CHAPTER TWELVE
Labrador Apartments—on a city block known as Devil's Doorstop—was on the meaner side of Gotham City, smack-dab between a rundown coffee shop and an adult bookstore. At either corner of the block, drug pushers and prostitutes were hard at work. The gang-ridden streets weren't exactly family friendly; it was a trying place for a young woman trying to make it on her own. The sounds of gunfire were as common as night and day, and death was not an unfamiliar occurrence to anyone.
Somehow Kara Evans had made a home here, living on the edge when times got tough. She worked in the coffee shop with an older gentleman, Sean McKinsey. It was pretty good money; most of the patrons were at least well off, thanks to the rampant drug trafficking. A particularly wealthy crime lord, Benjamin DeSoto, ran the show out here, and his goons came in all the time. Through it all, Sean had managed to keep the place clean, despite the heavy crime outside his door.
It was an agreement of sorts: DeSoto would keep the drugs out of the coffee shop, and Sean would serve his goons with respect. He received a weekly check of an undisclosed amount to keep his nose out of gang business. DeSoto even considered Sean a "good old friend." The old man considered the courtesy a nuisance, but he would never voice his opinions to DeSoto or his men. He was just glad for the business, especially for the fact that DeSoto's goons typically left the other customers alone. They didn't even bother the beautiful young dish in the jean shorts and white tank top that served their coffee, pastries, and sandwiches. For that, Kara was grateful.
She left work early that evening. McKinsey had hired the new girl he had been eyeing for the past month or so, and with two other waitresses on the job, Kara was told she could take the night off since she had to open the next morning. She spent most of her time off over at Cat's, a friend who lived on the "nice side" of Gotham, clear across town. That evening, the two had discussed Kara's expected, ritualistic conclusion to her monthly unsuccessful relationship, this time with billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. There were a few tears shed, as usual, but that was a typical day on the cutting board of Kara's relationships. Tears were commonplace, though the sorrow seldom endured.
She got home at a quarter past midnight, typical for her late-night girl-talk rendezvous with Catherine Sinclaire. The track up the creaking stairway was uneventfully short. She would have liked to say that she lived at the top floor of the seven-story tenant building next door to the coffee shop, a much larger apartment, but waiting tables, while it had its rewards because of McKinsey's successes, also had its downside. She lived one floor up in a small, three room apartment, with the typical bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen slash dining room slash living room, right inside the front door. She knew for a fact that Wayne Manor had closets bigger than her entire apartment. To her, that was a little funny, but at the same time, very depressing.
Typically, it wasn't the man when she made her usual getaway, especially in the case of Bruce. Kara was simply making a habit of running away. She thought it to be a bad habit at that. Only a few of the men she had dated over the past two years had been bad apples, yet she always found herself turning her back on everyone she dated. Before she left, she would leave the traditional letter on the table or taped up to the mirror in the bathroom for the unlucky victim of circumstance.
Bruce had gotten no more than a silent goodbye as she walked out the door.
Kara drew a hot bubble-bath and poured a glass of wine. She put on an Alison Krauss CD and climbed into the tub, intent on forgetting her worries for the evening. Quietly sipping her wine, she lay back and allowed her troubled mind to drift away to the lonesome comfort of her memories.
* * *
Kara was born on a lonely farm in Kansas, five miles outside of the town of Leoti. She lived with her grandparents after her single, teenage mom ran away from home when she was still an infant. Raised mostly by her Uncle Brad Evans, she learned early that though life was hard, it was also very good. She grew up doing chores around the farm, mostly feeding the chickens and gathering eggs. The boys did the heavy work, especially after the combine accident in which her grandfather was paralyzed from the waist down.
Uncle Brad, the youngest of three boys, began to teach her how to be herself when she was seven years old, nine years his younger. They went camping a lot, mostly at nearby Scott County State Park, where he taught her how to build a campfire, how to fish, and how to identify certain plants when they went hiking. Brad was also the most responsible of the brothers—Lance, four years older than Brad, was a resident drunk of Leoti, and Mark, a year older and twin to Kara's mother, had spent two years at Kansas State University before giving up on college life to become a trucker who hauled feed for Farleigh Feedyards in Scott City, Kansas.
Brad, however, loved the farm, loved his family, and, most of all, loved Kara. At first, he had felt sorry for the girl who had lost her mother to foolishness, but in time, as the girl grew into a pretty young teenager, he told her that he had come to realize, in all honesty, she was his best friend. He stayed on the farm, even after his brothers had moved away, to make sure that Kara graduated from high school. Then, during her freshman year in college, her grandfather died due to complications of his paralysis. Brad and her grandmother, who herself was ailing from the cancer growing within her, sold the farm for a good price and moved into town.
Kara found her time at Emporia State University to be a happy one. She was a bright, eager student who found that she could do anything she set her mind to. First and foremost, she loved writing, and that love brought her to the journalism department at Emporia State. For three years she wrote for the campus newspaper, and on the day of her graduation, she received a job opportunity from the Wichita Eagle, the state's biggest newspaper. However, a life of journalism was simply not Kara's cup of tea, and after a couple years of saving up, she had built up a savings account sufficient to make the biggest move of her life.
She chose Gotham City, home of the Dark Knight, as a place to begin her novelist career. An editor and publicist she had met in college had started a small publishing company there after inheriting a small fortune from her grandparents. Her name was Catherine Sinclaire.
Kara had written a couple novels since coming to Gotham, both mysteries with a touch of the paranormal. Cat had edited both novels. With a little money in her pocket, and a decent job as a coffee shop waitress, Kara was set to live her life. Now twenty-six years old, she was a bright author with a love for the night life, though she missed her childhood back on the farm with Uncle Brad and her grandparents. She even missed Lance and Mark, and often found her self reminiscing about her past life.
* * *
He slipped in through the crack beneath the door, a black widow spider the color of a granny apple. Quickly, he scampered across the wood floor, past the fridge and stove, through the living area past the sofa, television, and coffee table, and through the open door onto the carpet of the bedroom floor. Light shone from beneath a door to the right—no doubt the bathroom—casting light on the dark path before him. Eagerly, he scampered for the safety of darkness, and took refuge in the shadow behind the nightstand, beneath the window.
There, he would wait. When the girl arrived, the mission would begin. If he had a mouth in his present state, the changeling would have smiled.
She was signed, sealed, and delivered, and she didn't even know it.