Do not assume you know where this is going. Seriously.
I don't own anyone but Lorna, blah-dee-blah. Disclaimer! DC.
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FROM THE P.O.V. OF JONATHAN CRANE
I have already slaughtered perhaps four or five people since I have left the asylum grounds, as well as commited grand theft auto, and probably plenty of other things that don't even register as illegal to me anymore, and what do I get caught for? Speeding.
It was night. Everything happens at night. The moon was a sliver, like God's toe-nail, peaking through passing cloud vapors, colorfully polluted over the Gotham City skyline. I was on the outskirts of town, heading towards a more residential area because I was looking for new houses with enough shelter to be able to sleep. The roads were bare, which was most likely the reason for my urge to press down on the gas petal. It was that time of night when the streetlights are flashing. I must not have been paying attention, drifting off into my world of thoughts which I did often. However, I was paying attention enough to see the flash of blue and red against my rear-view mirror and all along the dashboard of this junky pick-up truck I was riding in.
I was silent while I allowed a slue of profanity to drag across my mind tiredly. My hand hit the shaft in the center of the console once I pulled to the side, parking the dung-heap-on-wheels. I do believe the back bumper fell off directly after haulting. No, it would be absurd to attempt to make a break for it. The vehicle I was in could not out-run a squad car. I would have to think of something else, though, due to my fatigue and apathy, I was sure to be sloppy. I was.
"Lisence and registration," said the voice on the other side of my door. It was a woman's voice, and I looked up to see her face. Her muddy brown hair was pulled back and her face possessed a generic quality, a mix of ethnicity like many natives to the city. A mutt. Her eyes were green and I could see them very well. Perhaps it was because they were reflection the headlights of the squad car behind me.
Thankfully, I looked like your average Joe. I even gave off a suberban fatherly feel what with a sweatervest and kakhi pants on, glasses sitting on the bridge of my nose. My hair was growing back after the asylum gave me the standard buzz-job upon the last admittance. It was of a natural reddish-brown, straight... thin... two to three inches long and parted to the side... On me, though, I had neither lisence nor registration because I was only a day out of the looney-bin and had stolen the vehicle. So, I told her I was sorry, and that I could not provied her with her request. She instructed me to step out of the truck. I did. I towered over her, of course, even if I was slouching.
"I need your name and address," she said as she took out a ticket book and pen, swaying her weight onto her other foot. Now out of the car, I could get a good look at her, and did so without shame.
"Jonathan Crane," I told her, "and am currently homeless."
She froze as if someone had hit the 'pause' button on her life. She looked up, then turned to look at me, and examined me much the way I had done her. I think she understod her mistake. But! Like a good cop, she placed her hand on the gun at her side and carefully withdrew it, not yet aiming it at me.
"Oh! No, no! You have it all wrong!" I raised a hand to her, waving her off. "I've been released. I assure you, I'm harmless."
"Either way, I'm going to have to write you a ticket, and seeing as how you can't provide me registration, I'll have to assume you stole the vehicle." I saw the gun rise a little towards me. She was trying to put on a brave show, but she couldn't hide it from me. Me. She was scared...
"And you will assume correct," I took a step forward. She took one step back. "But I will not harm you, so please lower your weapon."
"No. I'm now going to arrest you. Do you understand?" The lady-cop set the ticket book on the hood to the vehicle and then withdrew a pair of handcuffs.
Oh yes, I understood, and I couldn't let that happen, so I gave her a face full of fear gas! Oh, come on! Do you think I would go anywhere without it? Naivity on your part.
She, in turn, fired a shot in my direction which just hit my upper arm. A single inch to the left and it would have missed completely, but instead it grazed me enough to cut a good hunk out of my bicep. Within moments, I had my revenge as she huddled against the tire of the truck, hugging her knees tightly with her eyes shut tight. No scream. How dissapointing.
The sleeve of the shirt I was wearing soaked up the blood, staining it. Beneath the material, I could feel it trickle down until it rounded my fingertips and dripped down onto the asphault. So much blood. I needed medical attention. First aid, at the least, possibly stitches. I would have to examine the wound.
I made my way to the patrol car, seeing as how I would be less likely to be questioned, not to mention my destination lie only a mile ro two away. As I opened the door, I had to stop. My vision blurred and betrayed me, which I took to mean I needed sleep, and I began to feel uncomfortably tipsy. I would just have to shake it off and keep going, so I stepped into the car ...and couldn't help but rest my head on the wheel for a moment. Well, it felt so good that I just didn't get back up.
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FROM THE P.O.V. OF LORNA MILES
I live in a small apartment. Two rooms: one which acts as a living room/kitchen/bedroom, and a bathroom with a really crappy shower in a building with crappy water pressure. It's got only one window along the far wall, which looks out over the street.
I don't sleep at night. Can't. Instead I take many naps during the day. I like the night much better because everything happens at night. It's when I can open my eyes without squinting, and there's always that heavy moisture when morning approached that smells like Heaven should.
My television was on, but I wasn't paying attention. I had seen police lights right outside my window, so I stood by and watched as a tall man stepped out of some shit-mobile and gassed the policewoman with some green stuff. I knew what it was, and in knowing that, I knew who HE was. Everyone knew, at least everyone who read the paper. I watched him get shot and crawl into the cop car, but then he stopped moving.
I've always been a spontainious and impulsive person. It's dangerous, but it gives life a bold flavor and I'm never bored. That's how I like it. So, I risked being charged for aiding a criminal when I dashed down to the street to help.
He was just sitting there in the car. Looked dead. A wet rag, long skinny arms dangling down at his sides. He looked like he should get him picture in the dictionary right next to 'nerd'.
I knew he was armed, so I had to be very careful. Some would call me stupid. I might have to agree. People do stupid things in the wee hours of tha mornin.
"Hi there," I said as soothingly as I could. "I only want to help you, kay? I'm going to take you to my apartment just there across the street, and I'm going to help fix your arm. Please. Don't. Gas me."
The body took on life. He opened his eyes just enough to glance over at me. He looked annoyed. "I don't need your help. Go away before I kill you."
Well, he didn't say he was going to gas me. Just kill me. Hm. It has also been my experience that some people won't accept help unless you force it on them. God, I'm stupid.
I was extremely careful when I put my hand on his shoulder. He just stared at me like a stalker-guy would through my bedroom window. This guy floated in an aura of creepiness. None-the-less, moron that I am, I pulled him out of the car (he helped... a little), wrapped his good arm around my neck, and we took twice as long getting back than I did coming down. But we got to the apartment at last, and I let him collapse and get blood all over my bed which was only a matress with blankets shoved in the corner.
"I will kill you," he told me, still just staring.
"I believe you," I told him.
"Then why are you helping me? Do you think it's 'cool' to befriend an arch-criminal?"
I blinked. "...A little. But that's not why I'm helping you."
I sat back on my heels with my knees digging into the egde of the matress. The scissors were nearby, the handle of which was stained with paint and wax (scissors were always nearby). I began to cut up the length of his sleeve, peeling back the sticky, bloody material. What wasn't red was pasty white. I got to his shoulder and stopped when I was able to see the wound. It was still freely bleeding. I left him to zip to the kitchen to get medical supplied and zipped back. I had the option of using alcohal, but because that would hurt like a bitch, I just pretty much emptied half a tube of Neosporin on him after cleaning it up gently.
"Whatever," he said and closed his eyes. He was putting off a bad attitude, but he looked content enough to please me. What a fun turn of events.
I placed a patch of gause over the wound and pressed down. His eyes flared open and I could see his body tence in pain. "Be careful, would you! A little less medieval!"
I returned his comment with a smile ...and pushed down harder, "It stops the bleeding, you big baby. You should thank me for not using the alcohal."
He hissed, taking in a sharp breath. "I'll thank you when I think you've deserved it," he snapped and turned his head away from me. "And stop trying to be cute unless you want me puking all over your wall."
I frowned. What did I expect? Him to be nice?
Once I began to wrap his upper arm in bandage, a silence flooded to room between us. Off to the side, my television was still on, playing some recorded infomercial, but it might as well be off because no one was paying attention. I mildly noted how he raised his arm a little bit to make it easier for me.
"What's your name?" he asked, breaking the silence that had gone on for about a minute.
I glanced down at him. His head was turned towards me again.
"Lorna," I told him.
He nodded lightly, and when I released his arm, he shifted on the matress, "Are you done?"
"Yes, but you don't have to leave. I'll let you sleep on the bed."
Crane continued to watch me in that creepy stalker way, "Do you know what that would mean? Means I would have to put my trust in you. A person is the most vulnerable when they sleep."
"I'm not going to do anything. I helped you."
"And I would be a fool to have total faith in that little spoken sentance."
It was getting rediculous. Suddenly, I was starting to wish he'd leave.
"Fine!" I said. "Then go! I don't give a damn!"
His eyes shifted away from me quickly. It looked like I struck a chord or something, "You go to sleep first."
Right, so he intended to stay now. I wasn't particularly tired, but I could sleep... So, without saying anything to him, I stood and turned the television off before turning on a dim, blue-lighted lamp and flicking the rest of the lights off. I returned and stepped right over him, onto the other side of the matress where I huddled myself in the corner, as far away from him as I could get, and pulled the blankets up. My back was towards him.
I didn't hear another thing out of him but the rustle of clothes and the blanket as I closed my eyes and drifted away. I expected not to find him there again when I woke up.
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FROM THE P.O.V. OF JONATHAN CRANE
Something like this had never happened before. There is no good reason anyone should help me, unless they wanted something from me, and even then, they were never this polite. I had seen her first at the door of the police vehicle, not looking scared, but rather focused. She took me to her apartment, which was tiny and as messy as a pig's pen. Clothes and paper covered the floor, the paper of which was drawn or written on. The walls were plastered with large works of art, originals, and sitting on a eisle in the corner by the window was what looked to be the latest piece. They were all figural portraits, men and women twisted into dynamic positions, all stylized with minimal color. The color was always bold, though. She seemed to like the color blue and the cooler tones. There was a sewing machine in the near left corner, sitting on what looked to be a school desk, possibly stolen. Beyond that was a poor excuse for a kitchen. A matress sat sadly in the only corner left, off-white material peaking through a single blanket tossed sloppily around. Two pillows were stacked on top of each other with an imprint on the top of where a head rested. She assisted me to that matress, and I idly kicked the blanket out of the way before just flopping down.
She was beautiful, in an unkempt, exotic sort of way. Her hair was only a few inches past shoulder-length, dyed some strange unnatural red-violet. It looked good, contrasting the porcelain and pale features of her face which possessed a big black paint smear along her jaw. Dark eyebrows gave the impression of a strong woman, but she couldn't be older than twenty-five, still young. Her eyes were grey-blue, but the blue was very faint. They reminded me of an ocean in the middle of a violent storm. Her body was fit enough. No real tone, but she couldn't be classified as neither fat nor skinny. Firm... I think... would be the best way to describe. She was wearing a black t-shirt that hugged her curves but showed no unessecary skin and faded blue jeans. Her name was Lorna, she said.
Who does this? This kind of thing? It's insane. If a person kills people, it is usually common sense to stay away from that person. This girl, obviously, lacked common sense. It was lucky for me, but not so much her.
The matress was not a bed, but it was much softer than the beds at Arkham, and with the addition of another body beside me, warmer. I was confident enough to fall asleep after her, and I remember thinking as I fell asleep about the lamp she had turned on which was dimly illuminating everything in a calm, blue light. It occured to me that my friend Lorna here was afraid of the dark, or at the very least, unnerved by it. It intruiges me how long a childhood fear can follow a person. Perhaps she never had the courage to face it. It is such a simple, silly fear. Maybe something happened to her in the dark once.
I was already exhausted, so I fell asleep quickly, remaining in hibernation as the hours passed... The sun rose and fell, and once again, night was upon us all...