Murder 101
By: Immicolia
immicolia@h...
http://www.digitalcandy.net/~neb


Rating: R

Spoilers: For all things Warren, mostly just "I Was
Made To Love You"

Summary: Why Warren is so casual about the idea of
murder.

Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to LGJ (Lord God
Joss) and Co. I just enjoy playing with them. And boy
do I ever! I think I've more than proven that ^_~

Feedback: It is that by which I live... or at least my
Ego does.

Inspiration courtesy of a Wallflowers song of the same
title. Quite simply, really odd Warrenfic, because
he's just so wonderfuly cold.

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He didn't mean to do it. Didn't mean it didn't mean
it. It just happened. It was no one's fault. No
one's. Least of all his. He didn't mean it.

And he can't breathe. Can't breathe, can't think
straight, only stare. Her body, crumpled there at the
foot of the stairs. Head angled so oddly. The neck
just isn't meant to bend that way.

He's cold. Especially his hands. Just freezing.
And he can't breathe. It wasn't his fault. She was
just being such....

Such a bitch. He just wanted her to let him explain
himself. Let him explain about April. If she had
stood still. Listened. But no she turned away and
kept turning and not listening and he finally screamed
at her. Screamed at her. Fine just go! And gave her
a push away from him.

It didn't even register that she was at the top of
the stairs. Not until she tumbled. Headlong.
Downward. Landing so awkwardly. And the neck just
isn't meant to bend that way.

But he didn't mean it.

His first instinct is to run. Run far and fast and
keep running. But if he runs that leaves the body.
Body and evidence and running is almost as good as an
admission of guilt. No, he can't leave her. Unless
he wants to get caught and sent off to prison.

God, prison. He'd be eaten alive there.

No, he has to keep cool. He's a genius. His IQ is
more than enough proof of that. A genius who's made a
few bad decisions, yes. But still. If he keeps his
head about him he can get out of this. Come up with a
way to dispose of the body //Katrina// the _body_.
Corpse. Remains. Cadaver. Stiff. //Dehumanize,
dehumanize, keep your head.//

Pacing at the top of the stairs. Still looking down.
And why is he doing this. He should be moving.
Getting her out of here before someone shows up. Sees
her. Sees him. Blames him.

It's not his fault, dammit!

Deep, calming breaths as he starts down the stairs.
Trying to focus, concentrate on what needs to be done.
Put the body in the car. In the back, lying down.
Like she's asleep back there. Just like she's asleep.
Then drive to the docks. The ocean hides everything.
No one will ever know. Traces of her left behind in
the car? Why shouldn't they be there, she's his
girlfriend... was his girlfriend. Now she's a body.
But no one will know that. She'll just be another
Sunnydale missing person statistic. He'll phone up
her parents, asking if she'd shown up there. All
worried and concerned. They had a bad fight and she
ran out on him. The best lies always have the truth
within them. She ran out and he hasn't seen her
since. He's afraid something might have happened.
The stats for murder and disappearances in Sunnydale
are high after all, for a town of its size at least.

But all that comes later. First he has to get her
out of here. Out of here or at least hidden away
somewhere until dark. Why the hell did she have to
fall and break her neck at two in the afternoon.

She's heavier than she looks. Awkward to move. Dead
weight. And he almost laughs at the mental pun before
chastising himself. There's nothing funny about
this....

But there is. He's a killer. No he's not. Yes he
is. He killed his girlfriend. Shoved her down the
stairs, accidental or not. No one will believe that
it was an accident anyway. They'll shout crime of
passion and lock him away.

But only if he lets them.

He ultimately drags her into the basement. Trying
not to listen to the thudding as her heals bump from
stair to stair. Not wanting to think about how
difficult it's going to be to get her back upstairs
and out to the car after the sun's set and rigor
mortus has fully set in. Right now his only concern
is putting her where no one will find her. And the
basement is his domain. Has been since his early
teens. Heaving her onto the battered old couch and
taking a deep breath. Staring at her. Unsure of what
to do next. Absently reaching down to straighten her
head out. Wincing sympathetically as he feels the
bones grate together under his fingertips, before he
realizes that it's stupid to wince. It's not like she
feels anything. Hell, she probably felt nothing,
period. Death more than likely came swift and sudden
as soon as she hit the ground.

He feels better thinking things like that.

Not that he's feeling all that much right now,
anyway. Numb mostly. Maybe later he'll feel
something.

Then again, maybe not. How much did he really feel
for Katrina anyway?

Obviously not enough to feel really guilty. His
first thought after all was, "I don't want to be
caught".

//Could you chop her up and burry her somewhere if
you had to? If dumping her in the ocean doesn't work.
Could you take her apart? Burry her in the woods? A
piece here, a piece there....// Voice hissing in the
back of his mind as he stares at those still features,
those blankly staring eyes. //Could you? Could
you?//

"Yes." And he jumps. Surprising himself with the
fact that he said the word out loud. Letting out a
shaky breath. He should get away from here for a
while. He needs to. Just staying here, staring at
her, over thinking this is driving him crazy.

But he can't. If he leaves her here someone could
find her. Maybe he should take her back upstairs.
Stick her in the trunk.

No, that's stupid. An absolute mistake. There's no
way he could explain away her DNA in the trunk of his
car. He has to stay calm, keep thinking clearly, not
make any rash decisions.

That's what got him into this after all.

But god he doesn't want to sit here. Staring at her.
With her staring back. But what else can he do. So
he turns his back to her and turns on the TV. Tries
to ignore it. Tries to ignore her.

But he can feel her eyes on him. Accusing....

No, not accusing him. She can't accuse him. She's
dead. And he steels himself to that fact. She's
dead. Beyond blaming him for anything.

It was just a stupid accident anyway.

He stays there for twelve hours. Yelling at his
mother when she calls at him to not bother coming
down. He's just watching the tube and dabbling with a
few things on the workbench. No big. He's spent
hours on end down there before after all. And he's
always been left completely alone. His parents not
wanting to stifle him any.

And at two in the morning he works on heaving
Katrina's body back upstairs. Slowly, step by step.
Thud, pause, strain to hear if anyone's heard him,
breathing heavy in fear, then again. Thud, pause,
listen. And again. And again. His back soaked with
sweat as he finally reaches the top. Taking a brief
moment to catch his breath before moving on. Opening
the door and dragging her outside. Somehow working
her stiffened form into the back of the car. Taking
deep cleansing breaths of the cool night air before
sliding into the driver's seat. Mind blissfully
blank. Except for the odd whisper.

//What will you do if someone sees you? Could you
kill them too?//

"I suppose."

//You suppose? This is your life on the line.
Someone sees you it's all over. You're caught and off
to jail. Now, could you kill them too?//

"Yes."

Car pulled to a stop behind one of the warehouses on
the docks. Casually stepping out and glancing around.
Sighing as he sees that there's no one around. Back
to the car, pulling her out of the back seat and to
the water's edge.

"I'm sorry, Trina. You know that right. It was an
accident."

//Quit hesitating! Do it and get out of here!//

"All right, all right...."

A shove and a splash. The body bobbing once before
becoming waterlogged and slipping below the surface.
And despite the cold urging in the back of his mind to
get the hell out of there he stands for a moment.
Watching the waves before shaking himself and heading
back to the car.

//Now you just need to get rid of those clothes.//

"I know."

//You did good. Kept cool. Stay this way and you
may be home free....//

"Yea."

//Could you do it again?//

Brief glance back at the rolling ocean and a surreal
calm flows over him. Small smile touching his lips.

"Yea, I could."


~end~