"Please tell me I'm an awful person who has no idea what she's doing."
"You're an awful person, and you have no idea what you're doing. Now, can you finally tell me if you guys did it again?"
"No we did not do it," I hissed, holding the phone closer to my face as a heavily bearded man passed me with a leery eye. Perusing among racks of leather wallets as I searched for Christmas gifts in a Bulgarian suit shop, I found myself in the midst of a confession to a very eager Suyin. It had been two days since my first session, and I was still reeling from the effects. Things moved in the corners of my eyes. I heard whispers at night, indecipherable mumblings that pulled me from the edge of sleep.
Even worse, I had the intense displeasure of experiencing a full-blown hallucination in broad daylight just the other day. While waiting for the green signal to cross the street with an armful of groceries, I spotted Corin Darcy standing on the median strip between the crowded lanes. Dark rivulets of blood ran down his neck, pooling at his feet where it seeped into the concrete and worn asphalt. When we locked eyes, he grinned openly and waved.
That had never happened before. Not without a trigger.
Of course, I wasn't telling that to Suyin. Neither was I telling her that silver-tongued fuckwit and I did everything but 'do it'. As much as it pained me, I wasn't about to go for round two, minus the prophylactics. Again. Being impregnated with half-demon spawn did not lie out in my immediate plans.
Not to mention... I wasn't entirely sure if I could handle facing John with such a tall stack of sins set against me.
In Suyin's mind, I was probably Crane's note-jotting lackey as he mixed vials of various, unnamed substances into beakers and heated them up in benson burners, like some television show stereotype of a mad scientist. The gritty, personal reality was far too horrifying for me to even enunciate aloud to myself.
"Oh. That's right, I forgot that you're still with the police guy."
The stank in her voice was palpable, and it brushed me just as wrongly as she intended. It took everything in me to quell the deep stab of guilt that quickly followed. My stomach lurched, souring the afternoon banana muffin that sat in my stomach. I pressed a hand against my lower abdomen, feeling the rumble of shame-induced indigestion. "He has a name, and you know it." I forced out, leaning a hand against a broad-shouldered mannequin, clad smartly in a tweed suit.
"Doesn't matter. Now that guy number one's back in the picture, something's gonna happen. You're too stupid to juggle things like that."
"Thank you for your confidence." I said dryly, turning around to glance over silk ties stretched taught on a velvet-lined display. Good God, was I that predictable? That made me feel even more like a disgusting hoebag. Just the mental image of John's open, inviting smile weighed my chest down, as if I were inhaling aerosolized lead.
There had been times in my past where I found myself entangled with more than one person in a night, though I usually didn't remember much of it. This was entirely different. What had happened two nights ago was impulsive, executed without regard for consequences, and wholly blamable. I wanted to hide behind the excuse of slight intoxication so badly, but I knew deep down that it would've been a total lie. I knew exactly what I was doing. Even worse, so did he.
Now, I was paying for it in the form of a long shadow of feverish and unending guilt. When I'd gone to John's apartment the night before, I had laughed harder than I should have at his jokes, held his hand for far too long while watching the evening news, and swallowed penitence in deep silence as he ran his fingers across my bare skin under a thick wool blanket, murmuring sweet nothings against my cheek.
He was so content, radiating like a private stash of summer warmth. And as much as I wanted to, I couldn't find the igniting spark to enjoy a single ray of it.
But I wasn't about to tell him that I'd lost track of it somewhere in between the moment when I'd kicked my boots off while leaning against a Tiffany-style hanging lamp, and the second I started moaning incoherently with my hands buried in Jonathan Crane's hair, down in between my thighs. Just the memories alone were purely volatile, my mouth growing dry at the recollection of the taste of his skin, my knees buckling at the faded sight of him raising slick fingers to his lips with that wretched look of pure satisfaction.
"Freddie?... Freddie!"
I was daydreaming. Daysexdreaming. Snapping out of my reverie, I scrunched my nose and bit my bottom lip to suppress a groan of annoyance. "What? Sorry."
Suyin let out a heavy huff, loathing to repeat herself. "When's your next meet-up?"
"Actually, I... I don't know." I ran a finger down a deep scarlet tie, picturing the look of it on my father. No, too bold for his subtle tastes. "He said I'd find out when I needed to."
"Cryptic. That's so hot."
I rolled my eyes and snorted, refusing to give in to her enabling comments. "As long as it's done before Christmas, that's all that matters." Absentmindedly, I made my way down the lengthy display, stopping in my stride as a thin, black tie caught my eye. It was eerily similar to what John wore on his strictly office days.
Just two more sessions. The dates, unfortunately, remained undetermined. Lifting the narrow, silky strip of ebony, I felt that ever-churning roil surface once more in my stomach.
Why did I do that dumb shit? At what point in time, after heavily misleading the one man who could do no wrong with an offhand comment of "I love you", and then immediately launching myself at the entity his whole department was hellbent on locating, was I supposed to find a resolution? I was a fucking idiot.
After a long first night spent wallowing in fresh remorse, I had managed to figure out what coaxed the trigger. That unscrupulous tongue Crane possessed was talented in several foul forms. He even had the gall to spell out the exact button he pressed just over a month ago when chopping my self-esteem to bits. What was it that he said? A "desire for prompt retaliation when provoked". That bastard.
He'd known. Even before I'd stepped foot into the warehouse, my lips were doomed to form his name against the cold concrete floor, just as they always did when I was at my most vulnerable. Knowing a name was supposed to draw power from its owner, make them something less of themselves. He couldn't have been any more contrary to the fact, reveling in the way I breathed it like a prayer for redemption.
The most wretched part of all, was the pale truth that deep down inside, I savored the thrill of that awful son of a bitch putting his hands on me. What did that taste of enjoyment condemn me to? Did the fact that this whole situation arrived unplanned give me any leniency? I hadn't even had the time to weigh my pros and cons yet.
As if that was even possible. Comparing the two men was no different than judging the differences of night and day.
In one hand, there was the painfully handsome, and wholly charming John Blake. His touches were slow with hesitancy, eyes always watching to gauge my reactions. Rather like an explorer, finding himself in unfamiliar territory. Yearning to learn me like an unfinished map. Despite the hardships he'd suffered, nothing seemed to weigh down the purpose he'd established for himself. And while his easygoing mannerisms could coax the skin off a snake, he never asked for more than what he needed. Also a plus, he had never tried to kill me. Or threaten me.
Or... pump me full of chemicals that had killed an inordinate amount of people.
Then there was Jonathan Crane. Intolerable, loathsome in every sense of the word. What he severely lacked in basic qualities as a functioning member of society, he leveled himself with near inhuman perception, and unmitigated comprehension of susceptibilities in the average person. His mind was as staggeringly brilliant as it was brutal. In addition, that compound he'd designed only made him all the more threatening, an ominous platform to lay bare any poor soul who happened to get in his way. He was all intensity, sheer and unrelenting vehemence.
And in that fervor, I saw someone who was so absolute in knowing what he wanted. When narrowed to a singularity in his brief attentions towards me, it was an intoxicating, raw thing to experience. Something I was sure I could never get enough of, the savage exhilaration of it consuming me, as if I were lit on fire from the inside. In those moments I lay under his searing touch, I forgot the outside world. Repressing a sigh, I set the tie down and forced myself to the cologne aisle.
"I really don't know how I keep screwing up and making things worse, Suyin." I grumbled, nearly sulking as I trudged past various bottles filled with amber liquid, and scent test papers stacked in neat rows across the wooden countertop. "Every new decision I make drives me deeper into some fucking hole I'm digging for myself."
"Aww, come on. You don't mean that." She cooed. "It's so cute, you two are like... Dr. Frankenstein and Igor."
Well. Somehow I didn't think I could manage to feel worse, but then I did. I sucked in my bottom lip and pressed the phone against my cheek, choking out my words as a flush of deep embarrassment crept up into my ears, turning them bright red.
"That's the single worst unintentional insult I've ever received in my life."
Later that night, I lay stretched out across John's couch, my head in his lap as breaking news reported a story about a large stash of drugs discovered in one of the Gotham River's ferries. No sign of any Bat-Man, though a pair of men with well-known dubious backgrounds were found hanging from the railings of the ship by their belts. Fumbling with the chipped polish on my nails, I turned my gaze up towards John as he squirmed about in his seat, a brief grimace flashing across his face.
"Something's not right."
Oh, God. This was it. I nearly blanched, halting my breath as I tried to decipher his words. My expression turned blank with a frozen, focused stare as I sat up to face him. A second later, he pulled out the remote from under him, turning to shoot me a sly smile. "I knew I was sitting on something."
An audible breath passed my lips. False alarm. Just as I began to relax back into the couch, he cleared his throat.
"Now, as I was saying... " Gesturing with the remote in his hand, he wiggled it at me like a short dagger. One slanted eye narrowed, his dimples peeking playfully as he furrowed his brow. "What's going on with you?"
Of course he'd throw me off like that. How unfair. Forcing a pained laugh, I half-shrugged and stared him straight in the eyes to avoid looking sketchy. In reality, my heart was thumping away in my throat. "I... don't know what you mean."
"You seem off. Well," His grin faltered slightly as he lowered the remote. "More that usual."
I knew it. Last night was complete overkill, and he just waited to see if I was going to do it all over again. 'Note to self: insisting on giving back massages two nights in a row rouses suspicions. Not to be repeated, ever.' My arms were itching to cross themselves, but I couldn't let myself look defensive. I went back to picking away at my nail polish instead, speaking as slowly as possible. "That's not true. I just... get overwhelmed sometimes."
He scoffed, but it was a bit harsher than what I was used to. "With what?"
"With," I pressed my lips together, holding a tight breath in my chest till it felt fit to burst. This was harder than I thought. "Work."
Lies. My gaze fell to his chest, watching it heave heavily as he tried to find the right words to reply. Wordlessly, he reached out towards me, pressing a knuckle against my cheek and stroking it gently. I took this opportunity to close my eyes, shielding myself from his questioning gaze. John always seemed to know the exact words to say, where to touch me when I was in need of soothing. This time, it fell just short of what I needed. Not surprising, considering that he was currently my source of stress.
"You just seem a little manic, that's all." That husky tone in his voice melted the fringes of my defensive walls. Instinctively, I leaned into his opening palm, relishing in the way his thumb caressed my jaw. "I know you're really trying hard to act like everything's okay, but you're as taught as a clothesline."
John was still growing into himself. He was restless, and a bit overzealous at times. But he was no fool. When I opened my eyes, I saw the hungry look in his expression. He could clearly see the turmoil cracking through my façade, and was now openly determined to unearth it. His caresses became more fervent, voice ragged with barely concealed agitation. "You can tell me, Freddie. Really."
Much as I wanted to, I couldn't muster any anger towards him for his persistence. He had become so resolute in finding mutual anxieties, to prove to himself that he wasn't alone in his burdens. I was well aware, I could see it in the moments when he thought I wasn't watching him. The way that crease in his forehead drew deep, his jaw clenching as he pressed his lips together in thought. Then it would all smooth over as he turned to me, dimples etching into his cheeks as he'd pull a wry smile and shoot me a wink.
I wanted to tell him so badly. Since the beginning, I wanted to bury myself in him, and hear his reassuring words that I was going to make it through this severe mess I had gotten myself into.
It was a futile thought. Our stories lied at different ends. His troubles were born out of suffering at the hands of others, while mine came from the regret of administering the blows. Antagonists were never truly deserving of help or sympathy. Not from anyone outside of their own vile breed, at least.
Once he found out the truth, he wouldn't help me. Someone like him wouldn't understand.
I had to finish this alone. Only two more sessions, and I'd be done with it all. I'd soon have the records in my possession to permanently destroy, Corin Darcy would be gone from my mind, and Jonathan Crane would become a ghost, forever removed with only the linger of memories to fade away in solitude. The only matter at stake was the question of how far down Crane planned on dragging me, before allowing me to resurface back to my skewed normality. Placing an unsteady hand against his chest, I gently pushed him away.
"Not today, John. I'm tired."
He clasped a hand over mine, swallowing hard. I could feel the thump of his heartbeat. "I meant it when I said it the first time. I really do love you, Freddie." His fingers caressed the back of my hand as it stayed pressed against the steady rise and fall of his breast, light and slow. "Maybe it's not some crazy, perfect soul mate connection that people think about in those romantic movies, but... "
Those dark eyes bore into me with heavy consideration, searching for something he'd never find. A reason to trust me. It scalded my insides, turning my cheeks hot with humiliation. I could scarcely breathe.
"When I see your face, I can't think of anything else."
Well that was just perfect. Biting back a grimace, I leaned in and kissed him before he could get a glimpse of tears welling in my eyes.
I didn't let John take me home, despite his heavy insistence. Desperate for private time to wallow in my own thoughts, I took the bus and got off a few stops earlier than normal. Walking at night in midtown Gotham wasn't anything serious, compared to some of the seedier places I'd been over the past few weeks. I just needed to clear my head, think up a way to avoid John until this all blew over, and find a shop that sold chastity belts to prevent any further mishaps at the warehouse. A medieval model, one with metal spikes and an etching of the Virgin Mary on the front of it, preferably.
It was at that moment of contemplation when something caught my eye.
On the adjacent street, I spotted a tall, thin figure leisurely making his way around the curb, clutching onto a decently taut bag. He sported a high collared dark pea coat, navy khakis and a flat cap tilted down slightly to shadow his eyes. For a Gotham pedestrian in the middle of December, the look was casual.
Too casual. Not to mention, I could recognize those scuffed brown oxfords from a block away. Without much thought, I crossed the street and started down the deserted sidewalk in his direction.
Early detection was best avoided. My pace dragged slower as I made sure to give a wide berth of space between us. Pulling my scarf up over my nose, I breathed into the fabric to warm my face as I followed far behind. Judging by the pep in his walk, I could only determine the figure who I was dead sure of as Jonathan Crane to either be slightly inebriated, or running on second gear.
That's when I knew what I needed to do. 'If Crane won't answer my questions, I know someone who will.' I immediately lowered my scarf as I cleared my throat, my voice faltering with internal alarm as I called out to him.
"Hey, you."
At first I wasn't sure he heard me. He took three deliberate steps further, then paused. Turning slowly on his heels, those shadowed eyes under the brim of his cap glinted in my direction with leering, unbridled glee.
"... Me."
His voice was deeper, resonating in his chest like a cat's purr. Definitely not Crane. I nodded slowly, feeling my face flush with apprehension. "Yeah, um... 'Not-Jonathan'."
A puff of hot breath visibly curled from his parted lips as he scoffed, tilting his face upwards to get a better look at me. "Did you follow me all the way here? Miss Winifred, there are finer ways to catch a man's attention." Taking off his cap, he ran a hand through short, dark locks. He'd cut his hair. And it looked so damn good.
As he stepped towards me, I saw the edges of his lips curl, his eyes narrowing. 'Oh, God. He knows I'm checking him out.' Panicked, I quickly sputtered out the first thought off the top of my head. "Why are you out in the open? You could get caught."
He shrugged nonchalantly, rolling his shoulders back with an easy grace. "I wouldn't exactly call taking a stroll on Archer Street at nine in the evenin' as 'out in the open'." I agitatedly twisted the end of my scarf in between my fingers as he gave a slow wink, that grin spreading like warm molasses. "But I'll gladly note your concern, peach."
Normally, I could handle the now established fact that two minds shared the same vessel. But at that moment, the very tongue that brought stars to my eyes was running against his bottom lip, taunting me in more ways than he knew. At least, that's what I assumed. Eyeing me up and down, he inclined his head towards me as he spoke. "Tell me, did you enjoy your first session with Johnny? He really seemed quite invested in his notes. At least, up till the end when those clothes of yours came off."
I couldn't help it, my mouth dropped open in horror. "You're aware of what happens when he's around?"
My reaction amused him immensely. Halting in his stride just a foot away from me, he toyed with the cap in his hand, the plastic bag around his wrist crinkling slightly with each movement. "Bits. Takes a little perusin', but I always manage to catch a glimpse here and there."
"And... can he also... " Unsure of how to phrase the question, I eyed him with an imploring look. His eyebrows raised as he seemed to internally debate on whether or not to answer my question, but he relented. "No. Never bothered to teach him. It's a bit hazy, like siftin' through morning mist on a hot day out in the marshes. Not that you'd know what that's like."
That was as polite an answer I could ever hope to get from him. Nodding slowly, I forced a small smile on his behalf. "Right. Um... I need to ask you something." I paused, lifting a finger to my lips as I mulled my statement over. "Several things, actually."
"Several 'things'..." Brow furrowing in feigned contemplation, his lips pressed into a musing pout. "Gonna have to be a bit more specific."
It seemed like he was the right person to ask. If anything, he was probably going to be the only one I could actually go to. Awful as that thought was. With mild hesitancy, I dove in. "I... I want to know everything. Everything there is to know about you, and Jonathan, and anything else that gives me a better picture of what the hell I'm getting myself into."
That enrapturing tongue came out in view again, peeking out from under his front teeth as a hum of mirth rumbled in his throat. "So very eager. What's inspired this sudden need?"
Clasping a hand around my other wrist, I fumbled with the bracelet that dangled there. "I feel... different. Inside." I took a deep breath, gathering the courage to meet his gaze directly. When I did, he was staring back with intense curiosity. Slightly fazed, I pressed on. "I know it's the compound. And Jonathan's been nothing but a giant black hole. He sucks everything out of me, and tears it to shreds."
He tsked lightly and shook his head, as if to reprimand those past transgressions. "Johnny never really did learn how to play fair. I, on the other hand," Placing a splayed palm to his chest, he shot me a roguish grin. "Can be found to be a much more reciprocal individual. At the right price."
What was one more deal on top of another? I sighed heavily and rubbed at my nose, which was starting to drip. "Just start talking, I'm getting cold."
"You're not gonna be pleased with what I've got to say."
Oh, now he was deciding to take my feelings into consideration? Give me a break. "I don't care, it's not a matter of what I want." I snapped, shooting him a critical eye. Shrugging, he replaced the hat back on his head, running two fingers along the cap and pulling it down to cast his face back in shadows. Under the gleaming street lamps, he looked a bit ominous. "Ask away, lamb."
This was it, my moment to have a go at whatever I wanted. I felt a bit like a spoiled child on Christmas, unsure of which present to unwrap first. Digging the heels of my boots against the pavement, I brushed back a lock of hair that blew into my mouth and went for the longest standing curiosity I had.
"Have you always... been around?"
Those lips of his fought to suppress a smile at my first question, clearly pleased that the attention was turned towards him. "Can't really say for sure. But, most people don't recall the first day of their life anyways." He adjusted the large bag in his hands, leaning against the brick wall of a recently closed down Polish delicatessen. "I suppose Johnny found me, deep inside. Simmerin' like potatoes in a crock pot. I always considered myself a patient person."
Flexing the long fingers of his free hand, he adjusted his stare off towards the adjacent avenue. A taxi slowed as it passed us, then sped off when we made no move to flag it down. As it turned the corner, he continued. "When the lashes would come out, that's when he drew in. Pushed me out in the open, so to speak."
I redirected my focus from the street towards him, feeling a breath catch in my throat. "... Lashes? You mean, the... " Without pause, I crooked a finger over my shoulder, as if to indicate the marks on his back. He raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly.
Intrigue shouldn't have been the word to describe my emotions as such a personal story unraveled before me. I was too entrenched in disbelief to care. "Who did that?"
He took a step forward and hunched over dramatically as he let out a long, low whistle. It chilled me, worse than the bitter gusts that whipped at the bare skin of my hands and face. "The bitch who loved to torment." His voice was grave, comically so. "Tallest woman I ever seen, with great big jowls and one blind eye." With an index finger, he pulled down his left lower eyelid for emphasis. Likely meant as a jesting act, but it looked positively ghastly when he did it. "Cataracts, but she still had good aim."
How horrid. The back of my hand covered my mouth in disgust, but I couldn't stop myself from asking. "His mother?"
"Nuh. Mother of his mother's... mother." His gaze narrowed, blue eyes nearly crossing as he struggled to recollect his words. "Never had proper parents. No siblings to call his own. Just him and that old, terrible hag."
"No." I muttered, breathlessly. "He had you."
Those were meant to be words of comfort, but they provided the complete opposite effect. His whole body slowly tensed at my retort, shoulders stiffening as his expression contorted into something lethal and savage. I was completely unprepared for it, yelping at a pitch just under a scream as he grabbed my shoulders with unnecessary force, shoving me right up against the brick wall. Gasping as my back hit the rough surface, I desperately kicked against him, to no avail.
And then, after a blind, rushing moment, I stopped. No hands came clamping around my neck. No threatening remarks were made. I panted laboriously, swallowing lungfuls of painfully cold air in dead silence. My eyes squinted in recoil as he leaned forward, nearly growling into my face.
"Wrong." He spat. "He used me. I was the stand-in to his suffering. His decoy."
Pale lips turning white with loathing, he enunciated slowly as he spoke, as if savoring the taste of abhorrence on his tongue. "I drove the pain away, like some straw-stuffed dummy to them beady-eyed crows."
I knew he was waiting for me to say it. Shifting uncomfortably against him, I placed a trembling palm against my heaving chest, slowly forcing out my words.
"Like a... scarecrow."
It was there now, out in the open. Breathing heavily, his gaze roved over the terrified look on my face, drinking in my wide eyes and flushed cheeks. When he'd had his fill, his eyes closed briefly, letting me go. I remained leaning against the wall for support as he stood back and straightened himself to his full height, rubbing a hand over his face heavily, as if composing himself.
"Just keep going." I whispered, my eyes averting to the ground. Aside from the sound of distant vehicles and laughter far down the street, the night was dead in a heavy stillness. He let out a long sigh, then tapped his foot in mental scouring for recollection. When the tapping stopped, he began to speak again.
"... I remember the first day I woke up, fully realized. Felt the air tear through my lungs when I suffered the most excruciatin' pain in my life."
Still rubbing at my arms, I glanced up to see him tap at his shoulder blade, the one where I'd seen that nasty puckered scar. "She'd taken the poker off the mantle of the fireplace, and drove it straight into this shoulder. Didn't have sensation in two of my fingers for a year after. Sometimes my grip don't work too good, either." Looking down at his open palm, he scoffed lightly, a smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he turned his head away with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Never figured she meant to inflict that much damage, but I made her pay just the same."
Those words carried heavy implications. I knew what he meant, but I really wished that I didn't. Jamming my trembling hands in my pockets, I fought a shudder as I reiterated his statement. "You made her 'pay'."
His eyes trailed up my figure, settling on my face with a feral look. "She never touched me again after that. Or anything else, either."
To be born out of suffering. Such a hollow, dreadful notion. That stare of his was so empty, a void without borders. I broke away from it, shaking. The corners of my eyes pinched with each blink, throbbing from the dry air and the threat of tears. I didn't find myself wanting to cry for him. Mourning what could have been, though. That was something worth hurting for. Scrubbing at my face, I snorted in the welling snot that accompanied tears, nodding my head resignedly as I bit my lower lip to quell the rise in my chest. "Okay. I get it."
Clearly unfazed by my reaction, he rolled his eyes and continued. "After that day, Johnny couldn't keep me in the dark whenever he wanted. We came to a deal, though. Collecting those monthly social checks and payin' the bills was his work. Makin' sure no one came snooping fell on my responsibility." He sucked his teeth, chuckling to himself in private merriment. "Wasn't that hard. The only person who ever bothered coming around was that damn reverend, some old geezer she saw every week."
I stewed silently in my emotional embarrassment, acknowledging him with a quick glance. Just then, a sharp breeze whistled down the street, rolling an empty can of soda past his feet. He kicked it away without much thought. "I made sure he never came back. Scared him good."
That was a story I didn't care to hear about. "... And after that?" I asked, adjusting the collar of my coat to brace against faint speckles of frost that began to sting at my face. He shook his head, narrowing his eyes as he spoke.
"That's a story for another day."
Just as the window had opened, it closed again. That lascivious grin he loved to wear spread across his face as he crooked a finger, beckoning me to come towards him. "Tit for tat, lamb."
I knew he was one to ask for payment when it was due. I just didn't think it was going to come so quickly. My teeth chattered incessantly, from the cold and the sudden twist in my stomach as he came forward and clasped a hand against my cheek. I couldn't help but invite the warmth his body provided against the frigid air, his thumb pulling down my bottom lip as he bent down low, breath hot on the shell of my ear. Closing my eyes, I gripped onto his coat and hoped for this to be over as quickly as possible.
'I swear to John, God, whoever's judging me now or in the near future. This doesn't count.'
But nothing happened. Loose strands of hair blew back and tickled my ear as he laughed low against my cheek, in the sort of way one does when they mean to frighten someone.
"... Oh, did you think you were gonna get away with all that information just by handin' over a little sugar?" As he pulled away, he raised that teasing thumb to his mouth and ran his tongue against it with a grim smirk. "On the side, that's just fine and dandy, but I've got bigger things on my mind."
He was implying something again. This time, I didn't understand. Immensely relieved, yet, feeling a tad rejected, I pursed my lips in confusion as I tried to interpret his expression. "Like... what?"
"Like Johnny's plan to snuff me out like two fingers to a candle flame." Snapping his fingers for emphasis, his nose wrinkled with a vicious sneer. "He wants me gone, thinks he's too good for me now. And I'm not havin' it."
A stabbing jolt of alarm stung me deep inside. I sucked in a sharp breath, immediately regretting the obvious reaction as he gave me a knowing wink. Fuck me, he knew. I'd almost followed him into complete darkness down an empty street, and the whole time we'd been alone, he'd played it off, as if nothing were wrong. I knew having him tell me all that information was too good to be true. Oh, I was dead.
Cracking a pitying smile, he gently bit his bottom lip and spoke with feigned concern. "You look a little scared, did I throw you off?"
I began to shake my head, then thought better of it. Lying wasn't going to help me. I had to go along with it if I wanted to get back to my apartment in one piece. A helpless giggle of intense fear escaped me. I pressed two fingers against my temple to stifle the pulsing vein that throbbed mercilessly, then gave in. "How long have you... known?" I asked hesitantly.
"Longer than you have. He made a great game of planning it out in front of me, makin' notes within his notes. But, just as I've instilled in him a taste for blood, he taught me a trick or two when it comes to decipherin' through his psycho-mumbo-bullshit." All-too pleased with himself, he smoothed down the front of his jacket, in the very manner of a cat cleaning its fur. "After all, when it comes down to the bare bones, we're of the same mind."
"Why didn't you tell me that you knew in the first place? Did you just enjoy putting me out there like that?" I huffed desperately, feeling myself start to become indignant. He was the one who gave me the invitation to Crane's proposal. He put me in this position, not me. "That's not fair!"
"Fair." He scoffed, spitting the word out like a bit of chewed tobacco. "If you'd known anything when he first asked for your help, he would've read you like a book."
I seethed under his patronizing stare, hating him for his emotional dexterity. He'd buttered me up, coaxed me into a dewy-eyed trance before dropping this fucking fantastic twist of a revelation. I'd bet on my life that his sob story was a full-faced lie. My nostrils flared in anger as he raised a finger at me, wagging it accusingly. "And now it's your responsibility to not screw this up. He can't know our little secret."
I challenged him with an unreadable expression, my voice hard as stone. "He reads people for a living. I can't make any promises."
That Cheshire grin widened at my thinly veiled threat. "For your sake, I hope you can." Taking hold of my chin in his thumb and forefinger, he forced me to look straight at him as he spoke in a tone so hostile, it made me flinch.
"I know what true suffering is. And I won't hesitate to share a few secrets with everyone you cherish. Startin' with that boy of yours."
How dare he. The sound that escaped my throat lay somewhere in between a strangled cry and a snarl. I smacked his hand away, horrified. "You wouldn't!"
He laughed at this, shaking his head dismissively. "Ahh. Now, I know Johnny's had a history of scaring you good. Chased you out of Gotham for nearly half a year, if I recall." Rocking the plastic bag in his hand back and forth with just the tiniest movements of his left wrist, he scratched the side of his nose and pulled a quizzical expression. "But me? Well,"
The lamplight above us flickered, intensifying my subdued panic. Those eyes seemed to illuminate in the brief flashes of darkness, the animalistic vacancy in them reminding me of a predator fully enraptured in the hunt, just before the strike. "I'm just a forthright leviathan, brewin' out of that sea of madness in his head."
I couldn't take it anymore. Pursing my lips tightly together, I squeezed my eyes shut to block out all sight of the creature that exhilarated and terrified me in equal measures. That only encouraged him. "Don't play games with me, Miss Winifred." He hissed in a low pitch. "I'm the thing in the dark that made you pull those blankets up tight over your head when you were just a little girl. Whether you choose to suffer or not, I'll get what I want."
Refusing to open my eyes, I drew in a shaky breath and spoke softly. "Where do I come into this?"
"You don't let this thing y'all are doing come full circle. Distract him."
"How?"
There was a rustling of plastic, followed by something pressed into my hands. I curled my fingers around it, feeling the ripple of wrinkled lamination along a thin, firm spine. Soft papers flipped back and forth as I ran a thumb against the outside edge. It was a small paperback, faint with the scent of printed ink and stale cigarettes. A warm knuckle trailed down my cheek, erasing the track of a tear I hadn't even realized was there. A loving action, to the to the ignorant. I knew what a considerate touch felt like. It wasn't that.
"You're a smart girl who can figure something out." His voice thick with amusement, yet humming with dangerous challenge. "Skip to it, darlin'."
I waited until I couldn't feel the warmth of his body. Till the receding footsteps echoed into a buzzing silence. Only then did I open my eyes, blinking several times to clear away the well of tears. One managed to slip over the edge of my eyelashes, splashing onto the peeling cover of the thin book in my grasp. Clucking my tongue in distaste to myself, I wiped at my eyes and glanced over the title.
'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer'. Strange. To think that someone who was astute enough to unravel Crane's traps, indulged in such juvenile literature. As I turned the first page, a brief note penned just above Mark Twain's dedication to his wife sat ominously centered in the yellowed sheet.
'Friday, Six O'Clock. Save The Date.'
How adorably nauseating. Session number two, I assumed. I ran a finger over the note, considering its appearance. This wasn't by the flowing hand of Jonathan Crane. The words were carefully scripted, larger than normal, and oddly spaced. As if forming each letter took a distinctive effort. And that's when I knew.
This was the penmanship of someone teaching themselves how to write.
That thought gave me pause. It didn't seem plausible, but then again, neither was the idea of being innately literate. To finally wake up when old enough to kill a woman must have meant passing by years of schooling, only grasping those lessons in glimpses. A ghastly thought, considering that he must have independently learned how to read over the years as well. Just to imagine the intense study in those brief periods of freedom, trying to best his privileged other. Two halves in constant struggle, each seeking to have an advantage over the other. One by extraordinary intellect, the other by duplicitous design.
Oh, did that inner straw-man ever present a challenge. During the whole encounter, I never saw him pull out a pen. It didn't take much speculation to determine that the note was written before I even approached him. Turning over the book in my hand, I couldn't help but wonder...
Did I follow him down this deserted street, or was it the other way around?
Disclaimer: Nolanverse and DC characters/settings are not mine. Updating when taking on new responsibilities is much harder than I had previously expected! Not to worry, though, dear reader. The updates will still come...