Helloo :) If you follow all of my current stories then I'm sorry that you're going to have to put up with the same author's note three times. Anyway, I'm moving into University accommodation on Saturday, so I might not have as much time to write as I would perhaps like to, especially seeing as I need to get settled in to my new place, meet my flatmates and get packed/unpacked (wish me luck I'm so nervous, I hate meeting new people :S) So this is just to let you know that there will be a longer gap between updates than might be normal. Please don't be cross with me; I'll be back on it as soon as I can be.

As always, thanks for reading.
LV xx

Jack

I know the murder's all you want to hear about. It's all everyone wants to hear about. So you wanna know? You want to ask what everyone's been asking me? You wanna know if it was me who killed Alice.

Well… I'm getting there, all right? You're gonna just have to be patient. You're gonna need the whole story, not just the media's version of it. Stupid people believe stupid things. And Gotham breeds idiocy.

So… I was feeling good when I made my way back to Alice. We were on our way to getting out of all this. All of this shit. My plan was going so well. So very well. Y'know how before I spoke about being in the eye of the storm? That bit of calm that I'd forgotten about? Well I still hadn't remembered. I was still so smug, so pleased with myself that I hadn't thought. I hadn't planned. You need to plan these things. Or they start to go wrong.

That was when I learned that all it takes is for you to be careless once. You can make one mistake and everything goes to shit… falls apart.

Mistakes can be fatal.

Alice

The door shakes, trembling on its hinges as he rams his shoulder into it time and time again. It reminds me of my door at home. The one we'd had when I was a kid and I'd lived with my parents. It had never been very secure and when it had been stormy outside it had rattled just like this one is doing now. I had always thought that if you were to ask it, and if it could talk, it would have told you that it wasn't because of the wind slamming against it. I believed it to be shaking out of fear. Just like I was. The violence of the shaking matched the tremors in my body so completely that I found it difficult to believe that it was caused merely by stormy weather outside. I had always had a connection to that door, always known it to be my silent ally. I had often felt it looking at me and willing me to use it. To open it as wide as it could go and run out into the night while he lay sleeping. And now, years later, here was another door acting as my silent ally. Keeping him out as long as it could while I sit, shaking, opposite it.

I pull my knees right up to my chest and curl up beneath the window. I want to get up and run, but where can I go? My only exit is blocked by the man I'm trying to escape. I think about jumping out of the window, but we're pretty high up and I'm not sure that I can survive the jump. Even if I did get back up again, would I be able to run? Then, through my tears, I see the knife I had laid out glint on the counter. I can use that… I glance back at the door and see that it is close to breaking point. I leap to my feet and run to grab the knife. I feel the cool steel in my hands when suddenly the door bursts open. I whip around to face him, hiding the knife behind my back as I do so. I know I can use it if I need to, but I'm not sure that I can actually kill someone. Just defend yourself, Alice. I wish that Jack was here. He's so much better at this kind of thing than I am. My hands are shaking so much. I can't control them.

"What's wrong, Alice?" he looks at me, curling his lip. I back away slightly, into the kitchen. "Don't you recognise your old man?"

I haven't seen my father since he had given me the scars that had haunted me ever since. I was six years old at the time. It had been eleven years since I had last laid eyes on him, but he still filled me with fear. He's older, obviously, but looks just as strong as he did eleven years ago. He looks like he might have built himself up in prison… I suppose that he did have the time. And if he'd started a fight there it would have been against someone his own size. I've grown, but standing in front of him, I don't feel any taller.

I struggle to find my voice. I think I might throw up. "I… I… I don't..."

He's laughing at my fear. "C'mon, Alice, don't you have anything to say to me?" he asked. "I mean… you went to all this trouble for me. Letting everyone think you were dead. Your grandmother… she must be real cut up about it."

His word choice makes my stomach drop. "What did you do to her?" I ask, finally able to form a whole sentence. He chuckles and shakes his head.

"She'll be fine," he assures me. "But you… you've done a bad thing, worrying everyone like this. Did you really think I wouldn't find you? You're my little girl; of course I'd keep an eye on my little girl." He smiles and I flinch when he reaches towards me. "Don't worry angle, I just came to see about that boy that you're with. Where is he now?"

"J-J-Jack?" I stammer. Please come back now Jack. I need you.

"Yes, J-J-Jack," he mimics me, one of his hands grabs at my hair. My palms are sweaty. I can feel the knife slipping from my grasp. I raise my chin and try to look brave. I can see Jack's last message still scraped into the grime.

"He'll be back soon," I say, determined to sound like I'm sure of it. "So you better… you better leave now."

"Now why would I do a thing like that?" he asks with a nasty curiosity.

"He… he won't like you being here," I say. "You should just leave us alone. Please." I didn't mean to beg him, it just slips out. Fuck. I feel like I've regressed back to being six year old, when I actually thought that pleading with him would do any good. Even now, it seems to be the only thing I could think of saying in an effort to stop him. I step away from him. "You should leave," I say again, this time with more conviction. He's not moving, but he's not coming towards me either. I feel slightly more confident in myself and my own strength.

"You look like your mum," is all he says.

"You murdered my mum," I reply. He frowns. "Now leave me alone." I feel proud of myself, standing up to him like this. I've never spoken to him like this before, but the mention of my mum has made me angry. I've spent so long being terrified of him that I'd forgotten to be angry with him for everything that he has done. He doesn't deserve to be free. And he sure as hell doesn't have the right to take my freedom away from me. I can feel anger like I've never felt before boiling up inside me. "Get out." I say fiercely. He doesn't know what to do with this. My mum used to fight with him something dreadful, but he's not used to me answering back.

Clang.

Fuck.

The knife's dropped from my hand. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His eyes follow the sound of the clang and he sees it lying by my feet. He looks back up at me. Shit. "You little bitch," he says quietly. "You weren't going to use that on your own flesh and blood were you?"

I gulp down the fear in my throat and stare at him defiantly. "I didn't stop you."

For once, I don't mind that he's looking at my scars. They are his handiwork after all. He should see what he's done. I thought it might make him feel guilty, but he's smiling now. I feel sick again. Then, suddenly, he snaps and that temper I was once so used to seeing flares up again. "You bitch!" he roars, stumbling towards me. I crouch to grab at the knife. I see how close he is and I swing the knife towards him. There's no time to think about it. I hear him cry out and then I realise that I've made contact with his leg. I try to pull it out. It's stuck. I take my chances and run from him, heading from the door.

I feel a searing pain across my scalp as he grabs a fistful of my hair. I scream out and he pulls me towards him. "No! No! Please!" I whimper, hating myself for doing so. He strikes me across the face. I can taste blood.

"Is this what you've been doing? Running around with that boy?" He's gone red in the face and a vein in his forehead is throbbing. "You're a slut just like your mother."

"I love him!" I protest fiercely. Blood spills onto my lips. He throws me against the wall and I numb myself to his blows. I used to do that when I was a kid, and I find it so easy to slip back into that numb state of mind. I sink to the cold floor.

"Get up," he orders. I try to but I'm shaking so badly I can't stand. He shouts at me again and this time his shout is accompanied by a sharp blow to the side of my head. His roaring insults echo in my ears and ring out in my head as his fists slam against my body, but I don't feel him hurting me. His foot crushes into my side again and again. I can smell the blood now too as well as taste it. For a second, it ceases. I raise my head.

"Dad," I say groggily, hoping he's tired himself out. I see something glinting in his hands. He's pulled the knife out of his leg and he's standing above me. Blood drips from the blade onto my face. I try to get up and run, but the pain tells me that there's something broken in my leg. My father crouches down and uses his free hand to force me to look at him. He takes in my scars before he stands up again. I feel myself tense as I watch his heavy black boots walk round to my back. He puts a foot on my spine. All I can do is brace myself before he sets out to finish off what he started eleven years ago.

The pain feels like it's burning me up. I'm dissolving into it and away from reality. I can see the door, the poor door. It tried so hard to keep him out, but it could only manage for so long. Just like me. The door was hanging off its hinges and I was slipping closer to death with each slow, torturing drag of my father's knife on my back. I see a flicker of movement out in the hallway before I slip away.

Jack.

Jack.

I'm so sorry I failed you Jack.

Jack

When I got back to the apartment, so happy, so smug, so sure of myself… I was too late. The door was broken clean off its hinges and when I stepped in I saw that there was a small area under the window was bathed in blood. I saw Alice, beaten, broken, unmoving. Her eyes closed as I looked her.

So you wanna know? You want to ask me again? Go on, I've been asked so many times. Was it me who killed Alice?

l may not have had the knife, like the cops say I did. But I did let her down.

So, yes.

I'm as much to blame as her father is, I should have been there. It's my fault.

I killed my beautiful Alice.

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