Warrent

I own nothing.
Well except for the thought process.
So credit me there.
Chapter Written: December 18th, 2004
Pairings currently: None
Current rating: A for Death Of An Angel

“Elizabeth Summers you are under arrest for the murder of one Angelus Travers. You have the right to remain silent, everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” the voice droned on from beside her as the cop clicked the cold silver handcuffs onto her. Roughly he twisted her around, and started to push her out of her house. Slowly she walked down the porch stairs, staring blankly ahead at the mass of flashing lights, cops and reporters on her front drive way. Two more cops formed a protective bubble around her as they pressed through the mob on the way to a cop car. Placing a hand on her head, the cop pressed her down into the back seat. As the tears slowly ran down her cheeks, Buffy felt nothing, she thought nothing, she was nothing. Finally, as the car slowly pulled out of the drive way, Buffy looked out the window at her mother, who was hugging her younger sister tightly, crying. So, she thought, This is what despair feels like.


******************************


Stepping out of the cop car was much like stepping into it. Just backwards. The media was everywhere. Clinging to her and each other, practically committing murder themselves just to get a statement. Slowly she climbed the stairs into the Sunnydale Police Station.

Walking into the station was like stepping through a portal from one hell to another. Tough the inside was undoubtedly less full, it was equally busy and possibly more tension filled. Buffy’s eyes slowly searched the room for something, anything familiar, finally stopping to rest on the face of Jenny Calendar.

“Buffy?” Jenny spoke, finally breaking through the steady buzz that everything else hadn’t been able to. “Oh my god Buffy!” Jenny rushed forward to hold on tightly to the girl, but being stopped by one of the policemen.

As the tears continued to slide down her face, Buffy tightened her jaw and slowly continued on. Faces in the front room all turned to watch the girl pass, faces that just moments ago had been watching live reports about Buffy Summers, the girl who had just been taken into custody for the murder of Angelus Travers, beloved school athlete, member of society, and son of entrepreneur Quinton Travers.

Walking slowly into an empty cell, Buffy sat down daintily in the center of the bench, which was attached to the far wall. Above her was a small window facing east she would find out in later hours.

Outside she could hear the news reporters packing up. Talking about the Travers Case. Placing bets on her odds, placing more bets on her sentencing. Discussing ball games, or parties. Things that interested them more then the run of the mill murder case that currently defined their jobs.

She could feel the eyes of others from neighboring cells. And as the night wore on she could feel them falling away and then snapping back to her. They were all petty criminals. She had probably seen a few of them before. Buffy was the kind of girl who partied late, and then wandered for meaning at night. Buffy spent the darker hours slaying her personal demons, and a few of these small time offenders had probably witnessed it. But now her late night activities would most likely be seen as suspicious. What was a young woman, 17 to be exact, doing wandering around the streets of Sunnydale late at 1 in the morning? Her nightmares would seem odd as well. Come to think of it, Buffy seemed to have a stockpile of suspicious actions and insane happenings. She was pretty much the perfect storybook murderer.