summer_of_giles | The Rhymer's Return (FRC) 2/3

Title: The Rhymer’s Return
Author: pythia

Warnings and disclaimers in Part One

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Extract from Dr McKinley’s notes, June 22^nd 16:30 pm

“On my arrival at the custody suite, the sergeant was able to inform me that he had been able to match the subject of PC Bell’s recent arrest with a missing person report, filed in a neighbouring county just over three years ago. The details in the report were sketchy: one Rupert Giles, Senior Executive of an international foundation, had failed to return after a weekend spent visiting various Neolithic and Bronze ages sites in the area. After a fairly extensive search the man’s car had been located close to one of the sites. His wallet and his mobile phone were found abandoned beside the nearby monument, but there had been no sign of the man himself. A grainy photograph presented me with a distinguished and bespectacled gentleman in his late middle age, his expression weary, and his eyes haunted. This image seemed to support the supposition in the investigation report, which suggested that the man, overwhelmed by his responsibilities, had suffered some form of nervous breakdown and had simply walked away from his life. There was a contact number that matched the one the man had given earlier, but I advised the sergeant to wait until I had completed my examination, so that we could inform the man’s family appropriately.

Before entering the cell, I took a moment or two to assess my patient. I had been told that he had been acting in a dazed and distracted manner, which the arresting officer had attributed to drugs or some kind of mental health condition. But the eyes that caught mine as I peered through the peephole were focused, alert and held a hint of amusement, rather than a suggestion of insanity. He also looked tired: he had the bleary look of a man who had been sleeping rough for several days, if not longer. The stubble on his chin and the dishevelled state of his clothing seemed to confirm this supposition, although he was nowhere near as dirty and unkempt as he should be if he’d been living rough for the entire time since his disappearance.

I entered the cell and exchanged pleasantries, identifying myself and my intent to examine him. He was entirely co-operative, allowing me to undertake a fairly through examination without protest. Physically, he was in surprisingly good shape; his heart was strong, his breathing clear, and he showed no signs of being under the influence of alcohol or other substances. Nor did he have any signature evidence to suggest he’d been living rough for more than a few days. He was, however, showing some signs of dehydration; when I asked him when he’d last had something to drink, he promptly responded with ‘ten minutes ago.’ He informed me that the custody sergeant had been supplying him with good, strong, hot cups of tea, a kindness for which he would be eternally grateful. He then explained that he hadn’t actually had anything to drink – or eat - before that for at least three days, a statement which – if true – would go a long way to explain his distracted state at the time of his arrest.

Having completed the physical portion of my examination, I moved on to a preliminary assessment of his mental state, the results of which I found far more concerning. He was able to tell me the date, although he admitted that his certainty of it was rather dependant on the honesty of the constable who’d arrested him and the validity of the calendar on the wall behind the custody desk. He was less certain of his location, knowing the name of the town, but admitting he had no idea how he had got here. He knew his own name – confirming some of the details in the missing person’s report – but every other reply he gave me seemed to be adrift in time, as if the three years he had been missing had passed him by without registering. He named the previous Prime Minister rather than the current one, knew nothing concerning the progress of the World Cup, or about the oil spill in Mexico – and couldn’t name the current President of the USA.

Throughout my questioning, he offered apologies for his answers, apparently aware that they might be wrong, or giving an impression of confusion. ‘It’s been three years for you, but only three days for me. I think I’ve probably missed a few things.’ The consistency in this statement remained – as if his awareness of the world had stopped at the time of his disappearance, and had only just reasserted itself. Given his apparent rationality, I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he had, indeed, had had some sort of breakdown, from which he was starting to emerge - until I asked him to explain where he’d been during the three days that he did recall.

His response was utterly impossible and a total fantasy – and he clearly believed every word that he said.”

Transcript of a telephone call undertaken by the duty custody sergeant, June 22^nd 17:30pm

‘You have reached the offices of the IWC Summers Foundation. This is Harriet speaking. How may I help you?”

“Ah, yes, hello. This is Sergeant Merryfield, from the Hampshire constabulary. I’m calling to speak to – a Miss Summers, or a Miss … Willow Rosenberg?”

“If that’s Buffy Summers, I’m afraid she’s out of the country at the moment. Miss Dawn Summers has left for the day, but I believe Miss Rosenberg may still be on the premises. May I enquire as to what it is you wish to speak to her about?”

“It concerns a missing person’s report that Miss Summers posted about three years ago? There’s a request that we contact her if any new information comes to light. And the gentleman concerned gave Miss Rosenberg’s name as another possible contact on this number ...”

“The gentleman concerned?”

“Yes – a Mister Rupert Giles – “

“Hold on. Just – hold on. Right there. Don’t go anywhere.”

[The line switches to a few seconds of music, then is picked up again.]

“Hello? This is Willow Rosenberg. This had better not be a joke, because I was in the middle of – something you don’t need to know about – and the last person who called about Giles, trying to make some money out of us is still – well, you don’t need to know that either. Harriet said you were with the police?”

“The Hampshire constabulary, Miss. I’m the custody sergeant at Romsey. Earlier today, one of our constables arrested a man for vagrancy and busking without a license. He gave his as one Rupert Giles, and he matches the description of the gentleman of the same name who was reported missing roughly three years ago. We have decided not to press charges and our ME is currently arranging for him to be admitted to the local Mental Health Trust. I am required to notify next of kin, and he did give me your name – “

“Whoa. W-wait a minute. You’ve found him? You found Giles? He’s safe? And you’re admitting him – where? Why would you … is he raving? Is he violent? You think he’s insane?”

“Our ME has concerns about his mental state, yes. He is not violent, although he has become somewhat agitated, and has insisted that we contact you. As for raving … steel yourself, Miss. He – he claims he was – taken away by the fairies. Who kept for three days, which seems to have become the three years he’s been missing. He’s very insistent about it, and is – upset – that we … don’t entirely believe him. The ME says that we shouldn’t humour his delusion, but – “

“I’m coming down. I’m coming down right now. Don’t let anyone take him anywhere until I get there, you understand? If anyone so much as sticks a needle in him – let alone produces a straight jacket or any of those restrainy things – they’ll be answering to me.”

“I’m sorry, Miss, but we have our procedures …”

“I’m on my way!”

[The line goes dead at this point. The custody sergeant redials the number.]

“IWC Summers foundation. Imra speaking. How may I help you?”

“Yes – I was just on the line with Miss Rosenberg …”

“Oh. Yeah.” [There is a muffled sound on the line, similar to that of a sonic boom heard from a distance.] “Good luck with that. She’ll be with you any moment now.”

Concluded in Part Three