wagging its tail in greeting. Xander casually slipped between the houses, pressing his back against the shaded brick. Turning his head, Xander peeked through a crack between one of the curtains. Inside he could see a bedroom, which held an erect easel and small twin bed. The room was unkempt, stray pieces of trash littering the floor.
What was it about a sociopath never cleaning his home?
Xander continued to slip around the building, taking a glimpse into the second side window and spotting a mold-covered bathroom. There were rust stains in the sink, making it look like blood. He made it to the back yard, where he found a large oak tree and a broken screen door. One of the windows led to the kitchen, which was also empty.
Xander let out a quick breath, moving once again to the side of the house. Hiding in the shadows, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his office. Faith answered, her voice sounding both excited and fearful. He gave her the address, telling her to quickly contact the needed people. For a moment, he wished she were already there, helping him out. Or maybe Oz, who would be discreetly taking pictures through the window like a peeping tom.
That thought alone was enough to set him as ease and he ended his call with Faith. The cell phone flipped shut in his hand and he moved to return it to his pocket.
"Well, what have we here?" A soft, dark voice whispered.
Xander jerked, hand dropping the phone in order to reach under his coat for his gun. He didn't have time to see who the man was as something heavy—possibly a shoulder—slammed into his side. His head hit the brick wall, sending a shower of stars across his vision. Xander's hand wrapped around the gun, but his grip wasn't tight enough. A strong hand grabbed Xander's wrist, jerking it away from his weapon and pinning it behind his back. Xander kicked backward, hearing the man grunt, before his head was once again rammed into the brick wall.
Everything within his vision seemed to spark like a firecracker, before descending into darkness.
His sense of smell was the first thing to come back to him. The room was dank, smelling of mold and something that caused Xander to gag. It took him a moment to place the scent. It was the stench of rotting flesh. Xander forced himself to breathe, knowing that he did not want to pass out once more.
Xander could feel cold cement below him. Most likely he was in the basement, though he had not seen any basement windows when inspecting the house. The type of nylon rope you found in hardware stores bound his wrists and ankles. Xander shifted, pressing his back against the cement wall. He didn't open his eyes just yet.
Instead he focused on the sounds around him. There was a steady drip of water to his right. The room was otherwise silent, a fact that sent a chill down Xander's spine. Xander took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He lifted his hands in front of him and checked for his gun holster. It was a fruitless search, but he had no other weapon on him and the idea of being defenseless didn't settle too well.
A soft thump caught his attention. Xander tilted his head, still refusing to open his eyes for fear of what he might see. The sound of footsteps hitting stone echoed down toward him. Xander fought down panic and slowly opened his eyes. The room was dark, except for a single ceiling light. Xander watched as a tall, dark figured made its way down the stairs.
The man was tall. As he entered the light Xander could see short hair that was nearly black, spiked upward. The eyes, which looked amused, were the same color of the man's hair. He wore a long sleeve black shirt and black slacks. Xander ignored the jokes that wanted to be voiced. Now wasn't a time to annoy his host.
"I see you're awake." That same soft voice that he had heard before. "Do you know who I am?"
"Liam O'Connor." Xander replied, his voice scratchy. He didn't see the point in playing games; there was no reason to now.
"Ah, a detective that does actual detective work. Call me Angelus. I think it has a nice ring to it, don't you? After all, you're people came up with it." There was a slight upturn to the man's lips.
"What is it with you guys and changing your names?" Xander blurted out. Angelus raised an eyebrow. "It's just so common… I'm curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat, or so they say." Angelus smirked. "No one likes the name their father's gave them. Now, I would like to know what you were doing snooping around my lovely home."
"I was trimming your bushes." Xander replied, his tone automatically sarcastic. He knew he had said the wrong thing when Angelus strode forward. Xander winced as a strong hand grabbed a hold of his jaw, jerking his face toward Angelus'.
"I would watch your tone, boy." Angelus hissed. "We wouldn't want the FBI's White Knight to end up like him."
Xander's face was forced to look left, bringing in sight the source of the horrid smell. Up until then Xander had kept an eye on Angelus, something he was now thankful he did. About eight feet away, tied to an old rocking chair, sat a decaying corpse. It was a man, that much Xander could discern, but the slow decay of flesh and organs had already taken its toll on the body. Fluids from the man's body had pooled underneath the chair, staining the cement floor. Xander could easily see the white of bones in certain areas, where the skin and muscle had either decomposed or been picked off.
Xander had seen quite a few corpses in his time, but this one took the cake. Xander fought to look away, but Angelus merely tightened his hold, bringing forth bruises on Xander's skin.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" Angelus asked, gently releasing his hold on Xander's jaw. Angelus stroked Xander's cheek and smiled sadistically. "I've been watching him evaporate from existence for quite some time now. The whole process is… Wonderful. Smells worse than turpentine, though."
"Who is he?" Xander managed to ask. The longer he kept Angelus talking the more likely he would be alive when Faith and the others arrived.
"What, didn't you do your research?" Angelus asked with a sneer. "Imagine it, boy. What would you do with the person you hated most in the world?"
"He's your father, then." Xander stated. Angelus' eyes betrayed his surprise. "Am I right?"
"Smarter than you look." Angelus murmured. Xander watched as Angelus walked over to one of the desks lining the far wall. He rummaged around, before pulling out a large butcher knife. Even from a distance, Xander could see that the blade had a jagged edge, which would no doubt fit the autopsy reports.
Angelus walked back toward him, balancing the knife in his hand as though it were a wizard's wand. Xander leaned back as he approached, trying to melt into the wall. Angelus let out a chuckle, one that sent sharp spikes of fear down Xander's spine. "I wonder how you bleed…"
Xander let out a yelp as Angelus' arm jerked forward, sending the tip of the blade into his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, Xander glared at the man above him. He could feel blood trickle from wound, soaking into his shirt and coat.
"Oh, you sound heavenly, boy." Angelus leered. Xander tensed. Why did he always end up with the sexually deviant psychotics? Somehow Xander had a habit of attracting them, through no fault of his own. Angelus was still leering when he yanked Xander's coat off of his shoulder in order to see the fresh wound. Xander didn't bother to fight, for that would simply make the cut bleed more.
Angelus was leaning toward him to do something—Xander didn't know, and he didn't want to know—when the sound of a doorbell made him pause. Xander turned his eyes toward the ceiling, as though that would enable him to see who it was. Angelus let out a growl, before standing and walking toward the stairs. "Don't bother screaming for help, boy. No one can hear you."
Xander took a moment to glare at the door swung shut, then immediately turning to the robes binding him. He tugged fruitlessly, but they wouldn't budge. He even tried to chew them, before realizing that it wasn't helping him escape as much as hurting his teeth. He felt useless, even to himself, at that moment. The feeling made him angry.
Suddenly, a gunshot echoed from above. Another quickly followed it. Then, the basement door swung open and Angelus literally threw himself down the stairs. He had lost the knife and was now carrying a gun, which Xander immediately recognized as his own. Xander struggled as Angelus grabbed him by his collar and hauled him upward. Swinging Xander around, Angelus pressed himself against Xander's back, gun pressed against Xander's neck. Xander quickly stiffened and stopped struggling.
He wasn't about to get killed with his own gun.
"Liam O'Connor, I suggest you come out with your hands up." A stern, British voice announced from above. Xander felt Angelus tug him toward the bottom of the stairs, his bound feet dragging painfully across the floor. Once reached, he could see both Faith and Giles peering down the stairs, guns poised.
"Now, now, why would I do that?" Angelus asked, his grip tightening around Xander. "I'm having so much fun with your little boy here."