Chapter Eleven

Jessica placed her clothes on the grill with a great amount of impatiences. She felt as if she was losing control over her situation, over her powers, over not having the glove. Her irritation aggravated her because she knew she needed to work on her calmness, but all of her senses were heightened by her newly developed powers and the call of the glove itself. It had its own mind and thoughts that called to her once the metamorphosis took place. For some reason, she felt like she could feel the hate of Gotham, and it was infectious. The thoughts of the city weighed heavy on her soul, and interfered with her sleep; but once she got a hold of the glove, she was sure she'd be able to control the thoughts. The hate permeated from every crevice in the city, and it didn't matter the place. Just as much hate came pouring out of the churches than the jails, and that was a sad tale about the city. Apathy grew like wildfire in Gotham. The hate covered everything like dust, and she couldn't stop her mind from exploring each thought the glove put into her mind. On the other hand, her father's journals talked about she would become extremely irritated until she put the glove on her right hand; and until that happened, the book said that she would feel like she was losing all control.

She squirted a boatload of lighter fluid on the soiled, Gothic clothing, and lit it with a long, classical red cigarette lighter. She watched the clothes smoldering in front of her for a few seconds before she took an extended stick to stir the clothes-ensuring the fire consumed every thing. She wanted it all turned to ashes without a single trace of the incriminating blood evidence left. The nylon dress gave off a black, toxic smoke that she hoped wouldn't permeate through the neighborhood-alerting other people to the fact that she was burning something illegally. The fire had a stench to it too, an awful stench that comes with burning nylon, and she couldn't stop it from spreading to her neighbors' houses.

She didn't want to kill anybody, especially a city official, but he started it; and in a city of corrupt officials, she had absolutely no recourse in the matter. It wasn't like she could talk to anybody in power about what she had done, because she knew too many of the politicians in Gotham were Libertines. Who could she plead her case too? All the cops seemed corrupt from where she stood on the societal evolutionary pole; and even though the city official molested little girls, nobody cared about his dastardly deeds until his death.

It didn't take her long to dig through the snow and hard dirt with her super powers in order to bury the ashes, but she dug a deep enough hole for the ashes that nobody would be able to find them. The city official's face was all over the news, and she felt a little frightened every time she saw his heinous picture; however, the majority of the news segments had to do with the explicit photos of the kids. Every news station had a segment about the city official, but they showed images of the girls on his phone with their faces blurred. One of the reporters repeatedly said that the young ladies might be in danger, but the news station abruptly cut into his segment, and countermanded his statements. She thought that the reporter was trying to warn the girls of imminent danger, but she couldn't be sure.

Even though she gave a lot of consideration about what had happened with her body, she continued to feel the pull of the glove. She had strength, the ability to fly, and needed one more piece to complete her persona—the glove. She didn't know how easy it would be to find a boat to take her to the middle of the lake, but it had to be done. Unfortunately, the news media said that the lake had frozen over, and probably would remain frozen until March. She didn't know if she could retrieve the glove with a thick layer of ice over the lake or not, but she had to try. If she had to wait to March for the glove, she would probably go mad. Every day she lived without having possession of the glove caused her to fall deeper into depression.

Gotham Lake set about ten miles from her house, and she'd need to take the subway to get there in due time. A lot of people used the lake in the winter time for ice skating, and those people were on the lake all day. She checked her watch for the time, and it was a bit after five o'clock in the afternoon. She didn't have a guarantee of success with the thick ice on the lake, but she felt she needed to try. She couldn't imagine herself waiting any longer for the glove.

The subway cost only a few dollars, and she made it to the lake in a little under an hour. She had one of her father's writings with her that dealt with the glove, and kept it in her black book bag. She stood in front of the body of ice, and saw all the people skating around it without a care in the world. She walked onto the ice, and it felt solid to the core, but she knew that couldn't be the case. Small steps helped her not to slip and fall. It took her some time to make it to the center, but she finally made it. She walked until all the way out to the center of the lake, and stood next to a sign that read, "Please Don't Go Beyond This Point."

She situated the book in front of her, and read a chant aloud, "Oh, Glove of Darkness, come free my soul, and give me the powers of the wise and old." She heard a cracking sound in the ice that made her think she would fall into the frigid water beneath the ice. The entire ground shook for what seemed like an eternity, and then a solitary hand with a golden, yellow glove on it broke through the ice. It sounded as if a hammer slammed down on the ice when the hand broke through it with the glove on it. She had a smile on her face when she stuck her right arm into the air. A strong breeze erupted and a bolt of lightning raced through the sky. The Glove of Darkness flew into the night sky with a stream of fire from its tail, and then landed onto her right hand. A strap circled her forearm, and then her mid forearm, and then her bicep. The glove fit perfectly. She couldn't believe she had possession of the glove, and then it dissipated. It only appeared on her right hand when she needed it.

Meanwhile, Ronnie and Vivian walked swiftly down the dark, dank corridor, because they had made up their minds to go into hiding. The rats rustled in the water, and made more noise than usual for some reason. Vivian looked frightened because everything was happening so fast, and Ronnie was a bit scared too. Neither one of the kids knew anything about hiding in the plain site of the enemy, but Ronnie wanted to give it a try. He held on to Vivian's left hand, as they charged through the tunnel. The last thing he wanted the Jokers to do was kill Vivian; and he knew when the Jokers wanted a person dead, it happened. All the kids had with them were a few clothes, money and that gun. He didn't have any more bullets for the gun except the ones loaded in it, but it didn't matter. He had a million dreams of shooting people, but didn't know if he had the will to follow through with it. The kids looked up at the manhole, and the small amounts of light beamed through it. Ronnie climbed up the ladder first, and removed the cover. Once he crawled out the hole, Vivian climbed up after him, and she saw him standing with two Jokers, and one of them was Fletch.

Fletch was a large asphalt colored man with an almost perfect fro. Unlike Dennis, he didn't have one blemish on his face, and he wore flashy clothes with ostentatious jewelry. Even with the snow on the ground, his shoes continued to look spit shined. He spoke with a deep, commanding voice that sounded almost like music. "Where y'all going?" He asked with a grimace. Fletch held Ronnie by the collar, and then tossed him into the middle of the icy street. Ronnie slid to the other side of the thoroughfare, and he looked hurt.

"Leave him alone," Vivian screamed. She ran over to her boy friend, and put her arms around him. "Don't hurt us."

Fletch laughed. His laughed was insidious and frightening. Ronnie tried to protect Vivian as the large, angry looking black man approached him. As he crossed the street, he slipped on the ice, and the other Joker laughed a little. Fletch looked back at him with a scowl, and screamed, "You think that's funny?" Surprisingly, the fall on his behind didn't seem to phase him physically, but on some level, it appeared to wound his pride.

"No, sir," the Joker replied with a hint of fear in his voice.

Ronnie reached into his tattered pants, and pulled out the snub nose thirty-eight. When Fletch looked back at his Joker friend, Ronnie had the gun pointed at the man's head. His heart raced, and Vivian stepped away from him. When Fletch turned to see the gun, he winced. "You don't have the guts, boy."

Ronnie put both of his hands on the weapon in order to ensure that he had enough support to hold it. Fletch stood to his feet slowly and methodically. He made an attempt to try to slide close enough to Ronnie in order to grab the pistol, but a loud boom stopped the bigger man in his tracks. The bullet hit Fletch in the forehead, and his brains flew in the air. He landed flat on his back, and then gave the other Joker a vicious glare. He stepped over Fletch while he lay in the supine position, and fired two rounds at the other Joker, but missed. He fired one more time, and struck the miscreant in the left ankle. Bone and flesh flew into the air, and the man fell to the ground crying and screaming. Ronnie cocked back the hammer, walked over to the Joker as he tried to squirm away. He placed the gun to the back of the man's head, and asked, "Do you have a God?"

The Joker stopped struggling, turned back to look at the boy with the gun, and softly said, "No."

"That's too bad," Ronnie whispered. He fired two rounds into the Joker's head, and blood and flesh littered the snow.

Desperate, he grabbed Vivian by the right arm, ran down the street, and waited for the bus. Not many people were on the street because of the bitter cold, and Ronnie had placed the gun back in his tattered pants. Vivian hadn't said anything at all since he killed the two guys, but he didn't mind. He didn't have the mental strength needed to carry on a conversation because all he could think about was Vivian's safety.

Gotham was a large city, a city with nearly fifteen million souls, and none of them gave a damn about two children from the sewers. When they hopped onto the bus, the people gave the kids a dirty look as if they knew the kids were from the underbelly of Gotham. The bus had approximately twenty souls on it, and a tall swarthy skinned girl sat in the rear of the bus who looked familiar to Ronnie. Ronnie and Vivian sat across from the tall girl, and Vivian gave her a half smile. Jessica softly said, "You two are in danger."

Ronnie reached into his pants for his gun, but fumbled. His heart palpitated uncontrollably because he thought the lady was with the Jokers. When he finally pulled the gun out of his tattered pants, Jessica had already moved behind him, and snatch the gun from him.

"Kill me, but let her go," he said.

"I'm not going to kill you, Ronnie," she said with a smirk. "You need to learn how to read people better."

"Well ..."

"You're the girl that stopped Mister Garrett's car from spinning?" Vivian said.

"That's right," she said, "And then he tried to kill me."

Vivian looked at Ronnie for a second. "So, you killed him?"

Jessica shook her head in agreement. "That's why I'm here," she said, "To protect you."

Ronnie snarled at her for a second, and then asked, "What can you do?"

"Don't know yet," she said softly, "But I know you, Ronnie."

"How's that?" He asked.

"'Cause of your journal. You read it to me."

"You're the girl in the cocoon?" He asked.

"That I am."