He slammed his fists down on the table, causing it to shake and his bottle to rattle violently. Angrily, he paced his room, his hands clenching and unclenching. A vein in his right temple pulsed as he grinded his teeth. He stood still for a moment, but his rage caused his body to tremble with the effort of holding it back.
"You failed, Hunter." He swirled toward the full-sized mirror in the room, spotting Peter smirking at him through the reflective glass. "You failed to kill her."
"It was dark," Hunter growled.
"As if that has ever bothered the hunter before," Peter said, tauntingly. He glanced at his nails and started picking at a bit of nonexistent dirt. "You failed, and you know it."
"I will not fail next time."
"That's what you said last time, and here you are." Peter gestured to him. "A failure even on the second try. Third time may be the charm or it could be your ruin."
Hunter turned away, flustered and annoyed. Peter made a very good point, one that Hunter was reluctant to admit; it was his second try to kill that insufferable woman, but he had done better this time around. He had the control; she didn't. There was only one similarity; Hunter was still terribly afraid of her.
Last time they had come face-to-face in the arcade, she could've killed him; he had barely remained a step ahead of her. When she remarkably forced back the poison and anesthetic he had injected into her, her sudden strength frightened him, but he had continued to fight her, knocking her down, handcuffing her to an arcade game and then finally hitting her in the head with a metal bat.
He closed his eyes, savoring in the memory. The whistle of the bat. His muscles straining. Her head caving with the impact. Her skull cracking audibly. The blood. Her lifeless form falling, hitting the ground, slumping against the arcade game. The exceeding ecstasy he felt at her demise…
Yet, she hadn't gone to meet her maker. She hadn't kept her appointment with Death. So close yet so far…she had survived!
His fist clenched, and he thrust it into the wall, his mouth twitching into a grimace as blood dripped from his knuckles. An irritated, yet pained, hiss whistled through his teeth.
Shadow. The name revolted him, as much as it scared him. How could she have survived his attack? Everything told him that she had died, that she was a goner, that she wouldn't be able to pull through…yet she did!
She definitely had something; she was a witch, a thief. First his Boss, confusing him and controlling him, distracting him from his real work, stealing his attention at every turn. And now this! Pulling through and everything intact!
Oh, it tormented him. To see her alive and well, after such a hit. To witness her living a relatively normal life, in style. To see her working for them. She knew it was killing him; she was taunting him, pretending that she wasn't still in control of the Boss, faking and claiming she had nothing to do with him. How dare she side with the enemy? Is that her plan? To arrest him and put him behind bars for life so that she had the Boss for herself, for her selfish self.
"She'll forever be selfish," Peter said, breaking into his thoughts. "That is, until she finally succumbs to whatever may take her."
"I'll deal with her," Hunter snapped.
"Only if I give you another chance, Hunter," Peter replied, coolly.
Hunter grinded his teeth, causing his jaw to ache. He blamed the Thief – finally, a name for her! – for messing him up. He would have finished the job, if her new partner hadn't gotten involved.
"Now you're blaming her partner." Peter scoffed.
"Do not mock me," Hunter yelled, spinning and pointing an accusing finger. "She set me up. The Thief knew. She knew I was following her, and she set me up to get hurt."
"The most hurt you suffered was your ear."
Subconsciously, Hunter raised a hand to his bandaged ear. "You know what they were intending."
"It doesn't matter if I do or don't. I still decide whether or not you have another chance."
"No," Hunter said, simply. "Not this time."
Peter sneered. "How do you propose to continue existing and surviving without me, Hunter? You know you need me. You follow me, not the other way around."
"I'm trying again, and this time, without you to distract me." Peter started laughing, a menacing chuckle that sent cold chills down Hunter's spine, but he grabbed the bottle off the table and chucked it at the mirror. Glass hit glass, both shattering to small sharp pieces. Hunter winced as one bit flew back in his face, leaving a scratch on his cheek, but the blood infuriated.
Peter and Hunter, the same being yet different personalities. Hunter hated Peter. For months, he had only emerged to criticize him, to tell him what to do, told him what he did wrong and that it was his fault that the plan hadn't worked. Peter thrived off Hunter's negative emotions; he took advantage of Hunter's instability. Hunter hated it; Peter jumped on each of his failures, using them against him, particularly when the failure was attached to the Thief.
Hunter would change that. The Thief had an appointment with her death, and she was already later; two tries late. This time, if Hunter planned to be rid of her – which he did – he would have to make sure she met death himself, guide her all the way rather than leave her halfway.
"Hey, Hunter," Peter called. Hunter glared down at the pieces of glass on the floor, seeing Peter in all of them. "Know that you'll regret leaving me out. You'll come back, crawling and begging for me to come back, down on your hands and knees like a dog."
"No, Peter," Hunter said, with a confident sneer. "Not this time." He stepped on a large piece of glass, listening to it crack under his foot, and he walked out, head held high.
The alarm blared at its original time at five o'clock – I still hadn't changed it – but I allowed it to ring itself out. When the ringing quiet descended upon my ears, I rolled over to the nightstand and reset the alarm before lying on my back, my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling.
I still couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that I had once worked for the Joker. Xander hadn't lied, at least not that I could tell. It made sense, but at the same time, it made no sense to me. How could I have worked for a psychotic criminal like him? And if Xander's remark about falling for people you work for was pointed at me, then how could I have fallen in love with that crazy clown?
I shook my head. The latter question, I didn't want to think about. It was difficult enough to absorb learning that I had worked for the Clown Prince of Crime.
It clicked now. He made our paths cross in the asylum for a reason. He claimed he was a friend, someone who knew me better than anyone. That may be true, due to my having worked with him.
The police database has no information of what happened to me during the time I went missing. Now, I knew. That was my time with the Joker, working for him and becoming a professional criminal. Possibly, I hadn't even been an editor before then, but had been a criminal even then. If that were possible, then who had hacked into the police database to alter my info?
Again, I shook my head, pushing the question aside. It frustrated me that every time I made a connection, more questions and confusion emerged. I knew that my amnesia wasn't getting any better; bits and pieces were returning but only confused me more. If only I knew why I lost my memory.
No, I knew why. Someone had attacked me. Someone had crushed my skull, beating me with a metal bat.
I shivered and turned over onto my side, trying to force the thought out of my mind. I knew I wasn't going to sleep any time soon, but I didn't want to lie here and be tormented by visions of metal bats flying toward my head or face.
I eventually slipped into semi-consciousness, only to be aroused an hour or two later when the "adopted" Rottweiler decided I couldn't sleep in anymore. She jumped onto the bed from the end and particularly pounced on me, breathing heavily in my face. I barked the order of "get down", and she instantly obeyed, turning around and wagging her tail, waiting for me.
I groggily climbed out of bed and made my way to the kitchen, the dog following at my heels. At my order, she obediently sat, panting in wait while I retrieved a bag of dog food that I bought while I had been out with Xander. It definitely rose curious questions from Xander, but I explained it off as it was a neighbor's dog that I promised to watch for a few days. I hoped to figure out what to do with her soon, preferably today.
I fixed myself a hot chocolate, attempting to wake myself up gently. Sitting at the counter, I watched as the Rottweiler chewed away, practically chasing the bowl around the kitchen because it wasn't designated for dogs. Despite the cruel wakening, I couldn't resist smiling as Scout followed the bowl, determined to catch it.
The sight amused me, but I knew that I couldn't afford taking care of a dog, much less have the time to care for the Rottweiler. It didn't matter that the dog obeyed me like I used to own her; I had to give her up to someone else, either a shelter or let her loose.
Though, neither option clicked. I had to find a place for her; she was a good dog, from what I could tell. Despite being locked up all night in the bedroom, she only destroyed two pillows, and she was definitely trained. I debated bring her to the police department to see if she could be trained as a police dog, but that, for some reason, didn't settle well with me.
The Rottweiler, once finished chasing the bowl, came and sat before me, looking up and tilting her head. I watched her, wondering if the dog was content or not. After a few moments, the dog whined and moved around the counter to sit at my feet, still looking up at me with begging eyes.
I realized she wanted to go out. "I have nothing to put you on," I told her. "No leash, no collar, not even rope, and I do not want to risk being called out on for animal abuse."
The dog lifted herself to all four paws, padded over to the door, and scratched at it.
"All right, fine," I said, abandoning my drink to change quickly. The dog barked as I reached for my shoes, to which I responded with a sharp, "Shush, Scout." She quieted but padded excitedly about the entranceway, waiting for me to put on my jacket and grab my keys.
With a quick command of "Heel", I led the way down four flights of stairs, Scout following right behind. Upon hitting the lobby, an idea struck me. Instead of heading toward the glass door, I turned and approached the landlord's place, rapping solidly on the wood.
I waited patiently until the door opened, and Mrs. Wood stood in the frame. "Morning, Mrs. Wood," I greeted politely.
"Ah, good morning," she returned. "Come in, come in."
"Actually, I have to be somewhere soon. Thought I'd drop by and say hello."
Mrs. Wood eyed me suspiciously. "That can't be the only reason why you're here, especially this early when you should have been at work hours ago."
"Oh, I changed shifts. I work at night."
"Oh dear, that must be difficult to adjust to."
"It is," I agreed. "And you're right; I do have another reason for stopping by. I have a question."
She arched an eyebrow. "Yes?" she inquired.
"How do you feel about dogs?"
Whether she knew about Scout or not, she glanced down where the dog now sat obediently at my feet. "Is this a police dog?" she asked.
"No, just one who followed me home last night."
"Bring it to a shelter if you don't want it."
"That's not where I want the dog."
Mrs. Wood looked at me, narrowing her eyes. "If you want to keep it, keep it."
"I can't. Don't have the money-."
"You have a job."
"Or the time, Mrs. Wood." I glanced at Scout and explained, "This type of dog needs attention and time, lots of exercise and such, and with the night shift, I'm going to be sleeping most of the day. I can't take care of this dog, no matter how much I want to keep her."
Mrs. Wood's eyes bore into me, as if scrutinizing for some clue as to what I was implying. Due to the fact that Scout started whining, I quickly said, "Do you think you could contact Mr. Bleak and leave him a message from me?"
"Why, of course. You simply had to ask, Jane." She laughed softly. "Mind you, there's no guarantee that he'll answer any time soon, but if it has to do with the dog, you can keep the dog here or in your apartment for the time being."
"But he does respond, correct?"
"Yes, when he has time."
I nodded. "Good enough for me." Mrs. Wood waited expectantly. "Just tell him I need his advice of what to do about this dog, tell him my predicament."
She bowed her head. "I will do that. Have a good day." She rubbed the Rottweiler's head and then stepped back, closing her door.
The Rottweiler staggered me. I walked calmly without any fear of the dog running off, even though that would have probably made my life easier. Scout remained by my side, matching my speed and keeping pace, without falling behind or moving ahead. She copied my stop-and-go at each of the crosswalks so I didn't have to worry about her getting hit by a car either. I smiled, enjoying the control, despite not understanding why the dog obeyed me.
We reached Hyde Park, a fairly good-sized park with plenty of space to run and play, especially for kids and dogs. With an abundance of trees, children had climbing objects besides the playground. Scout started moving forward so she could pause and watch the children yelled at one another while they played. I smirked at the sight of the dog perking her ears so she could listen.
A few kids noticed her and raced over, commenting on what a cute or cool dog I had and asking whether or not they could pet her. Ordering Scout to sit, I allowed the kids close, watching the Rottweiler closely as she greedily licked their hands and nudged their arms as they scratched her head and back.
I remained there, waiting for the kids to disperse before I called Scout to my side. She padded alongside me, lolling out her tongue and looking around curiously.
As we neared some benches along one path, Scout stopped, perking up her eyes and lifting her nose to the air. After a moment, she barked and shot forward. "Scout!" I yelled, but the dog ignored me, charging in the direction of a lone man sitting on a bench.
He lifted his head as the dog raced toward him, barking excitedly. A smile stretched across his face as he held out his hands. Scout buried her head into them, her tail wagging violently, trying to jump into his face to lick him. With a stern command, she sat between his legs, closing her eyes as he scratched her ears.
I followed after her at a slower pace, observing the man. He appeared to be in his middle twenties, still young as some men do, with a sharp jaw and neat black hair. Bangs fell over his eyes, blocking them from my view, but as I advanced, gradually I could make out his nose, that even from an angle looked as though it had been broken and hadn't healed over in the correct alignment. He wrestled the Rottweiler to the ground, scratching away at her exposed chest when I finally stood close enough for him to notice me.
He raised his face slightly, staring at me through his bangs, as if shy of speaking to a human being. However, when he spoke, his voice was gentle and confident, even rich. "I suppose you're the one who found Scout here," he said.
"I found her, and she followed me home." I motioned to the dog.
"Thanks for finding her." He bowed his head over the Rottweiler, and I pulled out my badge from my jacket pocket. Clearing my throat caused him to look up, to which he smiled sheepishly. "She was stolen last night," he explained.
"And you didn't have time to tack up missing posters?" I asked, suspiciously.
"She's run off a few times before, always comes back by the next day. If she hadn't gotten back until this evening, then I would have notified the city." He flipped his head, in an attempt to move his bangs, but failed. "Where'd you find her?"
"Who stole her?"
"You sound like you're accusing me of stealing my own dog or something."
"I don't want to influence your answer by giving any details I know."
He chuckled. "Good point. Some woman dressed up in what might have been either a clown or a jester sort of costume. You know, with this long ear things." He used his hands to imitate the "ear things".
I nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Well, glad I could return your dog, mister…?"
He lifted himself from the bench and faced me, brushing his bangs out of his face with a hand, revealing his intelligent brown eyes. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. "Ron Bleak. And you wanted to ask me to take care of the dog, to which you have no need to worry."
I stammered like an idiot for a few moments before I finally managed to place my hand in his, gripping him tightly as we shook. Even as our hands released, I still couldn't speak, unable to comprehend past my confusion and shock.
"I apologize for startling you, Detective McKinley," he said, gently. "I tried to think of different ways of introducing myself, but I've never been that creative." Scout barked by his side, and he laid a hand on her head, scratching an ear. "Your landlady passed along your message, and rather than use text or phone call, I decided it'd be best if we met in person, first time around, at least."
"Did you order this dog to follow me home so that you had an excuse to meet up with me?" I blurted out before I gave myself a second to think.
"Oh no, nothing like that. It sort of worked out that way. My dog ran off, and I needed to get her back. It was merely coincidence she followed you home."
"I don't believe in coincidence," I told him, deep down wondering if I did or not. "Things happen for a reason. Particularly the fact that this dog obeys my orders to the letter. How can I have such control over a dog if it's not mine?"
"That's a good question, and here's your answer. She's your dog."
Taken aback, I took a moment to take this in. "So, she was my dog."
"No, she still is. You're her primary master, well, that is her secondary one for the time being." Scout padded over to me and bumped playfully into my legs. "If I had to guess, I'd say she recognized your scent and followed you home because she missed you. You've been gone…seven, eight months?"
I bit my lower lip. He was referring to my past, prior to my treatment in the asylum, a period in my life that I knew hardly anything about. I couldn't remember a single thing from that time.
As the worry began growing, I realized that Mr. Bleak knew about my situation. He had contributed money for whatever I needed in Arkham, some new kind of technology, and he paid rent for a place that I didn't own, or at least set me up there.
He raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for me to respond.
"Yeah, seven or eight months sounds right," I said. I hoped that he wouldn't notice the uncertainty that resided in my tone.
"We met here, at this very bench," Mr. Bleak said, looking around. I narrowed my eyes, waiting for a dreamy look to appear in his face, but thankfully, none came. "Actually, it was the second time meeting."
"Where was the first?" I didn't know whether or not to take his word for it, but it didn't hurt to be curious and retrieve the details.
"A bar, the Stacked Deck. We played poker."
"I don't drink."
"I didn't say you did." He smiled, a gentle one. "You don't remember even that far." He wasn't asking; he was making a statement.
"I never said that," I told him, in an attempt to defend myself.
"You didn't have to. The way you hold yourself, your demeanor." He shook his head. "I understand. I know what you're going through." He reached down and rubbed the Rottweiler's head. "Come, Scout. Your fellows miss you."
"More dogs?"
"Playmates." He bowed his head. "Good day to you, Detective." He clicked his tongue and started walking, with Scout padding by his side.
"Dean!" He stopped and turned back, looking at me confused. "Sorry, I meant Ron, if you don't mind me using your first name."
"No, it's fine," he said, his face unreadable.
"How can I contact you?" I asked. "Or should I continue to pester Mrs. Wood?'
"Ah." He returned, rummaging through his pocket for something. He pulled out a pad of paper and pen, to which he pulled off the cap with his teeth and scribbled on the small paper. With a smooth rip, he handed over the piece of paper, putting the cap back on the pen. "My number," he explained. "Text me, and I'll call back when I can."
"When you can?" I asked, slipping the paper into my pocket.
He smirked. "I got back to you quickly, did I?" After a moment, I reluctantly nodded. He turned away again and moved with Scout.
I watched him until he had crossed to the other side of the park. When he opened the backdoor to a Toyota Corolla, I started my walk closer. Scout jumped into the backseat, and Ron Bleak stepped into the driver's seat. I hurried closer, trying not to catch his attention. He pulled out of the parallel parking spot, and I caught a glimpse of his license plate, converting it to memory.
When I returned to the apartment building, Mrs. Wood caught me as I started up the stairs. "Oh, Jane, seems like you managed to arrange something for the dog." I nodded. "That's good. I was wondering if you could do me a favor."
"Anything you need, as long as it's legal."
Mrs. Wood patted my arm affectionately, chuckling. "Of course, dear. There's a new tenant who came in this morning, maybe ten minutes after you left. I wondered if you would mind helping her settle in, help with unpacking and such."
"Are you setting me up to make friends, Mrs. Wood?"
"No, dear, of course not." She continued to laugh as she pressed something cold into my hand and then hurriedly hobbled back to her door.
"Wait, what apartment?" I called after her.
"Third floor, apartment 327," she answered before she disappeared into her apartment.
I glanced at my hand, seeing a key. Rolling my eyes, I headed up to the third floor. I knocked first, deciding to give the new tenant a chance before I unlocked the door. After four tries, still no one came.
I felt like I was intruding, but I figured if she wasn't there, I'd come back later. Upon opening the door, I noticed that the apartment had an entranceway similar to mine. I spotted a jacket hanging on the coat hooks; the tenant was home. Stepping in farther, the apartment had a very similar arrangement as mine, except for the colors and the fact that the setup was turned in way of the living room and kitchen. My kitchen was on the right, whereas this new tenant's place was on the left.
Stepping into the living room, I noticed a few tubs, many boxes, a suitcase, and a duffel bag in a pile up against the counter. Then, I spotted the new tenant on the couch, lying on her stomach, with a blanket over her, an arm hanging over the edge. I recognized her as Xander, to which I smiled and shook my head in disbelief. What were the chances?
Xander didn't react when I shook my head, trying to be nice as I probed her. I tried everything short of yelling or beating her or even pouring water on her. Finally, I gave in and tugged her pillow out from under her head.
The violent awakening caused a violent reaction. Xander's eyes snapped open as she lunged herself off the couch, snatching a pistol from where her pillow had been. Reacting swiftly, I knocked the weapon out of her hand and then dived for the bar, snatching the gun off the ground and aiming at her.
"Don't move, Xander," I ordered. "It's me. McKinley."
She looked at me, her eyes burning holes into me. She had a wild look in them, like she wasn't looking at me but at someone she thought was a threat. She stood stiff, unmoving, simply waiting for me to move, to give her a reason to jump. Suddenly, it hit me.
"Hey, sorry for waking you like that. You're okay. Look, I'm putting the gun down." I moved slowly, placing the gun on the bar and holding my hands up, showing her that I was unarmed.
Xander didn't move for another minute or two. I could hear her labored breathing from across the room and wondered if there was anything I could do to snap her out of survival mode. I didn't want to risk it; I didn't trust myself to move, for fear that it would cause Xander to either hurt me or hurt herself.
Eventually, she started blinking quite rapidly, like she had kept her eyes open and unmoving for too long. She began moving, raising her hands to her head and shaking it, as if clearing her mind, as she sat down, bowing herself over her crossed legs. She sat like this for a few minutes. Slowly, I lowered myself to the ground and waited for her to move.
After few minutes, she finally did. She lifted herself without a word, raising from the floor and heading into the kitchen. I stood up as well, watching her closely as she moved about, preparing coffee, but as I watched, I realized it was no ordinary coffee. It was one part coffee, one part rum, and one part milk and sugar.
"Isn't it a bit early?"
Xander grinned, but quickly the grin turned into a grimace. "As I always say, it's five o'clock somewhere," she said, taking a sip from the "coffee". I approached the bar, but she lifted a finger. "Nuh-uh, I'm not happy with you."
I sighed. "Great…"
"Excuse me?" Xander's eyes flashed. "You obviously don't know how to wake up someone with PTSD. I would have killed you."
"Well, that would solve many issues."
"Oh, shut up." She swallowed a gulp and glanced out the window in the living room. "Who let you in? Or did you pick the lock?"
"Mrs. Wood gave me the key."
After another gulp, Xander gave me a look, and then scoffed. "That crazy old woman. Gives you, of all people, the key to my apartment. To do what? Run off with my artillery?"
"Well," I drolled. "The police department could use a change in its weapons." Xander, with her index finger and thumb, mimicked shooting me. "Sorry, but I enjoy living."
"Good," she snapped and returned to her coffee. "Why did she send you?"
"She told me to be a good neighbor and help you unpack. I think she's discreetly telling me that I need to make friends."
"Well, friends outside the law give you more of a view of the world." She swallowed a mouthful and added, "By the way, setting an alarm on your watch or something would have woken me gently."
"You done being mad?"
"No, but that doesn't stop me from telling you." After a moment, Xander leaned against the bar and motioned me closer.
"You're not going to hit me, are you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.
"That's a good idea." I gave her a look. "No, I was going to tell you that you have a chance of redeeming yourself if you buy me…" She glanced at her watch. "Lunch and an early dinner."
"Redeem myself?" I arched an eyebrow.
"With your rude awakening, I've only slept maybe two hours, max. I'm tired. And you woke me up when I should be sleeping."
"Have you been up all night?"
"Mhm, was working last night, like usual."
I smirked. "Will I find out about it tonight when I go to work?"
"No. I was helping…a friend." I opened my mouth to ask further, but Xander snapped her fingers at me, since she had a mouthful of coffee to swallow. "If I tell you any more details, I'll have to kill you."
"Don't steal movie quotes." She stuck her tongue out at me and returned to her coffee. Once she finished it, she went to the entranceway, snatching her jacket. She shook it, hearing a jingle from her pocket, ensuring her keys were there. "C'mon, you pain in my ass. I'm hungry and haven't eaten anything for hours."
I grinned and followed her out of her apartment.
Lordlink13: And here I bestow upon you all the fourteen chapter of the book of Shadow's City, where, if you remember, Bleak is Dean, Dean is Dean Ledger, who art the Joker's half-brother, yo - and now, Xander is Alexandra, who is Alexandra Eccleston, who art the Joker's sister. Why the hell is the Joker's mother a freakin' whore, but who loveth her children-eth. Who cares really? Different fathers, same mother, whatever. They're siblings. Someone should start screaming, "Deans, Xanders, and Jokers, oh my!" Please review. Thank you, this has been a public service announcement. Have a great day.