A/N: Thank you 4SeasonsChick for the review! :) So true… Zsasz really should have listened. :(
Happy Eclipse Night, everyone! :D
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Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection
-Chapter Eight: ALREADY DEAD-
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The grey sky shimmered in the water's reflection. Zsasz peered over the railing. The air was cold and slightly moist, and the wind licked his freshly shaven head appreciatively.
He squinted, angry blue eyes piercing the frigid air, gulping it down as though to stave off the inevitable vertigo. And yet the height afforded him an awful sort of clarity, the kind a man might gain just when he is most desperate and at the end of his rope. The clarity usually given to those right before they venture forth, slipping silently into the great beyond without leaving a trace…
Zsasz looked down at the cold water below.
A fall from this height would kill a man. He knew this well.
It would be so easy. So easy to jump…
No.
He wanted to. His despairing soul cried out for relief. An end to his suffering… For oblivion.
No.
Relief was a feeling…and he had to be alive in order to feel it.
He was hyper aware of the fluids the rushed through his own organs, gurgling and bubbling, warm in contrast to the coldness outside. He shivered. His body was too eager to cling to its heat, to its mortality. It recoiled at the sight of Gotham Bay far below, betraying his stronger desires to cling to life.
The water sparkled below off the pale sunlight peeking through the grey fog. Dizzying heights… But not today.
There was something poking him in the leg. Yes. There was another way.
His hand found the knife hidden in the jacket pocket.
His heart thudded. The Voice hummed approvingly.
With a jolt, he kept walking.
Two men walked in shadow through the GCPD holding cells.
"We caught him by using the security footage in the bottom floor of the hospital. We couldn't make a connection to the first note, but he's the best suspect we've got. We identified him as—"
"Carlito Sobalvarro," Batman finished as he stopped in front of the cell. The balding man looked up. Hard to believe he was Bangin' Benny's younger brother; his face was more wrinkled, but he still had Benito's fierce brown eyes. Standard jail garb replaced the nice grey pinstripe suit he had been wearing on the security footage in the hospital.
"He confessed to leaving the note," Gordon stated. "Though he's being very vague on details. You can question him—"
"You know why I'm here," Batman stepped close to the bars of the cell. "But do you really know why you're here, Sobalvarro, rotting in the same stinking cell block your own brother was in not five days ago?"
"You caught me on security footage, fair an' square," Carlito said smoothly, giving Batman a poker face – impressive, considering the Dark Knight's intimidating stance. "What can I say, leavin' notes, I'm a regular Giacomo Casanova!"
"You do know that if you're convicted of criminal threat, you'll face a minimum of two years in Blackgate, considering they're more likely to charge the crime as a felony. You really wanna do the time for a crime you might not have committed?" Batman gave an exaggerated sigh. "Poetry really isn't your style, Carlito, so who are you working for?"
Carlito smiled, revealing gold teeth. "What's a matter, Bats? Can't believe that beneath my meager exterior, I could be a great poet?"
"Really? Can you recite the note?"
Carlito extended his arms with a flourish: "'I will begin with this confession: whatever I have done in the course of my life, whether it be good or evil, has been done freely; I am a free agent.' " He mock-bowed.
"Cute," Batman intoned, turning to Gordon. "Casanova here is lying about the note. He's working for someone."
"I worked alone!" Carlito protested.
"Then why?" Batman pressed.
"Maybe I don't like it when I'm makin' a reasonable business deal and someone pulls some martial arts shit on me? Maybe I'm the innocent victim and that little broad's trainin' people to be killers, man!"
Batman growled. "Commissioner Gordon, would you mind letting me have a word with Sobalvarro, in private?"
"Sure thing," Gordon began to turn away.
"It was because of what you did to my brother!" Carlito blurted out. "He's rotting in Blackgate somewhere, ain't he? Didn't even get a trial, just got sent there on some third strike deal! So what better way to get back at you than to target a cause you probably believe in, huh? I saw you talkin' to the self-defense teacher late one night, and I found out who she was—"
"So for revenge? Interesting theory, but I don't believe you."
"Why not?"
"Your brother wasn't arrested until after Danielle Lee had already been given the first note."
Carlito was oddly silent, but the slightest sheen of sweat moistening his forehead gave him away.
"I see your employer sent you in uninformed," Batman said in an offhand, pitying tone. "You didn't even know about the first note, did you? I'll ask you again." His eyes narrowed. "Who. Do. You. Work. For?"
As Zsasz stepped off the bridge, safe on the other side, he looked around. Blue signs advertising a soda company blinked against the grey sky. Amazingly there were people milling around on the slick streets. What day was it anyway - Sunday? Monday? Why wasn't everyone at home, warm in their beds, or at work, noses to the grindstone?
Which way to go? To the right the streets seemed grittier, darker, and he imagined that neighborhood must have more crime. There were tall apartment buildings, residential areas, and the lights of Gotham General Hospital flickering in the distance. To the left seemed livelier - the streets and stores were lined with red, green, and white lights. Everyone was gearing up for the holidays.
His feet led him left.
A cinema lay ahead, overlooking a social square. A giant fountain with an angel statue stood in the middle of the square, drained and covered.
People wandered through, laughter drifting on the wind, warm jackets with soft hoodies thrown back in joy of the rainless weather. The rich, sugary aroma of hot chocolate wafted over, making him gag. Too much sappiness. So many happy people in their little couples or their little families, while he had no one, no one to come home to but that wretched Voice. People with nothing better to do than wander around, blind and cruel to the people who needed their help, until something horrible befell them. And even then, it was still all about their plight and no one else's. Then for a while, their pain became their meaning until they found their happiness drugs, and so the cycle continued, always racing for something they could never have, while stepping over those who had even less. Unempathetic, plastic ragdolls wandering aimlessly through this world. Had any of them ever crossed a bridge on their own two feet and contemplated what it would be like to fall? Had any of them ever hit rock bottom? He would show them. He would show them all. Soon they would all understand.
He took off his own hoodie, leaving himself exposed and bare-chested. Now he stood out from the crowd. Now he would show them the true meaning of life.
"Little piggies! The time has come to meet your salvation!" Heads snapped up in alarm. A small child dropped his ice cream cone. It looked like strawberry. He always did prefer—what was it? Cherry.
"Oh God! He's got a knife!"
Finally noticing him, the crowd began to back away.
He gave the terrified people his best smile.
"Soon your meaningless lives with cease and you will enter into a higher plane, freed from your mortal coil and endless suffering, liberated by yours truly!" With a sudden movement, he stabbed a woman in the chest as she tried to rush past him. Blood spurted from her bosom and she collapsed, gasping and moaning. He believed he might have punctured a lung. At least, that's what the gurgling sound would attest to. Several people screamed.
"H-hey, you don't have to do this…" another scared woman took a timid step forward, motioning for her children and husband to stay behind her. One of the kids tried to grab her hand, but she waved him back.
"Really, Mister-"
"Call me Zsasz!"
"Mr. Zsasz, you don't have to hurt anyone!"
"Oh, but I do—"
"Look, if you want money—" she held out her hand, wallet in palm. Considering, Zsasz looked at it for a moment, then looked right into her face, a dark, menacing gleam in his eyes, and smiled chillingly.
With a shriek, the terrified woman drew back her hand as Zsasz attempted to stab it. She backed up rapidly, stumbling into her husband, who dragged her out of the way. Only then did she and her family realize that Zsasz had severed her fingertips with his blade. Zsasz savored the look on her face, her mouth hanging open, disbelief slowly blooming, as though the window of illusion before her eyes had finally been shattered.
And then everything became a blur for Zsasz. He was vaguely aware of the movement around him, the people trying to rush away from him, slipping as they tried to escape, even a brave few who tried to fight him. They fell, one by one, clutching various wounds. Some were still after they fell on the bloody streets, eyes wide and unblinking. Both his knives were becoming slick, and he gripped the blades very tightly to avoid losing them.
One by one, he slaughtered them, listening to their screams, which sounded so much like pigs.
When he blinked, the square was empty. Bodies both dead and alive littered the ground. He counted thirty dead before he lost track.
'Is that all? Killer, you disappoint me.'
"Shut up," he whispered furiously, his high quelled slightly by the abominable thing in his head. "These people are all liberated. I did my work! I did this work for my higher power, not for you—!"
'Surely I trained you better than this,' The Voice condescended. 'Wait until the police arrive. I want the stones of this square to run red with the blood of humanity, pouring out and making way for something better!'
"But you said—" Zsasz trailed off as he looked down at his arms. They were devoid of scars still. He looked at the strewn bodies. The thought that came next had him gasping and clutching his chest in swift, painful apprehension.
How would he know where to mark? He needed to know which spots were already taken!
Panicked, he ran his fingers across his skin, smearing it. He needed to remake all the marks! He must reclaim every single person he could remember before he could even think of adding more people to his roadmap. But to do this would take hours! He needed to start now!
His hand moved instinctively. The blade cut deep. Barely pausing, Zsasz removed it and plunged it in again. Yes, surely this is right. I feel like these two spots were marked. I—can almost remember who was here! Surely, now that they are in my flesh, now I will recall who they were! The knife ran slick. One tally of five complete. The pain was searing in his arm. Had he ever made this many marks in one day? He must have!
Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash! Slash! Another complete tally made, five liberated people memorialized in his temple.
Zsasz was gasping, eyes wild, shivering with his exertions.
'Ruining my handiwork, Killer? I had made your body into a blank slate that you might fill it again, with more lost souls—'
"Shut up!" he said aloud. "I will never forget the people who were here!" His voice grew higher. "You will not take them from me!"
'You are weak. You do not have what it takes to liberate the whole world. You must cleanse your temple, time and again, the way the ocean cleanses the sands of the beach.'
"You're NOT HELPING!"
'Why not? You never were a big thinker. Moving, idly, from target to target, following your impulses. Fortunate you are as I guide you on your sacred mission.'
"Shut UP! You're not even real. You're just a ghost of reality residing in my head."
'Poetic…but pathetic. I'm as real as the scars on your body, Victor Zsasz. Oh wait…' The Voice laughed cruelly.
Zsasz's knuckles went white.
"I'll show you what's real!" he growled, and without waiting for a reply, plunged the knife into his flesh once again, deeper than the other times, hissing as he threw back his head in pain and ecstasy.
This spot was for a—a banker. That was it! This banker I liberated when we crossed paths in a café. Everyone else was watching the news about one of my kills, a recipient of my work, and this man would not look up from his laptop! Crunching numbers, counting his meaningless money… And for what? His kids, his wife, his retirement? Well, I made that wish come true for him early. His family got their reward, their investment, when they found him at his bank, propped up behind the third teller counter from the door. Ahh, it feels good to remember—! His skin was itching. More memories, more marks were coming out. He grinned in anticipation.
"You don't know me or my work," he gloated. "How could you ever appreciate my work?"
'I know you better than you think.'
The world pitched suddenly. Astonished, he looked at his arms. Crimson slashmarks everywhere. It was beautiful. Blood poured from his wounds, making a soft patter onto the cobblestones beneath his boots.
Suddenly, the night he escaped from the underground labyrinth came to mind— He remembered running, over these same stones. Confusion set in. Had The Voice been with him even then, helping him escape?
There were more marks to make. There were four very important marks he needed to do before he could do any more. As he raised a hand, the world pitched again and he found himself on his knees, looking into the eyes of a dead woman. His stomach lurched wildly. What is happening to me?
He tried again, but his arm wouldn't work. How strange—One knife clattered to the ground. He used both hands to steady the other knife, raising it to his forehead. Then, sudden blackness. He was still there in the world, he was sure of it, but he couldn't see…
Had he succeeded? When he felt the warm blood rush down his face and across his eyes, he knew he had. And there were sirens. He could hear them, as if from far away. His head struck the pavement. Too late now to escape.
No matter… He felt so woozy…
Maybe when he woke up, he could chew out The Voice for failing to warn him. Wasn't The Voice supposed to be all about self-preservation?
Zsasz blacked out seconds before the first officers made it on the scene, the site of a cold-blooded massacre.
The sound of a lone chickadee filtered through the air. The fog had cleared and now the sky was unusually sunny for winter, warm enough to go without sleeves, and Danielle and Mrs. Phillips were delighted by it.
"I admit, dear child, I have never enjoyed a tea party here before."
"Isn't it perfect? No one comes here, there are nice benches to sit on—"
"And the flowers smell divine," the old secretary leaned forward slightly to smell a sprig of lavender blossoms.
Almost no one in the hospital remembered the small courtyard just outside of Danielle's self-defense clinic. It was only accessible from the bottom floor, and the sun only shone in it at certain times of day. In the center area was a raised bed filled with herbs and flowers, surrounding a bronze statue of a doctor holding up a stethoscope. The memorial plaque read: 'In Esteemed Memory of Dr. Thomas Wayne, Colleague, Mentor, and Friend.' Four benches surrounded the stonework around the bed. Danielle and Mrs. Phillips sat quietly in the sunlight and the self-defense instructor pulled out a thermos from her backpack, as well as two teacups.
"Oh, dear, you didn't have to bring the good china! I'm sure a cardboard cup from the café would have sufficed—"
"Nonsense! It's Monday and we need to start the week off right!" Danielle replied cheerfully, pouring some green tea. Mrs. Phillips sipped thoughtfully.
"You missed a fantastic Thanksgiving dinner, my dear."
Danielle hunched guiltily. She had woken up Thursday morning still reeling from her confrontation with Zsasz, and ultimately she had felt too chaotic to be social. "Well, there's always Christmas."
"And we will hold you to that! Cindy was most worried about you. She mentioned you were finding yourself in a spot of bother, but she didn't elaborate."
Sweet Cindy. Always trying to look out for her privacy. And no doubt trying to keep Mrs. Phillips from worrying as well. "Don't worry, I'm handling it OK."
The two women sat in silence for a long moment.
"Think it's getting warmer each year?" Danielle mused.
Mrs. Phillips paused before allowing the change of subject. "A few years ago, it was one of the coldest winters we had ever seen. At the time, everyone blamed Mr. Freeze. He was in Arkham City, you know…"
As Mrs. Phillips chatted on, Danielle's mind went back to the news she had received from Commissioner Gordon the other night. So they had caught the Note Writer. Her students were safe. Yet she felt an unease she hadn't before… Should she have shut down the classes? What right had she had to put her students in danger? What if the Note Writer hadn't been caught - what if a student of hers had been attacked, or even killed? Even now, she wasn't sure what the right answer was. She opened her mouth to ask Mrs. Phillips her opinion.
"—But my dear, the most miraculous thing is that since the Arkham City days, our people now have more hope. They didn't have it for so long, you know. The Joker's passing changed many things… but I think they needed more than just one less maniac. The people need their self-confidence back… and I think your class gave them those tools."
Danielle promptly shut her mouth.
"Not everyone in Gotham City might have taken your class just yet, but the more that people talk about it and hear about it, the more people think of saving themselves." Mrs. Phillips took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. "To me, dearest Danielle, that is a feat on par with the Batman's. I'm so very proud of you."
A surge of warmth filled her heart. Mrs. Phillips had believed in their mission longer than anyone – she was the one who made it possible! Where would she be, where would any of them be, without Mrs. Phillips?
She sighed. "You know, our mission was almost destroyed." Off Mrs. Phillips' questioning look, "There was someone who was leaving me notes, threatening the classes. The police only recently caught him, but for a while we were scared…scared we were going to have to shut down the classes…"
Mrs. Phillips blinked and then leaned forward slightly. "A person was…writing threatening notes, you say?"
"Yes…I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner." She winced guiltily. "There is something else I have to tell you-"
Mrs. Phillips looked alarmed. "Can you tell me more about the note writer first-?"
"I will." He's not the immediate danger anymore. "But first-"
A crackling sound interrupted them. Danielle sighed. Mrs. Phillips pulled the portable radio out of her bag. Even though one of the guards could take over her desk duties temporarily when she took a break, she always carried her radio with her during her shifts.
"This is Mrs. Valerie Phillips, standing by."
"All assistance is needed at the front," crackled the voice on the other end. "There is a large influx of emergency patients at the ER and morgue, all casualties of one suspect Mr. Zsasz. We are uncertain of suspect's whereabouts. Family members might begin arriving shortly, we need all assistance at the front, do you copy?"
"I copy and I shall return promptly, over." Mrs. Phillips stood up and looked worriedly at her. "Come and see me later today, my dear," she said, swiftly gathering her possessions. "There is something important I must ask you-"
Danielle was on her feet as well. The secretary looked confused.
"Zsasz!" the young woman hissed.
The ambulances were already clogging the emergency entrance to Gotham General. She counted twenty before she lost track. Off to the sides, the paparazzi were waging a small, losing battle against the security guards. At least Vicki Vale wasn't there - she was probably at the crime scene itself. From the questions she heard the paparazzi asking, it was clear what had happened: Zsasz had gone on a rampage at Gotham Square. Her heart plummeted: she remembered a certain "date" they had gone on there, once upon a time, where he had threatened to slaughter everyone in sight if she made a sound. "He actually did it," she whispered, horrified. "He went back to Gotham Square and…and…"
She thought of the beautiful angel fountain, now spattered with blood. Dozens of people had paid the price. And now like buzzards, the press wanted to record the devastation first-hand, get the juicy story as the victims barely clung to life. She turned her head away disgustedly.
A half hour later, the ambulances stopped arriving. She knew that soon enough, the unmarked vans would begin to arrive at the hospital, but they would be driving to a different more hidden entrance - to the morgue.
In a daze, she shuffled inside the hospital to the indoors entrance that led to the emergency room.
She knew that she shouldn't be in here, that she was possibly getting in the way. But she had to see… She had to see what Zsasz had done. She pinned her hospital ID high on her shirt.
The medical crew was working as fast as they could. There were so many people! The onsite EMT had done the best they could, but there were so many in critical condition, and the line to the operating room was too long…
The people around her - she knew that these were the ones who were not the worst off, and that knowledge made her nauseous. There was a woman in front of her. Her hand was bandaged, with blood seeping though the fingertips. There was also a bandage over one eye. Her other eye opened weakly and she regarded Danielle silently, but pleadingly.
She had never seen another victim of Zsasz before.
The women looked at each other. One lying on a gurney, blood seeping through her clothes, clinging to life. The other filled with so much guilt, a scarred survivor - a failure. She could have saved this woman and everyone in this room, if only she had killed Victor Zsasz.
She came to stand by the woman and tentatively put her hand on her shoulder. The woman closed her eye in relief. Danielle stood next to her until a nurse came to tend to her.
There was a line of gurneys heading for the ICU. She looked slowly down at the victims' faces. Children, men, women. Zsasz really was indiscriminate-
She gasped.
The first patient in line was...
"You bastard," she whispered.
For the longest time, she stood there. It was surreal.
All this carnage surrounded them. All caused by one man.
And where was that man? Why, he was here, among the sea of people he had wounded and mutilated and attempted to murder, sleeping peacefully and painlessly with bandages on his arms and head, without a care in the world. Without restraints even! She half expected him to sit up, right here and now, knives somehow in hand, and continue what he had obviously started.
She gritted her teeth so hard she was sure she would break them.
I should kill you, she thought to herself. No more promises, no more sympathy for you. I could do it right here… I could even let it slip to some of the families that the killer is in the hospital, see how long you last then.
She clenched her fists as she glanced around the room, finally spying a pillow.
Grabbing it, she turned around - only to realize that Zsasz was gone! "Huh?!"
The doors leading to ICU were swinging. The nurses were wheeling him away.
Angrily she put down the pillow and stormed out of the ER, ignoring the nurses who looked irritably in her direction.
She caught up to Zsasz's gurney.
"Nurse," she hissed. "Nurse!"
The nurse with the paperwork whipped her head around, looking harried. "I need to ask you to leave at once, ma'am, we're in the middle of an emergency transport!"
"I need you to get security at once!" Danielle panted, leaning closer to the nurse, who opened her mouth to do just that - only for her. "I can identify this man as Victor Zsasz, the criminal who did all this!"
The nurse stopped. The technicians guiding the gurney paused, though they couldn't hear what she said.
"Shh! Don't tell anyone. There could be a panic. Just please! Get me security!"
The nurse promptly took out her radio and discretely hailed security. Then she gave Danielle a look and motioned for her to follow them.
As Zsasz was guided into the hallway of the ICU wing, the nurse pulled Danielle aside.
"Now I'll have you know that misidentifying him would cause serious problems!" she scrutinized Danielle's hospital badge. "Are you sure that this man is who you think he is?"
"Yes. I saw him five days ago. I am prepared to testify that this is that man."
"I will need to obtain his medical records. Security will be here shortly. You will need to make a report with them." The nurse walked away hurriedly, leaving her alone with Zsasz.
She looked down – and got quite a scare.
Zsasz's eyes were open. Immediately she raised her fists.
Zsasz didn't move. He was looking at her unblinkingly. She couldn't tell if he was awake or not, but it seemed like he was staring intently at her neck. As she watched him, slowly his eyes closed again, and his deep breathing resumed.
She exhaled shakily.
"I can't believe it…" she murmured.
"What can't you believe?" she spun around, only to find Batman staring intently at her.
How did he get here?
"I found Zsasz's blood at the crime scene," he said, answering her unspoken question. "There was a lot of it, but there were no reports on finding him. I doubted he escaped, not with that much blood loss. My search led me here…" He looked down at the unconscious man. "I see my instincts were right." He came closer. "Amazing…"
"You mean his marks?"
"His lack of them."
"Yeah… I can't believe he's back…" she said, finally answering his question, "alive."
"You have thought, all this time, that you had killed him, and really he's just been hiding out," Batman nodded. "You must feel a great weight has lifted off of you, to not be a murderer after all."
Her eyes darkened as she remembered what she had seen in the ER. "Right now, I almost wish I had been one."
She felt a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. "The police will handle him now. There will be justice for those people, and for you. The nightmare is over, Danielle."
She smiled gratefully at Batman. Then, with anger and sadness, she looked down at Zsasz again.
"Even losing his mind, his memory, and his marks, he still turned out to be a murdering bastard," she said softly.
"What?"
"When I saw him on Wednesday—"
"You saw him before now?" Batman grabbed her arm and pulled her away from Zsasz, into a corner of the hallway. He turned Danielle to face him.
"Explain."
"He attacked me on my way home from training. There was something wrong with him. He…he didn't remember things. He didn't know he was missing his scars until I told him."
"What?"
"He didn't even remember having them in the first place until I asked why they were gone."
Something is even less right than usual. Batman narrowed his eyes and then strode away quickly, cape swirling. "I need to check something out."
When she caught up, he was asking the attending nurse for Zsasz's paperwork. The original nurse still had not returned, nor had the security guards arrived. She tried to see around Batman's massive shoulders. 'Age: unknown, early 30s.' No, he would be 40 now. He was 37 when I saw him last. 'Patient has 12 fresh lacerations on his body, ten organized in tallies, large gash on forehead. No other distinguishing marks.' Batman was asking for bloodwork in a hushed tone. When the nurse shook her head, he moved forward, personal equipment in hand. The syringe slipped softly into Zsasz's arm. When the vial was full, he put it in his utility belt.
"I need to analyze Zsasz's blood. Danielle, make sure you head back to your office. You're needed there, and you shouldn't spend too much time around this man." Reluctantly Danielle left, sparing one last glance at her former tormentor. "Nurse, make sure this patient is restrained and use the utmost care in handling him. He's dangerous even when he's unconscious." He briefly remembered a certain incident at Leslie Thompkins' clinic and suppressed an internal shudder. "Call the GCPD and they'll send someone to keep an eye on him. When he's discharged, he's going back to Arkham!"
She walked back to the office, lead in her step, itching in her fingers and fists and head. That murderer is upstairs…and I just walked away from him. I turned my back on him! Another thought warred with her. He cut himself up… He wanted his marks back so badly… He's sick! He needs serious help!
Disgusted by her traitorous thoughts, Danielle shoved the door open roughly. Only then did she stop, suddenly nervous. She had been avoiding her office since last week, since she had found the second note. The little ditty chilled her blood.
The air in her office felt sinister somehow. Was it just her imagination? No… It seemed… Had her papers been moved?
This is ridiculous. There won't be a note here. They caught him. They said they—
She turned on the lights. And breathed a sigh of relief. Her papers on her desk were fine. Nothing looked amiss—
She grabbed her purse and fled.
…Except that this time, the note was on her chair instead of on her desk.
"Dr. Murphy?" Nurse Wilson called out. "Dr. Murphy, I think you're going to want to see this…"
"What is it?" asked the handsome doctor. His piercing blue eyes locked onto the back of Zsasz's shaved head.
"Right here, doctor. Just beneath the skin…"
Dr. Murphy put on his glasses and leaned in closer.
"Please hand me the scalpel, Fiona…"
He teased the skin carefully, not wanting to disturb the sleeping man. The patient was thoroughly sedated anyway. But perhaps the man wouldn't be thrilled if he left an unnecessary scar. He didn't want a lawsuit.
Nurse Wilson gasped. The doctor frowned at the metal object resting on the fingertip of his blood-stained latex glove.
"Can you please take this to the laboratory. I want them to take a closer look, but…"
The metal blinked red at them.
"…It looks like a tracking beacon."
She stood in the doorway of her office again, shaking, purse dropped on the floor. There was no avoiding it. Nothing she could do. It was already there… and she knew she had no choice but to read it. With shaking hands, she opened the note…
Final warning I now send…
Endings will begin to end!
A second note you chose to pass,
Reckless are you with your class!
Goody Greta learned the twist,
As will you if your persist –
Soon you will be sorely missed.
"Oh my god! No! Greta!"
Her fingers dialed as fast as they could. She could hear her own harsh breathing as the receiver began to grow clammy. Pick up! Please, for the love of God, pick up!
"Hello, police dispatch?"
"Hello! This is Danielle Lee, GCGH employee and self-defense teacher. One of my students is in immediate danger! Send help!"
Lights blared across the city. In the police cars sat grim-faced men and women, uniformed and suited up, always at the ready for the worst. As soon as the first cruiser screeched to a halt, police ran up the stairs of 29 Marsh Street.
TAA TAA TAA!
"Ma'am! Hello, Miss Greta Byrney, are you inside?" No answer.
BAM! The door flew back, splintered wood flying through the air. Police rushed in, flashlight bouncing off the walls in the darkened apartment.
A nightstand tottered. Police spun around. A startled scream. "Stand down!"
Two kids hid behind the bed, scared eyes reflecting in the light. The older boy clutched his little sister closer, tears sparkling in tiny eyes. One officer ran forward. "Honey, where's your mama?" The little girl pointed, and the officers turned in the direction of the bathroom.
One brave officer stepped forward, cracked the door open just a bit. A lifeless hand fell into the hallway. No pulse. Another officer silently turned the newly orphaned kids' heads away as they sobbed.
Horror of all horrors. No child should have to witness this.
Blue eyes fluttered open.
Am I dead?
White ceiling. White sheets. The smell of anesthetic. No mistaking it – I am in a disgusting hospital.
It felt like his head had been hit with a buzz saw. Or possibly an anvil. In spite of the pain, he froze, cautious not to make a sound.
He moved his hands subtly. Of course… He was tied to the hospital bed. They would be cautious, wouldn't they?
I remember. I killed. I spilled blood in the streets… And I tried to recreate my marks. My body isn't used to pain anymore, not like it was before. I will need to go slowly the next time I endeavor to recreate my great work— Wait...
The thought was slow to infiltrate.
The buzzing in his head, the confusion, The Voice… it was gone. The evil Voice was gone! At last!
And all his memories… yes...
All his memories had returned, neatly filed, fully functional, and not a moment out of place.
A predatory smile blossomed across his face.
Victor Zsasz is back!
The computer in the Batcave beeped, and a cowled head looked up. 'ANALYSIS COMPLETE.' Batman pressed a button, and then the picture all came together.
Strange, rapidly reversing memory loss. The absence of scars or other blemishes. The miscalculated age. The unusual compound floating in Zsasz's bloodstream…
Only one thing made sense, but…
"It can't be!"
"Batman!"
"Oracle! What is it?"
"There's been a crime." Another one? This has been a busy day, hasn't it? "I think you're going to want to investigate this one."
"Where is it?" he asked, pushing a button on the Batcomputer and turning it on standby.
"According to current reports, there's a crime scene set up at one Greta Byrney's house, 29 Marsh Street." Oracle continued as Batman made his way to the Batmobile. "It's unusual because there were no marks on her body, no obvious cause of death. Her two kids were there when it happened. But that's not the strangest part… She was one of Danielle Lee's students, even though she quit the class a few weeks ago. In fact, the call to the police came from Ms. Lee's office."
"Did she get a third note?"
"How did you-"
"I'm on my way."
Ten minutes later he arrived at the newest crime scene, still suited up, mind whirring. The van containing the victim's body had already left, but police were still all over the scene, red and blue lights flashing. He saw two kids - newly orphaned - talking to a social worker, huddled together. His stomach wrenched unpleasantly, followed by a surge of hatred for the Note Writer. Two more victims, two more children with their innocence and childhood stolen. He made a note to himself to talk to Leslie Thompkins and ask her to follow up with the social worker, check on the children's well being.
He saw a head of brown hair, a young woman leaning against a police car, tears streaming down her cheeks - his second time seeing her today. Danielle. She came, no doubt out of guilt. Her eyes were on the children as well, and he could see silent sobs wracking her. He approached her wordlessly. She looked up, and he read so much guilt in her eyes. First the dozens of victims in the Emergency Room…and now this. She was blaming herself for things she couldn't control; she was a lot like him in that way.
Her classes. He knew that her classes would be shut down at the soonest opportunity. He also knew, from the gut-wrenching gaze she was giving the two orphans, that this was the least of her worries right then.
She held up a paper silently. The third note. The one that had tipped her off to Greta's death. Her mouth opened, but no words escaped.
He took the note from her, gave her a soft nod. Her eyes immediately went back to the two children.
He pulled out a small plastic bag, preparing to contain the evidence. The top of the page fell open. He paused, reading the note, looking desperately for some sort of clue, some way to avenge those poor children.
"Final warning I now send / Endings will begin to end / A second note you chose to pass..."
"Oh my God." He stared at the note in astonishment. There it was. All along, the clues had been staring him in the face. It was so obvious!
He walked swiftly away from the police cars and tuned his cowl into Barbara's frequency.
"Oracle! I'm at the crime scene for Greta Byrney right now. I've just read a third note from our mystery killer. I need you to do something for me."
"What is it?"
"Contact Dr. Kellerman at Arkham Asylum for me. I need him to send me some files."
Her voice crackled on the com. "What are you going to do?"
"I am going to arrange an autopsy with your father to examine Ms. Byrney's body… I think I know what killed her."
"You do? Do you actually know who this son of a bitch is?"
"Yes, I do. It's—"
-/-/-/-/-
