Chapter Seven: A Word With Glynnis

Something about this whole mess stank…stank worse than three-week-old fish, which he'd been unfortunate enough to find in his refrigerator…once. Roy Lane scowled to himself as he read over the accident report again.

Drunk as a skunk driver, check.

Head-on collision caused by said drunk driver, check.

Two wrecked cars, burned to a crisp, check.

License plate that matched Sergeant Parker's car on the burned out Impala, check.

Body of a certain cheeky little brat – who Roy was actually going to miss – no check.

And a flock of twittering witnesses who hadn't seen a bloody thing – and no, he wasn't going to regret borrowing the British swear word for this bloody mess. They'd been so focused on the drunk – who'd caused the bloody accident – that none of them knew what had happened to the innocent sixteen-year-old behind the wheel of Parker's car.

Roy slammed one hand down on the desk, resisting the urge to swear out loud – and much more colorfully. How in the name of anything and everything good could they issue a death certificate when no body had been found in the Impala? And what in the world was this utter junk about the fire burning hot enough to incinerate the body? He didn't care how hot the fire had burned, there should have been something left in that car, so where the heck had forensics gotten this garbage cremation theory?

"Still reading that?" Auror Giles Onasi sounded as if he'd just been called to the carpet over years of unpaid taxes; Roy looked up, unsurprised by the dark circles under the other man's eyes and the hangdog expression on his face.

He was at least more coherent than Team One; the entire team was still reeling over the loss of one of 'their' kids and struggling to stay afloat in hurricane ridden emotional waters. Not that Roy could blame them…the two kids had worked their way into the heart of Team One during the three years since they'd come to Toronto. Heck, they'd even gone out of their way to get to know him in the aftermath of the Nick Watson case, clearly hoping to give him a better impression of magic than he'd gotten from Watson.

Ironically, they'd done a better job on that front than Giles had…but then, Giles, despite being a half-blood, still didn't seem to understand much about the tech world, while the two pureblood kids lived in the tech world and thus understood both worlds – plus, they were kids; much easier for Roy to deal with than a full-grown wizard.

Roy sighed, flipping the report around for Giles to see. "It makes no sense," he complained. "I've been over everything half a dozen times, but it still doesn't make sense." He pushed the witness statements out of the stack. "Got at least seven witnesses who saw the crash and they describe pretty much the same thing. The drunk," he spat that out, burying what he really wanted to call the woman, "was going at least twice the legal limit, if not more, plowed through a stop sign and hit a stopped car."

"Stopped?" Giles questioned, cocking his head to the side. Hope flickered in his eyes, hope that Roy hated to crush.

Roy nodded. "Yeah, I saw that too, but, no, I don't think Lance jumped from the car." At Giles' disappointed look, he continued, "I think Lance saw her coming and had time to stop, but there was nowhere for him to go and not enough time to bail out. He just took that driving course, so I'm guessing he stopped to keep the Impala from adding to the total accident speed."

"Huh?" At times like this, Roy had to wonder how his magical partner kept anyone in Guns 'n' Gangs from guessing he had magic…or something like that. Good thing no one was close enough to hear Giles confused over basic accident math.

The detective yanked a fresh piece of paper over and drew two boxes on it. In one box, he put 50 km/h, in the other, he put 100 km/h. Then he drew arrows so that each box had an arrow pointed at the other box. "Okay," he started, turning the paper, "This box," he pointed at the lower speed, "is Lance." A silent nod. Pointing to the other box, Roy said, "This box is our drunk. If they hit each other head on, you don't just have a 50 km/h or just a 100 km/h crash…you have a 150 km/h crash." He paused. "That's what makes a head-on collision one of the worst types of crashes…almost any other type of crash is preferable to a head-on."

Giles whistled low. "He stopped to keep that from happening."

It wasn't a question, but Roy nodded anyway. "Yep," he agreed. "Now," he went on, turning back to the witness statements, "the cars slid after impact into a stop sign at the other end of the block – which tells you just how obviously drunk and fast our lovely driver was. She didn't even realize she'd crashed until her car's rear end got bounced by the start of the fire. Drunk got out of her car after it started going up, but no one saw Lance get out of the Impala."

Giles bit his lip. "Then he's dead."

Roy's voice turned flat. "Then why didn't forensics find his body?" He slid out the report on the Impala and mockingly quoted from it. " 'The temperature of the vehicle was high enough to incinerate any human remains inside. Following the accident, the driver was unconscious and likely died from either the fire or smoke inhalation.' " Roy slapped the report back down, letting his disgusted expression do most of the talking for him. "That's what they're saying, but I don't buy it."

"Why not?" Giles questioned.

A derisive snort. "Even cremation doesn't get rid of everything, Giles. We know he was in the car, so there should be something, even if it's ash or bones or a tooth or, I don't know, fingernails. But they got diddly squat! All they got to say he was in the car are fingerprints on the trunk that survived the fire, but he was driving the car! Of course his fingerprints are going to be on it!"

The Auror considered this, his brow furrowing as he thought. "You think he might still be alive?"

Roy pushed a hand through his hair, sighing. "No," he admitted heavily. "If he were alive, he would have come home by now…he wouldn't do this to his family." Giles inclined his head in clear agreement with this point. The detective sank a little lower in his chair. "But where is he? No one saw anything and that's what's driving me nuts!"

"Maybe I could take a look?" Giles offered.

The brunet detective perked up, then sank down again. "It's in the middle of a tech neighborhood."

The other brunet head tilted to the side ever so briefly. "And I might get caught." Giles sighed himself as he regarded the report in front of his partner. "We might never know," he murmured. It hurt, the idea, but he couldn't deny it…and not knowing left that slender, awful thread of hope hanging.

"Yeah," Roy whispered, "And that's the worst part. I could take a lot, but Parker and his sister deserve to know what happened…they deserve to have a body to bury, to say good-bye to." He sank down even further, putting his head in his hands. "He was sixteen years old for crying out loud…sixteen…"

Giles rested a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Come on, Roy, let's get some air…we'll figure it out."

For a moment, Roy resisted, running his eyes over the report again. Then his shoulders slumped and he pushed himself up. "Okay."


The woman pushing a cart wouldn't have ordinarily attracted any attention from Roy…homeless were sadly a dime a dozen and he had other things on his mind. But something about him must have attracted the woman, for she halted her cart right where he was about to walk, peering at him with surprisingly clear blue eyes from under tangled blonde hair and a navy blue knit cap that sported two small flower pins. "Are you Roy?" she croaked out. When he halted, starting at her in shock that she knew his name, she nodded to herself. "Isn't often that I get a request from Himself, oh no it isn't, but He told me you'd be by today to ask me about what I saw."

Okkaaay? "What you saw?" Roy inquired cautiously. "And who are you?"

"Glynnis," she replied proudly. "And I'll tell you what I saw if you buy me a good lunch." When he started again, a small smile worked its way over her face. "Himself would be upset if I asked you for a drink and I doubt a do-gooder cop like you would give me one anyway." At Roy's disbelieving look, she rasped a rusty chuckle to herself.

"Himself?" Giles questioned over his partner's shoulder, both brows up in clear wary caution. One hand rested quite close to his wand, so Roy elbowed him…not good if he pulled his wand on a techie, even if she was a bit off her rocker.

Glynnis rasped a chuckle. "He keeps to Himself," she remarked, cackling at her own play on words. "Helps me out from time to time, if I let Him…He'd help me more, but I don't like to owe anyone, not even Him. I can make my own way, I can; that's what I tell Him. Don't need His help, no more than anyone else does, anyway. But He's done me many a good turn, so I'll tell you what I know."

Roy considered, then shrugged. Even if the woman babbled nonsense at them, he'd only be out the cost of a good lunch. "Okay, Glynnis, what's your pleasure…non-alcoholic, of course."


The two men watched as Glynnis all but ripped into her lunch, eating as if she hadn't seen a good meal in days. Both opted to save their own lunches for later…they didn't feel like eating after watching her. She muttered to herself as she ate, comparing the feast before her to meals of days past.

Once she'd sated herself, humming an old tune as she licked the last juices off her fingers, Roy cleared his throat. "So…what is it that you saw, Glynnis?"

She was silent for a few seconds, ordering her words. "Most days," she began, "I stay in the more…friendly…areas, but that day, I wanted to wander by the old homestead, see who's moved in since I left." Roy nodded thoughtfully. "I kept to the alleys, less folks about to see you there, so you don't get bothered. Well, I saw the old place; not shut up anymore…" She trailed off a moment. "That was good…it should have lots of young 'uns…has a good yard."

Glynnis cleared her throat, shaking the old memories away. "Was on my way back, but I had to take a bit of detour, avoid a patrol cop. Was going down this alley, nice clean gravel in it… Then I heard it…a terrific bang and a screech, like cars sliding or something." Both men froze, but she prattled on. "Peeked out from the alley where I was and there they were…this pretty blue car all trapped, between a white truck and a stop sign. And there was a nice looking lad in there, not moving a bit." She shook her head to herself. "Nasty it is, when nice young lads die like that…yes it is."

"He was dead?" Roy managed to force out.

She looked at him, her expression more than a bit annoyed for the interruption. "Hush, now, I'm not done." With Roy properly chastised, she continued her tale. "Then, wouldn't you know it, but there's this woman there who wasn't there before. Seemed to pop out of nowhere and no one else noticed her. Once she waved that stick of hers…" Giles hissed in shock, "No one even looked at that poor young lad again. She opened the door and pulled him out, then closed it again; not a mite concerned about the fire coming. He started moving; I saw his eyes open, just a bit, but she waved that stick again and he just…slumped. Then, before I can say 'Bob's your uncle', they're both gone…poof…just like that."

Roy was aware his jaw was hanging open by this point; he closed it with a click, trading a worried look with his partner. Glynnis regarded them, clearly disappointed and expecting to be shooed away. It took a few seconds to get his head together enough to pull out his phone and scroll to a particular photo. Turning the phone so Glynnis could see the image, Roy asked, "Is this the boy you saw?"

Glynnis leaned forward, inspecting the image as closely as she could. Both Roy and Giles held their breath as she regarded the photo, tilting her head this way and that. After some minutes, she gave her verdict. "Certainly looks like the poor lad, but, as I say, I wasn't all that close."

Then Giles started and pulled his own phone out, scrolling to a different image. He held out his phone, asking anxiously, "Does this look like the car you saw?"

She peered at the image, then nodded, much more confident. "That's it," she confirmed, "I remember…it looks like that car I saw once, when the snake man hit someone."

Giles pulled in a breath, locking his eyes with Roy's. "It's Parker's car…Lance is alive."

Alive, he was alive. Then reality set in and Roy slumped, blowing his own breath out. "Dang. He's alive. Now what?"


Author note: Tuesday, September 11th. I dedicate this chapter to the victims of that horrible, horrible day in 2001. I was in 7th grade and I still remember how we were taken to the library to watch the footage live. We saw the second tower fall and I will never, ever forget it. A pastor from one of our local churches was on one of the aircraft that day, not someone we knew, but still.

God Bless America.