When the night is dark
Chapter 1
TIRED
„I'm glad, you're here..." Wind tore on Oswald. Rain whipping his face. Both were soaked wet – and no one could see if there were any tears. His eyes casually surveyed the roaring darkness of Gotham River. Pitch black nothingness beneath them. It may as well been hell been waiting for him down there. The harsh wind nearly shook him off Arkham bridge, if it wasn't for the strong hand, that grabbed him from behind and kept him up. "I am so tired..."
Earlier that night:
"Thank you for your honesty, Martin... You may leave now."
Oswald sighed heavily, as the his co-conspirator, the orphan boy Martin, left his limo. 'I saw her kiss the policeman' – one sentence confirmed all his fears: There was really no one, Oswald Cobblepot, could trust. He suspected her from the beginning to not be the caring friend, she acted to be. But he didn't know why or for what purpose. Was it out of love for James Gordon? His "friend" Jim, who probably owed him more favours than the devil owed to people who traded their souls. And who yet never repaid him. - Or was it for the Falcone families sake? Maybe it was a little bit of everything. But nonetheless Oswald now had proof , that she was the false snake he suspected her to be. It saddened him for a moment. Some little voice in his head wished her affection for him would be genuine. That sad little voice, that longed for a friend. Even so friends can't be trusted. The Penguin felt awfully lonely. He despised it, when people tried to snuck into his life. He'd done it himself often enough, to know the possible effects. Because that's how one overthrows a mayor, as well as a crime lord. Penguins cane knocked against the drivers wall. "Home..."
The following night was a particularly stormy one. Maybe one of the worst Gotham had seen in a while. Heavy wind picked on the opened window shutters of the Van Dahl Mansion, his – and his families – home. Oswald could hear the rain hammer against the roof, and splashing against the windows. An old house like this made a lot of sounds, especially in nights like these. He jumped a little, as one of the shutters smashed against the window of his bedroom. Already in his pyjamas Penguin decided to get the shutters closed – and he'd been soaked wet immediately after opening the window. A deep sigh fled his lips as he just grabbed a towel by his dresser and dried his face a little, half-heartedly. When he switched off the light on his night stand darkness surrounded him. Oswald has grown to dislike the darkness over the last year. He couldn't exactly remember when it started. Maybe his dislike came with his nightmares. Maybe...
Suddenly he fell.
Oswald fell into deep icy water.
The water smashed around him. Smashed his body. Broke his bones and pressed all air out of his lungs. Then water became to glass shatters. Shatters, skewering his whole body. Pinning him to wet, cold ground. Like resting in a wet grave, he could watch raindrops fall upon his lifeless body. When raindrops turned to snow everything lay in total silence. Only the constant humming sound of his own blood, rushing through his ears broke with the silence, but even that seemed to be silenced. Oswald couldn't move a finger, let alone lift a hand. He couldn't breathe, a shatter stuck deep in his chest, piercing his lung, as one pierced his heart. Left for dead. The only thing he felt was his own warm blood, which soaked his chest and the ground beneath him. When in an instant the floor moved and he was hanging on a wall, still skewered by the shatters. Green smoke raised before him. As he desperately gasped for air, the smoke filled his lungs. Gave him the feeling of burning inside – when through the ever growing cloud a well familiar face appeared. And like thunder a voice droned through his ears. "You can't talk your way out of this" He couldn't move his lips. He couldn't say something even if he wanted to. Oswald never felt as defenceless as he did in this moment. Never that helpless. It felt as if tears ran down his cheeks but he quickly realised it was something crawling up his face: Spiders. Hundreds of them streaming up his face, aiming for his eyes, nose, mouth, ears... "I have wanted you to suffer as I've suffered..." Everything went dark. A sour stench reached Oswalds nose, as he struggled to breath even heavier than before. "I don't love you ... I loved her." A gunshot. Heavy pain. A hand pushing through the pitch black. The spider infested darkness was broken – as the hand brutally hit Oswalds chest. And everything changed from absolute silence to nothing but noise. As the hand pushed right through his chest – to rip out his heart, as he once again fell. Down, into the icy waters of Gotham River. The last thing he heard before silence fell again was his own voice, broken, quietly saying: "I'm fine for now..."
Oswald awoke with a start, in sheer panic, voicelessly screaming - since not the slightest sound left his throat, for it was dry as sand. Sweat ran over his face and his whole body. His bed now was not only soaked from the rain-wet pyjamas. Pink stains, from the fresh coloured highlights in his hair, on his pillow, looking like Rorschach-tests. It took Oswald way too long, to recover his breath. His heart was beating that fast and loud, as if it attempted to overpower any other noise. Once again, one of those returning nightmares, he sighed, shaking off the thoughts. Ed was out there, somewhere, dumb as a stump, but he was still out there. Maybe he shouldn't have sent a girl-band to do a man's job. Cobblepot slid to the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the cold, wooden floor. For a while he just sat there, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in the palms of his hands. Breathing deep. A quick look at the clock educed his lips another deep sigh. It was only half past midnight. And the storm was still raging on, Oswald finally left his bedroom, in slow, heavy steps. His damaged leg causing him to limp worse than normal. That often happened when the weather was as bad as today – or cold, that's when it hurt the most. In a slow pace he went to the living room. Surrounded only by darkness, Oswald turned on only one table lamp, next to his wing chair. He very rarely used the couch any more. He didn't like the memories, which came with it. All alone in his mansion Penguin turned the record player on. Way too loud maybe, especially at the given time of the night. But he was alone, so who'd care anyway. His next steps lead him to the mini bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. And another. And another. And then he just ditched the glass entirely and sat down in his chair, the bottle in his hand. A muffled chuckle left Oswalds throat, as he raised the bottle for another sip. "That's not very gracefully, isn't it?", he said to himself. "But you know what? Grace's for the people who're awake. If it may help me sleep I'm happy not to be that damn graceful man I'm expected to be." That was followed by another sip.
Oswalds mind was a little blurry after that and he started humming along the music. It was a song about love. Swing'ish in it's style, but yet dark and kinda depressing. Another sip. Oswald rose from his seat and moved aimlessly through the room, Occasionally doing some kind of dancing moves. Or at least something similar to dancing. Another sip – and the empty bottle was carelessly dropped. With a thump it fell to the floor, while Oswald was already limping back to the cabinet where his alcoholic beverages were stored. But suddenly he paused, turned around and eyed the bottle, which was slightly rolling back and forth. Lightning illuminated the room for a second, just before thunder sounded as he was about to take down the house. "There's literally nobody that'd care... is there...?" A dry smile drew on Oswalds lips. "Has it always been that easy?" His hand took hold on his wing chair. Oswald just stood there for a while. Hundreds of thoughts and possibilities flooded his head.
And with no further hesitation he grabbed his phone, which was lying on the table in front of the couch.. A little tipsy he crossed the room, grabbing himself a bottle of vodka on his way out – and left for the floor, the music kept playing. Hastily Oswald threw a coat over his shoulders, grabbed the keys and left the house – door left open, to get into his car. Still in his pyjamas he got behind the wheel, starting the engine. In a manner of habit he placed the gun he always carried in the passengers seat. Whilst driving of his property, Cobblepot held the phone to his ear.
Leave a message – bleep
"Hey, 'know 's late but 'd you meet me? Please? In 10 minutes up on Arkham bridge? Got... I got some exciting news to share with you. To celebrate that special... that special day it is.", was the message Oswald left. His voice started off slurring, but he pushed himself back into his old, overenthusiastic tone.
Penguin may or may not have bumped a lot of other cars on his way down into the city. His vision was blurred and shaky, the heavy rain flooding the windscreen and the wind tearing on his car did no good either. It was a sheer miracle that Oswald somehow managed to get his car down to that bridge in one piece – and more so: With him being still alive. But that night was no night to waste a thought about stuff like that. He "parked" his car in the middle of the bridge, half on the pavement and pushed the door open. The wind took heavy on him up here, with no protecting walls the storm hit his body without mercy and pushed Oswald back against his car, as he tried to get out. He bumped his damaged knee against the door, hissing in pain, eyes narrowed. Finally he pushed himself away from the cars frame. He went to the other side, took his gun and left, doors opened, keys still in the lock. He limped over to the railing, near the heavy framework carrying the bridge. There was a ladder, for construction and maintenance, starting a little out of his reach. So he carefully placed one foot on the railing and pushed himself up. Penguin nearly slipped, on the wet metal, before he even really got a stand. Another careful climb, into a whole of the frame, and he could finally reach the ladder. The bottle which was in the bag of his coat tinkled as it bumped against the metal, when Oswald took a brave jump, to get himself better up to the ladder. He got a grip on the stairs and was able to finally pull himself up there. Then – he just started to climb. The drunk man lost track of time and it seemed like he was climbing forever, before he finally reached the top. Carefully, with a tight grip to the struts, he made his way for the middle. The wind was heavier up here and took all his power not to fall. Oswald dangerously slipped a few times, but finally he reached the middle of the bridge. One hand with a safe grip around metal, the other one searching his pockets. A silent tinkle came from his right one, with the gun which brought a relieved smile to his thin, shaky lips. What a great view one must have from op here, he thought, if it wasn't night and within one of the heaviest storms Gotham had seen in years. The crime-lord staggered while he opened the bottle of Vodka, to take a sip. "That's quite a unique drinking place. But you'd better be off not getting drunk up here.", a friendly voice suddenly intervened. The man to whom the voice belonged stood really close behind Penguin, as he could feel the warmth of breath in his neck. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder. "I'm glad you came, Victor.", Oswald said in a relieved manner. On his lips a shaky, but warm smile. Victor Zsasz was a hitman, who worked for Oswald, for a couple of years now. Well, at least he always did when Penguin was in charge of things and flush. Like now. "What are you doing up here anyway? Is this some kind of scream for help?"
The small man had to laugh at these words. Maybe it was. A good question. Why came he up here first place? Some kind of knee-jerk reaction. But it all seemed so clear now. So easy. So obvious. "I'm glad, you're here...", Oswald repeated himself, as the wind nearly tore him off the bridge. Only due to Victors firm grip he didn't fall. The darkness below seemed so welcoming. "I am so tired..."A soft push on his shoulders indicated him to at least sit down, which he did. Fingers clenched around the bottle. After a sideways look at Oswalds face Victor wasn't sure, if his boss was crying. He looked kinda weeping, but in the dark and with the rain which had them both soaked wet, he couldn't tell for sure.
"What's that special day you were talking about?", Victor asked, afraid of the worst.
"Today, a couple of years ago, I met Nygma. 'Twas at the GCPD, probably he doesn't even know I remember..." Oswald mentioned with a saddened smile. "And as destiny goes, tomorrow, or... today? What ever, two years ago was the day he shot me in the chest." Oswalds eyes narrowed, but his sad smile became bigger. His look was nothing but hurt. "The irony is astonishing, don't you think?" Victor shrugged. He had a very bad feeling, about this conversation.
"Look, Boss, maybe we should reschedule this meeting to a dryer and not that windy place?"
"No! We're fine right up here!", Oswald insisted. Victor eyed his boss, worried.
"You're drunk and maybe not in the best place to-"
"Silence, Victor! I didn't call you here to ruin this.", his voice had a more sharp undertone.
"So why did you call me...?" Victors grip at Oswalds shoulder did not loosen at any second.
"I... I don't know... well, no actually, I do... You... as crazy as it may sound, despite me paying you to be here: You're my only friend, Victor."
A long silence fell. Those words had to sink in. The hitman was more worried then ever.
"Oswald, you're my friend, too.", he now tried to ensure his boss some safety.
"Stop pretending. I know it's very one sided. It is always. So.. don't worry about that. It always is one sided with...", Oswald muttered, as he finally took a big sip of Vodka.
Victor let himself sink down next to Oswald. Their legs were tangling in the stormy air, reaching down for the black jaw of death, that Gotham River was in that state. Now Victor was sure he could see tears on Oswalds cheeks. His eyes adapted enough to the darkness, to even notice the red lines in his eyes. His boss sure looked very tired. "You want to talk about it?"
Penguin sighed, of course he wanted. That was why he asked Victor to come here. Wasn't it? He did not want a suicide witness but someone to talk to, so someone knew... why. Oswald became awfully quiet. He was lost in his thoughts. So this was it. This was the decision he'd made. A decision hi made in the blink of a second. Tonight he was going to die. Rather fitting – probably no one ever could kill him, but himself. For... if you know what a man loves, you know how to kill him. Maybe Nygma was right, after all – and he only loved himself. Maybe he really would sacrifice everything and everyone, just to save himself. But that would be over now. He couldn't really remember anyway. Wasn't his mother dead, only because of his actions? Did he choose to sacrifice his life for hers, just to right the wrong he did? To silence his bad conscience? Did he really ever cherish his friendships? Did he go to Arkham Asylum for the murder Gordon committed only to safe a friends good name? A selfless act? Did he give up everything to be with Nygma, for no reason but his happiness? No. Oswald started to see himself as the person everyone saw him. Selfish. Evil. Cunning. And false. Not trustworthy. Ugly. A disgrace.
"I can't remember... when I started to become tired.", Oswald suddenly broke the silence, to Victors surprise. "Maybe it started when I was little. My mother raised me all by herself. She told me my father was dead – probably a lie to protect herself, from the pain that my fathers family forced her to leave. On the other hand this took me the chance to search for my Papa...", Oswald sighed.
"When I was little we were really poor. My mother couldn't afford a good apartment for us – but she clung to that European dream she had. She tried to get me the best suits. But which schoolkid, if not for the rich, went to school in a suit. I didn't want to hurt her, so I said nothing. And... I started to like them. They separated me from the other kids. Kids, that'd call me 'Nosewald' and stuff like that. They'd have always found something to pick on... I was that weird little boy, not nice to look at, I think, and acting all weird. You know: Like an eight year old, in a dusty suit, with wild hair, a slightly different accent, and a long pointed nose – acting if he was better than the other kids. And I sure was. For I never picked on someone weaker. I despise bullies... They pushed me around, destroyed my suits – but my mother always repaired them or got me new ones, telling me to be more careful, until she found out it wasn't me who ruined them. Then she always sang to me and told me not to listen to the other kids, I had fresh bruises everyday. I wasn't a particularly strong or big kid, as you may have guessed. When a boy in school threw a stone at me, calling my Mom a whore that was the first time I ever hit someone. And boy did it feel good, to smash his face on the pavement. Of course I got in trouble with the school, for nearly killing another kid. I didn't really remember it afterwards. I just knew how good and relieving it felt. But I never forget my mothers face when she had to pick me up. The disappointment in her eyes. I didn't care much for the other people which had fear in their eyes and looked at me as if I was a monster... but my mothers look, it hurt me. Back home she washed the blood off my knuckles and cleaned my clothes. It took her a while until she said 'Oswald, I don't want you to get in fights. You are a smart kid, use your brain. And look – you ruined your shirt' – T'was probably a weird thing to say.", Oswald chuckled, as he took another sip from the bottle. Victor sat in silence, listening carefully to his words.
"But that... that was the first time I started to feel lonely and empty. I don't know why. I could tell everything to my mother, I thought. That she'd love me unconditionally, but maybe? Maybe she didn't. And I did not want to disappoint her again. So I decided to never tell her the bad things in my life. But that also meant I had no one. And that despite the fact I spent most of my life with her. And only with her. When other kids fell in love for the first time, when they prepared for school balls, introductions, university, when they had their first kisses and lost virginity to someone whose name name they probably wouldn't even recall, in a few years time I lived in something like a parallel world. I never fancied someone, as others did. Sure ofcourse I had an interest in people once or twice – but they always shut me down. For people it was way too easy to use me, since I mostly tried to fit in. As I wanted to ...not... be alone... to be normal, to have friends, like all the other kids had. Get yourself a girlfriend, settle down, study at a university, join the sports team, have a couple of kids and live a good life. I strived so badly for to fit in. I bent and tried, but it never worked out. People would laugh at my face when I approached them, spit at me. 'No one wants to be friends with a freak!' or 'Don't you dare touch me, ugly creep!' their voices lingered in my ears for years. I tried so hard. I cried myself to sleep every night – and acting all fine, when my mother asked. I just occasionally told her, when someone was mean to me. I would have done a lot to be accepted by the others... and... I sure did. The things I did for sure scratched on my dignity. Growing older I did not understand all the gibberish people were talking. Once in a while someone actually tried to befriend me, but it did never work out. My interests in things like news and politics never caught an open ear. I spent my afternoons in the library, reading up on strategic tactics and famous warlords, and my evenings with piano lessons. You may not know but I'm actually pretty good. Maybe I just should have become a pianist for a living...", Oswald paused for another laugh. Penguin didn't strike Victor as a professional musician, but he didn't want to disrupt him. It seemed as if his boss took really good in talking off what held him down, for maybe way too long. And to see him laugh hushed his fears at least for a little.
Even through his blurred vision Oswald could see Victors slightly lifted eyebrow, which elicited his lips a slightly warm laugh. A laugh that let Victor kinda smile for a second, too. Finally Oswald moved on:
"So while at college I tried to befriend some jocks, even join the sports time – well yeah that didn't work out – but I got to stick with some jocks. They pretty much bullied me all the time. I had to clean up after them, wash their sweaty towels, help them to cheat tests and do their homework. In exchange they protected me, from being beaten up by other jocks. They said I was their mascot to mistreat. They always said that with a laugh, so I just went along, laughing. I didn't want to anger them. When I had to assist them during a night, at a party, with some girl they picked up – to get the girl into a taxi for example, or something to drink for her they always were kinda nice to me. I remember one of them, when he laid his arm around my shoulders and he told me 'Oswald, one day there will come someone as pretty as her, that will take that innocence from you, and make a man out of you crazy freak, too. I promise.' I remember how is blood tasted. It was sweet. So sweet. And afterwards I quit being the jocks little mascot."
Victor tilted his head slightly, with a smirk on his lips. That story took a strange turn right there – and he could clearly imagine Oswald beating someone to death for a stupid sentence like that. Truly... sometimes Penguin wasn't the most stable person.
"Becoming older, I didn't much care for the shitty life I led. I wanted more. I wanted to be able to get my mother a nice apartment, with good view – for her not to be stuck in a dusty old building any further. I wanted that all the people who looked down at me, the people that had spit on me would regret how they have ever treated me. I didn't care for revenge. But I wanted not to be the person everyone thought I was and who'd I ever be. But maybe I never really achieved that goal... you know to become... someone bigger. Sure people feared me, people admired me, some may have envied me – but mostly – and especially the strong people still always looked down at me. Galavan, Gordon, The Court, Sofia also for sure... Maybe not her father. Her father Carmine always treated me with respect. That is a good and decent man.", Oswald lay emphasis on this, his index-finger pointing in the air. The other hand raised the bottle to his lips. Now he didn't even seem to bother to hold himself up there. Victor decided to carefully get a little closer. His side now touched Oswalds. His hand was still resting calmly on his bosses shoulders. He didn't dare to put his arm around him yet, but Oswald gave no sign of resistance. So he decided to sneak as near as possible, during the monologue Penguin told, and by that lull him in, maybe get him sleepy. If it must be – by force. He's never seen his boss so calm and yet so under pressure. His eyes were half shut, staring down in the black of the river. Raindrops fell from the long, black lashes. Goosebumps all over the pale skin. He must to feel cold, but maybe he didn't notice it anyway.
"I don't remember... maybe it was working for fish, being caught up, but maybe it was when my mother died... when I saw her life leave her eyes. Her body become weak. When I knew everything I told her was nothing but lies. Lies about my occupation, lies that I'd safe her... Nothing but... but... nothing... I wronged her. The only person that ever loved me. Her blood was spilled across my hands, I couldn't tell her I love her, I couldn't say how sorry I was. I just sat there, cried, paralysed and thought of revenge. In a situation so vulnerable. But of course I managed to get out. I had to leave her behind. Stabbed, by that bitch.", he shouted in anger. "I can still see her face. How she looked at me, when I broke her heart, telling her lies, that I was just a club owner... Her face. When she died. And that of the people around me. Looking down at me, laughing at pathetic Cobblepot, who clung to his dead mother... Crying, devastated. They had no honour. And to that day they look down at me in the exact same fashion... for them nothing changed. I'm a joke. An angry little man who couldn't even revenge his mother -"
"Oh c'mon boss, it's not healthy to hold such a grudge. Let's go down there get that whip-lady and simply hang her. That'll cheer you up. Plus it is long due.", Victor interrupted in a slightly anticipating tone, which caused Oswald to laugh. He carefully and slightly patted Victors leg. "That's what I like about you Vic. You're practical. But no... I gave up on that. I... think I made my peace...", he shrugged. Victor sighed silently. When Oswald declined going on a murder-spree with him things definitely were grim.
"Then there was that night Ed... Nygma... found me in the woods. I was shot, dying, hiding. He was out there to... to bury his girlfriend he just killed." A meaningful smile lay on Oswalds lips, deep sadness in his eyes. What are the odds...? It was destiny. Destiny again seeking to make a fool out of me. Oh if he'd just left me there for dead. If he just had killed his girl a day earlier. If..." Oswald stopped himself, as he felt Victors arm around his shaking shoulders, pulling him in. He didn't fight the embrace, as tears, mixed with rain fell down on Victors weird bondage-style pants. That hitman clearly wasn't a man of style, he thought for a second, before he closed his eyes, pulling himself together.
"But he's been there... And he picked me up, nursed me back to life, drugged me, nursed me further and kept me there, against my will. It took a while for me until I could accept the situation. I was never a fan, of not being able to act at my free will. But he was right I was hurt, and a wanted man. So I adapted to the situation and got to know him. It was strange... he... he was the very first person who looked up to me. He saw me as some kind of role model, wanted me to become his mentor. Never in my life had someone looked at me the way he did...", Oswald added in a soft tone. "It was beautiful... Living with Ed had its perks, but I think we managed our first weeks together pretty well. Every time he looked at me, I could feel the wall I had built around me falling. For the first time, I started to build trust to another person. Of course we had not the time to deepen it that much yet. Because you know 'I" - he formed quotes with the fingers of his right hand "went to Arkham for the murder of the mayor'. A mayor who actually abducted and tortured the real mayor and was a plain super evil villain. Isn't it fun how this city works? And even so Jim Gordon actually put a bullet in Theos head I was sentenced guilty. But I could not let Jim take the guilt. He was a rightful man after all. And I thought... my friend. Maybe. Maybe a somehow. Plus after weeks on the streets I became so tired of running... I gave myself up. I was left all alone, running... No Ed looking after me, no Jim, no one... so I might as well get myself into custody. I remember Barnes face, being all heroic like if he'd done anything to this. I mean... I just walked into them on purpose. I learned to doubt my friendships... Ed promised me to take care of my mothers grave, but Jim didn't even care to listen to me, as I told him they were torturing me in Arkham. And to this day: He didn't once say he's sorry. They broke me in that asylum. Fried my brain and broke me entirely until nothing of me was left... With that devilish machine that makes you feel like hot lava is poured into your ripped open skull." Oswald shivered, the grip around the bottle tightening.
"But after all I got back out... Ed turned me down, because I changed... and... then I met my father. A kind man... but he was also taken from me... And I could feel that darkness in me rising. I promised him not to let the darkness overpower me, as it has so many before us in our family. A bitter darkness, of dark, depressing thoughts of murder and... suicide." Oswald swallowed hard, as he pressed his own fingernails in his palms, leaving bloody cuts. "I promised him, before his dead." His voice cracked in that moment, as he fumbled a vial with pills out of his pyjamas pocket and opened it. He took the last one out, shoved it in his mouth and swallowed it down with a big sip of vodka. Victor just watched him in absolute silence. Victors whole body became tense.
"So I simply murdered my step family and tried to move on with my life... ignoring that lingering darkness. I managed to get myself back up in Gotham, finally actually killed Galavan myself and well... put myself on the political stage. That's when I freed Ed from Arkham... Because... he still was the only friend I ever had...", Oswalds eyes showed how hurt he was, as he entered the most depressing chapter of his whole life. "For a while everything looked bright, you know... as if nothing could hurt us. No one could bring us down. Nothing could stop us." Tears dripped from Oswalds nose, he sniffed a couple of times. "It was empowering. I never felt so strong and happy in my life. My whole body felt entirely light and warm, every time I saw him. And when I actually won mayor, and he assured me that l-love... love... was stronger than money I think I noticed it for the first time... that this was more than friendship... way... more..." Oswald bit his lip, sniffing up a lot of snot. His voice cracking hard. "I knew I loved him, that moment he nearly was strangled by Butch... that genuine angst I had, that panic that he'd die... that's when I just knew. I couldn't hide it any longer from myself. That feeling had become so strong I had to admit it to myself. And it did nothing but grow, when I embraced it and accepted that this was happening. It took me way to long, to go forward with it... to try admit it out loud. That was the next step – and of course to tell him. I could not hold it in any longer. That feeling tore me apart. To watch him, right next to me, every second of my day... that voice in me screaming as loud as it could... That voice that longed for his love. For his touch. I had to tell him. It took me to long... a few failed attempts I asked him for a dinner. I was prepared... but he stood me up... I made a fool out of myself. Once again... I set there, waiting... all night long. Prepared what I wanted to say... Prepared to confess my love. I very rarely plan things that detailed but that I had. I had to. It felt as something was pulling the floor from under my feet. But he didn't show. He didn't even care to call me. He met someone. That night. Again... what.. are the odds?" Oswald crouched a little in Victors arm, his body started shaking heavily when he took another big sip from the bottle. Penguin looked like a mess, Victor thought. Carefully he stroke his back a little. Unsure what to do. He wasn't good in comforting people. He never had to before.
"Fortune favours shit.", he went on, wiping tears and snot from his face. "It all went down from this day on... I made the biggest mistake ever... I was selfish. I was so hurt that I had to get that woman out of the way. That crazy slut... she... had to go. But I really shouldn't have done this... I shouldn't... I took the woman he claimed to love from him and I ruined everything... When he tried to destroy me... nothing did as much damage as... as when I realized he actually didn't care for me... His last warm embrace felt so strange. So wrong. When he told me that I should remember that I was his best friend... little did I know... he and that band of baboons tried to lose my mind. And it felt like they managed, but mostly I was worried as hell about Ed, who was gone. All that play for revenge. Yeah, he achieved his goal. He took everything from me... He thought what I'd care about was my empire... and normally I'd have said it was... but not with him... with Ed in my life he was the striving force that pushed me forward – whilst for me only one was important: him. I was stupid and blind... The look in his eyes, as he attempted to kill me... All a play he acted, to make me gave him up, to prove a point... he really did hold a grudge... Killing his best friend, the man that loved him – for a woman, he knew a week, wasn't enough...", spit run over the lips of his pained face, as he struggled for air, during his sobbing. "He had to utterly destroy me... and he did... that moment, when he brought me to the docks, telling me he didn't love me, bidding me farewell and shooting me in the chest..." His hands let go of the bottle, as he grabbed for Victors leg, holding himself with strong force. The bald man chose to pull him even more into his arms, against his chest, stroking Oswalds back, who wept bitterly.
"Maybe he should have aimed for my heart..."
"No.", Victor broke his monologue for a second. Just one word, which brought Oswald back in track.
"Running from him, injured, trying to build an army, regaining my empire... and with a lot of luck tricking him into thinking that he had the upper hand... those were the hardest weeks of my life... I did not want to trick him... it broke my heart. Again. I died that day at the docks. As well as a part of Ed died. But when we returned there and I had him believe he'd have another chance on killing me... when his broken voice asked me if I hadn't have to say anything. When he bid me farewell again – and I knew this time it would be me... Playing him hurt me so much. And I knew he was only there because of his compulsive disorder. He didn't really want to kill me... when I dropped that bullets, I took out of the gun – revealing I only played him... the look in his eyes... it destroyed me. He had never thought that he maybe wasn't smarter than me. That thought never came to him... when the blindness that love caused left me, and only the pain remained I was finally able to act... he's right, I am a big child, throwing tantrums, driven by my basic emotions... but ain't that better as to have none at all? He's become so cold as 'the Riddler'..." Oswald shook the thought off, straitening himself a little and getting out of Victors arms.
"When I let Fries freeze him... I froze a big part of myself too. All that pain, love, sadness, I tried to freeze it in a big block of ice. And that feeling of dying inside it took over. That day, Victor... that day was the first, I realized something else thanks to Ed. Not only did I know I was capable of love... but... I knew I had that same feelings as my grandfather had. That lingering death-wish. That pain, that aching in my chest... That struggling for air. I tried to hide it away. I really tried. But I can't do this any further. I finally got things straightened out with myself. For the first time in my life. It's something I should have done centuries ago." Oswald pushed Victor farther from himself, as he stood up. Victor quickly followed and tried to close in on him, as suddenly Penguin put the barrel of his gun between the hitmans eyes. He was shocked and a little impressed about that reaction, at the same time. Oswald only shook his head, emptying the bottle and throwing it down into the river. He lost it immediately in the dark. The wind tried to push both of them off their feet. The rain felt even heavier than before. Oswalds long coat fluttered heavily in the air.
"Oswald, give me the gun."
"I think I won't. Don't move Vic. This' not a couple-suicide-thing here."
"Oswald. I won't let you do this."
"Back... OFF.", Oswald demanded in a now more harsh voice.
"What was that pill you took before?", Victor asked, curious. He needed to distract Oswald, who was so fixed on the darkness.
"Sleeping Pills. I take them since Ed shot me. They knock me out pretty well... normally.", Oswald chuckled. "The fun in mixing them with alcohol – in an overdosed fashion, of course – is that they'll paralyse my body... in about... 5 minutes. Well, I put the whole vial in the bottle, on my way here..."
Victor tried to make a move towards Oswald and grab his hand, but he was surprisingly active and pulled back, hitting the Gun against Victors head, which brought Victor to his knees "DON'T! Or I'll have to shoot you.", Oswald hissed as Victor raised his hands in defense
"Oswald, please. I am your friend. I don't want you to die in front of me. I'm begging you!"
But Penguin only laughed weakly.
"Your mother wouldn't want you to do this, would she? And you just told me. You promised it to your father didn't you?" There was anger in Victors voice. Heavy wind was shaking both of them, pulling causing Oswald to slide. Victor took the chance and grabbed his bosses hand, which was holding the gun, slapped it out of his hand and kept him in a firm grip. But the small, pale man just laughed, leaning back to the brink, while holding Victors hand.
"No... but he'd want this.", Oswald said, putting his other hand over Victors. "I tried, Vic... Let... let me sleep...", he added in a weak and tired voice. The pills seemed to kick in heavy, as his hands started to shake heavily. The hand placed over Victors hands carefully stroke his back hand, before he pulled his fingers off of his other hand. "Farewell, friend." and then he'd just let go...
Victor made a quick jump for the brink, but it was too late. And he didn't see Oswald anywhere. Screaming in the dark. Silenced by the storm he noticed something. Was the Riddler standing down there next the river, in the dark? Him and some huge... dog... thing? But by the time Victor got down to the riverside no one was to be seen. Neither Oswald, nor Ed. All screaming unanswered. By morning police forces scanned the are around the river. But they were sure he'd been washed out into the ocean already. With no chances of survival... Jim stood next to Victor. Just one question bothering him: "Why...?"
End Chapter 1