II.
He didn't intend for a witness to come out of the situation. Really, he hadn't.
But the woman, with dark hair, narrowed eyes, and a suspicious lilt to her facial features saw him. She saw him shoot someone, in the foot. In the head. She only screamed, though, when he had plunged the knife into the yelling man's shoulder. He'd pissed the Red Hood off.
Soon, they would know better not to.
(But it's still early in his game.)
Her hears her scream, and he immediately slits the man's throat. Lets him fall to the ground in a puddle of blood, and he can hear her shrill voice, chanting "fuck fuck fuck" before she turns and runs. He dashes to the mouth of the alley, but only watches on as she sprints away from him. Not towards any police precinct, but probably towards that dump she calls a home.
Jason briefly wonders if he should kill her, but then he decides that it can wait. He's seen her before.
She's not the type who would tattle. He thinks he recalls seeing her in the dumpy, moldy apartment building, with sharp eyes darting to and fro, with her arms wrapped around her torso as she had shivered in the night breeze, some days ago. He thinks he remembers her eyes scanning the area, the sky, the street, even the other buildings.
She's not the type to tell. She's the type who listens, who watches from the shadows with disdain written all over her face and stained in her cheeks in a sickly pallor. She's eavesdrops, she happens to see things. He can tell, just by seeing her.
Maybe, in another life, she would have been useful to him.
(But he plans on killing her, anyway.)
