A/N: and here's chapter eight! I've been a bit ill so I didn't have to go to school, which kind of rocked because I got to write more :)
Anyway, your reviews made me feel a lot better, thanks so much to everyone for the reponses, I was really nervous about that chapter. Yeah, I'm nervous about every chapter, but it's because I care a lot about these characters.
Thank you to all anonymous reviewers too (Yazigurl - wow, thanks so much! am very flattered and very happy you're loving it:), Emma L -Ahh, you summed up what I was trying to convey very well and thank you so much for the kind words, LizM - thank you! very touched by your words :), Riddle - sorry for the cliffhanger! hope this chapter makes up for it, Guest - aww thank you, that's extremely nice of you to say).
I really hope you like this chapter, it's a bit different, but then again, new things are happening. I hope I managed to capture the aftermath accurately.
But enough of my ramblings. Enjoy!
P.S. For anyone who'd like to listen, I made a Blackout fanmix on 8tracks. The link is on my profile.
In her dreams, the bats were alive.
They had come off the walls and were flying above her head, their wings flapping in a gentle rhythm. The ceiling was no longer there. It was only wings and black, beady eyes.
She reached out with both arms, wishing they'd lift her up, wishing she could somehow leave her body behind. It was dying, anyway.
But something was holding her back. A weight was dragging her down. And she couldn't move her legs.
Her eyes looked down and she saw his body sprawled on top of hers in the dark. His head lying in her lap, his arms embracing her thighs.
He was still. She couldn't hear his breathing. He looked dead.
But there was warmth radiating from his body and seeping into her own. The scars were caressing her mound and the paint was leaking down into her depths.
She tried to move out of his grasp, but it was like trying to peel off her skin. He seemed to be holding onto her as if she were a raft in the middle of the ocean.
The only way she could fly up is if she took him with her.
So, instead, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
She would rather die than take him with her.
In the afterlife, she found out, bodies were still being moved around on rolling carts. You couldn't walk, you just had to lie down. She was fine with that.
You weren't naked. You weren't cold, but you weren't warm, either. And you felt pain, because you were pinched with needles and it hurt.
Judging by the smell, she surmised she was in some form of hell: urine, iodoform, excrements and blood.
At least she could rest. Thank God, any God, for that.
"How many fingers do you see?"
Penny shook her head and moaned, turning away from the sound. She knew she was awake now. But she wasn't sure if she was dead or alive and she didn't want to find out.
"Come on, now. I know you can do it," the woman in the white robe beckoned.
Penny wanted to throw up. She lurched forward.
The nurse was ready with a vomit bag at her side.
"It's okay. This is normal. We've been pumping you with fluids and you haven't ingested nutrients in four days. Your body is just trying to get back to normal."
Penny could hear the words but she could not make sense of them. She felt so exhausted. She felt as if she'd always been exhausted.
"Sleep…" she muttered, after the nurse wiped the bile from her mouth.
"Not yet, sweetheart. You've been sleeping for seventy-two hours straight. I need you to stay awake for now."
Penny felt a sudden and uncontrollable bout of hatred towards the woman standing in front of her. Every word coming out of her mouth felt like a punishment. All she wanted was oblivion and she was not allowed to have it.
"Come on, how many fingers?"
Penny growled under her breath and lashed out. She pushed the woman away.
"Leave me alone!" she croaked, grabbing the pillow and trying to throw it at her.
The nurse had to restrain her.
"Easy there, easy there."
But Penny was flailing and thrashing uncontrollably.
"Get out! Get out!" she yelled hoarsely.
In the end she got her oblivion. She was sedated.
It had felt like an expulsion from the womb. One minute she was being cradled in the terrible intimacy of the warm four walls, the next, she was being cast out into cold space, infinite and free. There had been weight and embrace and now there was weightlessness and loss.
But she would have chosen neither.
She didn't want to be held. She didn't want to be alone.
She only wanted to graduate. Why was that so hard? Why weren't they letting her graduate?
The next time she woke up, she had a better sense of her surroundings and her mental state. There was no doubt in her mind now that she was alive. She was breathing, she was thinking, she was remembering.
"W-where is he?" she asked.
The nurse – a different nurse – approached her bed and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The touch made her jerk away. She was not ready for it.
"Good morning, dear. You had a rough night. I'm glad you're awake."
"Where is he?" Penny asked, blinking away the mist from her eyes.
She could see the room in its entirety now. White, grey, dull. There could be no darkness here.
"Where is who?"
"Jack. Where is Jack?"
The nurse patted her hands. "Let's see if you can tell me more about yourself first. We'll call Jack later."
We'll call Jack later.
Penny grimaced. "I don't want to call him. I want to know where he is."
"Is he a good friend?" the nurse asked patiently.
Penny stared at her.
"Isn't he in the hospital?"
"There might be many Jacks in the hospital. I don't know which one is yours."
Penny felt a pang in her chest. Her lungs were suddenly caged and all breath went out of her.
"But he's here, right?"
"We can find him, if you like. Would he be in the waiting room?"
Penny shook her head. "No. He's – he's supposed to be unconscious. Isn't he?"
The nurse stood back.
"Please, tell me!"
"Your blood pressure is rising. That's not good."
"Just find him, okay?! He has to be here! He was with me in the elevator. If they got me out, they got him out too."
The nurse looked baffled.
"Honey, I don't know what –"
"Look, you're wasting time talking to me, you have to find him and you have to restrain him. Don't let him escape. You have to watch him. And then you need to call the police because he's not safe, he's killed people, and I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do!" Penny rambled on, feeling her body grow cold and frightened under the blanket.
The nurse tried to calm her down, growing alarmed herself.
"It's all right, you're safe here, everything is all right, there's no one here who wants to harm you -"
"Let me go! You have to find him! You have to go now! Don't you get it? He's dangerous!" Penny screamed.
"Miss, please, I don't want to sedate you again."
"He might be loose right now! Do you realize what that means? It means he'll try to kill again!"
"Please, take a deep breath –"
"Call the police! Call them right now! Call them right now or I will!" Penny yelled spasmodically.
She fell into oblivion again.
There was talk about moving her into the psychiatric ward.
Every time she woke up, she started screaming about Jack, about what he would do.
She refused to eat, refused to cooperate, refused to talk in full sentences.
She only kept yelling that they needed to find him. Whenever they asked her more about him, she lashed out saying they were wasting time.
No one could calm her down. Not even the police. The hospital had allowed them to see her, but Penny had felt no relief. She hadn't been able to tell them anything. She kept shaking and crying, throwing insults at everyone, calling them stupid and incompetent.
"He's still out there! And you're doing nothing!"
In the end, she was not allowed any visitors.
Not until she recovered.
Then, slowly, she quieted down.
Waking up now felt like a chore. She was always greeted by a smiling, wary face that tried to coax her into some kind of normal response.
She became indifferent. The anger had washed away and had left her with a sense of pointlessness. As if nothing was real anyway and Jack himself had only been a shadow.
She was safe now. That much was true. But she didn't feel safe. Several years seemed to have passed in the span of hours and whatever had been her life before, it was radically and irrevocably changed now. She had no idea what would happen next or if there would be a next. Worse, she didn't care.
A doctor came and went. He checked her vital signs and tried to cheer her up by telling her how much progress she was making. She was on her way to recovery, with minor injuries left and almost no physical trauma.
"The puncture in your left calf was the most critical injury. Luckily, the wound was shallow. You might have to wear a cast for a couple of weeks due to some minor lesions, but that's the worst of it."
Penny heard him talk about her body like nothing had happened, as if she'd only suffered a normal accident and would get over it, just like everyone else in that building.
They were all so calm, so unaware.
Everything was different now, but everybody was acting the same.
She ate and swallowed the food and took her pills and did as she was told, but inside she was withering.
She only slept with her knees drawn to her chest and her arms held around her body. She whimpered and cried out in her dreams, but when they asked her why, she couldn't form the words to tell them. She couldn't describe to them the feeling of having a knife toy with your insides, of being crushed, weighed down by a foreign body, of being embraced by a monster.
These things could not be spoken. And that's when she realized the only way she would be able to talk to anyone is if she did not tell them the truth.
It was afternoon when he walked into her ward.
For the first time since she'd been brought there, Penny felt relief.
His presence was different. His lips were not smiling in that careful, studied manner that betrayed reluctance. His eyes did not show pity for the crazy girl. He did not look wary or anxious that he might accidentally set her off.
He was stern, but gentle, like a father come to talk some sense into his unruly daughter.
And she knew right away that she could finally speak. Because he was not going to judge her and he was going to listen, truly.
She also felt she didn't have to tell him anything at all and he would still know. He would know and he would find Jack.
"Lieutenant James Gordon," he said, extending a hand.
She shook it firmly.
"Penny."
"I know. Miss Penelope Liss. Wayne Industries employee. Graduated from Gotham Business School with top honors."
Blood rushed to her cheeks. Something stirred pleasantly in her chest.
Graduated from Gotham Business School with top honors.
She felt grateful for his acknowledgement. What she had achieved mattered more to her than who she was right now, and this was the first step to becoming whole again.
Penny cracked a smile.
"At least someone knows."
"We all do, Miss Liss. We've all been waiting for you."
"I know," she looked down in her lap. "I'm sorry I couldn't – before –"
"Don't trouble yourself. It would be strange if you could speak freely about what happened. Few survivors can."
Survivor. Not victim. Survivor, she told herself.
She found she liked Lieutenant Gordon more and more.
"I suppose I seemed a little insane. Maybe I was. I was expecting everyone to understand and know what I'm talking about without me having to say anything."
The Lieutenant smiled.
"If only it were that easy."
"I never liked easy, anyway," she said and fixed her eyes on him. "Go ahead and ask me what you need to know."
"Well…I'd rather you started from the beginning. My questions are limited to my own perception and the evidence we have so far. I wouldn't like to encourage you to have the same limited view."
"May I ask you some questions first?"
"Certainly."
Penny sat up a bit straighter and leaned forward, as if there was someone else in the room and she didn't want them to hear.
"He wasn't in the elevator when you found me, was he?"
His eyebrows rose to his forehead. He had not expected this to be her first question.
"No. No, he wasn't."
Penny smiled bitterly.
"I –I thought as much. It started making sense afterwards. Why everyone was staring at me like I was crazy. Mind you, I was a bit out of control. But still. I can't blame them. Your colleagues seemed confused, too. They didn't tell me anything about him. Not that I was really listening."
"To be clear, Miss Liss, no one thinks you're insane. You are referring to the man who assaulted you in the elevator of the Bloomherst Complex."
Penny blinked.
"You're the first to actually say it."
He smiled.
"That's because now we know for sure. We are not allowed to make statements we can't back up with solid evidence."
"And you have that now?"
"We have more than that. We have you. It's hardly a mystery to anyone you suffered a trauma. We have managed to form a profile of your assaulter from the evidence we gathered. I'm hoping you'll aid us in catching him."
Penny clenched her fists on her blanket.
"I will try my best."
She knew it was a lie. She knew she could never say some things. She knew the truth would be compromised, inevitably. But she could do nothing about it. She could only hope that was enough.
Gordon nodded. "I know. That's why I'm here."
"How did he escape?"
"Stroke of luck on his part, I'd say. The elevator was pushed down to the fifth floor after a release of pressure. He got out when it reached floor level. We got there too late to catch him."
"I knew you were coming. I'd hoped to keep myself alive until you did."
Gordon smiled.
"And you did. You were very brave and very smart, Miss Liss. That tourniquet saved your life."
Penny furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
"The shirt you tied around your leg."
Penny's heart started beating hard in chest.
"Oh. Yes, that, of course."
Gordon frowned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
He had saved her life twice. He had saved her life and then he had left her there.
And she realized something more important; if he hadn't let her die, he hadn't killed himself, either.
The second session with Lieutenant Gordon went by in a much smoother fashion. He brought a police sketcher with him so that they could get an idea from Penny's description of what Jack looked like. She insisted on the scars and made sure the sketcher got them right.
When she saw the final portrait, she flinched, but she didn't turn away.
The image before her held little power. It was only a drawing of a man with lifeless eyes and a still mouth. Nothing could match reality. The vividness of his presence could not be reproduced, thankfully.
"It's – it's fine," was all she said.
She described every item of clothing, every object from his bag, every single thing inside that elevator. This was the easy part, stating facts and describing objects.
Words, actions, behavior – these were a lot harder to express.
When it came to the third grilling, she couldn't avoid them anymore.
It was by far the worst session. Not because Penny didn't cooperate to her utmost abilities, not because Gordon was not satisfied, but because ultimately, many things were left unsaid.
"He said – he said my death should be spectacular and that's when – you know, that's when he sort of dropped the facade and attacked me. He pushed me against the wall and he hit my head hard. Then…"
Gordon, a junior detective and a legal transcriptionist were listening and jotting down everything she said carefully.
She was talking mechanically, describing the bare minimum, the surface of the sea.
"Did he ever abuse you sexually?" the junior detective asked at length.
Penny swallowed. She shook her head.
"No. No, that had nothing to do with it."
Gordon leaned forward. "My colleague here doesn't mean that was necessarily your assaulter's intention. But these attacks do degenerate into abuse."
"Mine didn't," she spoke quickly.
You couldn't tell someone kindness was abuse. You couldn't tell them that Jack's true abuse had been lulling her into a sense of safety and friendship and then pulling the rug from underneath her. She didn't tell them about how he had saved her life. She didn't tell them about how he had walked into her personal space and she had let him, how he had held her waist, how he had cupped one breast, how he had, in the end, placed the knife over her center. These details, all they did was prolong the torture.
"He wanted to kill me and then kill himself too."
I know he didn't kill himself, is what she left unsaid.
"Were you aware at that point of his crimes?"
"Partially," she replied. "From what he told me, he didn't – he didn't kill many times."
"Yes, he was an amateur," Gordon agreed, "but these tend to be more unpredictable and destructive. He did enough damage."
Yes, he did enough damage, she thought bitterly.
"Miss Liss, the next question might unsettle you. I would like you to humor us if you could."
Penny nodded.
"You told us Jack would paint his face to hide his identity. You said he derived a kind of thrill from the disguise, correct?"
Penny grimaced. "I suppose that's accurate."
So many things left unsaid.
"We found traces of paint on your own face when you were brought to hospital. My question is, did he force his disguise on you as well?"
Penny blanched.
"Did he paint you too?"
His eyes, black and cruel, appeared to her in a flash. They were looking at her in awe.
No.
No he didn't. I did that. I have that power. That was me.
The memory made her whole body shrink with shame and disgust. She closed her eyes and tried to block it out, feeling the bile rise in her throat.
"Miss Liss?"
In the end, the words came easily.
"He – he tried to. I don't remember much, but he said we should both wear a mask."
"Why do you think he did that?" Gordon asked, weighing each word carefully.
Penny laughed nervously.
"How should I know? Maybe he thought we are alike."
Lieutenant Gordon narrowed his eyes at her, watching her face carefully.
He paused to write something down. Then he cleared his throat and rose from his chair.
"Well, gentlemen, I think that's enough for now."
The searchlight could barely pierce through the heavy clouds that roiled down Gotham's night sky. Lieutenant Gordon pulled the coat over his shoulders. It was growing chilly atop the police headquarters, despite summertime. The wind was cold and ruthless. Much like the city down below.
He waited patiently because he knew the Bat would always come.
Tonight he felt troubled, though. Not because of what he'd learned, but because of what he hadn't. Perhaps the Batman could ease his concerns and help him understand. His advice always proved invaluable.
"What do you have for me tonight?" a haggard voice asked from the dark.
Gordon had been surprised many times to find the Bat was already there when he thought he was alone. Not anymore. He had grown accustomed to his ubiquity.
"I talked to Miss Liss."
"And? You wouldn't have called me just to tell me that."
"She's been of much help…but I fear we've had no sign of him yet. The man has simply disappeared. And the name Jack Napier has yielded few results."
"I haven't gotten hold of him either. Wherever he's hiding, he's outside of Gotham. And he's hiding well," the Bat replied.
"In theory, I know there are bigger fish in this city. I know this one's just another deviant lunatic who pulled a knife on a couple of civilians. And yet, I can't help but think he's different somehow."
"You think he's capable of more."
"I suppose Miss Liss made me wonder."
"That's not at all, is it?"
Gordon sighed.
"She's hiding something. She's hiding many things, actually. Whether it's survivor's guilt or Stockholm's syndrome, I can't be sure. All I know is that man had a huge impact on her. Common criminals don't have this kind of influence."
"I'll be on the lookout. He'll come up eventually. They always do. But we should keep an eye on the girl."
"I'm glad you think so, too. Especially after Harvey Dent pulled that stunt on television."
"You should have known he would use the case for his campaign."
Gordon muttered something under his breath.
"Still, to turn this into political lobbying…"
"Is what everyone would have done," the Bat finished for him. "I know what you fear. But we won't let it happen."
"Ah, I probably sound like an old fool. But the papers and the media are already getting ahead on the case. I've tried to keep them at bay, but you know how these things spread. Harvey already gave them a push, but the story is sensational enough to whet their appetite. Soon, very soon, Penelope Liss will become the young woman who survived an encounter with a serial killer and lived to tell the tale. She'll be in the public eye."
"Let me handle that, Lieutenant."
"How?"
"I have my ways."
It started quite innocently with one or two reporters asking to speak to Miss Penelope Liss.
When access was denied, they started inventing all sorts of charades, ranging from ridiculous disguises to claiming they are relatives.
The offered money and they promised fame. And more importantly, they were persistent.
But Penny didn't truly become aware of the phenomenon until the day she was released from hospital.
Mrs. Levenstein and her son were helping her settle in his apartment. Everyone thought it was a bad idea for her to return to Bloomherst. They had decided she would be living with her son and his wife for the time being. Penny had tacitly agreed.
She was walking with a small limp now, but the cast would soon come off. Mrs. Levenstein kept her arm around her as they walked down the corridor towards the exit. She was talking in her usual pleasant, matter-of-fact way, trying to lift Penny's spirits with her gossip and the girl smiled wanly and agreed to whatever she was saying, but as she stepped further and further away from her ward, she felt she was leaving a part of herself behind.
It was not leaving hospital that bothered her, it was leaving this experience behind, it was going back into the world and trying to make sense of it again. And knowing that was impossible.
Finally, the doors opened and she was greeted by an explosion of flashes and clicks.
Cameras and filming crews were waiting for her outside the hospital gates.
"Miss Liss! Miss Liss, over here!"
"Miss Liss, would you answer a few questions?"
"Penny! Over here, Penny!"
"Is it true you had to stay in that elevator for more than twenty hours?"
"Miss Liss, is it true the psychopath painted his face like a clown?"
"Penny, how did you manage to stay alive for so long knowing the man was a serial killer?"
"Penelope, what do you think of Harvey Dent's campaign initiative? Will you support the future district attorney?"
"Miss Liss, Mr. Dent has expressed a desire to meet and talk to you in a public forum. Would you be open for an interview?"
"Penny! Penelope!"
They kept shouting from various directions, jabbing their microphones in her face.
The hospital staff and the Levensteins tried to protect her from the incoming crowd of reporters, but there simply were too many and they feared the excitement might be too much for her. But Penny kept a hand over her face and pretended they weren't there. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, but whatever fear she felt had nothing to do with them.
"Penny, do you think he's still out there?"
She turned towards the person who had asked the question and stared at him for a long time.
"Yes," was all she spoke, before turning away.
They didn't get a chance to ask her anything else, because police officers who had been sent to the area pushed them back and allowed the Levensteins to drive Penny away.
Inside the car, Penny exhaled a breath of relief and leaned her head against the window pane.
As they drove past a newsstand, she could see her face plastered on several newspapers. And next to it, the wide and confident grin of Harvey Dent.
A/N: If things seem a bit confusing right now, don't worry. They'll start making more sense as Penny gets back into the world. Let me know what you think!
