Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. *ducks*
A/N: Yayyy! Thank you MorbidWerewolf and Maaiikee for reviewing! I'm glad you liked it, MorbidWerewolf :D Maaiikee, thank you so much, I was worried people might get annoyed with my character (sometimes OCs don't go over well if they take away from the canon characters), so I'm glad to know someone else thinks she's OK ;) I tried to make her as normal/approachable as possible… BTW I like your phrase so much "Heart-to-Heart" that I'm naming the last chapter that :D (renaming all the chapters in the story to be more creative than "Chapter 9" or whatever) Thank you!
Here's the next chapter. I'll try to get the next one up as quickly as possible. Happy early Thanksgiving, everyone! :)
Salve, Salvage, & Salvation
- - - - - Chapter Eleven: "Desecrate" - - - - -
A week passed, and the feelings did not recede. If anything, they grew stronger. This was not good.
To not kill her would interfere with his work. He couldn't afford to make exceptions. Batman came immediately to mind, but he knew full well that Batman was not a real one. He hated to admit to himself that he simply had not been able to kill the rodent yet, but that was the truth. He would collect his mark, someday. That didn't make Batman an exception.
Danielle was quickly becoming an exception, and she shouldn't be. He was toying with her. He could have finished her by now. Why didn't he?
She seemed to have more time off this week, and on Wednesday she had seemed sadder. Had she lost her job? Later in the week, she seemed happy enough, watching the seals. Her laughter certainly didn't betray any abject misery.
Oh, he was too aware of what he thought when he saw her (and he saw her many times over that week, often at the piers, new baseball bat in hand, though he did not approach her). Her long, radiant brown hair, strands gleaming red and golden in the sunlight. Her stance, the way she carried herself. Her attitude. And her unpredictability.
It wasn't the first time this had happened. He had found other zombies to be attractive before. How could he not? All the time he spent following his quarries, memorizing the every detail of their relentless days, learning their routines, watching them. He had found many of his marks to be quite beautiful, physically speaking, and many times their quirks grew on him as he watched them. He had found a special solace in watching blondes, as they reminded him of his mother. He had made peace with these sorts of feelings, never acting on them. He didn't want to distract himself from his work. More compellingly, he wasn't a necrophile; he found the idea of sleeping with a zombie or falling for a zombie to be disgusting. He could have had many of them, with his natural charm. But then, that wasn't what he was in the business for. That was what his former self would have done.
No, his work didn't stop him from noticing his marks' appeal, but he usually brushed away those feelings. The idea of having such temporary feelings repulsed him. After all, they weren't real.
And yet, somehow, feeling this way for Danielle didn't feel so wrong. Her life was not mundane or predictable. She was not going through the daily grind. She had made somethingdifferent of herself. She was more…alive. Somehow that word 'alive' seemed strangely appropriate when he was describing her. And if he was to be honest with himself…he very much wanted to see her scars.
He looked at her, standing at the edge of the pier, laughing softly, and he admitted to himself that he found Danielle attractive.
-/-/-/-/-
It was the day he had been waiting for, and he was like a child at Christmas. His anniversary day had arrived.
The waves were higher tonight. Perhaps there was a summer storm somewhere out further across the sea. He could smell the salt in the air. The wind was warm, and the sea mist gave the bridge an etherealness that made him shiver. He could see the glistening lights that led into the city, away from the bridge. The railing was cold beneath his elbows. It was beautiful.
A warm breeze rushed over his shaved head, wetting his skin slightly. He felt, as always, the pull to climb the railing and stand, nothing in between himself and the blissful waves.
He stood still, waiting for the feeling to quiet.
There was a couple standing across the way, almost at the end of the bridge. He could see them clearly, the bright streetlight overhead illuminating them like a spotlight. They looked cozy. The man reached out and softly held the woman's hand, kissing her knuckles. Zsasz saw a glint of something on one of the woman's fingers.
The waves really were restless tonight. Were his parents' spirits were here with him, watching over him now, watching to see what he would do?
He wondered if the waves were so wild on the day his parents had perished. Was that what had caused their deaths? He never even knew if they died during the daytime or at night. He preferred to be near the sea at different times, as if maybe he could understand if he looked at its different forms. Oh, he understood the purpose their deaths served. But he found it hard to understand what it meant that their perfect love was extinguished so abruptly and unfairly. Did it mean that it was too good for this world? Was an imperfect love, in fact, the only love possible here?
The wind cooled for a moment, and the fine hairs on his neck stood up. Were those footsteps he heard? He looked around. No homeless man. No vagrant holding a knife and demanding his money. His own empty hand strayed quietly to his pocket, felt the hilt of his knife. He said a prayer of thanks for the homeless man he had killed twelve years ago.
What did it mean that he had these feelings for her? This couldn't be right. This was more than just physical attraction. He could resist the callings of the flesh, for the purity of his temple was more important. But what was this? And why did it make him think of falling from the Sprang Bridge again?
The Sprang Bridge was where his higher purpose was revealed to him. But moments before the vagrant had appeared, it was a different place for him. It was the place of salvation for his lower form. He was so close to granting himself his salvation. He supposed…it was his duty to stay here in this mortal coil, saving as many as possible. What if Danielle was his salvation in this lifetime? What if she could take away the loneliness of his world, the way his parents had for each other. They had loved each other very much. There were no conflicts between them. Their love was pure, a pure love that the world did not know.
If Danielle could see beyond the mystery of life and come to understand how meaningless life was – and she did, for she had told him herself that life was meaningless – then with a little more persuasion, could she possibly keep him company here? Talk to him? Even…enjoy life together with him?
But these were silly thoughts. And even thinking them made him want to plunge himself over the bridge and out to sea, a rope upon his neck. It was the fall that seemed so glorious. The blissful oblivion in the arms of his mother. They were here with him, they had never really left...
The breeze quickly warmed again. He wanted to take off his shirt and feel it on his scars. And so he did. He unbuttoned the flannel and let the warm breeze caress his skin and harden his nipples.
He was alive. He did feel.
And he also felt something else, something unusual. Alone. That itself was not unusual. What was, though, was that he felt alone not in the liberated sense, but rather in the saddestsense of the word. How strange.
-/-/-/-/-
He was wandering around town the next day, pondering over the aloneness that had plagued him the night before. It made sense, he always felt depressed at this time of year. Why was it that no one else could understand the way he could the beauty of death? Why was it that he was developing feelings for someone who so deeply did not want to die? Why did she cling to life so? Did she not admit to him that her life was meaningless? Why couldn't she die? Why couldn't he kill her?
His thoughts flipped wildly. He was so sure he had felt peace with his feelings, and now here he was, doubting them again. He needed a sign – a sign of what to do next.
It came unexpectedly, when he passed close by to a police car. A familiar name caught his attention.
"—Copy Unit 281. We are ready to move target, Matthew Summers."
Matthew Summers, he thought. The piggy Danielle was in love with. Sudden anger swept through his veins like fire. He continued to listen.
"…Moving target to unofficial safehouse. Police escort has been dispatched. We will commence move in 0020 hours-"
Zsasz shook with rage. So, Danielle had gone to the police about their little game. She had been so desperate to save her man's life, the man who no longer even wanted her. She knew better than to interfere with their game, and yet she had defied him anyway. There was no clearer sign. Little Danielle was going to die, right now, while the police were only too distracted with saving her beau. Her salvation was coming, he smiled darkly, ready or not.
-/-/-/-/-
"Hey Mrs. Phillips, do you know if there are any gun stores in Gotham?"
The old secretary nearly spat out her tea at Danielle's unexpected question. Danielle gave her a moment to catch her breath. "Why on earth would you want to know that?" said Mrs. Phillips looking very surprised.
"For protection." Danielle shrugged. "You know, there are just so many muggers these days. And many of them have weapons. So why don't we carry weapons."
She was in a surprisingly good mood today, the secretary thought. Considering her news of last Wednesday…that she had been demoted to part-time, with encouragement to work from home…she had thought that Danielle would be more depressed. She surely needed the money for her family. In a rare heart-to-heart, Danielle had told her about their money troubles over lunch last Thursday. So surely a cut in hours and corresponding cut in pay would have disheartened the girl…But for some reason, not. And now she was asking questions about self-defense and weapons? What was the girl up to? Did it have something to do with the mysterious bruises and injuries that kept appearing on her?
Mrs. Phillips shook her head disapprovingly. "I can understand why you might have that idea, Danielle, but carrying weapons only makes you more at risk." She gave a pointed look to the girl's baseball bat.
The girl blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Well, if an enemy knows you have a weapon, you make yourself a target. You are implying that you know how to use the weapon, and that in turn implies you are ready for a fight."
"But what about the people who get picked randomly? How are they supposed to take care of themselves?" Zsasz had told her that people were lost within their own mortal coil, distracted by meaningless things. But what was the true meaning of life for him? She couldn't understand it. If the true meaning of life was death, then why didn't he die? Wasn't there any person on earth who seemed to live correctly, by Zsasz's impossible standards? She didn't understand it. It was like a puzzle in plain view, and she just didn't get it. And that frustrated and scared her.
The secretary adjusted her glasses and gave Danielle a very scrutinizing look. The young woman could already tell that whatever her friend was about to say, she wasn't going to like.
"Did something happen to you recently, and please be honest," said the secretary firmly. "All these questions, plus the bruises and cuts on your face last week… They make me think that something has happened. Were you mugged recently, my dear?"
"I-" Danielle started to say. She couldn't tell her about Zsasz. But she didn't want to completely lie to Mrs. Phillips either. "Yes," she admitted. "I was mugged." She clutched her new baseball bat a smidgen tighter.
"You should tell the-"
"I already made a report," Danielle reassured her. "They haven't caught him yet." Which was somewhat true, she had just failed to mention the post-incarceration attacks to the police, or that Zsasz was specifically targeting her now. It didn't matter, Zsasz hadn't attacked her in over a week, and she hoped that meant that Batman was handling it. "I haven't wanted to talk about it, it's such a bad memory—"
"I can understand," the secretary quietly took off her glasses. "After all, with what that Zsasz fellow did to you earlier, just a couple of short months ago… You wouldn't want to talk about it." She looked up. "I am here for you, if you should ever need a friend to talk to."
Danielle smiled, though she suddenly found herself blinking back tears at her friend's thoughtfulness. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"So you know, guns are banned in Gotham City. It was an ordinance put out some time ago in an attempt to stop violent crime. It hasn't worked so far, the criminals have other sources for their munitions."
"Oh, I see," Danielle looked down. "Thank you, Mrs. Phillips."
"There is one gun store on the end of town," Mrs. Phillips said. "I believe it is exclusively for police officers, but you can probably ask questions there."
"I will. Thank you," she left with a smile.
Mrs. Phillips watched her go and spared a sad thought for the late director of the Gotham General Hospital self-defense program. Susan…I think there is someone here who could have used your help. Please watch over her for me.
-0-
An hour later, Danielle cautiously entered the unmarked store in the seedy Burnley neighborhood. This place really was on the other end of town.
Why is this place empty? she thought. You'd think a gun store, the only gun store in Gotham at that, wouldn't have an unattended front desk. She wandered around the lobby and looked around. Display cases of guns, some big, some small. Vests – bulletproof, she guessed. Other equipment, seemingly various attachments for guns, holsters for handguns. She had no idea what she would be looking for.
There was another man in the lobby looking through the display cases. "Excuse me, sir? Have you seen the clerk anywhere around?"
The man looked up. He was very handsome: a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, piercing blue eyes, close-cut brown hair. He was slightly too old for her, but it didn't stop her from admiring him. "No, I haven't seen anyone since I got here." His voice was sexy too!
"OK then," she smiled. "Looks like we're both waiting."
"Looks like," he agreed. After a long pause, during which Danielle was ready to go back to browsing, "Hey, if you don't mind me asking, what's a lady like you doing in a gun store?"
She was at a loss for words for a moment, and he filled the silence. "I mean, it's just that I don't see many women shopping for guns. It's not a bad thing or anything, it's just unusual. Are you like police or something?" He scrutinized her lack of badge.
"No, I'm not police," she answered quickly, finding her bearings, "I'm just looking for a little extra protection, you know, just in case. Gotham's a dangerous city."
He nodded. "You got that right."
She awkwardly extended her hand. "Danielle."
He accepted it. "Floyd."
"Nice to meet you, Floyd."
"Listen, what kind of protection are you looking for? If you want something small, like these handguns—"
"You know a lot about guns, don't you?"
"Yeah," he gave an ironic smile, "It's kind of my profession."
"Well, how much would one of these little guns go for?"
"In here? You wouldn't be able to buy it."
"Wha—"
"This gun store's for licensed owners only, and the guidelines are strict. Mostly only police come in here. You'd have a better shot getting guns out at Bludhaven. Pun not intended."
Her heart sank. "Oh. How would I get a license for a gun?"
He shook his head. "Like I said, can't do it here."
She nodded, but he could tell that upset her.
"Hey, what's wrong? Looks like it's more than just extra protection you're looking for." His eyes zeroed in on the fading bruises and cuts on her face. She kicked herself for not wearing makeup. Everyone was noticing!
She took a deep breath. "Yeah, you could say someone's after me."
"Like an abusive boyfriend, or-?"
"No, I don't have a boyfriend. This guy is…something else."
Understanding dawned on him. "You're on someone's list."
She nodded. She didn't know why she was telling this stranger. Then it occurred to her. "You're not police, are you?"
He held up his hands and smiled. "No, I'm just in here window-shopping."
She nodded. "He said he'd kill someone…someone special to me, if I told the police."
"Why is he after you?" Suddenly she saw a look – hard to pinpoint, but something disquieting in the man's eyes. "Is he doing it for a price?"
She shuddered – whether from thinking of Zsasz or from the weird look on the man's face, she wasn't sure. "No. He's doing it for his own sick enjoyment."
Floyd nodded. "If I were you, I'd leave town."
"I tried. They didn't have a safehouse. I don't have enough money to go, and there's nowhere for me to go."
He shrugged. "I'm going to Star City. My daughter lives there." He had a daughter? "There's always a way to get out, if you really want to." He gave her a pointed look.
"Yeah, that's true," she smiled half-heartedly. "Well I'd better get going. Gotta find some way to protect myself…"
"Hey… Danielle, was it?" he said. She stopped and turned back to look at the handsome man. "Always stay on your guard."
She nodded as she left the gun store. He sighed, relieved that she hadn't noticed the three dead clerks on the other side of the counter, shot dead with a single bullet. Time to collect his pay. He peered out the door and watched the girl go. Wondered who was after her. She reminded him a little of his daughter.
-0-
As she walked down the street, baseball bat in hand, bruises and scars decorating her like medals, she found herself thinking about Zsasz again. Again, why was he always on her mind? If she were honest with herself, and she hated to admit this: she felt sorry for him. He had told her that his parents' deaths served a higher purpose. As much as she hated to admit it…Zsasz was human. He missed them. She could tell by the way he talked about them. Zsasz really was all alone. Did he really not have any friends, even before he went crazy? What did that say about the rest of the world, that he couldn't make even a single friend? She sighed. Ever since he had entered her life and began systematically cutting it apart, in both a metaphoric and literal sense, she had the greatest sensation that he was isolating her. Making her feel the same loneliness he felt. She hated to even acknowledge how lonely she really was. It was something she had been pushing away ever since she moved here to Gotham. She wondered if murdering people was Zsasz's way of pushing away his own loneliness. For before the people died, they had kept him company. They had shared with him the last moments of their lives. That afforded a certain intimacy. A false intimacy, but one that she wondered about. Maybe it was what made sense to him because it was the only one he ever tried. Hadn't he ever thought of trying something different? She shivered a little.
It was scary what being all alone could do to you.
-0-
She entered the apartment and right away she knew she wasn't alone.
WHACK! The baseball bat shattered the plaster in the wall as Danielle recklessly swung it. She missed Zsasz, who had been hiding behind the front door, by an inch.
He came at her with a knife. Sswishh! A ringing in her ears. Blood dripping down her back from a wound. Stinging pain.
It wasn't deep.
She turned. The baseball bat swung in an arc. She nailed one of his arms. The knife dropped from his hand.
"You'll pay…"
He swung with the other one. Even though he was right-handed, with knives he was practically ambidextrous. "You will bleed!" He aimed for her face. She dodged.
Fury clouded his blue eyes. She thought she could fight back, did she? "I will kill you, Danielle!" He sneered as he watched her back away toward her living room – toward the window, he guessed. "Trying to get away? Stupid girl! I will kill you even more slowly. I will have you beg me for your liberation!" She raised her bat. He was more terrifying than usual. It was piercingly obvious he wasn't toying with her anymore.
"You thought you could go to the police, you stupid, stupid girl! You thought you could actually escape and ruin our little game? Was your precious Matthew so important to you, after he threw you away?" He swiped again.
She brought the bat up between them, stopping his knife. Terror pounded through her. "I didn't go to the police!" Her elbow swung into his face.
A hard hit, but not hard enough. Zsasz gave a laugh.
"Is that all you have in you? Danielle, I'm disappointed." Sswishh! Danielle screamed. The baseball bat dropped from her hand with a dull thud. She clutched her bleeding shoulder, and Zsasz's knife dripped red.
She lunged desperately, trying to get to the door. He ducked behind her. She tried to move but it was too late. His weight on her back, arms across her shoulders.
She threw both of them backward to the floor before he could get to her neck. He was beneath her but still holding her from behind. She elbowed him sharply in the stomach. He made an oof! sound, a small puff of air in her ear. She shuddered. He stank of sweat.
She couldn't pull herself off him. Couldn't reach the bat, which had rolled away. He grabbed her by the backs of her legs and very quickly reversed their positions – only she was facedown while he was on top.
She felt the blow connect with the back of her head. Her face slammed into the floor of her apartment. She saw stars. Terror flooded her.
Another blow. This one seemed farther away than the first one, though just as painful. She screamed.
"Good night, Danielle…"
Another blow. She tried to whisper for help. Her eyes closed as her face hit the floor a third time. "No…"
He stood above her, looking down at her. Was she unconscious? Her body seemed limp. He could slit her throat right now. Leave her posed in her bed, cassette player in hand. He could end her pathetic life.
He turned her over and looked at her unconscious body. Her nose was bloody and swollen, possibly broken. Good. There was blood all over the floor.
The rage was swirling in him now. She lied. She claimed she had not been to the police. Well then, why were they moving her piggy now? For fun and giggles? No, his clever piggy had found a way to tell the police. Maybe she had told a friend and the friend had called on her behalf. Or—no, he saw her get into the police car. It was all a ruse. She had merely done it to confess!
His hand clutched the knife more tightly. His fingers were slick with her blood.
As he stood above her, breathing hard, he felt his plans come to a pause. Looking down at her, completely at his mercy. Oh, he could kill her right now. Or he could take her somewhere and take his time. Or…
Her shirt was slightly raised. He could see her perfect, unmarked belly. Why had he never stabbed her there? The rest of her must be littered with scars.
That's right. Her scars. He had always wanted to see them. In spite of his anger for her, Zsasz still did.
He turned her back over, so she was again facedown. He knelt down, knife in hand. Was he really going to—
Without thinking, the knife moved, the blade cutting through the thin fabric of her shirt. It was instinctive. The shirt fell away to reveal her skin, her marks.
They were beautiful. Her back was completely littered with them. He knew. He always knew, always had an idea of how it would look – but nothing prepared him for the sheer beauty of the constellation of marks that marred her complexion.
Tentatively, with an almost childlike hesitation, he reached out and touched one of her scars. The feeling sent goosebumps along his flesh. He began to touch the different ones, marveling at their shapes, the sensation of raised flesh beneath his fingertips.
He counted 42 scars total. The large thin cut he had made during their fight was beginning to clot. He turned her over—
There was the scar in her upper left arm, the one from his scalpel. It was bigger than he thought it would be. There was a smaller, newer mark in her lower right arm. There was also a fresh gash near her shoulder.
He needed more time, he realized. He wanted to experience her scars, her marks, more. The mark could wait for now. He had to get her out of reach of the police.
Yes. Now would be the perfect time to abduct her. He just had to be careful that no one would see them.
-/-/-/-/-
She was still unconscious when he arrived at her hideout. The irony was not lost on him that he was using her own getaway hole to hide them in. He had tied her hands behind her in case she awoke early, but she was still out. He brushed away the glass from the floor, not wanting to get any in his own knees or hands, and then set her down. The shreds of her shirt were falling off. She was still covered modestly with a bra. It didn't matter. He could reach beneath it and feel her scars.
He counted them again, touched each one again. Ran his whole hands down her back, feeling all of them beneath his palms. He wasn't aware he was closing his eyes.
Without conscious thought, he found his fingers suddenly running themselves through her hair. What was he doing?! What was he thinking, he wasn't thinking! She was making him lose control! His hand gripped her hair, and then suddenly relaxed. He turned her over and ran his fingers over her neck, feeling the blood racing through her veins. He wanted to cut her throat, but at the same time…
He brushed a lock of hair away from her face. Bruises of different sizes and shades had formed on her face from his brutality. It looked good. It made him feel like… she was his. Not that disgusting Matthew's. His.
He wanted to leave more marks on her. But he would rather she was awake for it. And all these feelings were so…not new. But foreign to whom he was now. It had been a long time since he had felt…attached to someone. Perhaps that was the feeling. Attachment.
The anger was still there. And yet somehow this all felt right. She was more alive than the others. So this would be more meaningful somehow. And yet, just the thought of being with her felt a little like falling off a bridge.
No. He was not afraid. He would find solace in Danielle's arms. He would find a real, meaningful connection with her. After so long spent alone, he deserved to.
Her eyes were fluttering open.
-/-/-/-/-
She awoke on the cold wooden floor. For a moment she didn't know where she was. The peeling paint on the ceiling looked familiar. She hadn't been here since their fight, had she?
Boots came into view. Zsasz looked down at her with chilling menace.
She couldn't move her body. She slowly realized that her hands were tied behind her back. Horror struck her like a bucket of ice water.
Zsasz savored the look of fright that appeared over her face. It appeared he still had power over her. He knelt down before her, slowly and deliberately, and ran his fingers over the scars on her arms. She shivered noticeably.
"Zsasz-" She was right. She had been right that day in the square. He had her and now he was going to torture her. His fingers swept over her scars and then curled around her sides to touch the ones on her back. He was clearly enjoying her terrified reaction. He had finally gotten her, and she was going to die now. The light touches were to intimidate her, the precursors to the stabs. She knew it. Her heart thundered.
"You're trembling," he said. "You're filled with fear. I can see the sweat running across your flesh, and yet I won't kill you." He laughed softly. How could he kill her? With her here, he didn't feel so alone anymore.
"You're going to torture me first and then kill me." She wished he would put her shirt back on. Was this part of the cruel mind games? To humiliate her first? It was chilly in here. Reality was setting it: this was it. There was no way out of this. She was finished.
"You have such beautiful marks." He made her sit up and she felt his fingers all over her back. "They are all reminders of your life."
"What?" she tried to keep up. The blood loss and her broken nose were making her dizzy. His fingers continued to rub along her spine. She felt violated suddenly. "Please," she heard herself begging, "please stop that."
"Don't hide your marks! Don't be ashamed of them. Let me see them." He moved behind her; she could feel his breath on her skin. Was this really happening? With mounting horror, she realized what was really going on.
"No…"
"They are like a tattoo upon your skin. How ravishing, Danielle! This one is shaped like a fish," his hands were way too low, "and this one is like a half-moon…" He turned her to face him again, and she saw the mania on his face. The deranged happiness – and it was all directed at her. "But we don't need to name them. They are beautiful without names. You now have a scar collection that rivals mine, Danielle. And I did this," he smiled proudly. "I made you beautiful. Now relax." His voice grew quieter. "This won't hurt much."
And suddenly, she was lying on her back again. He was stripping her pants off of her. Terror set in.
"No, please—"
"You're alive. You're so beautifully alive, Danielle. Why would I kill you?" She strained against the ropes and tried to free her hands, tried to get away from him. "You are anything but mundane. You never did this with Matthew, did you, with your piggy? It doesn't really matter if you've done this before or not." He stopped to run his fingers along the hem of her red underwear. "You weren't alive before. You didn't feel before. You looked for meaning in meaningless things. You looked for meaning in your beauty. But you don't anymore, and that makes you…" he stroked her face, "…beautiful."
He had a knife. She felt the cold steel brush her skin ever so slightly. She fought back tears. "Please don't do this—"
No, God no. She didn't want this.
"This is your first time, isn't it?" he asked. Danielle couldn't bring herself to answer him. She felt his hand on her butt.
"Zsasz, no!" she pleaded.
"The bleeding will stop," he said, almost as though he were comforting her. "It is normal for the first time."
She tried to go someplace else in her mind, but she couldn't block out what he was doing, nor could she stop him. So she settled for hating him instead. Even after the horrible deed was finished, she continued to hate him, in spite of his sudden calmness and…could it be joy?
"You know, I have not been with a woman in 12 years, Danielle. You are the first in all this time."
She almost scoffed in his face. Why in hell did he start with her? Why not go see a prostitute instead?
"When I was younger, it was no problem to lure women to me. They wanted my money and I—well, I was very young. Young men want a tally of women, nothing more. An empty existence… When I was awakened, I realized that flesh, my flesh, only existed to honor my work, to be my work's temple. There was no one to share this with, no one who understood life's meaning. Everywhere I looked was zombies! Zombies! I am not a necrophile!" He smiled down at her, and her skin crawled. "But you… You are beautiful. You are alive. And before I took you, you were as pure as untainted snow." He traced a finger down her cheek. She hated him. How dare he talk about her as if she were his property? "This is the first time having sex that I feel truly alive!" How dare he call it sex when it was rape?!
He lowered his mouth to hers. That was the worst. That was too intimate – and he had already robbed her considerably of intimacy. How dare he kiss her as if he were her boyfriend or lover?! The rough scars from his forehead brushed against hers.
She wrenched her face away from his and he forced it back to look into her eyes. Everything about him was so rough.
"You are mine."
He cut the ropes from her hands. She didn't even bother sitting up. "I will see you again, Danielle. And it will be even better next time…for you."
Only when he finally let her go, when he was finally finished torturing her, when he pulled up his pants and she heard his footsteps fade away down the stairs of her hideout, did she cry.
Her old blanket was still in the corner of the room. She wrapped herself in it, covering her torso, her torn shirt left behind.
The walk home was painful. She tried not to be noticed and she hid her face whenever anyone passed by. She got inside her apartment and nearly collapsed from the pain. She knew she should call an ambulance, go to the ER, and maybe they could do an assault kit. She hated to even think of it. It didn't matter anyway – they were already looking for Zsasz. Though now she might need to be tested for diseases. Considering the sheer number of people whose blood he had come into contact with…who knew what he might have. She broke down in tears at the thought.
She didn't want to go to the hospital just yet. There was no point in increasing her humiliation any further.
In the end, she pulled herself slowly into the shower and sat there, feeling the scalding hot water pouring over her, mixing with her tears, unable to erase what Zsasz had done.
-0-