Prologue: City of Sirens
The first thing you ask yourself when getting thrown into prison is always something along the lines of: How could this have happened to me? Granted, I'm not actually in jail… I'm in Arkham Asylum. Not that it really matters anymore. It's all the same to me now. How could this have happened to me?
I'm not a bad girl. I do my chores and get straight A's and hang out with my friends on weekends. At least, I did. And I was happy. Well, maybe not exactly happy… but I was comfortable. Who wouldn't be, when you're the daughter of a wealthy businessman and you're attending one of Gotham's finest high schools?
Okay, I'll admit that my life could get a little boring… but it was better than having it be too exciting, if you know what I mean. Take the Joker, for example. Or Scarecrow. They are simply too exciting for the likes of me. At least, I thought they were. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
It all started a year ago, I think. That makes sense. About the time that Gotham started going crazy… so did I. Shortly after Batman appeared for the first time – along with Scarecrow, and later, the Joker – Wayne High started experiencing some strange things. It seemed so harmless at first; a couple of vandalisms, anonymous letters in certain students' lockers, someone rigged the school's TV network to start playing an "adult" movie during the morning announcements… The funny part is, I was just as confused as everyone else!
Sure, I noticed that something was different with me. I was suddenly tired all the time, and some days it felt like I was walking around in a thick fog. Sometimes, I would space out for hours, and when I snapped out of it, I wouldn't know where I was or what I'd been doing! I told everyone – including myself – that it was just stress and insomnia from the whole Joker deal. They believed me. I didn't.
And then the "accidents" started to happen. Morgan, the bitchy head cheerleader, fell down a flight of stairs and landed herself in the hospital with a concussion and a broken arm. Someone started a fire in the science lab, and Mr. Collins sustained second-degree burns when he tried to put it out. Chelsea, a close friend of Morgan's, had an allergic reaction and almost suffocated when someone replaced her daily protein bar – and the new one had peanuts in it.
Along with maybe a dozen others, very few of them connected to each other in any way. People used to whisper about it in the halls… Was it the random work of a lunatic, or were these attacks being planned out in cold blood? There was only one link to every strange occurrence: a name. Envy. Always signed in the same flowing calligraphy; always written in acidic, poisonous green. It even found its way onto Morgan's cast, and no one could explain how it got there.
But these attacks didn't stop after the Joker was locked away in Arkham, and neither did my tiredness or occasional blank periods. That was about eight months ago. I should have put it together by then. I'm sure you have. But I didn't. Would you believe that I was even a little scared for my own safety? The biggest connection that the police could find between the victims was that a few of them (like Morgan and Chelsea) were part of the "popular" group – a term which here means wealthy and good-looking.
I am not part of that group. But I do fit the criteria. What can I say? I have the blonde hair, the blue eyes, the rich Daddy… How many girls like me exist in this world? My bet is, too many.
So, anyway, they never could catch this "Envy". She was just too smart for them. I assumed that it was a she, because envy seemed like such a girl thing. And then, about a month ago – not long after Christmas – the attacks started becoming darker and more publicized. The better exposure came from Envy herself: every time she did some sort of crime, she started filming it and sending in the tapes to GCN. (Now that I think about it, one of my many presents this Christmas was a video camera… shit.) The last shot of each video was always the same, too – probably meant to heighten the intrigue. A quick camera rotation, followed by an extreme close-up on a pair of laughing green eyes quickly became well known throughout Gotham as Envy's "trademark".
Yes, Envy was pretty famous at that time… especially after a particularly ingenious bit of chaos created when she snuck into the Gotham City Library one night and burned every book whose title began with the letters E, N, V, or Y. And yet, despite all the mayhem she caused, no one ever died from one of her stunts… until yesterday, when it all came tumbling down.
I had stayed behind after school to talk with a teacher. By the time I broke free, it was an hour later than I wanted and I didn't feel like waiting fifteen minutes for the next public bus. So, I decided to walk the three blocks home. And don't give me the "well, you had it coming, idiot" that I know is on your lips right now. I'd walked home plenty of times before and never had problems! Granted, I had always walked home at a time when other people were on the streets… maybe I did have it coming. Idiot.
I went out the back entrance of the school, because it spit me out closer to my house than the front entrance did. The back lot was almost deserted… but not quite. A gang of guys about my age was lounging against the wall near where I'd need to turn. There were four of them, and when they saw me, they all stopped talking and started elbowing each other and laughing. One of them wolf-whistled. Another one called, "What's happening, baby?"
I did my best to ignore them and keep my eyes down, while still watching them in my peripheral vision. I debated on crossing the street before turning, but they weren't so close to the corner as to pose a problem… That is, until one of them stepped out in front of me and cut off my path.
"Come on, babe, we just wanna talk," he coaxed. Beside him, the other boys laughed and inched closer.
"I don't want to talk to you," I responded as coldly as I could manage, all the while trying to get around him. He didn't make a move until I was almost past him – and then I was slammed forcefully into the concrete wall, wrists restrained above me by his hands. The others laughed again, quieter this time, and they slunk closer with hungry looks on their dirty faces. My head ached; I felt nauseous… I think my last thought was, "When did it get so foggy?"
And then I blinked, and I was in the girls' bathroom back at school. My hands were wet… when had I washed them? Slowly grabbing a paper towel, I chanced a look in the mirror. My face – even paler than usual – stared back at me, blue eyes wide with half-forgotten fear. But nothing seemed terribly out of place in my reflection… my hair was a little messed up; I smoothed it with shaking fingers.
"What is wrong with me?" I whispered, but the girl in the mirror was asking me the same question. I had felt so sure that I was about to be raped or killed or something. Had I been spacing out again, and experienced some kind of waking nightmare? I checked my watch: 4:55 PM. When did it get to be so late? At least there'd be a bus coming around soon. Call me superstitious, but I really didn't want to walk home after the strange vision I had just experienced.
Fifteen minutes later, I was just hurrying up my front walkway when the sirens started. I didn't pay much attention; Gotham was the City of Sirens after all. But – let me tell you – I paid attention an hour later, when the police came pounding on my door to take Envy into custody.
My father answered the door, and I was sitting at the kitchen table. The next second, there were police officers everywhere and my wrists were cuffed behind me in steel. I vaguely remember hearing someone shout, "You are under arrest for charges of vandalism, destruction of property, disorderly conduct, and the murders of…" He went on to list several unfamiliar names before continuing with the usual, "You have the right to remain silent…"
They pushed me outside, and the night was lit up by white camera flashes and red police emergency lights. My father was arguing furiously with one of the officers, and they let him ride with me in the back of the police car. "Don't worry, Tasha," he whispered, hugging me tightly. "This is just a big misunderstanding. We'll get it fixed. It's gonna be okay…" I let him comfort me because I knew that it was his way of comforting himself, but I didn't say a word the entire car ride.
They knew – that part was obvious. Someone had finally tipped them off that something was very, very wrong with Natasha Vale. And even I didn't know what it was. Maybe they could tell me… maybe they could fix me? But even as I began to feel the tiniest bit hopeful, a very different thought brushed my mind:
Once upon a time, the end… they'll never put me together again.
Everything was chaos down at the MCU. The police car had barely stopped moving when the door opened and I was yanked out. I was momentarily blinded by camera flashes, and I felt rather than saw my father climb out of the vehicle to stand beside me. Someone recognized him, and our name was taken up by the clamoring reporters and journalists that were begging for a statement. Neither he nor I said a word, and we were quickly bustled away into the confines of MCU's holding cells.
I was pushed into a chair and told not to move by one of the many police officers. My father had left me to resume his argument with the police lieutenant. I did as I was told and sat still, trying not to focus on my throbbing head.
A door slammed, and the room fell silent as Commissioner Gordon strode in. My father tried to talk to him, but Gordon brushed him off and came to sit in the chair opposite mine. He studied me for several long moments, and I raised my head to lock eyes with him. It wasn't out of defiance or challenge… not really. I think I just wanted to let him know that my spirit wasn't broken yet.
"What is your name?" He asked me quietly. I liked his voice immediately: calm, but decisive. Trustworthy. If we had met under any other circumstances…
"Natasha Vale," I answered, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice.
"And are you also known as Envy, the criminal who has taken responsibility for several acts of vandalism, destruction of-"
"Of course she isn't!" My father snapped, coming to stand next to me. "How dare you imply that my daughter-"
Several police officers tugged him away from me, toward the door. "Sir, if you can't be quiet during the interrogation, we're going to have to ask you to leave."
"Interrogation!" He blustered. "On what grounds? You can't prove a thing!"
"Actually," Commissioner Gordon refuted evenly, "we can, Mr. Vale. We have in our possession certain security tapes that link your daughter to the murders of four young men earlier today." He pulled out a thin stack of papers from his jacket and spread them in a row before me. "Do you recognize any of these men, Miss Vale?"
I dropped my gaze to the four photos and felt the world lurch around me. "Oh God," I whispered, staring at the mutilated faces of the four men from my waking nightmare. In other words, my life. Each boy had a different letter carved on his face: forehead, cheek, lower face, other cheek. E-N-V-Y. I tried to shut my eyes to the sight, but the letters seemed to be carved into the back of my eyelids too.
"Is that a yes, Miss Vale?"
Slowly, agonizingly, I nodded. The movement sent a searing pain through my head, and I let out a pathetic whimper. The pressure in my skull mounted, and the edges of my vision went cloudy, and then dark altogether.
The next thing I knew, someone was rubbing my back gently. "Tasha, honey? Are you okay?" Dad's voice sounded hoarse. How long had he been trying to wake me? I raised my head painfully – my neck muscles were sore.
"Dad?" I whispered. My voice sounded hoarse, too. I wondered vaguely how many hours we'd been here. "What happened?" I raised my head further so that I could see his face, and his expression scared me. There was worry and concern, of course, but they seemed secondary behind something else… I looked at him for several long seconds, before figuring out what it was: fear. He was afraid of me. "Dad?"
He cleared his throat, eyes darting away from mine. "You – uh… you confessed," he told me weakly. I stared at him, not comprehending.
The business-like voice of Commissioner Gordon cut in: "What do you remember of the past ten minutes, Miss Vale?"
"I don't remember anything," I rasped. My dry lips stretched painfully and I moistened them with the tip of my tongue.
Gordon evaluated this answer, and then commanded an officer, "Get Melvin down here, ASAP." The officer hurried away. To someone else, he said, "Set up the TV. Let her see the tapes."
The woman hesitated, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. She was afraid too. "Both of them?" She clarified uncertainly. "Gordon, are you sure-"
"That's an order, Ramirez." She obeyed silently, and Gordon turned back to me. "I'm about to show you some of your school's confidential security tapes. But before I do, I want you to tell me everything that you remember about what you did after school today." The door burst open, and a plump and panting man staggered to Gordon's side. "You're just in time, Dr. Melvin. This is Natasha Vale, also known as Envy. We're about to hear her side of the story."
He nodded at me to start, and I told them everything I could remember about my encounter with the four dead men. The part that everyone was most interested in, of course, was the part that I couldn't remember myself.
"How long ago did these blank-outs start, Miss Vale?" Dr. Melvin asked, pen poised over a thick pad of paper.
"About… a year ago, I guess. I wasn't sleeping well. I thought I was just stressed out with college applications and the whole Joker thing."
Melvin scribbled something down, and then asked, "Is there anything else that's been unusual for you in the past year? Any paranoid tendencies or voices in your head?"
"No!" I snapped, faintly insulted. "I'm not crazy." Oh, the irony.
"Her eyes change color," Gordon supplied. "If you look now, they're blue, but a few minutes ago they were green and they've been green in every tape we've ever received from Envy."
"Changing eye color," Dr. Melvin repeated, jotting this down. "Astonishing. It is not uncommon for patients with MPD to exhibit different physical characteristics when another personality is in control, but something as big as an eye color change is still extremely rare."
Gordon pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to ward of a headache. I knew how that felt. He motioned distantly for the TV to be turned on and then warned me grimly, "This will be disturbing. If you want me to stop it, just ask and I will." I nodded mutely and set my eyes on the screen. I was going to get those forty minutes of my life back, no matter how disturbing it was.
Envy opened her eyes leisurely, enjoying the chaotic tension around her. Taking in the faces of her new playthings, she realized with slight disappointment that they were all just gangly boys. Still, they were obviously begging to be disciplined… and she had always been one to oblige. Someone had to teach them manners, after all.
She laughed softly in anticipation and watched confusion and fear flit over the boys' faces. They didn't like her laughter; it made them feel like they weren't in control. "Shut up, bitch," one of them hissed, backhanding her in the face. The slap felt more like a caress to her; Envy simply couldn't resist foreplay. She gave as good as she got, kneeing the one holding her in the groin and smiling in satisfaction at his pained cry. Then she elbowed him in the face for good measure, chuckling as she felt one of his bones give a fulfilling crunch. He staggered back, blood pouring from his broken nose.
The other three boys crowded in on her, pinning her back to the wall. One of them took out a thin silver knife from his pocket and showed it to her threateningly. Envy stilled, watching the shining blade with excitement and desire. These boys knew how to play! But she'd make sure to show them that she could play better.
Twenty-five minutes later, Envy beamed in completion down at her beautiful trophies. She hadn't intended to kill them at first, but when they took out the knife, all bets had been off. Fingering the blade lovingly, she paced unhurriedly in front of the four bodies, wondering how best to make a symbol out of them. They had thought that they could control her. And look where it got them. They needed to be made an example of.
With a knife in her hand, Envy was feeling quite… artistic. Ten minutes later, she leaned back and looked over her handiwork – flawless. She ruefully ran her finger over the blade one more time before placing it in the lifeless grasp of the boy who had first taken it out. As happy as it would make her to keep it as a little souvenir, she didn't want her other side getting even more suspicious. Which reminded her…
Envy glanced down at her bloodstained hands and wiped them deftly on one of the boys' shirts, making two beautiful red handprints on his grimy white shirt. No, that wouldn't do, her hands still felt sticky. With a faint sight of irritation – not regret, just irritation – she pulled on her previously discarded backpack and headed back into the school to wash her hands.
It was so sick, watching my body betray me like that. Seeing those hands – my hands – covered in another person's blood. So I really was Envy. God, my head hurt.
"Was any of what you just witnessed familiar?" Dr. Melvin was asking me.
I swallowed to make sure that I wouldn't throw up when I opened my mouth, and then answered faintly, "No."
"Well, Gordon, it seems pretty simple to me," the doctor stated, so calm, so coolly unaffected by the slaughter he had just born witness to. I hate doctors. "Miss Vale here seems to be suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder – in other words, MPD. She has all the symptoms: blank periods of amnesia and time loss, she exhibits different physical characteristics at certain times, and she has another personality that goes by the name of Envy."
"To Arkham, then," Gordon sighed, resigned.
"I believe that Arkham would be the best place for her recuperation," Dr. Melvin agreed.
"Alright. Could you call them and tell them that we're sending her over? Tell them everything we know." Melvin nodded in compliance and left the room.
Gordon stood and stretched; it seemed like he was getting ready to leave, so I jumped in quickly, "Wait. Can I please see the other tape? The one that was taken just a few minutes ago?"
He looked down at me, and I could see the compassion and sorrow in his soft gray eyes. "You sure you're up for it?" I nodded, and he gestured for someone to play the second tape. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Envy raised her head, a playful smirk playing across her lips. Her second time out in one day? What a treat! Poison-green eyes caught on the four pictures in front of her and lit up further – her work looked pretty damn good in a police photo!
"Did you kill these men, Miss Vale?" Someone asked loudly. Envy glanced up in annoyance at the man who was ruining her moment. And did he just imply that her worthless counterpart had something to do with her gorgeous masterpiece?
"The name's Envy, sweetheart," she purred dangerously. "And of course I killed them."
"Tasha?" Another man asked in disbelief. The father. "What are you saying?"
Envy's eyes flicked uninterestedly in his direction. "Fool," she remarked coldly. "Can't you even tell the difference between me and your own daughter?" The man flinched back, as if stung, but the commissioner leaned forward urgently.
"Then you are not Natasha Vale?" He asked.
"Don't lump me in with her," Envy spat, eyes flashing warningly. "She's pathetic. I've been controlling her actions on and off for months now, and only today did she finally figure it out! She's been suspicious for a while, of course, but she just couldn't seem to grasp the fact that her life wasn't completely hers anymore! But she'll just have to learn to share from now on, because I am not going anywhere."
"Why did you kill those men?"
Envy threw back her head and laughed. "Why? Why not? They were begging for it, Commissioner! Four on one – was that really fair? And poor little Natasha had no idea what to do… so I stepped in. It could be argued that everything I did was in self-defense. They were the ones to attack first, after all."
"Was carving your name into their faces part of your self-defense, too?" He countered pointedly.
Envy laughed again; the sound echoed around the otherwise silent room. "I like you, Commissioner," she commented conversationally. "But you need to lighten up a bit. They were already dead, so I doubt they minded much. It doesn't make any sense for you to care about it more than they would. Besides, my little art projects are just my ways of sending a message."
"And what message is that?"
"Well, that's the point, isn't it? Like any work of art, it is completely open to different interpretations! I'm not going to spoil its mystery by explaining it. The real question is; what do you think it means, Commissioner?" A frustrated look crossed his face and Envy giggled.
"Then what about all the other criminal acts you've committed? Were they also about sending a message?"
"Naturally."
"Is it the same message, or different ones each time?"
Envy smiled, surprise and pleasure reflected in her eyes. "Very good, Gordon," she complimented. "You're starting to get it. They're different messages, I think, but they all contribute to one big theme!"
"And that is…?"
"You tell me, Commissioner." He didn't know what to say, and she shook her head in mock disappointment. "Well, when you figure it out, come on by and we'll have another nice little chat. But I'm tired now, and this conversation is starting to bore me. Until next time, then, Commissioner…"
Her head sagged, but a ghost of a smile still lingered on those mocking lips.
And there it was. No judge, no jury. Packaged away to Arkham, just like Scarecrow or the Joker. Like any other crazy. But I wasn't! Was I? I'm not so sure of the answer anymore.
So, it's my first day in Arkham Asylum.
How could this have happened to me?
Important Author's Note:
This fanfiction was completely spur of the moment. I enjoyed writing it, but I probably won't continue UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO. The next chapter would involve Scarecrow and the Joker, obviously. However, if nobody reviews, I might decide not to continue. So - please - if you like it so far, TELL ME. I'm not usually such a review whore, but this isn't really a priority of mine unless you guys care enough about it to tell me.
Also, if you do want me to continue, feel free to give me suggestions on what to include in the plot. As I said, completely spur of the moment. No planned ending. Etcetera. So, if you liked this, please just take the time to click the review button and type, "CONTINUE!"
ChildOfFate17