A/N: Hey there! Remember me? I'm that one chick who used to write that one story. After almost a full month without an update, I bet you thought I'd abandoned this fic, didn't you? Your lack of trust wounds me. I told you I'd never give it up. My excuse this time around? College. After settling in, I also figured that I spend the majority of my time studying. Add drama club, War of the Worlds as a play, sci-fi fantasy club, and IM softball to that…in addition to have doubts about your major…well, it adds up. The major part of this is my main reason for not updating for years. I'm going to do a switch from psychology to pre-nursing. I don't know how to explain it, but it just feels right. Hopefully, this long chapter sates you and makes up for the long delay.
This chapter is mainly dedicated to developing Jonathan and his fear obsession and how scary he actually can be. I'm developing it, so to speak.
Also, I found out that The Great Gatsby movie release has been moved back from December to summer. WTF?
Thanks to Schrocken, GabyCorleone, emilypineapple, Guest, libwob, SilhouetteGypsy, Myboobseclipsethesun, thexdarkestxnightsx, algie888, Kagome Narome, ElektraMackenzie, NeverTooLate, stark-ships, Nefeli Psycho, haleo86, peskyparker, up in the woods, Half Of A Whole, Lord-Cas, Chrome, Lovely Hill, C'estMoiLiz, thrufirewithoutaburn, Miss Magenta Lestrange, Shade77, C0nt0rt3dM1nd, linnie kinda spinnie, Kitkat, LittleMissAngel, tribute14, darkdeadmau5, My Beautiful Ending, Indigo Scrawl, Decepticon-silverstreak, Invisible-Ayla, Ikari no Ojo, InLoveAndCrazy, pourquoibella, Arlena4815162342, actressen, FrostOfFate, Zeny, MetalheadKittie, Ariddle-Ascare, x-Miss-SeaBreeze-x, Comidia Del Arte, and Knightrunner for the reviews! I also got a tone of alerts and faves this time around. Seriously people? It's an honor to have you as my readers. You are wonderful. If I missed anyone here, I apologize.
NEARLY 600 REVIEWS! I could have never, ever imagined this…
As for my favorite Nolan Batman film…I hate to do this, but I love them all equally, because each one is different, with different strengths and different weaknesses. Sue me.
Disclaimer: VULTURES! VULTURES EVERYWHERE! Haven't we been over this already? A million times before? I have no (legal) possession over anything mentioned here.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Blood Work
Change my attempt, good intentions. Should I? Could I? Here we are with your obsession. Should I? Could I?
~10 Years, Wasteland
"Hey Jonathan, you'll never guess what—"
I stop mid-sentence and frown at the table before me, which Jonathan is not seated at. Why is he not here? Avoiding me? Nah, I saw him at the start of school today, and he gave me something close to a smile. Or maybe it was a sneer; I couldn't tell at that distance.
"And I'm even eating lunch today," I mutter, sitting at the table anyway. I slam my tray down a little harder than necessary and watch mournfully as red ketchup splatters into the whole-grain noodles of my macaroni and cheese. Oh dear. Maybe not.
Jonathan hasn't missed lunch once this year. Where is he? And why am I worrying so much? I keep reminding myself not to get attached because after senior year? Poof! He's gone, and I won't see him again. Knowing Jonathan, he'll get as far away from Gotham as he can. It's a gloomy thought, but good for him. He'll be rich and successful someday.
Well, since he was here this morning, he's probably in the library doing research or whatnot. I'll look when I'm done here.
I stick to my pineapple and chocolate milk and bread for lunch. I guess another one of my peeves is…I don't like my foods to touch. Not that anyone would like mac n' cheese plus ketchup. The meals have slightly improved from last year, but I'm still not a fan. Is the weekend here yet? I wonder glumly. It's only Thursday. I can't believe I'm actually thinking it, but honestly, maybe I should get out and do something tomorrow night.
The library. One place in the city I'd actually like to be. Maybe I should go at five. I think that vile Don is off by then. "I still don't know if he killed Naomi…" I feel pressurized heat around my eyes. Oh c'mon…don't cry…don't cry…
I don't. But the guilt is still there, and I feel responsible.
Different topic. Who goes out to places alone?
I wonder if Jonathan would like to go with me. I can rent out books for him.
I want to hit myself as soon as that thought comes to my head. Since when have I ever considered taking him anywhere? It's not as if his grandmother lets him go places. He'd have to be able to sneak out or make an excuse for an after school activity. Will he even want to go to the library with me?
Is this because of the personality profile? Is that why I want to take him places? It's the most he's ever said to me in one sitting. I'd been allowed a glimpse of how good Crane is at what he does. His profile of me was pretty spot on. It hurt, but it was accurate.
I'm so confused about some feelings. I should just stop thinking about it.
Slumping over, I push my tray away and resist the need to cradle my head in my hands. I can't help but get the feeling that Jonathan's hiding something from me. I don't know what, but it's something…a bit unnerving.
I have to keep reminding myself, that though I've known him personally for about a year, I still don't know much about Jonathan, other than pieces of his past and psychological interests and that I seem to intrigue him for some reason.
I'm remembering back to when I forced myself on him, the first day we "officially" met. He'd been in my classes almost my whole life, but I'd avoided him like the plague. For years.
And then there's me. A girl with a tragic past. How cliché. But it's there, I have one, and I can't change it.
Enough.
Leaving my tray behind, I get up from the table and head toward the hallway. There have been fewer and fewer whisperings and rumors about Jonathan and me this year. Maybe people are growing up, maybe more interesting things have happened.
I need to find Jonathan. I hope he didn't go home to take care of Geraldine. It's happened before. And that had ended well…
I start with the library. I poke my head in the door and search quickly, eyes scanning. The librarian glares at me from her desk and presses a finger to her withered lips. Wincing, I withdraw my head. Not a very thorough search, but I don't want the librarian's wrath for loitering where I don't need to be.
I venture up and down many hallways, but I can't find him. "He better not have left," I grouse. I just want to ask him to the library. He shouldn't have a problem with it. It's not like a date or anything…
I stop in my tracks. A date? Why is my mind even going there? Yikes, we're just friends.
Are you? a part of me taunts. Are you really? All the attention he seems to give only you, that's got to say something.
Ridiculous. Jonathan? Feelings? For me? Impossible. Wrong. I wince. I certainly don't feel anything more than a protective sort of friendship toward him. I…can't. He'll be gone. It wouldn't be right.
Confused.
Jonathan would find the merest concept of "love" to be the utmost example of complete idiocy. So I don't know why he puts up with me. Because…because…I try to protect him? Because he studies and analyzes me like some kind of specimen? Because of, if there's any possibility in the world, feelings?
This type of thinking is dangerous. Stop it. You know what? If I ever acquire the guts, I'll ask. Even he might not be able to tell me why.
As I always do, I push thoughts aside and continue my search for Crane. Ten minutes later, again, I come up with nothing. Now in the farthest part of the school and tired of walking, I plop down on a bench across from an abandoned classroom. Always unlocked and always dark. I think some kids use it for quickies between classes, but other than that, no one does anything with it. There's a reason it's toward the back of the school.
I hang my head and dangle my arms between my knees, slouched over. Where is he?
Thump.
A muffled sound. My head snaps up. All my senses, alert.
Thump.
Louder this time. Where is that coming from?
"No, please…don't…"
A voice. I spring up from my bench. Staring at the "abandoned" classroom. Dark, but yes…definitely coming from there.
"Stop it! No more…please!"
A voice. Begging.
I try to piece the situation together. Thumping…abandoned classroom…a dark place. A voice begging. Saying no. Saying stop.
Holy cow. I swear someone's getting sexually assaulted in that room. Verging on raped. I've got to stop it.
Despite the horrors I might find, I make a split second decision and creep quickly and silently toward the classroom door. As quietly as I can, I edge it open.
"D-don't…stop, I swear…" I move inside the room.
And then a hiss of a voice. "You are scum. Trying to sate your perverse desires. I know you, Paul; I can read you like a book!" The last word is spit out. "I can twist your mind in more ways than it already has been. You think you know fear now? You have no idea what I'm capable of, you swine."
I know that whisper. But I've never heard it so rough, so…frightening. So stern and stark. Dangerous.
It's Paul and… Suddenly, I know.
I let it slip in the black room, dimly lit by the fall light spilling in from a window, and reveal my presence.
"Jonathan?"
In the far corner of the room, Crane straightens up from nearly crouching over a cowering, sobbing Paul. And turns. What did I just hear? Trying to crush my sense of horror, I take a few timid steps toward the pair. "Jonathan, what…?"
He turns back to Paul. "You may go." Cool, smooth voice once more. Dismissive. Sniffling, Paul scrambles out of the corner and sprints past me, slamming the door behind him.
I'm in a dark classroom with Jonathan Crane. For some reason, the notion both scares and thrills me. And for the first time in a while, Jonathan approaches me.
What did I just see? He knows.
I'm unsure, so I clear my throat. "I've been looking everywhere for you," I say softly. It contrasts with his heavier breathing.
He's directly in front of me. "Have you?"
"Yeah. You didn't show up for lunch, so I got worried." I admire myself for my bravery; even now, I'm looking straight into his blazing eyes. The sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw are set off by the shadows from the dimly lit room.
I can hear myself breathing, in addition to him. I swallow and point to the door beside us, through which Paul had gone. "What was that?"
Crane's face is unreadable. "Nothing important."
"Stop lying to me," I say harshly, expression hardening. "I didn't look for you for 'nothing'. I didn't let my food touch for 'nothing'."
He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. "You shouldn't care if your food touches. It all ends up in the same place."
I snort. "Yeah. The toilet."
Jonathan looks at me in his equivalent of horror.
"Don't change the subject. 'Nothing'? Do you really think I'm so stupid that I would let something like that escape my attention?" I get closer to him, too close, using my few extra inches of height as an advantage. It puts me not quite inside his olive green sweater, but close. I can smell his bookish scent.
"To spare your hurt feelings, I won't answer that question."
Letting the barb bounce off me, I try a quieter, more understanding approach, and invade his personal space even more. I know he doesn't like it; that's why I'm doing it. It has nothing to do with the fact that we're in a dark and empty classroom.
His Adam's apple bobs in his skinny throat.
Wait. This is affecting him? My proximity? Why? Because it's human contact. Well, he's my friend.
He knows I have to be putting it together. Paul being afraid of him. Paul staying away from me (minus a few stares). And now this. I breathe in deeply.
"Jon…," Crane breathes fire, "…athan. Please. I'm your friend. Be honest. Tell me." All thoughts of the library tomorrow evaporate.
Despite the fact that I've never seen Jonathan look more alive, I can also sense he's a bit ashamed of what I'd interrupted. Annoyed, too. That aura from before has faded away. He doesn't answer; his demeanor is still chilly.
I try another new approach, so as a result, I take one step back, giving him his space. He'll get this; we've both seen The Silence of the Lambs. "Hey. Quid pro quo. I tell you things, you tell me things." I quirk my lips into a crooked smile.
Recognition flashes behind those glasses, and then I'm on the receiving end of a scrutinizing gaze. But he doesn't speak.
Me first.
I give it a shot. "I might have found a solution to the Falcone problem." And with no regrets, I let everything spill about Gordon. Everything. What a nice man he is…
There's a small silence when I finish my tale. Both of us are thinking. "Of course, Don is still…" I trail off.
Then Jonathan's composed but yet suspicious voice comes through. "Can you trust him?"
I remember Officer Gordon's fatherly expression, his warm eyes…how he made me feel safe. "Yes. It's rare, but he's a good cop."
"Hm."
I wait. "I told you something. Now tell me what's going on with you and Paul."
He's been given time to think while I was talking, and he's much more composed now. Though he doesn't show it, I know he's agreed.
I stare. "You've been threatening him." It's a nudge.
Crane sighs. "Yes. Do you care?"
I almost laugh. "God, no, but it was weird to see."
His jaw clenches. "Want to know why?"
"Yeah."
"Because of you." His voice grows darker again.
Ah. "Me?"
"I've been telling him to stay away from you, and threatening him if he doesn't. He's an annoyance. A pesky fly."
All right. I can believe this. I want to. So I will. "Really, that's all? What about what you said…about fear?" Didn't miss that.
Jonathan shrugs one shoulder. "Caught in the moment."
He only wants Paul away from me. Nothing more, nothing less. It's an alarming revelation. Seemed like a lot more. He's distant but safe. Normal and as smart as he can be. Just who I thought he was. A bit protective, but nothing dangerous.
He has to be safe. He can be my haven at times, and I can be his.
"Aha. So you do care."
In a startling display of emotion, Jonathan rakes a hand through his long hair and gives an exasperated grunt. "Yes. All right? I do."
Ha, that killed him! But this admission is progress. I smile, but in the dark, I don't know if he can see it. "I'm touched."
"Unhealthily attached. Remember?" His normal icy self again.
My smile fades. "Yeah."
Silence again. How awkward. Together, in a dark classroom. I'd probably be screwed if he'd have been anyone else. Literally. So now what? Lunch has almost got to be over. I can't see the clock on the wall.
The musty aroma of this room is overpowering. I fiddle with Dad's watch on my wrist. I've actually taken to wearing it more often. Almost every day.
The sad thing is, it pretty much fits perfectly. Oh, self-confidence.
I can hear us breathing again. My fears of him are gone. For now.
And then a thought strikes. A lost thought. I brighten. "I was wondering—and this is random—if your grandmother would let you go to the library after school tomorrow." I duck my head. Shouldn't this be the other way around? "With me. I want you to come."
Jonathan's answer is short. "Grandmother is…ill. Again."
I get an unexplainable feeling of…of…not quite dread but close. I've been shot down. Of course. So he has to take care of her… I guess I haven't heard her this week.
Did I just get claustrophobic?
"I didn't say no."
My eyes widen. No way…
"In fact, the library sounds enjoyable. With Grandmother ill, I can leave the house easily. I'll use a school function as an excuse."
Wow. It can't be me. He just wants to get out of that prison badly. Someone like him would jump at the chance of a library trip. I try to hide my shock. "I was thinking I could rent out books for you. Psychology books. Or whatever else you need. Or we can just read…"
I've never done this before.
He doesn't even appear to be listening. There's that thoughtful look again.
"Right," I mutter.
"What did you say Don looks like?"
I jump. Random. "Oh wow. Okay. Blonde hair. Good-looking. Lean. Sort of built. Pierced ears. Shaggy haircut. He's easy to recognize. Why?"
No answer to that one either. But Crane smirks. "The library. Which one and what time?"
What does he know that I don't? What just happened?
"Gotham Community. Will five work?"
Jonathan crosses me and stops in front of the door. "It'll do. Shall we? Three minutes until class."
I start. "Yep." And follow, praying that there aren't very many people in the hallway who would see the two of us exiting an abandoned classroom together. Not that I care anymore, but that would sure start those rumors anew.
I can't believe I actually asked. It's not a date, Ames, geez.
Whatever. Be mature.
Even caught up in my head and with a flaming face, I don't fail to notice that Jonathan opens and holds the door for me when I exit. The action is so subtle, I almost miss it.
There are some shades of Jonathan I have yet to see.
I wake up the next morning, and it's a normal day…
Oh crap, no it's not. I have a test in anatomy this morning.
I'd fallen asleep going over notes and worksheets for the third time last night. So it's not like I didn't study. I'm just…not as sure of myself as I'd like to be.
Yesterday…was weird. I'm not sure how to describe it. Perhaps I should put it behind me. Like I do with anything else that's troubling.
The thought of Jonathan and I going to the library tonight is exciting enough to get me through the boring routine of school. I'm sure I average abound a "B" on my test, which isn't my best but something I can live with, with a grimace.
I burst out of the front door of the school and make a beeline for my truck. Cars pull out of the lot. Like the smart person I can be, I spend the next half hour reading assignments and doing some worksheets to avoid turning Black Jack into a pile of scrap metal. There are a lot of vehicles in this lot.
I can't see Jonathan's car; I'll just have to assume he's coming. It would be his style to "stand me up". And yes, I'm planning on being there early. I wouldn't want to miss my friend. Five o'clock… I'm pretty sure Jonathan has never met a girl anywhere before.
Not that he'd be thinking about something like that. I might affect him somewhat, but sometimes I swear he doesn't feel.
The parking lot is finally clear. Black Jack starts up with a shudder. Please last me through my senior year… I beg silently. I've taken good care of you.
I'm really happy I don't have to drive through the Narrows to get to the library. That's my home route. I've got a very uneasy feeling today, despite how well it's been going.
Fridays at the library are usually pretty dead; most people are going to choose a party over reading a good book. "Shame," I say as I pull into the library's main lot. I step out of my truck and shiver when the cold air hits me. Halloween and November are both in a week. I'll be eighteen soon. Very, very soon. I wonder if I'll feel any different.
I walk to the front of library, ten minutes early, and observe the empty street. No cars; it's vacant. The only movement comes from the wind blowing crisp fall leaves across abandoned-looking road. Eerie. Very…disconcerting.
I rub my arms and sit down on one of the benches outside the front doors. No children today.
The nights become longer… And it's already getting dark.
I've never particularly liked Gotham at night. So dangerous. Things become the night here. But I guess it depends on where in the city you're at. The main districts are quite beautiful, all lit up like Christmas. But the others, especially the Narrows, become nothing but shadows.
Just like that shadow across the street. Against the thrift shop building.
The shadow moves.
I blink.
It's gone.
I rise to my feet and slowly, so slowly, make my way across the street. As if I might startle something. The pounding of my heart might though. This I have not seen in a while.
Standing on the opposite sidewalk now, I scan each building in front of me, searching for that moving sliver of night. It's been months since I've seen one of these things.
Stock-still, I hear it behind me, the barest whisper.
There.
I whirl around in time to see a black-clothed figure dart into an alley near the library. A better glimpse this time.
Ninjas!
What the heck is going on in this city?
In a stupor, I'm frozen in front of that thrift shop for the longest time, trying to calm my nerves and addled head. I seem to be the only one who's seen these things. Why is this street empty on today of all days? I run a hand through my messy hair. It's got to be five o'clock.
Fate smacks me in the face again.
Reminding myself to look for Jonathan, I glance up at the library's front entrance in time to see a horrifyingly familiar, blonde-haired man coming out. Easy walk, shaggy haircut.
Oh snap.
Don does work on Fridays. He's off now. How could I have forgotten?
Even I'm scared by the sudden uprising of shame, hate, anger, and guilt within my body. Did this man kill Naomi? Did he really do it? I don't know.
Don looks up. Sees me. Completely by chance. What else will go wrong today? I can't see his face.
Don steps into the street. Starts walking toward me.
Why can't I move? Like a rabbit before a predator, I'm frozen, eyes wide.
Middle of the road now; I can see his face fully. A murderous look in his eyes. Falcone must want me finished. And here's his chance.
I'm screwed.
A rusty station wagon barrels onto the street with a screech. Everything happens too quickly for my brain to catch. A car. Acceleration. A low, sickening thud. Don hitting the ground, lying still. Then groans. A scream.
My scream.
The car has stopped.
Almost blindly, I run out into the middle of the street, not believing what I've just seen.
Empty library. Empty street. Convenient.
A part of me asks, Is Don alive? The other part asks, Why do I care?
The station wagon's engine is still running when I get there, and for some reason, I'm not surprised when Jonathan comes stumbling out of the driver's seat. For once in his life, he looks shaken.
Then it hits me. He showed up just in time. He saved me. He hit Don with his car. And saved me. The watch on my wrist tells me it's exactly five o'clock.
Gasps and moans and pleading fill the air. Jonathan seems completely unaware of my presence as we look down upon Don, who is on his back with one arm twisted unnaturally. My overall shock doesn't hit me, though, until I see the puddle of blood steadily pooling beneath Don's head in the fading light. The source is a large gash on his forehead. It's growing larger, seeping into the cracked ground. The shadowed ground.
"Help me," Don begs. His voice is teeming with pain.
My breathing accelerates. This is it; this is justice. But all the same, I'm white as a marshmallow in the snow and my nails are leaving imprints in my palms. I find that I don't feel sorry for him. No guilt.
Then why am I shaking?
Jonathan steps forward. And flicks his foot against Don's shattered arm.
Don's piercing howls fill the air.
He's sobbing. You'd think he'd be a little tougher.
I watch in muted horror as Jonathan's lip curls. "They scream and they cry."
It's the most chilling voice I've ever heard. I'm snapped out of my daze by his cruelty.
"Jon?"
He becomes aware of my presence then, becomes himself again. He doesn't even notice that I haven't called him by his fully proper name. "Ames," he says simply.
What can we say to each other?
I stare at Don again, who is still writhing in the growing pool of his own blood. "You saved me."
Crane clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, still rattled by what he's done. "Yes. I…I feel the need to protect you. Sometimes."
The truth of it all slowly starts to sink in.
I point. "You hit Don with your car!" I say disbelievingly, stating the obvious.
He seems bemused as he rubs his chin. "Yes, I did, didn't I?"
The wet puddle is so, so red. I'm still pale…still shaky…and I can't stop looking at it. There's something oddly real and nauseating about seeing that much actual blood…I don't know how to put it… Suffice it to say that I'm incredibly stunned, and now I can only try to stifle my horror by closing my eyes and holding my hands into fists. I keep telling myself to think happy thoughts, happy thoughts…
"Ames, compose yourself," Jonathan snaps at me.
I flinch, hating the use of his harsh tone on me. He rarely uses it, but it stings when he does. Savior one moment, chastiser the next.
I don't know what to think. Jonathan hit someone with a car. To save me. He cares for me.
I can't wrap my head around it.
A cold hand grips my ankle. I jump and find Don grabbing me. "Please help," he whispers.
Not so tough or intimidating now.
Before Crane can hurt him again, I jerk my leg away, trying to be tough, but still terrified. In a way, Don brought this on himself. But I have to know. I swipe a hand across my nose before asking, "Did you do it?"
Don groans. "What?" His blonde hair is sopping wet.
"Naomi. Did you kill her? Or did someone else?" The blood is sickening; I can't look at this broken man directly. How has no one seen what's happening? How is this night so vacant? "Tell me, and you'll get help." I'm split. Hard and cold, but then weak and white and trembling. A little girl pretending to be a woman.
Having no options, Don sags. "No. I did…I did."
I turn to Jonathan and find him giving me the most curious look. I'm sure the hate is burning in my eyes. "I'm not helping him."
"You made a deal." He's calmer now.
"Your car. Your hit. Your responsibility." I don't want to do this, but I can't bring myself to help the man who killed an innocent girl on the orders of my worst enemy.
To my surprise, silently, Jonathan understands this.
I won't help him. I can't. How did we get to this point? "There's a payphone on the street corner."
Jonathan is gazing down at Don with the strangest glint in his eyes. It's an almost predatory look. "You're in good hands," he tells Don icily. I don't know what he's thinking about, but I can see the large gears in Crane's brainy head turning.
But it's easy to tell when someone's plotting. Is he? Or isn't he?
Don couldn't be in better hands. Crane wants to be a doctor of sorts…right? Not that I should care, but he's got an idea of what to do, how to keep someone alive.
I refuse to help Don, but I don't want his blood on my hands. And I'm sure Jonathan doesn't want manslaughter on his squeaky clean record.
Falcone picks up people with no family, no connections. He wants them easily disposable. Don is one of those people. Who would know?
The station wagon's engine is still running.
Don cannot die, though, as much as I wish it. In a way, I want Falcone to see him damaged. But I know it won't happen.
I've got one other plan in mind. And this one, plus the one I want to act out later, will affect me. Change me.
I move my trembling hands behind my back and exhale, playing tough. But Jonathan sees right through it, his blue eyes alternating between resting on me and piercing through Don. "Ames. Go home. I'll take care of things."
I trust him, but that look in his eyes…
I hesitate all the same.
For the second time this week, he approaches me. His smaller hand grips my upper arm tightly, and he gives me a little shake. It jostles my brain. "You can go. You've done enough. This will be handled."
He has a plan, but his voice…I've never heard it more persuasive.
I bite my lip and find myself nodding slowly, allowing myself to believe him. Some part of me says that the gravity of the situation hasn't hit me yet.
"Go." One last nudge. He wants to be rid of me.
I pull away and do what he says. Something about this is not sitting right with me.
I never learned to listen to that little voice in my head.
I reach the sidewalk. The library. The main lot. It's at a distance now, but I give the scene one last look.
Jonathan is crouching over Don's form. One hand pressed against the head wound, the other holding the busted arm. Good hands indeed.
I collapse into Black Jack and swear I hear a yell before I slam my door shut.
My house is unoccupied when I stumble in around six. A note on the fridge tells me that Mom is out with some friends, leaving the house to myself and telling me that there's leftover meatloaf in the fridge.
Perfect.
Racing upstairs to grab Officer Gordon's number to the Gotham City Police Department doesn't take long.
I can trust this man. This is my goal. I'm going to tell Gordon everything.
I'm frightened and excited by the idea. That I'm telling someone who can help. The end of my problems is so close, I can taste it. What an ideal thing to never have to look over my shoulder again. I can help and be helped in return.
There's a corded phone on the wall beside Mom's bedroom. I grab it and enter the room, flicking the light on, for a little privacy, though there's no one else around. The stretching, twisting cord trails behind me.
This phone is a curious one. Corded, but the dials are on the phone itself and not on the base. And it's a horrific peach color.
I stare at the slip of paper in my hand as I lean against a dresser.
This is it. My solution.
The Mob…it all has to stop. Too many people hurt, too many lives lost and ruined. Even before mine. How do I help with Falcone's arrest? This is a huge question.
And Wonderland is my answer. Falcone visits there still, I'm sure, even though I no longer work. He'd been coming long before I was singing, Mr. Sorvino said so. It was only convenient that I fell into his lap just so.
Wonderland. I hope they don't already know about it. And if they don't, I hope they can nab him there. He's a cocky, slippery bastard.
I'm so scared.
I punch in the numbers. One. By. One. And each resounding beep echoes in my head. The shrill ringing that follows rattles my bones. I can't believe I'm doing this.
I curl a twist in the phone cord around my index finger.
"Gotham City Police Department, McDonnell speaking."
The sudden answer and the impact from my earlier situation with Don frightens me out of my skin. I try to answer but choke.
"Hello?" The man on the other end sounds impatient.
No! I think, panicking. He cannot hang up. Shakily, nervously, I ask for Officer James Gordon.
"Eh, Jim? Sure, I'll put you through."
Tinkling jazz on the line. The wait is forever. I stare hard, focused, at the opposite wall, brow furrowed.
Then the kind, warm voice comes. "Gordon."
A/N: Okay guys. So I have a dilemma. I want to start watch Dr. Who, but I don't know where to start. A little help? I know the series has been going for a while, but then it stopped and was rebooted. I'd like to watch the newer stuff. Just an added detail.
You'll take notice that Gordon keeps popping up in this story. It will remain that way. Gordon is definitely one of my favorite characters from this series, so he'll be involved. I've got some plans for Ames and him. Someday. Also, I'm hoping to install the sense that Jonathan tries to manipulate Ames sometimes.
I'm planning on making the next chapter a filler-ish chapter, because the one after that is going to include the second biggest event that happens in Ames' senior year. I'll leave it shrouded in mystery.
Question of the Day: I'm going to make this fun. Remember the last song you listened to and put the words "in my ass" after the title. What are your results? ;)
Also, follow me on twitter hmeskins if you want a Batman Quote of the Day or if you just want to get to know your author better. I FOLLOW BACK! Thanks to those who did follow me last chapter.
Leave a review! Share! Fave! Put on alert! No faves 'n runs. It depresses me. Reviewing will be to your advantage; I stay in contact with those who do, especially when it concerns this story. You'll get updates and information, if your lucky.
See you all next time!
