Riddles
Chapter 1: Oswald's "Ghost"
Edward was sitting at Oswald's mayoral desk reveling in his revenge plot success. He could now become the man that he was destined to become. First thing first, he had to create the perfect mystery and he knew just who to make the star of it. The fated Mayor of Gotham himself, Oswald Cobblepot.
He found himself in front of the painting of Oswald and himself with a spray can of green spray paint stalling because he didn't want to ruin a piece of art, however a part of knew it was because deep down he missed his little-feathered friend and looking at the last ever smile of Oswald made him sad and a bit lonely.
"Oh just do it already, Ed, you know you want to" came the familiar voice of a now deceased friend.
Ed turned around and stared at the form in the archway still in the last suit that he would ever wear, covered in the slime and foliage from the lake. His eyes were soft yet understandingly sad. His lips curved into a weak half-smile and melted into a soft frown. He appeared pale with dark rings around his eyes.
"Os-Os-Oswald? I-I-I thought that I killed you? What are you doing here?", Edward's voice cracked on the word 'here' as he stuttered his inquiry towards his seemingly deceased friend.
"In your mind I am dead, but in a way, you cannot accept that I am dead can you?", Oswald's voice was sharp and full of agony.
"What do you mean? I cannot accept that you are dead? I so do accept that you are dead by my hand. What I don't understand is why you are standing there in the archway of your former home?", Edward was riveted with humiliating anger about this conversation with a dead man who apparently wasn't even there to begin with.
"If I am dead as you say I am, then I am not really here am I? I'm just a projection of impulse aren't I, Ed?", Oswald was sounded hostel and angered.
"Why are you so angry? Weren't you a miserable little nobody in life?", Edward snapped for no reason at all except maybe to hurt him more which was absurd because he didn't die a nobody, he died the Mayor Of Gotham and he couldn't hurt him. At least not anymore.
"I'm not angry, I am enraged because you shot me and didn't even bother to hear MY side of things! and now I'm trapped in YOUR psyche because YOU can't handle that fact that YOU did LOVE ME!", Oswald fussed. Sheesh! His psyche was pretty scary and angry. Why was he so angry? And why did he think that this was a normal thing to be doing right now?
They stared at each other for what seemed like centuries before Edward blinked and turned back to the painting and spray painted a big green question mark right over Oswald. He tried unsuccessfully to say that none of that conversation had actually happened, however a part of him wasn't convinced.
He was so deep in thought that he was startled when a hand gently pressed down on his lower arm before releasing its pressure and vanishing altogether. A part of him knew that it was Oswald, but he was so uncertain that it was actually just his imagination.
He stood there gently holding his arm and staring dreamily at the now-defaced painting unsure how to proceed next. One thing was for certain though, he missed Oswald more than ever and this melancholy feeling wasn't going away anytime soon.
If only he had spared Oswald's life...Eh, that was a topic for another night. He needed rest before he could proceed with taking over Gotham and making it riddled with questions. The riddles had to center around the missing mayor and his demise. But sleep first and planning later. He headed off to bed for the night.
