Chapter 3
Rose: 'The weeks went by. Ed had started to heal, but his progress was slow. By now, after showing him pictures and reminding him of the past, he was starting to believe us when we said he was part of our family. But he was cold as ice towards Oswald. That first memory on waking after the shooting, recalling the day he had tried to kill him at the pier, had stayed with him. Oswald had told him many times that he had not intentionally murdered Isabella, he had also said Ed had forgiven him long ago, but Ed refused to even try and think back.
By now he had seen Eddie, and thankfully not pushed his son away. Ivy had led him over to him and Ed had looked down at him doubtfully and asked, Are you really mine? Ivy didn't lose her temper, thankfully. But it wasn't easy for any of us.
Gertrude was running out of patience with her son, she was sick of seeing Oswald in tears every time he visited Ed, because he blamed him for everything. And I just wanted my husband to be happy again. But it wasn't over – our struggle was only just beginning, and it started the day before Ed came home from the hospital...'
As Oswald heard the knock at the door, he paused by the mirror in the hallway, ran his hand over his hair, then cast a gaze over his suit.
"What is going on out there?" Gertrude demanded as she peered through the lace curtain to see a large gathering of press outside the mansion.
"Oswald?" Rose demanded as she joined them.
He turned his head and met her gaze.
"If the GCPD are not trying hard enough, perhaps some negative press will shame them into action!"
"You didn't call the press?"
"Yes Rose, I did!"
As Lilly and Ozzie came out to the hallway, Rose turned around and held them back.
"You are not going out there!" she said sharply, "Go to your rooms, this is Daddy's business!" then she glared at her husband, "You're not helping matters by doing this!"
"I happen to think it's the way forward," Oswald replied, "Excuse me Rose, the press awaits me!"
Rose and Gertrude exchanged a disapproving look as Oswald opened up the door and stood on the porch of the mansion, facing the sea of press.
"I called you here today because I am desperate for justice!" he announced as the reporters fell silent and listened as the city's former mayor spoke, "Five weeks ago, my beloved second spouse Mr Edward Nygma-Cobblepot was shot by an unknown assailant outside Cobblepot Oil..." he paused, casting his gaze about the crowd who stood before him with their cameras and their notebooks and their recording devices, "Edward came close to death, he was shot in the head and even now, his chances of a full recovery remain uncertain. I am begging the people of Gotham to come forward if they know the identity of the shooter..." He blinked as his eyes filled with tears, "Ed didn't deserve this. He has a family who love him and we want justice! The GCPD are getting nowhere with this case, a man's life has been ruined and they don't care!"
Suddenly questions were being fired at him.
"Do you feel the police department are not prioritising this case?" asked one reporter.
"Yes!" Oswald said as a tear ran down his face, "It was attempted murder and the gunman is still out there!"
Then as a TV camera was turned towards him, a female journalist spoke up.
"Mr Cobblepot, if the gunman is watching this, what do you have to say to him?"
Oswald drew in a breath as his eyes filled with tears again.
"If you're out there, if you're watching this, you've done a terrible thing!" he wept, "My Edward is suffering, he could suffer for the rest of his life because of your bullet! He didn't deserve what he's going through, I don't deserve this either! Our lives have been destroyed!"
Then another journalist asked a question.
"Do you believe someone out there might be shielding the shooter?"
"I don't know," Oswald said as he leaned on his cane and used his free hand to wipe his eyes as emotion took over, "But I am begging for help with this! If anyone out there has information, come to me, tell me who did this to my Ed!"
As more voices raised and cameras flashed and film crews shot live footage back to the TV news stations, all Oswald heard was a mass of raised voices as more questions were raised and all he could do was stand there and sob. Then Rose put her arm around him and led him back inside and closed the front door, shutting out the sound of the crowd.
"This isn't going to help," she said.
Oswald sniffed and wiped his eyes again.
"I had to do something, the cops are getting nowhere! What am I supposed to do, sit back and let the man who shot Ed get away with destroying his life – our life together? I have to find that bastard! I want to kill him!"
Rose had no reply to his outburst. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her husband and he clung to her, weeping softly against her shoulder.
After receiving a lecture from Gertrude about stirring up bad feeling with the police department, Oswald went upstairs to lie down. Then his mother brought him some tea and ordered him to rest. But he couldn't rest. His phone rang, and he answered it to find Jim Gordon on the end of the line.
"I just saw you on TV," Jim said, "Thanks a lot, Oswald! We're trying our best and you're making us look incompetent!"
Oswald sat up, anger flashed in his eyes as he gripped the phone tightly.
"Maybe it's because Edward and I are ex cons," he said bitterly, "Is that why his life means less to you than the other attempted murders you've worked so hard to solve over the years?"
"That is not true, and you know it!"
Oswald was still fuming as he spoke again.
"His life means everything to me even if it means little to you! Please do your job and find the man who shot him – or I will!"
Jim paused, then he spoke again, carefully spelling out a stark reminder.
"If you find this guy, if you kill him and you get caught, you're back in jail. It will make everything you worked for meaningless, and you won't be there to help Ed! Don't do it, Oswald! I've already heard Victor Zsasz is asking questions, he's searching for the gunman. I know he's working for you again! You need to leave this to us!"
"Then I suggest you do your job, Jim," Oswald said darkly, and he ended the call.
Then he gave a heavy sigh and laid back down on the bed, feeling weary to his soul. The only ray of light escaping into his dark world was knowing Ed was coming home tomorrow. He was still weak, he would need a lot of care – and he still hated him. But at least he would be home again...
After the negative press handed to the GCPD by Oswald Cobblepot, Jim was impatient for a result on the case – if only to prove Oswald's theory wrong, and to restore public faith in the police department. But there were no leads. It was crazy to think in a city like Gotham, a once notorious man like Edward Nygma could be gunned down and no one anywhere knew anything about it...
Jim had looked at the theories from all angles; both Nygma and Oswald potentially had enemies everywhere due to their past – but Harvey had spent hours out on the streets, asking around and finding the same answer Jim had got – no one had an axe to grind with either of them. Any grudges had been either sorted out or fought out a few years back. Oswald was now the owner of Cobblepot Oil, he had a lot of power in this town but so far hadn't made any new enemies along the way. His old underworld associates still regarded him with esteem, many had expressed sympathy over the shooting. So Jim was now looking at other possibilities – a lone gunman, someone who perhaps had a grudge that went back many years.
If someone wanted to find Ed, it wouldn't be difficult – he was now Edward Nygma-Cobblepot, and it was common knowledge he was married to the owner of Cobblepot Oil, the man who had once been known as Penguin, who had also been the mayor of Gotham. This was assuming the target had been Ed. There was still a possibility the shooter had intended to hit Oswald...
Then as Jim was going over details of the shooting again, there was a knock on the door of his office and a cop came in and told him someone wanted to see him. That someone was Victor Zsasz...
"What can I do for you, Victor?" Jim asked as he entered his office.
"I've got a theory about the shooting," Victor replied, "I haven't said anything to Penguin yet, because obviously he's on the hunt for the gunman. If I'm right, I don't think he will choose to carry out any kind of personal revenge. This is why I'm coming to you first – I need to see the CCTV of the shooting to see if my theory fits."
"What's your theory?" Jim asked.
Victor fixed his dark eyes on him.
"Show me the tape first," he demanded.
A few minutes later they were sat on the same side of Jim's desk, and Jim replayed the CCTV of the shooting.
"The gunman was standing by the wall in a blind spot where the cameras couldn't reach, it's right by the alley where he made his get away," Jim said.
Victor watched the grainy footage as shots were fired and people ran in panic. He saw Oswald hit the ground and pull Ed down with him, just as the last of the shots caught Ed's skull. Jim paused the tape and looked at Victor.
"What do you think you know?"
Victor was still looking at the screen. He gathered his thoughts then turned to Jim.
"Without incriminating myself, you're aware of my role in Penguin's life back in the old days. I know about guns. I also know the shooter isn't on the CCTV anywhere, so he worked out where the blind spot was, so he could follow them for a short distance then open fire. First of all, the gun: It was an old, low powered handgun, six bullets, a revolver... a very basic weapon. Not the weapon of choice for anyone who knows about guns and wants to kill someone."
Jim had been listening intently.
"Okay, I agree with that – the gun wasn't high powered, that's why Nygma's still alive."
"And then there's the angle of the shots," Victor added, "If the shooter is aiming low and pointing the gun upward, the bullet that hit Ed should have hit the top of his skull, not the back. I think the person who fired it followed them with the gun concealed and then tried to fire without being noticed until the shots went off. But witnesses said the shooter had raised the gun."
He looked at Jim, waiting for a reaction. Jim shook his head.
"So his aim was off..."
"No," Victor replied, "It wasn't just off by a fraction – those bullets hit cars and were dug out of walls. This is someone who has never fired a gun before. I've seen people pick up guns, amateurs... they can't shoot straight, let alone hit a moving target. That shot that hit Ed? It was a fluke. The gun was in the hands of someone who knew nothing about weapons."
Everything Victor had said made perfect sense.
"But this still brings me no closer to the shooter's identity," Jim reminded him, "Even if your theory is right, without a lead this case goes cold."
"I don't think the shooter was deliberately aiming from a low angle," Victor added, "I think the gunman might be a woman. Or even a kid -"
Jim shook his head.
"Kids who grow up in this city have heard stories about Penguin and Riddler. Half of them probably admire them!"
"That gun is the kind of firearm a woman might keep in her purse," Victor added, "It's a small, low powered, old fashioned revolver. It's not a gun to shoot if you want to be sure of killing someone. Were there any prints on the bullets?"
"None," Jim replied.
Victor got up from his seat.
"I don't know how much of my theory is right. But I do know you need to start looking at all possibilities. If it is a woman, as mad as he is about the shooting, I think if Oswald finds her first, he'll be calling you. He's convinced there's a dangerous assassin out there who tried to kill Ed. He's wrong, but I know I'm on to something."
"If your theory is right, I hope I can prove it," Jim replied as he got up, then he briefly shook his hand.
"Thanks for sharing your thoughts."
"But if I'm wrong and there is some crazy guy out there, I won't be taking that information to you," Victor added, "Obviously, I'd take it to Penguin first."
Jim let that remark slide. He had seen first hand the devastation that bullet had caused, not just to Ed, but to those who loved him. He didn't blame Oswald for wanting revenge, he just hoped if he took it, he wouldn't leave evidence behind, because he had too much to lose if he was faced with a murder charge.
"If you think of anything else, be sure to let me know," Jim added.
"I might, it depends what I find out," Victor replied, then he left the office and closed the door behind him.
Jim sat down at his desk and played the tape again as he considered Victor's theories. The height of the shooter and the fact that the weapon was considered a woman's gun, and an old fashioned kind, was something to bear in mind. He still didn't know where to start, but Victor had given him plenty to think about...
Oswald's mood had crashed from happy at knowing Ed was coming home, back down to sadness once more as Ivy left alone to bring him home from the hospital.
"I wanted to be there," he said as he looked sadly into the spare room, where Rose had made the bed and opened up a window to let in some fresh air.
"You know how he feels about you," she reminded him as she placed a vase of flowers next to the bed, then she moved it over to the dresser.
"I think I'd better leave the bedside table empty," she added, "He's got a lot of medication to bring home with him..."
"I don't want him sleeping in the spare room!"
Rose turned around and met his gaze, seeing frustration and sadness in his eyes. Oswald looked to the bed, then back at Rose.
"He should be in our bed, with us!"
"Not yet," she reminded him as she walked over and joined him, "He doesn't remember. Until his memory improves, he's not going to want any closeness with you. I'm sorry, but you have to accept that."
Oswald took a deep breath, pulling back on his emotions as he stayed determined not to cry today, not when Ed was due home so soon.
"Rose, he's going to need help. He's weak, he gets dizzy, sometimes he can't make it to the bathroom in time. How is he going to cope without me? I'm here for him and all he wants to do is push me away!"
"I'll help him," Rose replied, "And if he doesn't like it, I'll remind him he's lucky to be alive after what he's been through. I'm not taking shit from him, Oswald. I know he's suffered – so have we! He responds better if you remind him of the reality of this situation."
"Don't talk sharply to him," he said, "Please, Rose?"
The look in his eyes made her heart ache. She placed her hand softly on his cheek as she met his gaze with deepest love. His hair was hanging flat, his shirt was partly unbuttoned, he looked tired, too.
"Why don't you go and get ready? You want to look your best when Ed comes back. I'll bring him upstairs and make him comfortable. Then maybe you can try talking to him."
Oswald leaned closer and gave her a brief kiss.
"That's a good idea."
He leaned on his cane and turned away, then left the room. Rose stood there alone in the spare bedroom, silently wondering if Ed would have been better off staying with Ivy – he barely spoke to her since the shooting and still didn't recall their friendship, but at least he was polite to her – she had already snapped at him when he snapped at her, and then he had apologised. He recalled no links to any of them, at least nothing meaningful. As far as Ed was concerned, he was coming home to a strange house full of people who meant nothing to him – except for Oswald, who he remembered only as someone he hated...
Rose heard a car pull up in the driveway. Ivy was back...
Rose went back downstairs to open the door, pausing to take a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. Ed didn't remember his own family and worst of all, didn't even want to be here. But she would make it work, she had to, because Oswald couldn't bear to go through more pain after the dark times they had been through. She stood at the open door and watched as Ivy got out of the car, then she opened the passenger door and Ed got out. He paused to cling to her arm as a moment of unsteadiness caught him, then Ivy led him up to the front door.
"Welcome home, Ed," Rose said, and she smiled.
Ed stood there stiffly, regarding her through his glasses with a suspicious glance.
"I would like to go straight to my room, please," he said, and as he entered the house, he glanced at the children who had run into the hallway.
"Welcome home, Uncle Ed," said Lilly.
"I'm glad you're back," Ozzie added.
Ed turned his head and looked at Ivy.
"Where's my alleged son?"
Anger flashed in Ivy's eyes.
"Alleged? He is your son!"
"So where is he?" As Ed looked about the hallway, he felt a vague ache in his heart as he felt some kind of bond with Ivy's kid. He missed his presence, but still wasn't sure if she was telling the truth when she said Eddie was his child.
"He's with Gertrude," Ivy said sharply, "I decided not to have him here when you came home in case you reject him. He's five years old, I'm not sure how much more rejection he can take from his own father before mental scarring kicks in!"
"I apologise," Ed said quietly, then he looked away, "I should to go to my room. I need to rest."
"I'm collecting Eddie and then I'm going home," Ivy said to Rose, then she walked off down the hallway.
"I'll take you to your room," Rose said, and Ed followed her to the staircase and looked up. The layout of the house was starting to feel vaguely familiar, but no memories came to him of time spent here. Rose walked beside him as he gripped the stair rail and went up slowly, taking his time as he feared a sudden dizzy spell. They reached the top of the stair case and she led him straight to the spare room, where he sat down heavily on the bed and gave a tired sigh.
"Do you need anything?" she asked.
"No thank you," Ed replied stiffly, looking away from her.
"Do you need any help?"
"No, Rose," he said, and now he sounded tense.
"I'll fetch your bag form the car," she told him, then she left the room.
As she closed the door, Ed drew in a nervous gasp of air as he looked about the room, feeling strangely out of place as he wondered why the hell he had ever chosen this life with this family and most of all, why he had married Oswald. His only lasting memory was shooting him, and all the reasons for it. Anything beyond that was lost in a haze and he was glad it was lost.
"As soon as I'm stronger, I'm getting out of here!" he muttered, then he sat in silence, feeling uneasy as he recalled nothing of life in this house except for a strange sense of deja vu. All he could be sure of was the fact the many years had passed by since he shot Oswald on the pier. But what had happened in that missing time was lost to him, and he felt sure he would never recall it...
Rose returned to the house with Ed's bags, as she hurried back upstairs she saw the door to the master bedroom was open, and she went quietly past Ed's closed door and joined her husband.
"How do I look?" Oswald said as he stood before the mirror and brushed down a purple silk waist coat, then threw on a black jacket.
"You look great," Rose assured him, then as she stepped closer she caught the scent of his cologne.
"He may not appreciate you yet – but I do."
"I'm not finished yet," Oswald replied "I still need to fix my hair."
"I'm going to give Ed his bags and then go and see what the kids are up to," Rose replied, "I might take them over to Ivy's for a while, Ed needs peace and quiet."
"Leave the bags, I'll take them to him," Oswald replied.
She saw a hopeful look in his eyes and her heart ached.
"Don't expect him to remember," she reminded him, "You need to get used to the way he is. It could take months or -"
"Please don't say years."
"Just don't get your hopes up," she reminded him, then she kissed him fondly and left the room.
Oswald turned back to the mirror and reached for his comb, then he began to sweep up his hair into long spikes, taking his time, wanting to look his very best for his Edward.
Ed had felt a deep sense of exhaustion sweep over him as he sat down on the bed, then he had shifted the pillows and leaned against them, feeling a vague ache in his head as he wondered why Rose was taking so long to bring his stuff up to his room. He needed his pain relief. Then as he shifted the pillows again, he noticed something had been placed beneath them. He drew out a photo album and opened it up.
Ed turned the pages slowly, seeing pictures of him and Ivy and a baby in his arms, then he saw a photo taken outside in the grounds of the estate, he was standing with his arm around Oswald and smiling for the camera. Oswald had leaned close to him, his head touching his shoulder with an expression of absolute contentment in his eyes. He turned the page and saw a picture of him, Oswald and Rose.
"No, this can't be my life..." he whispered, then he closed the book sharply and pushed it back behind the pillows. He didn't know who had put it there, but he had no intention of looking at it again – there was no point in seeing pictures from a life that meant nothing to him. His head ached and he tried to sit up, but exhaustion had caught him again.
"Hurry up, Rose!" he said in a low voice, glaring towards the closed door as he wondered how long he would have to wait in pain for her to finally show up with his medication.
Then the door opened and Oswald walked in, he was wearing a fine suit and his hair was groomed and he carried with him the scent of a cologne that seemed familiar in a way that jolted Ed's emotions, for a split second he recalled pulling him close and remembered the scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin, then he caught his breath in alarm, pushing away the shard of a memory as he looked at him and felt only coldness.
"I'll unpack your things," Oswald said.
"Leave my stuff alone!" Ed told him sharply, "Just give me my meds and get out!"
Oswald left the bags on the floor and took out the medication, then he placed the bottles of pills next to the bed.
"It's about time!" Ed said angrily as he snatched up the painkillers and opened the bottle. Then he stared at Oswald.
"Water would be useful?"
"Of course, I'm sorry..." Oswald leaned on his cane and turned away, leaving the room.
As Ed waited for him to return and pain throbbed deep in his scar, he felt his resentment rising. He searched his damaged memory and recalled every fight they had ever had, then he tried to think beyond shooting Oswald at the pier. He recalled the day he had rejected him, that had been before the shooting. Then a memory flashed to mind: He had turned up at the mansion, his heart breaking as he had... fallen to his knees and begged Oswald's forgiveness?
"No!" he said breathlessly as panic kicked in, "No, that can't be right..."
He was still wondering what could have possibly prompted him to behave in such a way when Oswald returned to the room and placed a glass of water next to his bed. Ed snatched it up and took two pills quickly, hoping the meds would kick in fast.
"You must have known I still get pain, why did you take so long to bring my meds up here?"
"I was getting ready to see you! I wanted to look my best for you, my suit, my hair -"
The pain was fading out as Ed glared at him.
"How selfish and typical of you," he said angrily, "But I guess you can afford to spend time on your appearance, it's going to be a while before I can do that."
Oswald looked at him, feeling instantly guilty – Ed's hair had grown back enough to cover his scar, but it was painfully short and he didn't doubt he missed the time he used to spend grooming in front of the mirror.
"I'm sorry, Ed. That was insensitive. I apologise."
"Get out," Ed replied, then he settled back against the pillows and gave a heavy sigh, paused to take off his glasses and place them next to the bed, then he closed his eyes. But he didn't quite feel alone.
"Are you still here?" he asked suspiciously, then he opened his eyes again. Oswald was still standing in the room, looking at him sadly.
"If you can't remember what I once meant to you, try and recall who shot you!" he said as emotion choked his voice, "At least allow me the satisfaction of killing the bastard who destroyed us!"
Real pain and heartbreak reflected in Oswald's eyes. Ed tried to think back to the shooting, but remembered nothing.
"I don't recall being shot," he said flatly, looking away, "Leave me alone, go and fuss over your hair, Oswald. You'll never be lonely as long as you've got a mirror to keep you company..."
As Oswald looked back at him, he wanted to speak but words failed him as he blinked away tears. He turned around sharply and hobbled out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The house felt silent and empty with the kids and Rose over at Ivy's, and as he walked away from Eds room, Oswald had never felt lonelier. He was still thinking about how Ed had spoken so harshly, as tears filled his eyes again.
"Oswald, what is wrong?" Gertrude had asked that question as she walked towards him, the hem of her long, flowing lilac dress trailed elegantly as she made her way over to join him in the upper hallway.
"Ed truly hates me, Mother! I took my time getting ready to greet him and he accused me of caring more about my appearance than I do about him!"
Gertrude looked into her son's eyes as her gaze filled with compassion.
"Oh my darling son, he is not himself, when he remembers everything he will know how much he adores you and then he will regret his words!"
"No," Oswald said, "He's right. I was very insensitive today."
"And when was the last time he was considerate towards you? That bullet to his head has changed him! It is not his fault but you must stop this weeping over him!"
Oswald fell silent for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.
"Wait here for a moment," he said, then he turned away and went into the bathroom.
"What are you doing now?" Gertrude demanded. As her son emerged from the bathroom once more, he had a look of determination in his eyes.
"I need your help," he said, and she shot him a look of confusion as he led the way towards her bedroom.
"Oswald, what is going on?" his mother demanded as she followed him inside and he closed the door.
"I need your help with something I can't do myself," he said, and went over to her dressing table and sat down in front of the mirror, leaning his cane against the table as he looked at her through the glass as she stood behind him.
"What help do you need?" she asked.
Oswald placed an electric razor on the table.
"Ed was very hurt that I spent too much time on my hair...He can hardly do the same at this moment. So I want you to cut my hair, cut it all off."
She looked at him in horror.
"I will not shave your beautiful hair!"
As she stood beside him, she reached down, cradling his face in her hands as he looked up at her with tearful eyes.
"I can't do it myself. I need you to do it for me!"
Gertrude drew her hands back from his face, then placed one on his shoulder as her other fondly stroked a soft tendril of his black, spiked hair.
"I will not do that to you, Oswald. I could not, it would break my heart."
"Please, Mother! I just want to show Ed I'm trying to share what he's feeling when he looks into a mirror."
Gertrude paused for thought.
"I think it will not make Ed feel better. But it would make you feel a little better?"
"I just want to do this for Ed."
"Then I will do this for you," she said, "But not like this," and she picked up the razor and set it aside, then opened up a drawer and took out scissors and a comb.
"I will not shave your hair," she said, "But I will cut for you, I shall cut it nicely. You will still be my handsome son, I shall cut it shorter - by the time it is grown longer, Edward's hair will also be longer. I think it will take maybe a couple of months. Perhaps he will be a lot better by then."
As she ran the comb through his hair and picked up the scissors, Oswald tensed. His mother met his gaze through the mirror as she stood beside him, about to make the first cut.
"Are you sure?"
Oswald swallowed hard. He had never had his hair so short before, and knew he looked as nervous as he felt.
"Yes."
She closed the blades and two inches of a jet black spike fell into his lap.
"Are you still certain, my darling?" she asked gently.
"Yes, Mother, I am very sure about this."
She ran the comb through his hair again, carefully cutting as she began to speak.
"Now," she said, "You are making this gesture for Edward, so you must also stop the crying! If he is cold towards you, let him be cold. If he insults you, remind him that you love him."
"How do I do that? He hates me."
She carried on carefully cutting his hair as she spoke again.
"If a man came along and stole Rose, what would you do?"
He looked into the mirror in surprise.
"Rose would never look at another man!"
"But if she did, if he stole her from you, what would you do?"
As she stood there beside his chair, she saw his eyes burn with fury in the mirror.
"I'd kill him and dump the body in the river!"
She combed his hair again and then resumed cutting.
"Of course you would. So why are you letting the man who fired the gun take your Edward away from you? What are you going to do about it, my clever son?"
A spark of realisation came to his eyes and to see it, lifted Gertrude's spirits.
"I'm going to fight for him!"
"Yes, you are!" she agreed, then she set down the scissors and comb and brushed away fallen hair from the back of his collar. As she placed her hands on his shoulders, he looked into the mirror as new found determination shone in his eyes. His mother had cut his hair shorter, but he could still spike it up a little. It wouldn't take long to grow back, and he could still make the gesture he wanted to make to Ed.
"You still look very handsome," she told him, "And Edward is lucky to have you. Now you must make him realise that!"
He got up from the chair and reached for his cane, then leaned on it as he turned towards his mother. She smiled proudly as she looked into her son's eyes.
"I once said you would be somebody in this town, and now you are," she reminded him, "A great man like you can easily overcome difficulty. You have not lost him, he is simply drifted from you. Now you must bring him back."
Oswald smiled as his eyes shone with joy.
"That's what I'm going to do! Thank you, Mother."
He gave her a tight hug, then kissed her cheek before letting go again, then he turned away and leaned hard on his cane, heading quickly for the door as new determination shone in his eyes:
His mother was right – he hadn't lost Ed. He just needed to remind him he was loved and refuse to give up, no matter how hard Ed resisted...
On the other side of the vast grounds, Ivy leaned out of the kitchen window, her long hair whipping up at the ends as it caught on a cooling breeze. The first leaves were starting to turn with the season and as she saw Eddie watching as the older children started to climb, a look of annoyance came to her face.
"Kids," she called out, "Treat the poor tree with some respect, please!" then she closed the window and went over to the kitchen table and sat down with Rose.
"I have something to show you," she said, and she reached for a small pile of letters and pulled out a white envelope.
"What is it?" Rose asked.
"I picked up the mail today," Ivy replied, "And I found this at the main gate and it didn't look like the usual sort of mail we get, so I opened it... by the way, it's addressed to Pengie, not me. But I figured that he's got enough to deal with - and I guess my instinct was right. Take a look at it."
She passed the envelope to Rose. It was already opened, and Rose reached inside and pulled out a card. It was white with blue flowers at the edges, and in the centre of the card were the words I Apologize. Rose opened the card and began to read the neat, flowing handwriting within:
'Dear Mr Cobblepot, I am writing to you to apologize for my actions. I saw you on the news and you were crying. I don't know you but I'm truly sorry for the pain I caused you and your family. I heard in the news that the police believe the gunman might have been targeting you. That's not true. My target was Edward Nygma, former criminal and former employee of the GCPD's forensic department. I just wanted to confirm that it was personal. I thought by shooting him I would right a wrong but I see now all I have done is cause more pain. That was not my intention. I didn't consider the bigger picture. Perhaps I am no better than Mr Nygma. You said the shooter has wrecked his life. Seeing you so devastated and crying on TV made me realise I've done a terrible thing. Maybe revenge is never the right thing to do. If I could go back to that day I would change it. I am truly sorry. I hope some day if Mr Nygma recovers, your family won't suffer any more. Please try and accept my apology, I don't know what else to do.'
Rose paled as she looked at Ivy.
"Oh my god... this guy is owning up to the shooting? What the hell does he mean, he's sorry? He fired off six rounds deliberately!"
"I know, I thought that too – what a sicko," Ivy replied, "There's no way he's sorry because he saw Pengie crying. He's mocking us."
Rose looked at the writing again.
"I don't know...maybe not. He's saying he doesn't know Oswald. He says the target was Ed and he's going back a very long way..."
"Back to the days when Ed became Riddler," Ivy agreed.
Rose was still studying the card.
"He mentions it twice, about Oswald being upset... This might sound crazy but maybe the guy is sorry... it's almost like he didn't think before he did it."
Ivy shook her head.
"Everyone knows what happens if you point a gun at someone and pull the trigger multiple times! He's either scared of getting caught, or he's laughing at us."
"I think I should show this to Oswald when I get home," Rose replied.
"Are you sure? He's been going crazy worrying about Ed."
"What's the alternative?" Rose asked, "This is a lead the cops could use. But I know Oswald needs to see this.."
"You're right. Ed's in no position to take revenge but Pengie can easily pull it off without getting caught."
Rose felt a brief flicker of worry as she considered the worst outcome... no, her husband was too smart to get caught...
"I have to give this to him," she replied, "I don't like the idea of him doing anything risky, not after all he's worked for – but I couldn't forgive myself for holding it back."
Then she fell silent as she read the card again. There was something odd about it, something very off about the whole wording of the message, but she just couldn't decide whether it had been written by a man who was truly remorseful, or if it had been composed by a dangerous psychopath who was enjoying the devastation he had caused. But it wasn't up to her, she was decided now - the matter would rest in Oswald's hands, he would be the one to decide what to do next...
