Chapter One:
Commissioner Jim Gordon couldn't believe his eyes. He took his glasses off, examining the photos, but either way, they were the same. He looked at the officer in front of him. "Kane, are these real or have they been photoshopped?" he asked, putting them on his desk.
"They're real, sir," Officer Bob Kane said. "The girl looked up at one of the cameras when she robbed that bank. No one tampered with the photographs."
Gordon sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "I can't believe it. I thought that son of a bitch was dead and gone." He looked back at the photos. "Now it seems he's living on through this girl. Does she have an alias?"
"None, sir. She seems to work alone, too."
"Is there any sort of tactic to her killings or thefts?"
"None. She's only killed three people so far, with nothing to connect them. The banks she's robbed are mob banks."
"She seems to be a copycat," Gordon said, "in more ways than just the makeup. What's she hiding under there?" He examined the photos closely, but they were grainy and it was impossible to decipher any important physical features. He put the photo back down. "Get a team together and find her. See if you can find any way to trace her."
Officer Kane nodded and took the photos. "We'll see if we can find anything about her. Sir, I very seriously doubt..."
"This is Gotham City. We have had criminals dress up as clowns and scarecrows and our only hope for help is a man that dresses up as a bat. If you're still doubting, get out of town." Gordon walked out of the room, his fists clenching.
Matilda yawned, crawling off the mattress on the floor. She stood and stumbled over to the closet to pick out something to wear today at college—basically, to grab a random shirt and pair of jeans.
With a glance at her alarm clock, she hissed a rather colorful string of swear words under her breath and stumbled into her jeans, hopping around on one leg as she tried to get the other through. Neglecting the hairbrush, she pulled the bright blue T-shirt over her head and ran out the door with her bag.
Walking to Gotham University usually didn't take very long, but as late as it was, the streets were so crowded Matilda could barely get through the masses. She ran a hand through her tangled blond curls to try and make herself look halfway decent, as if she hadn't crawled off a mattress on the floor in an apartment in the Narrows. Sadly, it didn't work very well.
On top of everything, the only thing on her mind was the fact that she'd completely forgotten deodorant.
With a curse and a stomp of her flip-flopped foot, she shoved through businessmen and women and nearly knocked over an old lady when she began sprinting.
"I'm gonna be late, I'm gonna be late, I'm gonna be late..." she grumbled under her breath, running as fast as possible down the street. If an officer even looked at her for jaywalking, she'd slap the hell out of him and keep moving. She was not in a good mood.
A taxi pulled up right in front of her, and she had to catch herself before she fell headfirst in front of it. She flipped off the driver before glancing at the passenger exiting the car, realizing he looked slightly familiar—dark hair, contrasting icy (almost creepy) blue eyes behind rimless glasses, full lips, and strong cheekbones. She could have sworn she'd seen him somewhere... but where? When?
The driver of the taxi honked, and she flipped him off again after diverting her attention from the familiar (and rather handsome) stranger, then ran across the street to the university.
Jonathan Crane pursed his lips after noticing the rather grungy-looking girl eyeing him strangely, grabbing his suitcase out of the taxi. He was (finally) out of Arkham, as his madness had seemingly been "cured." Thankfully, a good amount of money and a threatening amount of fear toxin was enough to get even the most devoted and good-hearted of psychiatrists to lie through his teeth.
He looked back across the street at the girl as she ran into the doors of the college, rolling his eyes. He'd graduated long ago, but he still remembered the days when he woke up late and had to run, ignoring whoever he shoved out of the way (he'd once come close to being sued for nearly shoving a little old lady in front of a bus, but it hadn't been his fault she was standing too close to the edge of the sidewalk), but it still gave her no cause to nearly jump in front of a taxi just to get across the street. Do unto others instead of sacrificing yourself—that was his motto.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Crane nodded curtly to the driver and paid him, then began to walk down the street to his old apartment in the Narrows before remembering he'd burned it down and had been selling his fear drug while living in a van. He pondered this for a moment and decided he probably needed to find somewhere to stay.
It took a few hours, but he finally was able to rent an apartment and moved all of his things into it. Basically, he tossed his suitcase into a corner and sat down on the floor, looking around at the sparsely furnished apartment. Aside from the obvious lack of a bed, couch, table, refrigerator, and other necessities of life in an already shitty apartment, it was suitable for the night.
At least it's not that padded cell, he thought to himself, lying down and folding his arms behind his head.
Matilda groaned and stumbled into her apartment. She yawned, flopping down onto the mattress, and decided to get some sleep before she went out for the night. If this was a sign as to how things would be for a while, she'd probably have to quit college and figure out some way to work while sleeping during the day.
Wait, why did she need to work?
She sat bolt upright, completely forgetting about the night before's activities. Getting up quickly, her exhaustion forgotten entirely, she ran over to her closet and shoved aside the few clothes, taking out one of the many black duffel bags that formed a mountain in the bottom of her closet. Once opened, there was a neatly folded purple and green outfit inside. She took it out—first the adorable ruffled skirt, then the starched white dress shirt, the emerald green vest, and the brilliantly violet tailcoat. She put it on the mattress, then delved a little deeper into the bag.
Wads and wads of cash.
She giggled to herself. She could pay off all of her student loans. She could move out of this stupid apartment and buy a house.
Matilda chewed her lower lip, counting the money in one stack rather absently. Forget buying a house—she had medical bills for her grandmother she needed to pay.
She smiled. Well, now she had the money, and Grandma Rose would be able to afford her stay at the nursing home, as well.
Bruce Wayne stared out the window, the glass of brandy in his hand while his left tapped out a pattern on the leg of his trousers.
"Master Bruce, if you keep staring out that window, I'm going to call Lucius and tell him you've gone mad," Alfred said as he placed a tea tray down. "You look terrible."
"I haven't been sleeping, Alfred," he said softly, turning slightly to look at his aging butler. His eyes had dark circles under them, and he looked pale. "I keep seeing him looking at me like that."
Alfred frowned slightly, but suspected he didn't need to ask—Bruce would explain in a few moments.
"I can't help but remember the way his eyes were," Bruce continued, confirming Alfred's suspicions. "His eyes weren't actually black, they were brown. Almond. It almost seemed like they changed colors, but they didn't. The mind behind them just changed." He looked down at the glass of brandy with disdain, swirling it around a bit. "I'll never forget what he said to me. It was so clear."
"What was clear, sir?" the old butler couldn't help but ask.
"In his last moments, the Joker—Jack Napier—wasn't the murderer he had been," Bruce said. "His mind had returned, and he looked so miserable, so regretful..." His voice became sad and pained. "And I couldn't save him. All I could do was watch as the gun fired and the man died right in front of me."
Alfred sighed. "In their last moments, the insane do seem sane," he said, clearing up some of the untidyness about the room. "Master Bruce, get some sleep. You look like hell."
Bruce smirked a bit, and placed the glass down on the tea tray. "Alfred, remember what you said about me having you followed on your day off?"
"Yes."
"Feel free to take one. I promise I won't have any paparazzi tail you."
The old man chuckled. "I don't think I'll take my chances," he said, picking up the tray and carrying it off.
A/N: Wow! Didn't think this chapter would take so long! Sorry for the delay, guys, been kinda busy with school and whatnot. Though that's no excuse. Anyways, here you go!
