Chapter Seventy: Seeing Ghosts


Oswald awoke, hearing a fumbling downstairs. It was nearly midnight.

Slowly, he moved out of bed, careful not to disturb Sylvia, who was sleeping soundlessly beside him. When he made his way to the living room, he saw the same little girl—what was her name again—from last night meandering about. He'd watched her for a moment, noticing how Charleen (ah! That was her name!) wore Sylvia's purple top and shorts; it was only lucky that they'd been the same height, if only a little shorter on Charleen's part as she was still a growing teenager.

The girl strode from the kitchen to the living room within several paces before plopping down on the couch with another bowl of cereal, turning on the television. When the news flashed, the volume level was loud.

Oswald quickly moved forward, grabbing the remote from the coffee table to lower the volume before it awoke Sylvia, startling her in the process when she realized he was there.

"Holy fucking shit!" Charleen shouted.

"Shh!" Oswald hissed.

"Well, don't come out of nowhere like a goddamn ghost then—unless you like giving little girls heart attacks!"

Oswald rolled his eyes. He could see why Sylvia would be partial to her; they had the same mouth.

"What are you doing out of bed?" He demanded, gesturing to her.

"I was hungry, Mr. Clueless. Don't you see the cereal? Anyway, why are you out of bed? Shouldn't you be back up there, smooching with your wifey under the covers?" Charleen teased, smirking when she got an easy rise out of him.

"How dare you—"

"I know, I know. How dare I goad the King of Gotham? Ooohhhh, I'm so fucking scared for my life, help." She lifted her hands while holding the remote, and, with dramatization of a horror movie bimbo cliché, raised her voice to a higher pitch, "I'm gonna really get it now, help! Help!"

Oswald grabbed the remote out of her hands. Charleen suddenly slammed her bowl down onto the coffee table and stood on the couch, glaring at him in return.

"Give that back!" She snapped.

"Apologize first," Oswald ordered, holding the remote up to her eye-level. "Your petulant remarks may fly with her" (His eyes flickered upstairs towards the bedroom where Sylvia currently slept) "but they won't with me."

"What, you're just going to hold the remote all night or some shit?"

"If you think I won't take it upstairs when I go back to bed, you underestimate me."

Charleen knelt on the couch cushions and crawled towards the arm, leering at him dangerously.

"You know I was only fucking with you, right?" She said airily. "It ain't my fault if you can't take a fucking joke."

"That doesn't sound like an apology." Oswald chastised, watching her. "If you want this" (He held up the remote indicatively) "I'll need something in return."

"What is it?"

"I've told you once already." He smiled smugly. "It's not my fault if you don't remember what that is."

"You want an apology." Charleen recalled snidely. "It's a fucking TV remote. I want to watch TV."

"And if that is something you still wish to do, you'll apologize for your egregious behavior."

"What are you trying to be, my dad?"

"Not at all. But if you want to continue to stay the night in my home, watch my television, and eat my food, I require an apology on your part. I want to hear you say 'I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. Can we start over'. You say those words exactly, I will reconsider. Otherwise—"

"You'll kick me out?" Charleen questioned spitefully. "You're not gonna do what your wifey wants?"

Oswald sighed impatiently and placed the remote in the pocket of his robe. He leaned forward so Charleen stared at him with a spark of challenging in her eyes, but there was a subtle trace of fear detected in them as well.

"If you have any sort of self-preservation, you'll mind what I'm about to say right now, young lady." Oswald said sternly. "Whatever it is that Sylvia has promised to you is not going to be easily retracted by me, primarily since it keeps her content. And if I'm being politically correct, she's only given you refuge for a night. What comes after rests solely on you. If you continue to address me like I'm one of your flea-bitten friends on the street corner, you will not be permitted to stay here. However, if you speak to me civilly and behave as such, we will establish trust, and you and I will reach a compromise. Am I clear?"

Charleen frowned at him, but she nodded.

"Now that's all out of the way," Oswald said pointedly, taking the remote out of his pocket. "How do you want this to play out?"

Charleen glanced at the television, which was on the boring news channel, to her bowl of cereal, then to Oswald, who awaited her next move.

"Fuck…fine…" She grumbled, letting out a long, deep sarcastic sigh before she said brutishly, "I'm sorry for the stupid fucking way I've been acting. Can we fucking start over?"

Oswald raised an eyebrow and said smoothly, "No need to embellish. The words without the profanity would've sufficed."

He tossed the remote to her and she caught it with a sheepish smile. When she turned to change the channel, Oswald started to leave for the bedroom now that the noise had been thoroughly investigated. As he did, Charleen craned her head over the couch and said, "Do you wanna stay and watch the movie?"

Oswald startled at her invitation.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not excused," Charleen said playfully; the tone wasn't expected, and the seamless way she interjected her playfulness into the conversation was mildly disturbing.

Maybe it was because he showed her something that Isaac might've shown in the past? What was it that Sylvia said? Isaac had been the closest thing to a father figure Charleen ever had…Was she hoping to find someone to fill that void in the way Isaac Paddock had done?

Oswald doubted that role could be filled by him, but he took it upon himself to sit a cushion away from her. After all, the movie showing was a black-and-white, the typical oldies that he used to watch with his mother when he was much younger. Charleen side-glanced him in the way he'd done to her, and she grinned broadly when he put his feet on the coffee table; she copied him.

The movie was a slow burner; obviously, Charleen was not the most patient teenager around as she grew restless halfway through. She stood briefly to re-position, sitting on her own feet before she turned to Oswald completely, looking at him with a grin.

"Do you guys have popcorn?" She asked arbitrarily.

"It's in the cupboard," said Oswald distractedly, paying more attention to the movie than her, obviously.

"Do you have butter?"

"Yes."

"Salt?"

"Yes, now shhh." Oswald put a finger to his lips and did the gesture.

"Can you go get it?" Charleen asked with a smile.

"You're the one that wants it."

"But you know where everything is."

"Where do you think the butter is?"

"It's in the fridge."

"And the salt is in the cabinet," said Oswald impatiently. "You seem like a smart girl; you should be able to find it just fine."

"Or you could go get it."

"And the conversation has made full circle."

"And yet, if you'd just gone and got it yourself, you'd have made the popcorn, found everything, and come back in the time it took for the conversation to come full circle," Charleen said smugly.

"That may be," Oswald looked at her with a sarcastic smile. "However, you still don't have what you wanted in the first place, so regardless of your intent, you lose."

"I wasn't trying to win."

"Your victory isn't succeeded by your success but by how much you annoy me."

"You're a smart penguin, you know that." Charleen snickered.

"From someone who is abrasive as you, I'll take that as a compliment. Seeing as they, alone, seem so rare."

"Take it however you like, it ain't it."

"You're argumentative."

"You should be used to that, considering what you married."

"You have no idea," Oswald countered.

"Oh, I don't?"

"No. You don't."

"Does she always want the last word too?"

"Frequently."

Charleen leaned forward, saying, "What do you do when you want the last word?"

Oswald sighed, looking up at the ceiling: "Would you just watch the movie?"

"You try to kiss her or distract her or something if you want the last word, don't you? Yeah, yeah, I think you would because around her, you're probably normally speechless, especially when she kisses you first, huh?" Charleen said knowingly. "I've seen you two together last night; you two act like you're fucking teenagers or some shit."

"Are you not going to watch the movie then?"

Charleen smirked at him, knowing he was dodging the subject, so she crossed her arms and said pointedly, "I'll watch the rest of the movie. But it'd help if you'd stop talking throughout; it's really distracting."

Oswald opened his mouth to state that it was the exact opposite, but he closed it when he saw her smirk widen with his knowledge of this. He simply rolled his eyes, turned up the volume a smidge, and watched the rest of the movie. He was engrossed in it when Charleen yawned rather loudly, and she stood up.

"I'm going to sleep. Tell me how the rest of it goes." Charleen said offhandedly.

"If you get cold, there are extra blankets in the hall broom closet."

She climbed the stairs and closed the door to the guest bedroom. Oswald lied down on the couch, content to watch the rest of the movie.


Clash!

The sudden sound of glass shattering yanked Oswald out of his deep sleep, only for him to realize that he'd fallen asleep on the couch and the movie was rolling credits on the television. Hastily, he turned it off, getting to his feet and peering about to see the source of the disturbance.

And disturbed he was when he saw the picture frame shattered on the ground, the very one that held his certificate of sanity received from his time at Arkham. The thunder and lightning outside sent chills down his spine; not that he needed this to make him feel so uneasy.

Who had tossed the certificate off the wall and caused it to shatter in pieces? The only other occupants in this mansion were Charleen and Sylvia, both of whom were presumably still asleep.

A slow, steady eerie creaking startled him as he quickly looked around him.

"Sylvia?" He called, and Oswald mentally slapped himself for how shaky his voice said her name.

But the real unnerving thing happened when he looked over his shoulder to see the apparition of his father standing before him, wearing his own night clothes and holding a candle; the stress on his face would haunt Oswald for the rest of his dreams—but was he dreaming?

What had his father told him? That there were plenty of ghosts in this house, yes, and that they were among them. He stumbled forward, still unable to believe that Elijah was here with him.

"Father…"

"Help me…" Elijah spoke in a strained voice, his eyes beckoning.

"My god," Oswald muttered in disbelief, but he stepped towards him in reassurance. "Of course. How?"

"He's not to be a trusted!"

"Who?"

A violent thunderclap accompanied with the brightest streak of lightning blinded him temporarily. As disturbed as he'd been when he saw the ghost of his late father, he was even more so when the ghost disappeared. And following that was a hard knock on the front door.

When he opened it, two police officers stood in ardent concern.

"Sorry to bother you so late in the night, Mr. Mayor," One of them apologized.

"Yes. What is it?" Oswald asked wearily.

"Someone broke into the cemetery and dug up your father's remains."