Title: Do Unto Others… : Mother

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

First National Bank, June 1st, 5:25 p.m.

As the final patrons exited the building, Pete forced a smile to replace the scowl on his lips. When the lobby was empty, he proceeded to lock the entrances and activate the alarm system, leaving only the employee entrance to be locked once the building was clear. Thankfully, that was the later shift that supervised the after hour cleaning crew and late working employees.

The first day of business of the week always made for a busy day of watching account holders, guests and clients of the bank shifted in and out of the glass doors. There had even been a scuffle just after one in the afternoon where Pete had to escort an unruly gentleman off the premises after he had thrown a fit that his soon to be ex-wife had spent their savings. The man had tried yelling at him but Pete had looked down at him while issuing a stern warning to cooperate.

Something about the icy look in Pete's eyes had encouraged the man to comply.

The high volume day had been a welcome distraction for Pete. Unlike most Gothamites, he hadn't gone away for the weekend or attended a wedding or a family reunion. He had stayed home on his small vacation, tending to his house, his car and his extracurricular activities. Choosing one had been just as easy as it had been before, only this time, he had been unable to wait until he had reached more private surroundings to tend to his work.

As a result, she had hurt him, bitten him like a savage.

Like a dog.

It really wasn't that he hadn't been able to control himself, but that he could no longer bear the sight of the Whore that had been walking beside him. The way she walked and the way she touched his arm and the way she laughed had infuriated him. The smell of alcohol and too much perfume had brought bile to his lips and when she had asked if he carried a gun when he wasn't working, he had to shut her up. He had to rid the world of another vile creature that wanted to consume all that was good and leave the waste of evil behind.

He had caught her by surprise, hitting her with the butt of his hunting knife, and he had smiled as she stumbled to her hands and knees. He had been able to drag her off of the path and into the comfort of darkness, but in the process she had bitten his bare arm. No doubt she thought she would be able to fight him off on pure instinct and will to live.

Pete had seen to it that her will to live leaked out of more holes than he could have counted.

As with the others, his body had been on autopilot as he removed another predator from the world. His mind had always been somewhere else, always recalling the first time he had met the Whore. His mother had been in her room for three days with only muted weeping slipping out from under the locked door. Pete had come home from school, his pants dirtied after being knocked over by Jacob Drexler, the creep who had started the nickname Peepee...

All Pete had wanted was to crawl into his mother's bed and to try make her happy, in doing so accomplishing something that would have made his horrible day have a silver lining. Instead, he had walked into the living room and seen his father sitting on the couch with her. The Whore had sat beside him as if she belonged there, sipping from a glass of something amber colored, her fingers tickling the back of his father's head.

The Whore had smiled at him and said in a sickly sweet voice, "Hi, Pete."

He vaguely recalled his father starting to explain but Pete had run away and hid in his bedroom for the remainder of the evening. The next morning, he had finally emerged and was shocked to see his father making waffles and a big pan of crispy bacon, something he hadn't done since before Mom had fallen ill. Over breakfast, Pete had learned her name was Angie and that she was a good friend of his. His father had said that he would be spending time with Angie, at the house and in town and that she was going to be apart of his life from then on.

His mother had always referred to her as the Whore.

Pete was shaken from his reveries when he heard, "Ready to call it a night?"

He was quick to match the voice to Christine, one of the bank tellers. She had been the teller that had suffered the rude man's wrath earlier in the day and had profusely thanked Pete for his help. She had always seemed pleasant, but Pete thought she wore too much makeup, that she didn't need any to begin with…

The exception to the rule, he mused.

Pete nodded, "Doors are locked, system's on."

Christine grinned as he gave her a ladies' first gesture towards the back corridor, "Hard to believe it's only Monday… weekends always seem to go by too quickly…"

"Yes," he agreed, watching as she adjusted her purse strap.

After looking back at him briefly, she asked, "Enjoy your time off last week?"

"Yes… it was… refreshing."

"I bet… I'm trying to get the week before the fourth off, try and get out of the city for a bit… like you said, get refreshed."

He followed her out the back door and into the employee parking lot. As she paused before her silver sedan, Christine offered, "Well… I know you usually go home after work but… a few of us are going out for drinks… do you have plans?"

Pete nodded, "Afraid so…"

"Maybe some other time," she smiled before offering him a curt wave, "See you tomorrow, Pete."

He nodded once more as she climbed into her car and drove off. Alone, he resumed walking to his own vehicle, a two-year-old dark blue Jeep Cherokee without a single scratch on it. Outwardly, it was relatively unused but, under the hood its engine bore over two-hundred thousand miles accumulated from long nights if aimless driving. His father had taught him about maintaining a car in order to get the most out of it, one of the few things he had been thankful for.

It had pained him to lie to Christine, not because he cared about her but that lying was bad. He had no plans that evening, nor any for the rest of the week save for dinner on Tuesday. And yet, if Christine asked for him to join her and their fellow co-workers, he would respectively decline. He always felt awkward in social situations, stemming back to his youth. He didn't need friends, he wasn't pressured into fitting the normal lifestyle of the modern man. He had a quiet, simple life, one he intended on living in solitude.

It was better to be safe than sorry.

Pete took his time settling into the car, buckling in and checking the mirrors before turning the key. Giving the engine a moment to run quietly, Pete removed his name tag and carefully placed it into a spotless ashtray under the radio console. He stared momentarily, before looking straight ahead and pulling out of his parking space.

Having stopped at the gas station that morning, the car had a full tank, the oil had been changed the week before and the tires were perfectly calibrated with air. After navigating the crowded streets and avenues, fighting for space amidst the other hundreds of commuters, he finally made it to the St. James Highway, crossing the Westward bridge in order to flee the city. Pete fed the accelerator and cruised the four-lane road comfortably, with no destination in mind.

Eight minutes later, the traffic had become nonexistent as he crossed the Bristol Bridge. Soon, he was surrounded by quiet homesteads with long driveways and massive yards. When he went on drives, he liked to go where it was nice looking, where everything seemed in its place. Same for when he jogged in the morning, he found himself going further and further from his house, searching for something that felt right.

Having traveled every road, street, boulevard and highway in Gotham County, it had become second nature to be able to discern his location at any given moment, without the need for troublesome maps or electronic gadgets. He was uncomfortable traveling much farther than the county limits, often put at ease by the thought that he was out of his comfort zone. As a result, he mixed up various driving circuits in and out of the city before finding his way home.

Even before he been of driving age, Pete had memorized countless maps of Gotham and its boroughs. When he had moved to the city with his father over two decades earlier, his first two thought had been that he was going to get lost and he was going to die there. It had been after his mother had died and he was certain that his father was looking out only for himself and not his young son. When Pete had asked why they had to move, his father had vaguely explained that they needed to start a new life in a new place.

With the Whore as his new mother.

Due to his precaution and efforts, Pete never got lost in Gotham and was never in the mortal danger he had once feared. Even still, the thoughts were always with him that he would someday let his guard down and suffer an unmentionable fate. When he received a Swiss Army Knife for his twelfth birthday, he never went anywhere without it and regularly practiced retrieving it from his pants pocket. Even as a man grown, he never left home without a knife, although the new one was much bigger and much sharper than its predecessor.

Given the crime rate in Gotham, he knew many people had a pistol permit and carried a gun. He thought he would never have to own a gun until taking the job at the bank. He had tried to convince the bank managers that tasers or even nightsticks would be equally effective, but it was policy and it was required.

Pete hated guns.

Guns did bad things.

At ten past eight, Pete came upon an exit for the Hutchinson Parkway and took it, carefully checking his rear view mirrors. There was still a significant amount of drivers leaving the city so he kept his mind on his driving and not on his memories.

Not three miles from his house, Pete relaxed and allowed himself to drive with only his right hand on the wheel. He tried not to stare at the point on his forearm, where beneath the fabric of his shirt and an adhesive bandage his skin burned. It had reddened during the course of the day even though he had already cleaned and dressed it three times since she had bitten him.

Her filth had infected him. He suddenly wondered if she had been rabid, then dismissed the foolish and irrational thought. Rabid or not, she had been destroyed.

Within an hour or first seeing her, Pete had known that she would have done great harm if given the opportunity.

Just like the others.

Pete absentmindedly switched hands on the steering wheel and had begun to roll back his sleeve, picking off the bandage in order to reveal the bright red mark. Shifting his eyes to and from the road, he began to pick at the dried skin until a trickle of blood surfaced. He watched with a slight smile as the blood traveled in a thin rivulet across the tendons of the inside of his arm and then dripped off, landing in small droplets on his thigh.

The fingers that had removed the scab were bloodied and his smile suddenly faded as he thought of his mother.

As a seven year old, Pete had bore her blood on his fingers. At the time, he had only thought about how bright and red the blood was and how slick it had been on his fingertips. He had been hardly concerned with the fact that his mother was laying face down in a pool of blood and gore. At some point, Pete had put the pieces together, between the gun in his mother's hands and the gaping hole in the side of her head.

There had been a smile on her face…

His father, coming home late after a night at the bar with the Whore, had found Pete hours later… still kneeling beside his dead mother. He had grabbed Pete by the collar, practically throwing him into the hall and screaming for him to call an ambulance. Pete had risen to his feet, watching on as his father had started shaking his wife's body, calling out her name.

Pete had said, "Her ear is gone… she can't hear you."

His father had been the one to call for an ambulance and had gone with them and the police after loading his mother into a black bag. In the heat of the moment, Pete had been forgotten about and left home alone. Not that he hadn't made his own dinner and washed up and tucked himself in before, but he felt truly alone for the first time. His father had locked the master bedroom door before leaving, so Pete had resumed his usual post of sitting outside in the hall, as if his mother was going to call him at any moment.

So many years later and Pete still recalled staring down at his reddened fingertips for most of the night. He had wondered how much blood was on the floor in the room and worried if a vampire would smell it and break into his house and kill him.

Before he could drift too far back into the past, he found himself pulling on to his street. He had traveled the last thirty miles completely on automatic reflexes. To any other person, it may have been frightening, but to Pete it was interesting, if not amusing.

Very few things frightened him anymore.

^V^

Wayne Manor, June 2nd, 7:41 p.m.

Despite the fact that the Cave housed the basic exercise equipment that I used in my daily training, I found myself up in the Manor, burning away calories and my frustrations in the gym. I had never used any of the equipment, of which had nearly cost a fortune and was practically useless for any meaningful workout. So when there was a knock on the door, my guest had interrupted my fiftieth one-handed pushup on the hardwood floor.

"Figured you would be in the Cave," Dick's voice found me as I switched hands.

"You figured wrong."

He approached me, opting to stand a yard away. After a beat, he spoke, "Not going to ask why I'm here?"

"Do you want me to?" I countered without looking up at him.

He sighed, "I guess not… Well, I happened to be in town… figured I'd stay and help… Barbara said that you were doing some undercover work… at clubs, bars…"

"And?" I asked while mentally counting thirty-three.

"Well, I figured… since that crowd is a tad younger, that I could… do the undercover work."

I paused at forty-six in order to rise to my feet, "Are you calling me old?"

"Older," he smirked. "That and it will keep you on the streets looking for this guy instead of sitting on a barstool looking for this guy."

Before I could reply, Alfred appeared in the doorway, obviously relieved to have found me, "Master Bruce, if I had known that you had intentions of finally using this room, I would have given it a good scrubbing this morning." He stepped into the room and paused at a cycling machine and proceeded to run a finger over a handle bar, "Or least have swept the floor…"

For the last week, I had been on an impromptu vacation from work, focusing only on the lives of the prey in order to connect them to the predator. Alfred had grown weary of my constant, brooding presence and Selina had been insulted at me canceling time together to spend it in night clubs alone. Three of the four girls had an above the limit blood alcohol level and receipts in their pockets from a night of drinking. The high schooler had been the only exception, although she still had managed to captivate him…

I had been inundating myself with the gore and violence, trying to get a feel for him, trying to understand how and where he was choosing his victims. The common denominator had been pretty, young woman out having a good time. There were hundreds of others doing the very same thing each and every night, so why had they been chosen?

Taking an unplanned break, I paused to ask Alfred, "What is it?"

"Ms. Selina is leaving, sir." When I stared at him silently, he continued to explain, "Well, she has been waiting for over two hours… she instructed me to tell you, verbatim… that if you do decide to show yourself this evening that…"

When Alfred hesitated, Dick smirked at me, "Oh I can't wait for this…"

"Dick," I snapped, "Head down to the Cave… three disguises… take the undercover Camry." He looked insulted that he had been dismissed but did as asked, silently leaving the gym. I then asked Alfred, "Where is she?"

"Gathering her belongings in the den, sir."

I honestly hadn't realized it had been two hours since Alfred had informed me that she had arrived at the Manor. There had been no set plan for the evening and I had intended to torture my body before my mind. From the sound of it, Selina was willing to implement further pain. Hurrying into the hall, I wasn't surprised to see that Dick had been eavesdropping as opposed to making his way downstairs.

As I breezed by him, he raced to catch up with me, "You don't want to know what she said?"

I didn't respond until I reached the first floor, bearing left towards the den, "I'm sure it has something to do with medieval castration techniques."

"Ouch…" he winced before turning in the opposite direction, "Well, good luck with that, I'm going to go put too much cologne on."

I caught her as she was heading towards the atrium, using the front door for the first time in as long as I could remember. When I called out her name, she didn't respond verbally but opted to pause in the broad corridor.

"It was so nice of Dick to keep me company during dinner."

"I lost track of time," I explained as I moved to stand in front of her. She wasn't angry, or else she would have disemboweled me without a word. She was, however, upset. Upset over being once again brushed aside so that the scum of the earth could have every iota of my attention and energy. For my entire life it had been the very reason why all of my relationships had fallen to pieces, letting the little things accumulate to the catastrophic level.

"Dessert," I offered.

Selina shook her head, "I already had some. Crème brulee. It was divine…" she licked her upper lip for emphasis. A windy rooftop in Gotham or the hallway of my home, she always had a way of making her point.

"Dick is starting undercover work tonight… I'll go out later."

Selina smirked, "Thoughtful but you are already out there… in here," she added as she tapped my temple.

No, she wasn't upset. The green in her eyes said she was sad.

I went to reach for her but she stepped away, "You are sweaty and disgusting," she gestured to her dress, "This is Neiman Marcus."

"We better take it off, then," I offered, my voice and expression deadly serious.

The sadness in her eyes was suddenly lost to a flash of humor, "Don't you even think about it, I'm going to the Natural History Museum and stare at the African diamond display."

"They're closed."

Without missing a beat, she raised an eyebrow and asked, "So?"

She was teasing me, punishing me for ignoring her. I had to honestly fight back a smirk in order to reply, "I can't let you do that."

"What are you going to do… handcuff me?"

I stepped forward, not giving the opportunity to step away as I latched onto her wrists, pinning them in one of my hands behind her back. Staring down at her, I growled, "This isn't a game."

"Yes it is…" Selina grinned brilliantly before kissing my lips and promptly stomping on my barefoot, "Tag… you're it!"

Although she only had a fraction of a second head start while I recovered, she was able to make it to second landing of the stairs before I was able to catch her. As a way of thanking her for he momentary distraction and the hole in the top of my foot from her heel, I tackled her and pinned her to the steps. In the pursuit, she had lost her shoes making her down a weapon, but she still had her claws…

Holding her hands well above her head, I glared down at her, "Tag. You're it."

She lashed out, biting at my neck while wrapping her legs with mine. We hadn't been intimate with one another, save for sparse kisses, in nearly three weeks. Her teeth holding my collar bone hostage, I leaned forward and looked to see the tag of the dress was not Neiman Marcus. When I pointed that out to her she released me and said, "No, but what's underneath is."

I helped her shimmy out of the dress, and I finally allowed myself to smirk. She wore a deep purple baby doll, the bodice made of Italian silk that barely reached the middle of her thigh. The meager amount of material covering her breasts had been nothing more swatches of intricate lace.

Selina smiled up at me, pleased to find me speechless, "See, I told you."

For three blissful minutes, it was just us. No killer, no Gotham, nothing. Her nails raked their way down my back after I let her hands go in order to place mine on her hips. My lips never left her skin, leaving me to draw air in through my nose. She bit my ear, I lapped at her neck. I growled something about going and getting handcuffs and she laughed heartily.

As I felt her fingers pulling at the waist band of my sweat pants, I heard Alfred calling up from down below, "Master Bruce?"

"Busted," Selina purred into my ear.

"What?" I snapped back, peering down the two flights of stairs.

He paled at the sight before him and cleared his throat before answering, "Sir, I do hate to interrupt, but your… services have been requested elsewhere." When Alfred looked to one of the large windows over looking the east wing of stairs, I did as well.

Being a quarter of a moon that night, the dark sky boldly contrasted with the Signal searing from Gotham City Police Headquarters.

Glancing back down to Selina, I found her eyes regaining the sad look from earlier.

When I opened my mouth to speak, she shook her head, "Don't… just go."

"I'm sorry…" I proceeded to say while rising to my feet. I offered to help her up and she surprisingly accepted.

"I said don't… just go," standing two steps above me, she was able to stare directly into my eyes. Leaning forward, she kissed my cheek before speaking into my ear, "I'll stay tonight… Get home early enough and we can pick up where we left off."

She smiled but we both knew I wouldn't be home before dawn.

^V^

Mimi's Bar & Grill, June 2nd, 8:35 p.m.

Leaving Selina, I had raced down to the Cave to suit up, finding Tim and Cassandra doing the same. Judging from the disarray on the training mats and the sweat on their faces, they had been sparring. I had ridden down in the Mobile with Robin, leaving Batgirl to follow after us on a cycle. There had been no need to contact Barbara to know that another body had been found for it was the only reason Gordon would have contacted me.

Arriving at Police headquarters, I had told Robin to begin patrols and to rendezvous at the clock tower at midnight, unless otherwise noted. He had watched on as I fired a grapple to the rooftop and when I looked to him, he had said, "It's too soon, right... He couldn't have done it again, already."

I had no response for him, so I had opted not to give him one.

Gordon had been on the rooftop waiting and I had bypassed sneaking up on him in order to simply land on my feet in plain view. He had turned off the spotlight before swearing under his breath, "Looks like he's after middle aged women now."

He briefed me on the latest victim, Michaela Castle, a thirty-six year old divorcee. A copy of her driver's license in the thin file Gordon had handed me was actually flattering, making her look much younger than she had been. She lived alone in a shady area of the Village in a studio apartment and had no current relationship according to her former husband. Regrettably, she had been last seen exactly where she had been found, at a small bar she often frequented on weekends but had gone to that night to pre-game for a lingerie party at a friend's house.

Gordon had explained, "Only a bartender and the owner working, less than a dozen customers that night. Nice little place, never get any call from there, owner keeps the dirt bags out so that everyone else can enjoy themselves."

From the sounds of it, someone had enjoyed themselves too much.

"I'll have forensics out of there as soon as I can… did you want to talk to the owner and bartender?"

I had nodded.

"Figured… closest thing to witnesses we're going to get… I'm heading there now, I'll have the detectives hold them until you get there."

I looked at the address of the bar and realized I passed it nearly every night.

If I had gone on patrols earlier…

On the ride over, I had contacted Barbara in order to see if she had anything else for me. The police had actually been working off of private radio frequencies in order to keep the press from getting wind of things. She had added, "Dick hasn't found anyone matching out guy, but he has been calling in lots of pickups for GCPD. Drug possession, assault, some muggers and would-be rapists."

"At least one of us is making progress," I had growled.

"Want me to call him in to help?"

"No," I had countered, "He's probably more helpful doing what he is now..."

Cutting the connection, I had started to think that his killing so quickly again was a sign. The boldness that had allowed the killer to attack in the open with the last victim may have been the opposite, sheer panic and brashness. He might not be under as much control as I had first thought.

Reaching the scene, I found the primary focus was a secluded corner of the parking lot, brought to life with flood lights. Even from across the street I had been able to see the blood spatter on the pavement and exterior of the building. Driving around the block, I spotted Gordon standing just outside of a service entrance with a brown haired woman and a tall, blond man. After finding a secluded spot to park, I had made the venture back to the bar on foot. Announcing my presence once I was within sight, I growled, "Gordon."

He nodded while the other two were visibly startled. My work had required me to question a broad range of witnesses, from small children to convicted felons. For the police, it was easy for people to blatantly lie to, but it was a completely different story when I was asking the questions.

After introductions had been made, I was surprised to find the young woman to be the owner where the man was only a part-time bartender. I was quick to ask precise questions about the victim, although the answers I received had been significantly vague.

Partly because there wasn't a lot to say but mostly because they were afraid.

The victim had been there four nights a week on average given that the bar was centrally located between her apartment and the residences of her friends. The women often gathered for drinks and dinner, always under tipping consider how particular they were about their drinks. That night she had been there alone, on her way to a friend's after having a few drinks alone.

No. Not alone.

RJ, a bartender for most of his adult life, responded, "She tips me well… she likes me. I mean, I try not to flirt with the customers, my wife hates it… but she always seems so desperate for attention, so lonely… Tonight was no exception."

"Did she interact with anyone else?"

"No.. they guys that were here tonight are older regulars, between their early forties and late sixties," Mimi explained, "Most of them come here for a few drinks, something to eat before heading home to their wives."

"I want names," I growled.

"You don't think that… one of them…" she shook her head, "No way… I don't allow that type in here… these guys have been coming for years, I would know if they were murderers."

"Names. Now."

She told RJ to run in and print off a list of credit card payments from that night. While we had waited, Gordon asked, "What about people who paid cash?"

"There were only like three or four of them… There's the McAllsiters, Douglas and Cathy… older couple, they were friends of my parents, they have to be in their seventies by now… Fred.. Winslow, I think… he dropped by for a beer but he left long before Michaela showed up… Pete… god what's his last name… he works for the first National Bank. Guy's been coming here for eight years, I've never seen him even looking at a woman.. I think he's… y'know… Any rate he was out of there long before she was, he only comes for dinner once a week then goes home."

By then, RJ returned with a list of all credit card purchases made that evening, offering it to me with a shaky hand. After inquiring about the people that had paid in cash, RJ offered the same names and descriptions as well as when they had departed for the night. There was a possibility that it was a copycat effort but a look at the scene and autopsy report would have the final say.

Gordon nodded before ushering the pair into the building, promising that they would only be held for another hour at most. I took the opportunity to climb onto the roof in order to observe from up above as the crew diligently searched below. Once situated, I read the names of the patrons to Barbara and opted to sit and wait until she had results from running them through VICAP and state criminal records.

It was a ten minute wait that had been for nothing.

"Absolutely nothing," Barbara finally responded, "She honestly does run a clean bar, had two police calls there in the last ten years, both for after hour burglaries. No one on that list has anything on them aside from parking and speeding tickets."

After she had given me the less than desirable news, I asked her to look into neighboring businesses and residences as well as the police call list for the last five months. Closing the connection, I heard footsteps softly approaching from behind. Without looking over my shoulder, I said, "I told Barbara to keep you undercover."

Nightwing paused to stand beside me before answering, "I needed to stretch my legs… and I really couldn't handle another faux G and T… I don't know how you can sit at functions and drink just tonic water all night long…"

There had been a long stretch of silence after that.

"Is it him?" he finally asked.

Recalling what I had overheard from the technicians below, I reiterated, "No fingerprints yet. No boot tracks… blood appears to belong solely to the victim given the spray pattern. Not even a blood trail leaving the scene. Body was still warm when the bartender found her."

Another minute passed before he remarked, "It was different last time, something must have happened to make him do it again so soon…"

Something had happened.

And it had happened again

And it would happen.

Again.

And again.

^V^

State Highway 34, June 15th, 11:03 p.m.

"Idiot," Pete mumbled to himself.

He had called himself that and other similar names seemingly nonstop over the last two hours. To an outsider, it would have seemed as if he was hurling insults to his fellow drivers as he battled traffic leading out of the city. They were going home to their families, Pete was trying to escape his foolish mistake. In order to calm himself, Pete had tried to convince himself that it was a normal drive, just like the thousands of other times that he had gotten behind the wheel.

It would have worked had his hands not been slick with blood.

When he had left for his Tuesday night dinner at Mimi's, he had no intention of choosing one. It had been the last thing from his mind, actually. He had his usual drink, his usual dinner at his usual stool. Everything had gone smoothly that day at work and he had been looking forward to a quiet night out before going home to write, shower and sleep.

The bar had been practically empty, minus a few other regulars that were seated at the various tables and stools. No, there had been someone new. A leggy, busty blonde in her mid-thirties. She smoked like a chimney while drinking wine spritzers and flirting with the male bartender, RJ. RJ had a family, Pete knew that and if this Whore had she obviously hadn't cared. He had two kids with red hair like their mother's. Pete had seen pictures of their Halloween costumes for years.

Pete had tried to ignore her through the night, sharing a brief chat with Mimi before focusing on dinner. The Whore's laughter had been unbearable as the alcohol settled into her bloodstream. Pete had watched her intently from the corner of his eye as she leaned unnecessarily forward in order to show off her cleavage to RJ. When she had finished the bottle of wine, RJ had said that her last drink was on the house.

It had taken all of Pete's willpower to eat his angus burger instead of grabbing the empty wine bottle and bashing it over her head. He had to practically force food down a dry throat and had to convince Mimi that everything had been perfectly cooked and that he just wasn't feeling good. Mimi had brought him a glass of water instead of a second glass of beer, telling him that she would wrap his meal to go.

"Thank you, Mimi," he had said in between swallows of cold water, "Just… been a long day."

She had smiled as she carefully placed his burger and fires into a Styrofoam container, "Well, I hope you fell better, Pete… I hate to say it, but you look awful…"

Pete had then looked straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar. His usually tan skin had appeared white and he had been covered in a cold sweat while his hazel eyes danced back and forth. Mimi had asked if he felt okay enough to drive home and he had said, "I'll be okay… Just need to go home and lie down for a bit."

When he had tried to pay, Mimi had smiled, "Don't worry about. Get some rest."

Leaving the bar, he had to walk behind the Whore, causing his blood to singe in his veins.

Thankfully, Pete had parked in the rear of the small gravel lot and his dark vehicle was practically invisible to the sober eye. One by one, the bar had emptied, the last patron to leave being none other than the Whore. RJ had ushered her outside, telling her he would calla cab for her if she wanted. She had kissed his cheek and smiled, "You are so good to me… I've got my girlfriend picking me up, though."

"Okay, well if you need a cab, just come back inside. Don't fall down," he had joked before heading back inside.

He had watched her as she slowly stumbled around the parking lot in a loop, clumsily dialing her phone and complaining out loud when no one would answer. Pete had felt the knife tucked into his back pocket before wiping his face dry and stepping out of his car.

"Do you need a ride?" he called out.

She had spun around slowly before smirking, "Hey, you're that guy… Pete, right?"

He had nodded, "Yes… I came out here… Took a nap in my car…"

She had laughed, "Slept it off, hunh? I'm going to this party… if Amber ever answers her phone…"

"Where does she live?"

"Bryanttown… kind of a hike… no way I'm paying cab fare…" she had laughed again.

"I live near Bryanttown Park," he had lied, "It really wouldn't be a bother."

The Whore had paused briefly before replying, "Mimi said you are such a good guy… After you left, she seemed worried about you… Really likes you."

Staying somewhat covered by darkness, Pete had replied, "I've been coming here a long time… even when her parents owned it."

The Whore smiled at him once more before walking towards his Jeep, "Okay… if it's not a problem."

"I insist."

"Sure as hell isn't safe to be standing in some parking-."

As she passed him to get in on the passenger's side, Pete locked his arm around her throat before kicking her legs out from under her. She had already been unbalanced, and when she had gone limp, Pete had let her fall to the ground with his arm still snaring her. She had weakly tried to claw at him but she had been too drunk and uncoordinated, blindly slashing out into the darkness.

Tired of her pointless efforts, Pete had tired to pin her hands down above her head as he grasped her neck with he free hand but had inadvertently broken her wrists. As silent gasps had escaped her lips, he released her hands in order to retrieve his knife. Kneeling over her, Pete had growled, "He has a family.. He doesn't need you, whore."

As wet, choking sounds came from her lips and Pete had decided to silence her for good.

Even after she had been nothing more than bloody remains, Pete had thought her eyes were looking up at him, pleading for mercy. He had never been granted mercy as a child, especially when another pretty blond thing had ruined his life…

It was after that he had realized how foolish he had been. How much of a mess he had made. Pete had thought the same after the last one, another one he had taken out in the open and so vulnerable. "Idiot," he had muttered while shaking his hands off, letting blood fly off of his hands.

Hands he had always been self-conscious of, marred by smooth scars after burning his hands on a hot plate, trying to make dinner for his mother…

Such a mess… so much blood…

Just like his mother.

No, never like his mother… she hadn't deserved it, the Whore had.

The ensuing hours had been spent driving around and yelling at himself, taking a long, mixed route to his house. The blood had finally congealed, leaving his hands sticky and hot. Finally pulling up his drive, Pete opted to park in the seclusion of the garage and enter the house from the side. That way he wouldn't track a mess in.

Pete stripped down to nothing, putting everything had had been wearing into two brown paper bags. He then used the utility sink in the garage to wash his hands, arms and face, a precursor to a much needed shower. Pete put the bags with a pile of empty cardboard boxes that needed to be burned the next morning anyway….

Finally stepping into the house, he breathed a sigh of relief. That was until he heard her calling his name softly.

Pete's hands flew to his temples and rubbed vigorously in an attempt to shake the voice from his head. A futile attempt, for a moment later, the voice returned, "Peeee-ter."

"No," he shook his head, but instead of heading to the bathroom, he followed the voice to the spare bedroom, it's door always locked shut, just as his mother's room had been.

Whenever his mother had been about to come out of period of bad days, she would find the energy to call for him. Usually, he would have to fetch her a glass of water or get her the ebony handled hairbrush from her dresser. He had always obeyed whenever she had called for him, not knowing when she would feel well enough to spend time with him again.

As she began to feel better, she would talk for hours, her voice so quiet and even.

Pete pressed his ear to the guest room door and heard, "Peter, tell me. Where is she?"

"She's gone," he mumbled softly.

"She's what?"

He repeated himself with more conviction, "She's gone."

A dry laugh echoed from within the room, "She can't hurt anyone now, can she?"

He shook his head in response, his mind looking back to the pleading eyes from earlier that evening.

The voice continued, "Peter, you are my good boy. My special boy. Always looking out for me…"

"Always."

"You make me so proud."

He felt a tightness in his chest as he listened to his dead mother's voice. His breaths became ragged and he did his best to choke back the tears. As his cheeks grew wet and hot, he retreated back down the hall and into the bathroom.

After he showered, after he wrote in his journal, then he would sleep.

Then he would dream of his mother's happiness.

^V^