Rating: M for Mature language and m/m sex
Also warning for violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters
or products named in this story
Spike is a Homicide detective trying
to stop a serial killer before he strikes
again. Xander is a psychic who offers
to help him.
Warning: There was no intent in this chapter to bash
the Catholic church or beliefs.
Banner by BmblBee
Xander was startled out of a sound sleep by the sound of his lover ranting
and raving in the next room. Grabbing his boxers, he rushed into the kitchen
and found the steam whistle screaming from the kettle and his lover
fuming and stomping.
Xander turned off the burner, silencing the boiling water and placed his
hand on Spike's arm.
"What is it? What happened?"
Spike slammed the remote down on the kitchen counter so hard the
battery cover flew off the back and cracked.
"We've been betrayed. Some ass hole at the station talked to Little Miss
Muffit on the evening news. Had to have been some fucker that was
aware of our investigation. Jesus, Xan, do you think it was the killer?
We're pretty sure it's a cop, but why the fuck would he inform on himself?
She reported that those murders were connected. She used the words
serial killer. Do you think he is taunting us or maybe just wants to get
caught? Damn! I know one thing for sure, the sand in this hour glass is
getting mighty low."
Xander pulled him into a hug and kissed the strain out of Spike's
pursed lips. He then put his hands on Spike's shoulders and gave
him a good shaking.
"Listen up, Buddy, you said yourself that it was only a matter of time
before the press and the public put two and two together. With or
without a snitch in the woodwork this kind of thing can't stay hidden forever.
Don't let it shake you. Don't let it change what you and Faith are
Spike sat down, all the heat and fury gone, he looked up at Xander sadly.
"She says it's my fault those women died. Said if I had done my job or at
least given the public all the information, they would still be alive. Shit, Xander,
I really thought I was doing what was right."
Xander kissed Spike's forehead and put his arm around his shoulders.
"You are a good cop, Spike. You did what you thought you needed to.
Don't let insecurity and second guesses affect how you proceed. You
have to catch this guy, and I'm gonna help."
Suddenly Spike jumped back to his feet, remembering why they
had come here in the first place. He bolted for the bedroom and
the suit coat he had tossed there.
Xander sat down at the small, round breakfast table and waited while
Spike retrieved the evidence. He knew what was expected of him and
how important it was. He closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, Xander
cleared his mind and prepared himself.
He set aside all thoughts of his job and his outside life. He disregarded
his sexual satisfaction and, for the time being, even stored his newly
found love and passion on a far back mental shelf.
Slipping into a state of light meditation, he was ready. Within minutes
Spike had returned and sat at the small wrought iron chair across from
him. He had also brought a yellow legal pad and two pens.
Spike gently opened the baggie and Xander immediately stopped
"Don't touch it. Your energy on it may confuse me. Open the bag and
drop it into my hand. And Spike, no matter what happens, don't stop
me. Don't interfere with the process. Let me talk then when I nod
you can ask me questions. All right?"
Spike agreed and with no further hesitation, watched as the now wilted
red rose bud tumbled out into the strong calloused hand that opened for it.
The reaction was immediate. Xander's body stiffened and his eyes
squeezed shut tightly, a small involuntary whimper sounded despite
his closed mouth.
Spike sat silently, pen in hand. Patience was never a virtue Spike had
mastered and it was all he could do not to shake Xander, screaming
"What? What do you see?"
Visibly composing himself despite the tears that rolled down his cheeks,
Xander filled his lungs to capacity and slowly exhaled.
"I see him moving. He's restless, almost frantic. Something has happened
recently to accelerate his need to kill. I see the girls he killed. I see them
through him. He feels furious and the only thing that relieves the burning
inside him is the sight of them as they die. It helps for a while, but his
situation is worsening and he is compelled to kill again."
Xander rocked himself in the chair as the visions of horror and pain split
through his brain. His foot tapped on the floor and every muscle in his
legs went tense. He nodded and Spike paused in his writing.
"Can you see him, Xander? Can you describe him to me?"
Xander lowered his head and tried to filter through the collage of
death that was bombarding him. The conflicting emotions of the victims
flowed and blended with the sparks flying off the killer.
"I see him first from the back. He's taller than average. Maybe 6'2"
or 6'3", not heavy but full built. He has short dark hair and always
wears a long black coat. It is his protection and concealment.
He sleeps during the day and prowls the city at night.
I see him as he stands at the doors of his victims. He smiles. He holds up a
identification case and they welcome him in. His victims are not
random. They were preselected and stalked for weeks before he made
his move. In an odd sort of way he falls in love with them. I think
it's because of who they represent. He then punishes them for the sins
of the other. He is conflicted. His has a strong religious upbringing and
in some way that drives him. They have done something to offend God and
he justifies what he does as righteous vengeance. It also feeds his need
to be caught. I hear him. As he strangles them he prays. "Hail Mary
full of grace. The Lord is with you. Blessed is thou among women. Blessed
is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for these
sinners now, as this is the hour of their death. Amen"
Spike worried. Xander seemed to be slipping away into a swamp of emotions.
"His face. Xander, can you see his face?"
Xander tipped his head to the side. A look of concentration marred
his usually relaxed features.
"He is clean shaven. No beard, no moustache. His hair is greying at the
temples. He is older than I thought from behind. His face is wrinkled
Not old age but that excessive tobacco and alcohol abuse look.
He smiles at them and his teeth are yellowed. I see bushy eyebrows,
beady dark eyes and thin lips."
"Has he already picked another victim?"
"He is watching her right now. He has been following her and has
already made first contact. There is no rape. He doesn't want
them sexually yet he inserts the rose to let you know he could have.
He waits. He masturbates to the memory of them dying when he gets home."
"Why a rose, Xander? What does it mean?"
Xander shook his head.
"I don't know. It's a strong representation. A name maybe? All I know
is that time is short, Spike, and he is feeling desperate."
Xander carefully laid the flower down on the table and pulled his hand
away from it.
"I'm sorry, Spike. I know that doesn't help you much."
Spike placed both his hand over Xander's shaky ones bringing him
a sense of calming stability.
"No. Xander you did great. It was a big help. Is there anything else?"
Sadly Xander looked into Spike's eyes as one more tear ran down his cheek
and dripped onto the table.
"Yes. At least one more person is going to die before all this is over, Spike.
He will claim one more innocent person. I just don't know who."