Well sure enough, the next morning what I had done was all over the front page. I picked up the Gotham Times and hailed a cab to take me to my job across the city. As I sat in the gridlock that always occurs right where the Bowery meets Midtown I read the papers take on what had happened.
It started out very boring. Horrifying. Seemingly inhuman. What kind of a monster could do this? Everything you would expect to be found in a news story reporting a triple homicide in the suburbs.
But halfway through the story there were quotes from a Lieutenant James Gordon. I didn't know who this Gordon was, but what he said was…startling I suppose. He said that the cut on the husband's body was so clean that whoever did it had to be of considerable height and strength. The fact that no one noticed anything indicated the killer blended in well out in the suburbs, meaning he looked like your everyday commuter.
The reporter asked some strange questions as well. Something about a Bat-man. I had just been transferred over from the New Jersey office so I wasn't entirely familiar with everything that had gone on in Gotham the last year or so.
"Excuse me, what is a Bat-man?"
The fat cabbie turned around, his breath reeking of greasy fast food despite it being seven in the morning. He looked at me with contempt. Like he was the only person who ever had to drive a cab and it was something I could never understand.
"You dense there buddy? Batman is a hero. Protects us regular folks. I don't see nobody givin two shits about the Narrows. Nobody but the Batman. You suits, you don't know what its like to have to look out for yourself you know."
Situations like this make me think I'm not as crazy as I may seem. Any self respecting sociopath would have snapped that fat little mans neck right? They would have done that right? I didn't even have the slightest inclination, so I can't be crazy. Right?
As I read on the reporter continued interviewing Gordon about Batman. Gordon had no comment about that, saying that he had a psychopath to catch. The topic of psychopaths suited the reporter just fine as he went on to ask about the Scarecrow and Joker cases. Gordon said both of these were unrelated to what I had done, which was certainly the case.
Finally the article made mention of the little boy I had let slip away. Apparently the only thing the child could say when asked about who had murdered his family was the word stranger. The Gotham Times had decided to adopt the name for me. Couldn't have cared less, though I was glad it wasn't something silly like Batman or Scarecrow.
I arrived at my destination right on time to begin my workday. Wayne Tower is a truly magnificent building. A giant monolith in the center of Gotham City. It's breathtaking.
Up to the thirty-second floor I go. Programming. A very boring job, and lonely. It's almost entirely automated these days. The only other person on the floor with me most time's is Eddie Nigma. He's a nice guy, very smart. He's to easily intimidated though. He gets bossed around.
I spend the day hunched over in my small cubicle writing code for some new medical program. It's so strange because in Jersey we only wrote code for laser guided weapons, constantly evolving computer viruses, smart bombs, that sort of thing. Then all of the sudden I get transferred to Gotham and I'm writing code for MRI machines and car GPS devices.
Eddie and I finish halfway through the day and he asks me to help him write some code for his own personal use. I barely understand any of it. It's cryptic, almost like some kind of riddle.
I finally go down to the first floor for some lunch. There at the receptionist's desk she sits. Her name's Lauren. She is the physical embodiment of everything the media peddles as attractive. Strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, the angular face of a super model. Hideous…and sexy.
We exchanged numbers at the Christmas party a few months ago. I wasn't that interested in her then, I'm not that interested in her now. But everyday I walk by and see her...glutinous queen. Narcissistic. Mean. Loving everything cancerously, killing more people everyday than I ever have. Filling my soul with vomit. Bitter and dumb. You're awful…I love you.
She's draining me slowly, everyday like this. Corporate and cold, on a consummate search for the next score. You're a parasitic psycho, a filthy creature. Her body will end up being my coffin if I don't do something. I would most certainly have to kill her. She has the mark of the beast. She's born of a jackal. She's beautiful.
It won't be hard for me to learn where she lives, I have access to the entire computer system. I'll follow her home for a few days. See what her habits are, if she has any pets. I'll kill her for sure.
But not tonight. Tonight I have to go to the bar with Eddie.
