Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all of you amazing readers and reviewers for causing me to smile with maniac glee!
Now this chapter is short but I promise you that it's worth the wait and the story is no where near over so please do not panic too much. Also Revis has been pretty tame by her standards so here's a bit of delusional realization for you all. I know she's contradicting herself and acting in a irrational manner but hey-This is Revis, it's bound to happen.
Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!
Chapter 22 Revis POV
I softly closed and locked the bathroom door behind me, entombing me in the silence of the pristine washroom. Pausing I hovered near the sealed entrance, my fingers a breath away from the white wood as I strained my ears willing myself to hear any movement or word from him. Another breathless minute passed before I exhaled in relief: he had not yet returned from his 'errand'.
Not that my presence was met with anything but chilling glares and intense yet silent scrutiny. Ever since we left the house he scarcely spoke a word other than a few necessary commands, likewise I was mostly silent, only nodding or shaking my head unless his terrible gaze promised pain if I did not voice my consent.
No matter his sharp gaze or frigid presence for my work as Death kept me pleasingly busy with no time to ponder absurdities such as his intense hatred or the loss of my violin—My eyes filled with tears upon recalling that night.
How weak I was! If only I had been stronger instead of starving myself foolishly in an attempt to not impose on him, I might have been able to defend myself against his cruel advances.
After that night I began to eat again, starting with small portions and slowly increasing the amounts. I would no longer be made weak by the likes of him.
That night opened my eyes to many things. One of which was the loss of my violin that acted as a painful reminder of my priorities.
Didn't I once struggle to find peace in my role as Death while earning money with hard work and Mr. Ba—Zoller's generosity? Then as I lived with Dr. Crane in that old house, I buried my true role in order to better serve him.
I had neglected my title for far too long.
Stepping forward, I began to shed my clothing.
What did it matter if he saw me as a terrible burden?
Layer after layer of fabric piled atop the freshly scrubbed tile of the bright room decorated in crème and gold.
What did it matter if I was regarded with disdain for my work?
Soon I was left bare; freed from the prison of my clothes. I stepped forward to the bath as a tingle of pleasant apprehension danced across my spine.
What did my love (what a dark and bedraggled thing!) matter if his heart beats for another?
Without delay, I stepped into the sparkling porcelain tub as I fiddled with the knobs before quickly stepping back so as to avoid the sudden rush of water from the showerhead secured in the clean tiled wall.
In truth, none of it mattered. One man would not control my life; his many exploits to conquer me were futile. He may have my heart and know the lay of my mind but he cannot overcome my title as Death. He is merely a mortal, dealing in the mortal emotion of fear whereas Death conquers all.
Kill him.
I froze under the hot stream of water that soaked my hair and ran soothing rivulets of heat over my body.
I...I couldn't kill him—
Why not?
He frequently expressed his desire to do the same to me. If he was gone there would be no one to keep me from my work; I would be free...free of his haunting eyes, free of his tyranny, free of his punishments.
Numbly I began to wash my hair and body as my mind wandered.
There would be no more poisons, no more tests or experiments. There would only be myself as I lived my life in the glorious name of Death.
He never understood my pains, he only exploited them; he never gave me comfort; he only spread terror and heart wrenching agony; he never loved me and he never will.
I cut off the flow of water as I began to dry myself.
Yes, I would kill him.
Stepping out of the tub, I gingerly wrapped a plush towel around my body before using a second fluffy towel for my long hair.
He deserved to die.
I walked to the mirror, the wide and gleaming glass was fogged from my hot shower. Uncaring of dirtying the glass, I wiped the misted surface with a hand revealing my water streaked reflection.
A sharp stab of pain tore through my heart.
How could someone as weak as me overcome him?
I...I couldn't kill him—
Why not?
He was the reason for my weakness, my hesitation. Due to his many manipulations I was dragged into his iron embrace, unable to save myself as the cold metal seared me with its tainting, poisoning, touch.
No, he would die.
I stared into my agonized eyes, loathing the ugly look of weakness and emotion.
He needed do die.
Slowly, I watched as that pained, broken gaze hardened until I was met with a cold shade of blue so similar to his sinister eyes that my heart stuttered—
No, I was better than him for I was Death. This is the look of immortal darkness, the bearer of the eternal abyss. Soon even the flare of gold in my eyes crystalized to a sharp jagged shade of brilliance, a yellow flash of warning.
I felt a sense of purpose fill me until even my marrow was infused with the hum of importance. Ceremoniously, I donned the clean clothes I had brought with me before tending to my long, matted hair. Even the brambles of my unruly hair could not wilt my growing pride and blooming regalia.
Once presentable, I gazed into the mirror one last time as I drank in my calm almost serene face, the dark blue bruising of my eyes which gave the cold orbs an unnerving appeal, and finally my regal posture which spoke of the change within me.
Yes, I was Death and I would not fall prey to something as irrelevant as fear.
…
I waited for his return in a high backed chair adjacent to the writing desk on the far wall of the large hotel room. My dirtied clothes had been packed away again, joining the other worn clothing that had accumulated as the days passed. Yet I was in no hurry to face him again but rather I had taken this time of waiting to solidify my resolve and once more erect defenses on both my heart and my energy. Within this time I had also pondered the tool I would use to subdue him into relinquishing his life.
He would fight back, of this I was sure, so it was best to use something efficient and to catch him unaware. For a while I had toyed with the notion of smothering him in his sleep but the idea seemed too intimate and should he overpower me, I would be at his mercy atop a plush bed—something which I did not fancy.
Since when were hotel rooms so lacking in weapons? What happened to the days of sharp letter openers or the thick coils of roped fabric which held back heavy drapes? Then again, wouldn't it be best to use his own toxins against him?
Such thoughts ran through my head almost an hour ago but now I was already prepared, the lethal serum was hidden in a capped syringe tucked into the innermost part of my long sleeved shirt. I would wait until he was asleep before I injected him with his own poison—After all, didn't most people wish do die in the throes of slumber? A peaceful passing could not be promised but he certainly did not deserve such a luxury.
How dare he believe that Death would bow before him? Did he think I was merely a convenient accessory to his work? Without me he wouldn't have been nearly as successful as he was. I was not just referring to my time as a poison tester in which my reactions aided his research and refinery of his potions but to my more recent job of both assisting in the brewing of such concoctions and acting as a threatening figure to those who would otherwise turn against him.
Of course, the malicious thugs merely laughed at the prospect of a mere woman thwarting their advances but I had months' worth of indignities and suppressed rage at my disposal which made it all too easy to slip into a mindless rage. The aspect of guns disgusted me beyond belief but thankfully our current clientele were slow to draw and easily fooled.
How else would such scum willingly buy products from Dr. Crane with a few cleverly delivered appeals to the wonder of his 'drug'? Those low-lifes were the necessary evil for us to begin a steady income.
I personally did not understand the use of poisons as recreational drugs, especially to such base men but I wasn't there to sell the product, only to ensure the safe delivery of money and act as a sort of bodyguard—Hardly a fitting role for Death but it kept me busy and I was surrounded by potential patients. Often it was a fun past time to predict which men would die first.
Yet there was always a great dispute between Dr. Crane and I upon the fate of their bodies. There wasn't sufficient time to either cremate (unless an 'accidental' fire could be started yet it was unwise for we needed to lay low until we established higher connections, or so he said) or embalm my patients yet I refused to leave them as they were.
Needless to say, there were many hasty escapes due to the close calls with the rival gangs (one benefit of working in the Narrows was the great lack of police or rather clean cops) which began to more frequently pop up. On the other hand, perhaps the toxins were for untrustworthy traitors or rival gangs instead of recreational use...
Nevermind that, Death would no longer follow Dr. Crane as he masqueraded as 'Scarecrow' in order to sell his drugs to lowly men. It was absurd to expect Death to obey someone who wore a mutilated potato sack atop his head.
Yes, it was time the reign of Death found more suitable work. The expensive hotels (like this one) which we used as lodgings when apart from the grime of the Narrows would be missed but after I killed him I could always make use of the money he accumulated. After all, it was a fair move considering the theft I was dealt as he used my hard earned money for his own funding.
Yet where would I begin?
Working in a morgue within the state would be out of the question, I would have to relocate to some remote location or perhaps to another country. Canada was still an option at this point; I had always admired its lush abundance of nature and peaceful way of living.
Of course, there was crime and other bothersome acts everywhere but within a new territory there would also be new discoveries—Not to mention, the proper circumstance to hunt down the tramp and guide her to the Underworld after a long, arduous lesson.
Still my thoughts continued to return to a single point: life without Dr. Crane...
Before the idea was terrifying, impossible to comprehend and insane to attempt yet now I felt a sense of peace about the prospect.
No more pain...No more poison...No more love...
I wanted to be free of my sickening weaknesses and ungainly, mortal faults for Death could not associate oneself with such human connotations as fear.
He thought I was weak, enthralled by my love.
"I can see it in your eyes, you long to leave but you know you're unable to live without me."
He was wrong. Just as my eyes have changed so have my priorities. I had not been able to leave him due to his tyrant grip on my heart but he already released me from that past vice with his cruel words.
"I have no use for such an irrational emotion as love and I refuse to waste my efforts on someone as unworthy as you."
Unworthy? Oh yes, I was very unworthy of my current position for my talents required far greater heights than he could ever claim.
He did not love me and never will so why should I allow myself the indignity of pining after someone who would only degrade and endanger me? Rather, I should use my energies to reunite him with his past love. Surely, that would be best? After all, Death would not be cast asunder by the blunder of humanity masquerading as love. I was so foolish to love him!
"You've been longing for that release of pressure, someone to take your burden from you. You long to live untroubled by matters such as I have dealt with. You yearn to live free from the past but you're unable to take that step without someone else to help as I have—"
What mindless tripe did he expect me to believe? That Death could not surpass mortal faults? It was the damned Arkham which weakened my perspective and allowed me to fall to such callous, vicious manipulations. Then when Lucius appeared...How foolish I was to cling to Dr. Crane, of all people, for safety! Ha! Instead of finding a sanctuary I only secured my residence in a personal hell.
Enough of this foolishness!
My love would fade...It may take years but surely the pain would preferable to staying here—Besides, Death's work should be my only source of happiness. Nothing else should interfere with my immortal work. Death had no time for love and no use for Dr. Crane. Although I had been staring at the door during my ponderings, I was startled by a sudden commotion caused by the door swinging open in order to reveal my former psychiatrist and love. I met his sharp gaze with a look of equal frost.
Prepare yourself, Dr. Crane, for tonight you die.
