IV
THE BEAST IN THE HOUSE

The new stockings made her feel, well, sexy. She had never owned a pair of stockings before getting her job, and she'd only been working there for just under a month-but she had never owned a pair of stockings with a seam up the back. She smoothed her black pencil skirt and attacked her blouse with the lint-roller again; Major was shedding, and she needed to look professional.

Her job was easy enough: she was a receptionist on the third floor of Wayne Enterprises, which dealt mostly with their manufacturing warehouses. She was one of the newly hired receptionists and spent most of her time in a cramped back room, filing different shipping forms. However, every now and then she would be answering phones, fetching coffee, and mostly keeping to herself.

She plucked nervously at her stockings, feeling some kind of schoolgirl flutter of shyness; what if they drew too much attention? She had nice legs, to her knowledge, but she didn't want her coworkers thinking she was showing off.

What a change in mentality. A few weeks ago she had been cowed, flinching from loud noises and looking for Randy around every corner, and now she was checking out her legs in the mirror and trying to build up the courage to flirt a little with the nice shipping manager who paused by her desk every Wednesday.

(just enjoy this little bit of happiness it's okay to be happy don't worry you can breathe Randy is gone)

She hadn't seen or heard from Randy in weeks. Aimee reported two weeks ago that he had returned home, and she called him to ask where his wife was. "Oh, she's home," he had reported brightly, his big smile pouring through the phone line, "Want me to put her on?"

No, that was fine, Aimee had said, and hung up. Rose was still jumpy, still expected him to pop out from around a corner or surprise her at work with a bouquet of flowers and a gun. But it was a little calmer, a little safer. She was able to admire her legs in the mirror for a little while without fearing that Randy was going to beat her with his belt for daring to attract other men's attention.

"Bash, are you ready?" she called out.

Major came around the doorway, wagging his tail, and she heard Sebastian yell out "Yeaaaaaah…" The German Shepherd nosed his head under Rose's hand, and she petted him absently.

"Be a good boy, okay, Major?" she said, and scratched the bridge of his long nose. "Bash, come on, get your things, the bus will be here any minute!"

Bash took the bus, and she took the subway. It was a short commute on a stinky, crowded subway car, but it saved trying to find a place to park in downtown Gotham. Sebastian was doing well in school, and she took great pride in this: his teacher loved him, and said despite his tumultuous move, he was doing well and making friends. They were beginning to settle.

In a few months, she decided, they would move. Someplace nicer, maybe in one of the suburbs outside of Gotham, with a better school system and nicer houses. A stuffy, cramped apartment wouldn't be good in the long term—Major needed a yard to run in, not just a walk every evening, and Sebastian needed a place to play besides a broken down playground.

And besides, there was still the matter of the wall.

She had bought another gallon of white paint and painted the wall again, feeling uneasily as though she were covering a crime scene. Somewhere in the back of Rose's mind, she knew that it wasn't red paint on those walls.

(it's blood and you're covering it up you're helping cover the blood)

But that didn't matter now. What mattered now was getting Bash to school on time, going to work, and letting the cute shipping manager admire her legs.

The car was a hot, humid mess. It reeked of sweat, urine, and something else, something coppery and rank. Food wrappers and empty containers nearly filled the car. Flies buzzed around the stuffy interior, ignoring the rapidly festering mass in the driver's seat. Randy had long ago turned off the radio, but in his head the music never stopped. A pair of fuzzy dice swung from the rearview mirror, and he drummed his hands on the dashboard. He couldn't see the road in front of him as he swerved in and out of traffic.

"I keep a close watch on this heart of mine," he crooned under his breath, "I keep my eyes wide open all the time…"

Johnny Cash's deep voice rolled through his head like thunder, but it was doing little to stop the haze of red around Randy's vision.

She was gone.

She wasn't in Gotham.

He had been so sure, so sure she would be here. This enraged him more than her departure, because that meant he hadn't known his little bride as well as he thought. That meant she had been lying for a long time, that she had been planning this for a long time. It meant that his little lesson would have to be extensive. And it would include his son, too, because his son was definitely a part of this. He could just hear it now. Daddy's a mean man, Mommy…

"Daddy's gonna bring you home," he breathed.

He took the exit for their small town. Some old, instinctive part of him knew that he needed to go home and get cleaned up, he needed to get a new car and play the part of the Worried Father and Dutiful Husband. He would get her back.

"Because you're mine, I walk the line," he hummed deeply, and then smiled.

As he pulled into his driveway, the red mist around his vision nearly obscured what was sitting next to his house. When he saw it, however, he slammed on the brakes.

There, sitting in his driveway, was his car.

An image popped into his mind—his little wife sitting tearfully in the house, holding their son, their dog at her feet, crying snottily because she had run out of money and gotten lost and Bad Terrible Things had happened to her. Because as bad as she thought her husband was, the outside world was so much worse. In that split second, he considered forgiving her. She would never leave the house again, he would make sure of that.

But no. She needed to be taught a lesson.

He flung the door open and stumbled out onto his gravel driveway. In the backseat of his car was a tire iron, and he snatched it, gripping the heavy instrument so hard his knuckles went white. Wild eyed, unshaven, and stinking of his own filth, Randy staggered to the car his wife had stolen. Sitting on the seat was a note, and a plate of cookies.

The note said "For Rose and Randy!" with a exclamation point.

Slowly, feeling as though he was underwater, he opened the car door and took the note out.

Dear Rose and Randy,

Thank you so much for offering to trade cars! We had a lovely time in Maine. Please enjoy these cookies as a token of our appreciation, and we can trade back at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Bob and Terry Cormac

He crumpled the note in one strong fist and stared across the street at the neat little cape where the Cormac's lived.

Tire iron still in hand, he advanced upon the little house.

Arms full of groceries, Rosie fumbled with her keys. Usually, she would make dinner and get things situated while Aimee drove Bash home—thankfully Sebastian had somewhere to go after school, because Rose worked until six. Tonight, she was going to throw a pizza in the oven and hope for the best, because she was exhausted. The cute shipping manager had hesitated by her desk and mentioned something about the weather—Rose had shyly crossed her legs and asked about his weekend. Very boring office flirtation, but it was new and terribly exciting for her. Not that it would go anywhere; it was just a nice little exercise of femininity. Something Randy allowed her to have precious little of.

It was very dark inside the apartment, and Rose stopped cold. It was like a chill, stealing over her spine, in between her fingers and toes. Someone was in her apartment. Something…not human.

"Major?" she called out.

There was no response. Something cold prickled through her, and the bottom of her stomach dropped out. Carefully, eyes darting around the room, she lowered her grocery bags to the floor, and squeezed her keys tightly in her hand. Her house key and car key poked through her knuckles and she clenched her fist tighter.

"Randy?" Rose called softly.

(oh thank god sebastian is at aimee's oh praise jesus oh sweet god he'll kill me)

There was a low growl from the next room. Around her, the darkness chuckled.

"Hello?" There was a thready, needy sound of fear in her voice.

The darkness breathed wetly, and there was another low growl.

She snapped on the lights and both of her fists came up, one of them shaking, the other steady and holding onto her metal keys for dear life. In the split second that her eyes adjusted, she saw a splotch of red, and that burned into her retinas as an afterimage.

Major was stock still, standing in the center of the room, his ears flat against his head, fur standing up along his spine, muzzle rippled in a permanent snarl. Across the room, sitting against the wall, was a man, sitting in a puddle of blood.

Not a man.

For a moment the dog and human blurred and she just saw some giant, grinning, wolfish hybrid of clown and animal, and then she blinked sweat from her eyes and it was gone. She trembled.

"Helllloooo," the man whispered with a wet, rattling laugh. All she could see was his smile, a huge smile, baring teeth like a caged animal. It was red and went from ear to ear, his blackened eyes leaping out of a white, greasepaint colored face.

And in that moment she saw why Major hadn't attacked the man yet—he was holding a gun, pointed straight at the dog. Now, the barrel of the gun shifted slightly, and it was trained on her.

"Looove what you've done with the place," the man wheezed.

Finally an update! I had completely forgotten about this story and then stumbled upon it completely innocently while browsing for more fic. And then when I wanted to continue it, I couldn't remember my login information! But here I am, I'm back, and I hope to have some more updates in the upcoming days. Stay tuned! xoxo, Sassy Bigfoot