Rorschach's journal – April 14, 1985
The night is heavy. Stinks – cigarettes, perfumes. Smell of sex and sin everywhere. On street corners stand whores, calling out for their victims. Criminals slink into bars, do their drugs. Come back out to go home to wives and children, whom they rape and beat. Not in that order, not all the time.
A whore grabs my arm as I pass. Push her off, into the street. Shouts obscenities at me as I walk away. Wish I could peel off my skin and stand, bleeding, washed by rain. Maybe, then something in this city might be clean.
Hear sounds of struggle in an alley. Fists, feet, bloody flesh. Will go investigate.
He enters the alley, fists ready, eyes open. At the far end from the street, a dead end. A huge hulk of a man looms over his victim: small, slight figure of indeterminate gender. Small, short hair covered by a hat. Fighting back, but losing. As he approaches, the figure's hand shoots up. Catches the attacker in the crotch.
The attacker howls. His heavy, booted foot smashes onto the victim's ankle.
The crack is loud against the bricks of the alley. The kid screams. Falls limply back against the wall. His face is milk white under the yellow lights and the purpling bruises.
Rorschach attacks. Has a rope. Wraps it around the guy's neck. Yanks him back from the kid. Twists.
Attacker lunges. Fists connects. Rorschach stumbles. Catches himself. Drives his elbow into the attacker's nose. Feels it crunch. Then his ribs. One. Two. The attacker staggers from side to side, weaving drunkenly. Rorschach gets his wrist. Twists. Bone snap. Fingers break. Twists again. Loud howl. Knee to the face. Grabs his head. Twists.
Justice is served.
The attacker, now dead, lays in a puddle of cooling blood. The victim is awake, looking at Rorschach through wide eyes. He still can't tell if it's a boy or girl. Didn't matter. Victim incidental to the scene.
He turns and begins walking away.
"Wait!"
A girl. Looks about sixteen or seventeen if it was boy. Voice is way too high. Female, then.
He keeps walking.
"Hey, wait! Please."
Ignores it.
Something hits him in the back.
Rorschach turns.
Girl is standing on one foot, supporting herself against the wall. The broken foot is off the ground, ankle height. She'd thrown her hat. The face revealed underneath is not pretty. Mouth too wide, crooked. Hair short, unremarkable brown. Body thin, boyish. Clothes, second hand: button down shirt, slacks, boots. Professional, but not business.
Her fingers are bloody, scraped. Digging into the wall to keep her balance. "Aren't you going to help me get somewhere safe? Call the cops?"
"No."
She blinks. Shocked. "But… you saved me."
"Didn't save you. Stopped him. Different."
Dazed comprehension flashes across her face. She looks down at her attacker, then back at him. "Oh. Well. Can I have my hat back?"
He hesitates. This is not what he does. He stops criminals and leaves. People he saves doesn't ask anything of him. Of course, most of the time, they either cowered or cursed him. Didn't engage him. Didn't make requests.
He picks up the hat. Walks it back.
"Thanks." She smiles tentatively. Trembles from cold or fear or adrenaline. "Please. I can't make back out to the street, not on this ankle."
"Crawl."
She grabs his coat before he turns away. "I'll just be a sitting duck. I mean, before I was at least sort of able to hold my own. But now? I'm not. And in the time it takes me to crawl from here back to the street and to the phone, who knows who else is going to find me? What they'll do to me? And then, either you'll have to come back and stop them again, or you'll have failed to stop another criminal from doing damage. And, besides, really, you owe me."
"I owe you?"
"Yeah." She nods so vigorously, her hat falls over her eyes. "Without people like me, there'd be no people like him. And, without him, where would you be? Happy? Content? Probably not. And, you want to stop them. But not give them more opportunities to hurt, right? I mean, if it came down to it, you'd rather just hurt them without people like me getting in the way. Getting hurt. But, here I am. And there'll be more. Just making more work for you. So, anyway you cut it, it's in your best interest to help me to a phone. You know. Either as a thank you or… or to make less work for you in the long run." The girl stops. Rubs her eyes. Tears form at the corners, fall, mixing with blood from scrapes. "Please?"
He looks at her. Watches her looking back at him, unflinching. Scared and trembling, but not of him. Talking to him, her face bruised, blood in the corner of her mouth. Beaten but still fighting.
She still has a grip on his coat.
He starts to turn away. Then stops. Lifts his arm, elbow out.
Her too-big mouth split into a too-big smile. Crooked teeth, blood staining them. "Thanks. "
Rorschach's journal, April 14, 1985
Didn't help her because she asked. Helped her to shut her up. Besides. Already going that way.
Walked her out of the alley to a phone outside Gunga Diner. Left her to make her call. She thanked me before I left. Never had that before.
Went to roof, in shadows. Watched until police came. The ambulance. Police smirked behind her back, after she was taken away. Who'd attack ugly thing like her? they ask. Must have been for money. Someone must have been desperate, since she's obviously too poor to have much.
They won't look too hard for who did this. Good thing justice already served. It will never come from the likes of them.
* * *
Rorschach's journal, April 15, 1985
Landlady shouted at me as I left today. Demanded rent. Complained about hygiene. Eight months pregnant with one just walking. And she calls me an animal.
Stood out on the street, watching the world. Can't decide if it looks better or worse in the light of day. The night brings out the vermin. They all wear disguises in the day.
Just like me.
Meg carefully makes her way down the street on her crutches. They're a pain in the butt and she's already tired, but there's nothing else to do. She only lives ten blocks from work; it's easiest to walk. Even like this. And she can't call in sick after having started only a week ago.
She refuses to.
Someone bumps into her. Meg stumbles. Loses her balance. Falls, crashing into someone.
"Sorry," she gasps, gripping an arm.
The man she's fallen into jerks away from her. At the same time, his hand wraps around her crutch. They fall, together, in a fallen heap on the sidewalk.
Meg drops her crutches. Pushes herself up. "I'm so sorry… sir," she finishes awkwardly.
The man beneath her is disheveled. Dirty. He smells of stale sweat, dirt, and sour cologne. His red hair is matted and unwashed. His face is riddled with stubble and crumbs.
"Not your fault," he says. He pushes himself to his feet. Picks up a sign that has fallen next to them.
"Still. I fell so clumsy on these things." Meg grabs her crutches. With a little struggle, she manages to get back to her feet. She's winded when she does, so she leans against her crutches to catch her breath. "You okay?"
He looks at her without blinking. There's no expression on her face.
Schizophrenic, she thinks, or perhaps some other personality disorder.
He finally speaks. "Fine." He glances down at her ankle. "Broken?"
"Yeah." She blushes and rolls her eyes. "I was jumped last night by some thug. Some guy who just wanted to feel big and strong picking on someone weaker. Broke my ankle, which is just great." Her eyes flick up to his sign. "Then end is coming, huh? Think it will happen today?"
"Maybe."
"I hope not. There's so much to do. So much to fix. The world's a mess, and if it ended before we got our act together, it feel like a failure."
"Human race is a failure."
She shrugs. "Some days I agree. I'm hoping today won't be one of those days." She looks at her watch. "I should get to work. I'm Meg, by the way."
He says nothing.
"Well. Anyway. Sorry for bumping into you. I'll see you around. Bye." She smiles brightly at him, then turns and walks away. She can feel him watching as she hobbles down the street and wonders what he's thinking. How many people bother to stop to talk to him during the day. Too many people just passed the homeless or mentally unbalanced by, pretending they didn't exist. Pretending they weren't human.
Most of her work revolved around children. She was a social worker and was responsible for getting kids out of unsafe homes or making the homes they were in safer. Helping parents learn to deal with parenting and facing them in court if they were failing.
But, on occasion, she found herself working with adults. Back home, she used to volunteer at a soup kitchen and shelter. She'd talked to the men and women who'd used the services, listened to their stories. Got to know them. And made a vow to herself to treat everyone, no matter how rich or how poor, with the respect they deserved and then some. People with money rarely had to be reminded they were human beings. Children and those society looked down upon did. And Meg would do that reminding until the day she died.
Rorschach's Journal, April 15, 1985
Ran into girl from the alley. She ran into me. Started talking to me after knocked me down. Almost thought she recognized me without my face, but was wrong. Works at Department of Social Services. Probably a soft-hear intellectual liberal whore. Not worth any time.
Between paperwork and phone calls and more paperwork, Meg doesn't get out of the office until nearly eight that night. Right when she thinks she's getting to leave, there's an emergency with a child that requires her attention. For hours, she listens to a nine year old child explain how his father had spent forty-five minutes beating him, then locked him in a closet to take a break, before resuming. He'd managed to go five days without anyone finding out before showing his best friend the injuries.
By the time they get the mother into custody and the child sent home with his mother, Meg feels ready to tear the esophagus out of the next person she sees.
"You sure you don't want a ride?" Alexi, her coworker, asks.
Meg shakes her head. "I need to walk. You know. I'm all… arrg. Need the exercise."
Alexi shakes her head. "I can't believe you're just going back out there with a broken ankle that you got yesterday. Are you crazy?"
She has to fight the urge to punch Alexi, who, really, is a nice woman. Just annoying at this moment. "Pretty much. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Night."
It's a mild night, good for walking. Even though she's exhausted and her ankle hurts, the air feels good on her face. Besides. The more she tires herself out, the better she'll be able to sleep. She doesn't want to spend the night, staring at the ceiling, remembering the attack.
She's at a light, waiting for traffic to ease, when a wave of fury washes over her. That poor kid. He was so small and so skinny and his father had just… just…
"Dammit!" she screams, not caring who hears. She slams one of her crutches into the light post. Did it again, feeling the shock reverberate up her arm. Again and again and again.
"Post attacking you now?"
Meg whirls, heart in her throat.
The masked man from last night stands behind her, hands in his pocket. The dark spots on his mask move slowly around his face, hypnotizing.
She manages a smile. "I've think I got this one."
He nods. When the light turns green, he follows her across.
"It's all fucked up, you know?" Meg can't help saying. "The whole system. It's sick. There's this little boy whose father seems to think is a punching dummy. And I can fight and argue all I want that the kid needs to be somewhere else, but there are rules and procedures. The father's in jail, tonight. Tomorrow, he makes bail. He stays in a hotel for a week or two, gets sent to some bullshit parenting and anger management classes. And then, he just gets to go home. File stamped and over with. Until a few months from now when he does it again. And there's nothing I can do." Angry, she dashes a tear from her eye.
The man besides her says nothing. He's just a presence at her side, maybe keeping the predators away, maybe a predator himself.
"You're Rorschach, right?"
"What gave it away?"
She smiles. "You're wanted by the police. Two murders. I bet there's a lot of others they don't know about. I mean, you killed the guy last night."
"Justice must be served. They must pay."
"Who?"
"Everyone."
Meg nods. There's nothing to say to that.
They walk in silence the remaining blocks. She doesn't know if he's protecting purposefully or not. Nor does she care. She doesn't feel threatened by him, and nothing in all the stories she's ever read about him in the paper indicates that he attacks unarmed women. Injured women. Especially injured women he'd saved the night before.
"This is me," she says, stopping outside her apartment building. She looks up at her window and points. "Third floor. No elevator." She lets out a heavy sigh. "My ankle is already complaining." Then, Meg smiles at Rorschach. "Thanks for walking me home."
He steps back, hands up, like he's startled.
"Night." She turns and walks into her building.
Two days later, when she wakes, there's a small newspaper article on her nightstand. The police have found a body of a man recently arrested for brutally beating his child. Over the text of the article as a scrawl of something like a Rorschach blot.
Meg smiles as she settles back against her pillows. Reads the article, then presses it against her heart.
Justice was served.
Meg's Journal, May 12, 1985
It's been month since I was hired to work for New York Social Services and moved out here. Almost a month since I was attacked on the streets. I still don't know why I was attacked. I don't have money. He didn't seem to want to rape me, but, then, he didn't say much when he dragged me into the alley and started wailing on me.
Every morning, I walk past the man on the street with his board proclaiming the end of the world is coming. I stop and talk with him. He doesn't say, but I can tell he thinks my quest to help make the world a better place is fruitless. Mankind is too debase, too sinful, too violent to ever get its act together. He might be right. But, just like he has to stand out on the street warning people, I have to go to work and do what I can to protect the children and get adults to a better place in life.
To get them to start taking some fucking responsibility for themselves.
Maybe welfare and food stamps isn't the best way to deal with them all, but, right now, it's the best we've got. During my lunch out, I go to the park with two sandwiches. One for me, one for a woman old enough to be my mother. Her name is Terri. She used to be a secretary. She used to be a wife. She used to be a lot of things until her husband left her and she got fired and then had a mental breakdown. We eat lunch and talk. She's come a long way since her breakdown, but is having trouble finding work. I keep trying to get her to take advantage of the services we offer, but she won't.
I rarely see Rorschach these days. Every so often, he drops from the shadows when someone gets too near me with the obvious intent to take advantage of the fact I'm handicapped. The crutches make good weapons, but they also make me off balanced and clumsy. Good thing I'm almost done with them.
Almost every morning I wake up to another newspaper article or note on my nightstand. The criminals the police can't or won't deal are found, dead or near enough. Sometimes, there's no article. Just a note: rapist, 1, justice or something similar, and his symbol. He seems to concentrate on child murderers and pedophiles. At least, those are the ones he tells me about.
I shouldn't take comfort. Vigilantism is wrong. It's illegal. Rorschach is probably psychopath. A paranoid schizophrenic with delusions of grandeur. But, sometimes, it feels as if he's the only other person in the world who understands.
"I don't want to go," Meg says. She stares at the file in front of her, trying to remember what she was writing.
"Meg, come on. You've been here two months and you haven't gone on one date. You never go out. You're finally off your crutches, so you can't use that as an excuse anymore. You're married to your job, and that's not healthy," Alexi says. "Come on. He's a great guy."
"I'm not interested in dating." The words come to her and she makes a note in the file.
"I've already told him all about you. He wants to meet you."
"That's too bad."
"Meg, come on." There's a no nonsense tone in Alexi's voice. It's laced with a thread of anger.
Meg licks her lips. Looks up. "I'm not… comfortable with dating. Never have been."
"Don't you want to get married? Have kids?"
She shrugs. "Don't know. Not something I think about."
Alexi rolls her eyes. Sits in a chair next to her. "Well. At the very least you could get laid. I mean, come on. How long has it been since you've had sex?"
"Alexi!" Meg exclaims, blushing furiously. She squirms in her chair. "This is really inappropriate. We're at work."
The other woman just shrugs and waves her hand. "No one's around. Come on. You're not a prude, right?"
Meg shrugs again. "I just… Look, just tell the guy thanks, but I'm not interested."
"But you have to go. I've already set everything up, and he's bringing his friend. You know, the one I told you about from the gym? Hot, blond, muscular. I just want to sink my teeth into his ass." Her eyes become unfocused. Dreamy. Then they sharpen on Meg. "I need you there. And I'm not taking no for an answer."
Which is how Meg finds herself that night as restaurant with Alexi. Who'd forced her into a dress that made her look ridiculous and feel completely uncomfortable. And make-up, although Meg had just allowed lipstick and blush.
The man Alexi set her up with, Mark, is nice. He's handsome in an understated way, in good shape, and doesn't seem too disappointed when he firsts meets her. She knows she's not the most attractive woman in the world, and that, when it comes down to it, she looks like a boy in a dress. She's exactly the kind of person that others set up on blind dates because, with her looks, she'll never get any on her own without effort.
The trouble is, she doesn't want to put any effort in. She doesn't like dating, isn't interested in getting married, and is turned off by the idea of sex. But try explaining that to normal people.
Alex abandons her at the end of the night. She and her date go off together, hands already all over each other.
"I'll take you home," Mark offers valiantly. When she tries to refuse, he insists and gets her a cab. And gets inside the cab with her.
"I had a nice time tonight," he says once they are outside her building.
Meg smiles tentatively up at him, unsure what to say. She had a miserable time, nice though he was. But it wasn't nice to say that, so she merely says, "Me, too. Thanks for dinner." She turns to go inside, but he takes her arm.
She freezes, trying not to shudder at the touch. She hates being touched.
"I'd like to see you again. Are you free tomorrow night?"
Meg looks at him. Gapes, closes her mouth. Opens it again. "I, um. Um."
And then he's leaning in. Mouth close.
Meg jerks away. Her head slams against the door jamb. The world swims around her.
"Meg? Are you okay?" He crowds closer to her.
Desperate, she pushes at him. Tries to get him to move away. Give her air.
He misinterprets it. Wraps his arms around her. Kisses her, thick slug of a tongue pushing inside her mouth. Coffee-and-garlic breath on her face. Too big hands on her sides, feeling up and down.
"No," she pants, pushing at him. "Stop."
"Come on," he croons, voice like a snake. "You're so cute. How about you invite me up for coffee?"
Her nails rake down his arms. Claw at his neck, pushing him.
He stumbles back. Anger on his face. "What the fuck, Meg? I thought…"
"You're wrong," she sobs. "You're a nice guy, but… No, don't!"
She sees him too late. Is too late to give warning. Rorschach has him by the collar. Fist already connecting with Mark's face. Over and over again.
"Rorschach, stop! Don't."
Mark isn't a criminal. He's in shape, but he's overwhelmed. In no time, Rorschach has him on the ground. Boots connect with his stomach.
Meg grabs Rorschach by the arm. He throws her off violently, and she trips on the stairs. Falls, hitting her head again.
But he stops.
"He wasn't hurting me," she says, blinking as Rorschach's face swims around.
Rorschach cocks his head. The blots on his face move sinuously across his face.
"Okay, he scared me," she corrects. "But I think he was going to stop."
"Not good enough."
She shakes her head. "No, it's not. But… but he stopped now. And he won't do it again. This one, don't kill. Don't… I'll call the police. Tell them what he did. Just… leave it. This time. Please."
"Criminals must be punished."
"Believe me, he'll think twice before ever ignoring the word no again. And, if he doesn't, you can kill him." She wipes her face, surprised to find she's crying. Climbs to her feet, holding onto the railing of the stairs leading to the building. "Thank you, though. For stopping him. I didn't know what to do."
He looks her up and down. Shakes his head. Turns and walks away.
Rorschach's Journal, May 21, 1985
City full of whores and rapist. Hard to tell the difference. Hard to tell who's a victim, if there are any left. Vengeance is the only honest thing. Never forget that.
Meg burns the dress. Puts it in a glass jar she gets from a thrift store. She paints Rorschach's symbol on it and keeps it on her nightstand.
He doesn't take it. He doesn't leave anymore notes. He doesn't come.
Meg's Journal, June 2, 1985
End of the World man is still missing from his post. Alexi told me she thinks saw him on another corner, another street, but she isn't sure. She doesn't know and doesn't really care. To her, he's just another indigent man.
I hope he's okay. I miss talking to him. Stupid, I know, since he barely talked. I have other people I talk to, anyway. Other people on the street, even. Still. He for whatever reason, I liked talking to him. I guess… something about him always made me feel like he was listening. Listening and analyzing what I said. Don't know why. I probably just annoyed him.
Alexi broke up with her boyfriend. She says that maybe we should try a double date again. She says it in that kind of robotic way, though, like she's doing it for my benefit. I don't get why it matters. I'm obviously not interested in dating, especially after last time.
Today will not be a good day. We have to remove some children from their home until the mother finds employment and can prove she can support her kids. As much as I know it needs doing, its hard on everyone.
Screams and sobs pull Rorschach out of sleep. He lifts his head, wipes away a layer of sweat.
His landlady is shouting. Screaming at someone in her loud, shrill harlot's voice.
"You can't take them! My babies, you can't take them!"
"Mrs. Shairp, you're making a scene. You're making this harder than it has to be. Please, hand over the baby, and we can sit down and talk about this."
He pushes himself off his bed. Is out the door and in the hall without thinking.
The girl is there, dressed normal this time. With her are police and another woman from her office. The woman has four of his landlady's five children. The youngest is being held in landlady's arm, guarded by a butcher knife.
Girl glances back at partner. "Alexi, take the kids out to the car."
"Mommy!" one of them moans.
"It'll be okay, kids. You'll see your mom soon. Come on." The taller girl hustles the children out. Takes them to safety.
Girl steps forward, towards Mrs. Shairp. Her hands are out, placating gesture. Nonthreatening. "We're not doing this because we think you're a bad person, Mrs. Shairp. Dolores, may I call you that?"
"Back off, cunt."
She stops walking. "We don't even think you're a bad mother. You're a good mother. You love your children. But times are tough. Your kids are hungry. Going to school with open sores and dirty faces. They're not taken care of, and we need to take them until things are better for you."
"Better? How the fuck will they get better? This one's father just took off. People won't pay the Goddamn rent, and I've got too many kids to take care of to get a job. How the fuck am I supposed to do whatever it is you think I need to?"
Girl takes another step forward.
Rorschach tenses. Ready in case landlady decides to use the knife on her. Or baby. One is never sure.
"We'll help you with all that. That's what we do. We'll help you and we can help get the rent. Help you find work and take care of those kids the way we both know you want to."
Landlady snorts. Shakes head. "Stupid college bitch. Standing there, thinking you're better than me. Fucking ugly, too. You're thinking your better than me when you can't get a man yourself. You're probably some goddamn dyke who gets off on stealing other people's kids. Sick piece of shit."
Girl licks her lips. Color rises to her face in red blotches. Hands fall to sides, fists clenched. "Hand over the baby," she said. Steps forward again, holds hand out. "And drop the knife."
Stillness. No one moves. Not Girl. Not police. Not Landlady.
Then. Landlady drops knife. It clatters on the floor.
Girl lets out a breath. Moves to take baby.
Landlady moves too fast for anyone to react. She slaps Girl hard, nails raking down her cheek. Skin tears. Blood.
Girl yanks baby away from Landlady and slams heel of hand into her breastbone. Police catch her before she falls, slam her to the floor, cuffing her.
"You okay, Meg?" one of them asks.
She's nodding, walking backwards. Holds baby to her chest, too tight. It squirms and begins to cry. "I'm fine. Okay."
He moves before she bumps into him. Nudges her with the back of hand before she walks backwards down stairs.
Girl jumps and turns. Clutches baby. When sees him, she relaxes. "Oh. Hey." Smiles too-wide smile. "You live here?"
"Yes."
The gash is ragged. Bloody.
"Might need stitches," he says. Points, fingers inches from face.
She crosses her eyes, trying to look. Wipes with hand, smearing blood. Winces. "Maybe."
The police are taking Landlady down the stairs now. He feels a surge of triumph to see her cuffed and sobbing.
Girl doesn't look happy. She shakes the baby gently as it cries. Kisses its head, then says, "She'll be out by tonight. Two, three weeks? The kids will be back. And I'll have to comfort myself with the fact that at least she's not abusing them. Just neglect." She looks back at the baby. Strokes its cheek. "Maybe it's for the best. She obviously loves them. And they love her."
"Meg, let me take the baby down," one of the police say.
She nods and hands it over.
"You need to get your cheek looked at."
"I'll be down in a second." Girl turns away from police. Goes to wall and braces herself.
It takes Rorschach a moment to realize that she's crying. Her shoulders shake, her whole body trembles. There's gasping, soft and quiet.
Then she turns. Tears mix with blood. Her jaw it clenched. Eyes are red. She shakes her head. "Can the world end today?" she finally asks.
He frowns. "Still might. Day's not over."
She laughs. Not a real life. Shakes her head as she slides to the floor. "These last few months have just been hell. There's no money to help the kids like we need to. I'm completely screwed up. My best friend, Alexi? That woman, thinks I'm some kind of closet lesbian because she set me up on a date I didn't want to go on and the guy ends up getting the crap kicked out of him because I wasn't able to fight him off. Because I didn't want to… you know, with him, and that makes me abnormal or something. And because of him, because I was stupid enough to go out with him, Ror… a… friend or whatever…" She stops talking. Wipes her eyes. Inhales and exhales a few times. Then smiles at him. "Sorry. God, I'm sorry to just dump on you."
He doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing.
Girl nods. "You know, you never told me your name."
He shakes his head, but doesn't give it to her.
She gets it. Nods again. "Well. I need to go. Um, you might want to think about cleaning your apartment a little. The smell… it can be a health hazard, and I wouldn't want…" Her eyes well up again. "I hope to see you again, soon. You know. If the world doesn't end." She wipes her eyes and walks away.
Rorschach watches her go.
iRorschach's Journal, June 2, 1985
Tonight, stumbled across child pornography pamphlet of two children. Recognized them. Saw with Girl a month ago. Don't think she knows. /i
There's a crash in the living room. Meg shoots straight up in bed. Her heart pounds, sweat beading on her forehead. The air is heavy, muggy. It presses against her chest.
She rubs sleep from her eyes, wincing when she touches her sore cheek. When she opens her eyes again, she sees the man in the corner.
She inhales sharply, preparing to scream, when the man steps out of the shadows. The yellow street light plays across his hat and mask.
"Oh shit," she gasps. "Rorschach. You scared me."
"Sorry to wake you." He doesn't sound sorry as he walks across the room to her bed. He holds something out for her.
Eyes on him, she takes it. A pamphlet. She opens it and looks down. Immediately, she flinches back from the horrors inside. Kids, her kids, naked. Posing. Spread out and…
The pamphlet drops from her nerveless fingers. She barely makes it out of the bed and into the bathroom in time.
She hears Rorschach's feet on the floor. Coming toward her.
She pukes up all her dinner. Her bedtime snack and tea. Dry heaves a few times, snot and tears running down her face, mingling with sweat.
When her stomach is empty and calm, she flushes the toilet. Stands up and goes to the sink.
"They're in foster care," she says after rinsing her mouth. "Their parents have been checked out. I mean, caregivers. I mean…. Fucking utter bastards." She lifts her hands to her face. Wipes tears away, but they come too fast. They sting the cut on her cheek, burning her face. She can't breathe. Too many tears. Too little air. Darkness closing in around her and the world was spinning. Too fast and…
"Need to breathe." Rorschach kneels in front of her.
Meg shakes her head. "Can't. I can't… I can't…"
He slaps her.
Her head snaps up. Blinks at him.
"Can't panic. Tell me where they are."
"Um… they're um… at, uh…" She digs her fingers into her head. Tries to draw the information out. Go after it with her fingers. Pull, dig, claw.
The address finally comes. She gives it to him, voice halting and shaking.
"Oh, God," she moans after she gets it out. "Those poor things."
For a moment, Rorschach seems to hesitate. His hand moves towards her. Hovers inches from her jaw, close.
Then, he clenches it. Rises.
"Where are you going?" Meg pulls herself to her feet. She's exhausted from throwing up, from crying. Her throat is raw and sour.
"Stop perverts."
"Are you going to get the kids out or are you going to leave them there to fend for themselves?"
He just looks at her. She can feel his answer.
"Right. Right, they're kids." She steps toward him. "I'm coming with you."
"No."
"They're my kids."
He comes back over to her. Points to the cut on her cheek, held together by butterfly bandages. Traces it, not touching, but so close, Meg can feel the atoms in the air compressing against her cheek. "Cut by fingernail. Sick over pictures. Won't be able to handle the real thing."
Tears well again. Her nose drips, but she wipes it away with the back of her hand. "I have to."
He doesn't move for a moment. Then, his fists clenches again. He steps back. "Wait an hour. Bring bat." Then he turns and runs through her bedroom, disappearing out her window.
It takes nearly an hour for Meg to get control of herself. To stop crying and dry heaving. Rorschach left the pamphlet in her apartment. She wants to burn it, but she can't. Needs it as evidence.
She calls the police before she leaves. Let's them know what she's found without telling them how she really found it. Calls Alexi and the others, lets them know they're working overtime. Calls the children's home, warns them what's going to happen and requests doctors and psychologists.
Then she goes. Takes a taxi to where the children were being kept. The police aren't there yet. Neither is Alexi or any of the others.
She gets out of the taxi. Walks to the door. It's a small house in a rundown neighborhood. Not the best area, but foster parents didn't always come from the best areas. They do it for the government money instead of because they want children. They want to help.
And then, there were the sick bastards who do it for some kid of sick pleasure. And get through. Somehow, they slip through the safeguards and the checks and the home visits.
The door is ajar, the lock broken. Meg grips her baseball bat and pushes the door in further. Enters. "Hello?" she calls. "Rorschach?"
Silence.
She moves further inside. Maneuvers around furniture. Clothes on the floor. Shoes. Walks down the hall. "Anyone there?"
She hears some sniffing. Soft moans.
"Billy? Sara? "
A dirty, tear-streaked face peeks from around the door. "Meg? Is that you?"
"Billy." Meg drops to her knees. Holds out her arms.
The little boy comes running out. Wraps himself around her. Sobs into her neck.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, rubbing his back. "I'm so, so sorry." She kisses his tangled hair. Looks up. "Sara, honey. Come here. It's safe now."
The girl, slightly older, is standing in the doorway. Her eyes are dry. Narrowed and angry. She doesn't say anything. Just glares.
"Sara, I'm sorry," Meg says. "Really and truly. We thought… there's no excuse. None." Her throat closes, but she forces the lump away. "We thought…"
Rorschach appears, running from the basement. He grabs the girl in one arm, Meg's arm in the other. "Run."
Together, they run through the house. Meg almost trips over a shoe on the floor, but Rorschach yanks her to her feet. Practically drags her outside, across the yard. Into the street when…
Boomf!
The explosion causes the four of them to go flying. Rorschach lands first. He releases Sara, who rolls away. Meg lands on top of him, head slamming against his breastbone.
For a moment she lays there, breathing. Her heartbeat thunders in her ear, but it sounds far away. Everything does. Her head spins and she feels kind of dreamy. Lost. Under her head, she can feel Rorschach breathing. Feel his chest rise and fall. His heart beating under layers of clothes. His hand on her back.
Then, it's like he realizes they're touching. He stiffens. Pushes her away, off him. Moves backwards swiftly as she sits up, Billy still in her arms.
Billy is crying softly now, obviously trying to muffle his sobs. She strokes his hair as she turns so she can see the house.
It's burning furiously. Bits of roof and wood and furniture fall through the air. Land on the street, the lawns. Light up the night in a strange sort of beauty.
Sirens wail. Her ears must not be working properly because the cars sound like they're miles away, even though they're at the end of the street. It's like her ears are stuffed with cotton. She feels kind of sleepy because of it.
Rorschach rises. He looks down at her a moment, and even though she can't see his eyes, she feels as if she's staring right into them. Then, he turns and runs off, slipping into the shadows just as the first police arrive.