Title: Do Unto Others: Close Encounters

Author: DC Luder

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

Rating: M

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^

City Hall, June 28th, 9:02 a.m.

Pete stood towards the rear of the group that had assembled before the front steps of Gotham City Hall. Although rain was in the forecast, the sun shone brilliantly and warm air made several beads of sweat form on his brow. Thankfully, he had worn a light short-sleeved cotton shirt with dark khaki pants. Unfortunately, the only shorts he owned were for running, nothing nice enough to wear to a press conference.

Despite living so close, he rarely went into the city if he didn't have to work. Being that Pete would be starting his training at Wayne Enterprises, he decided to make the most of the day. Save for a little spring in his step, everything was as normal as could be. His run that morning had been perfect, not a single nick while shaving and the sky was clear for miles.

He could have easily spent the day home, enjoying the relief that coursed through him after the previous night, but he was wary of letting his mother ruin it for him. Upon returning home, he had explained to her his accomplishments and she had only lashed out at him, telling him that he shouldn't be so happy with himself for only taking one girl. That the others were still out there, waiting, gaining strength, ready to do harm.

Pete wasn't sure he could listen to her all day.

Instead, he had treated himself to a drive into Gotham with a loose plan of having brunch, maybe touring the veteran display at the museum and a walk through midtown. The women were nicer there. Better dressed, better educated, making a living for themselves instead of taking it from others. After parking in a municipal garage, Pete headed north on Court Street towards a cluster of restaurants. With Mimi's still closed, he hadn't eaten out in weeks and had decided to find a nice place for brunch. A small table to himself, quiet time to think.

As he walked by City Hall on his way to a bakery for a late morning breakfast, he spotted the gathering and decided to observe for a moment, ignoring the grumble of his stomach. A tall, dark skinned man dressed in a midnight blue suit stood somberly before a microphone-bearing podium. The closest twenty people held out recording devices and flashed cameras while shouting out questions. The man looked towards each of them and continued to reply that he had no comment and that the Deputy Mayor would be speaking shortly.

A tingle of curiosity rose within him.

Eight minutes after he had found himself a place amongst the other members of the crowd, over a dozen men and women, clad in dark business suits and solemn faces, stepped out of the front doors of City Hall. They lined themselves up in a single row behind the , grimly looking out at the small audience. A middle aged, balding man with a pale face and grief stricken features stepped forward, baring weight on the podium as he stared down at the microphone.

Everyone grew quiet in a hushed anticipation. The man cleared his throat and spoke, his voice tired and stressed, "Good morning, people of the press and concerned citizens alike. Another tragedy has befallen this city, another victim left dead on the streets. Another young woman has lost her life to the hands of faceless madman that has terrorized us for too long. The young woman was... My step-daughter, Sharon."

As he listened, he expected himself to grow angry at this man's harsh assumptions of who had slain his step-daughter, claiming that she was a beautiful young woman aspiring to be an artists, she was in fact nothing more than a common whore. Although beautiful, she was an artist of lies and seduction.

"And although our police force is staffed with driven and talented detectives," he looked over his left shoulder at the row of the suited men and women, "We have called upon outside forces in order to bring this killer down and to make our streets safe once more," as several members of the group applauded softly and began to shout out questions, the Deputy Mayor looked over his right shoulder at the remaining individuals that had followed him down the steps.

"I present to you, Special Agent In Charge Richard Caffery, a special crimes profiler from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. In addition to being known as one of the most successful and ruthless agents in our time, he has a great deal of experience in pursuing and apprehending suspects of this magnitude. Myself, the Gotham City Police Department and the families… of twelve innocent young women… put the utmost faith into Agent Caffery and his team… to… to… I'm sorry, please…"

The man abruptly turned, stepping through the row of people and disappearing into City Hall.

A weak man. No wonder she barely fought back.

Of the people in tailored suits, only one of them managed to shed his frown into a determined look, taking the podium with purpose. He was certainly not as weak as the other man, but he seemed to be hiding something. Perhaps fear.

"People of Gotham City, I promise you that this man, this monster that haunts this city will be brought to justice. He will pay for the crimes he has committed, the lives he has taken."

A tall, nasal reporter shouted out, "So, what does this man/monster look like, Agent Caffery?"

A few chuckles emerged from the crowd and Caffery quickly silenced them, "In our brief time on this case, we have already comprised a list of possible suspects and have spent the last twenty-four hours thoroughly interrogating each and everyone-."

"Agent Caffery," the same nasal voice called out, "What suspects do you have?"

"At this point, we are not releasing the names of the suspects. When we have him, you'll know."

There were several more demands for names of suspects and information that had been "hidden" by police, but he seemed to ignore them, stepping back and waving briefly for photographs. They didn't understand what he was doing. And he wasn't sure how else to make his work any clearer.

Pete watched on as the lead agent and his team made their way to a string of glossy, black SUV's, four to a vehicle. The man who had spoken, Caffery, was still being hounded by reporters, who were barely being held back by a pair of police officers. He finally turned around and waved his hand briefly as he scanned the crowd, his eyes seemingly locking on Pete for a moment.

He was precise in his work, never erring, overcoming hurdles without hesitation.

Pete suddenly wondered f the same applied to those now pursuing him.

They had suspects, more than one.

Pete allowed himself to smirk/

They were guessing.

They had nothing.

"He knows, Peter," his mother's voice whispered in his ear.

He turned to face his right side, but there was only an older man shaking his head. After facing forward again, Pete was surprised that the agent was still looking at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"He knows what you did. He'll punish you."

"No," he managed as he made his way away from the crowd and continuing on his way to the bakery, "I didn't do anything wrong."

She waited to respond, as if whispering in his ear, "I know… but they don't."

^V^

City Hall, June 28th, 9:02 a.m.

"Well, I guess we can just call it quits, this guy seems to have everything under control," Dick growled.

Tim, who was standing between his predecessor and I, added, "This guy gives me the creeps."

They had decided to meet me at City Hall in order to see what remarks and details would be released to the public in light of the Deputy Mayor's step-daughter being killed the night before. I was also interested to see if they would announce the fact that they had a list of suspects or even divulge the names of their persons of interest. Forensics had yet to pick up on anything at the crime scene, the autopsy had revealed only things that the previous eleven had and no witnesses had materialized.

It was as if we were moving backwards, not forwards.

Given that I had woken up late after a fitful two hours of sleep, I had skipped the breakfast that Alfred had in ordered to race into Midtown. On the way, Dick had called to say that both he and Tim would also be attending the press conference. If anything major was revealed, obviously we would have to get to work, but if it was kept short and sweet, perhaps a quick meal at the bakery down the street was in order.

Agent Caffery had just finished speaking, going on about how evil was about to be brought to justice and I had just about as much as I could stomach. I was about to turn to Dick and tell him we should leave when the Deputy Mayor stepped back up to the microphone, a tired and angry face belied by glassy eyes. I'd seen similar expressions on parents who had lost their children to senseless acts of violence far too many times.

His wife, Sharon's biological mother, stepped forward and although I had only seen her daughter's driver's license and corpse, the resemblance uncanny. He placed his hands on his wife's quivering shoulders, supporting her as she looked out to the cameras and the small audience. With tears streaming down her face, she pleaded, "Please, if anyone knows who hurt my baby... Don't let him hurt someone else's child... Don't let him get away with it again... Please… I…"

Her body weakened with a bout sobs and her husband turned her to face him before he took her into an embrace.

As the reporter hordes closed in on the podium, each shouting for a chance to be heard, I nodded to Dick and we stepped out of the pack of jackals. Within a few steps, we were on the sidewalk, walking north. Tim caught up with us and matched his pace with mine, "Barbara said you met with Caffery last night?"

"We shared words," I replied quietly. Some of the bystanders that had stopped to watch the speech had dispersed as well and were off in varied directions. I spotted the bakery and asked them if they was up for breakfast.

Dick had finally smirked, "Hi, I'm Dick Grayson, I'm not sure we've met…"

Ignoring his quip, I led the way up the block. Although it was mid-morning, we were able to find a small table along the window. With the counter and booths already filled with mid-morning patrons, we secured a small table in the middle of the open dining area. The bakery itself had expanded considerably in the last two years, adding a full breakfast and lunch menu that I often had my assistant choose from if I wasn't attending a luncheon or banquet during the workweek.

Having missed two consecutive meals, I had opted for a spinach, turkey and bacon omelet along with black with a side of oatmeal and a dark roast coffee. Dick apparently had a similar hunger for he ordered the Ham and Eggs Benedict special although he had opted for Pomegranate-Cranberry juice. The last to decide, Tim asked for French toast with hash browns and a side of sausage along with an orange juice.

The waitress had smiled at us, "Growing boys."

Despite how busy it was, by the time we began replaying the press conference in hushed voices, our meals had arrived. Although I was hungry and needed to eat something, it became a taste to put forkfuls of warm, fluffy omelet into my mouth. After forcing myself to eat at least half of it, I broke the silence that had come over our table, Anything from the surveillance of the rooms?"

Tim shook his head, wiping his mouth before replying, "They seem over-confident. Bragging how the cops hadn't thought about it beforehand, going after sexual offenders."

"But they did… didn't they?" Dick asked.

I nodded, "It was looked into but seemed implausible. The focus was never on the assault, it was on the control of the victim. Punishing her."

Dick continued, "Right… but for what? They have no connections aside from being young and pretty."

"He's seeing beyond that. We just have to look at them like he did," Tim said softly.

I nodded, "Exactly."

For the last four months I had done nothing but try and get myself into the mindset of the man stalking the streets of Gotham. While Barbara managed to juggle her own work on top of whatever I unloaded on her, I had been looking into abuse cases through social services that dated back as far as thirty years. Traumatic events often changed the paths of children, ending their innocence in a blink of an eye. Where I had chosen the higher road, the man I was seeking had opted to follow a different path.

And yet despite my efforts, I was at a dead end where he was trucking right along.

As Tim and Dick talked amongst themselves about the surveillance footage from the agents' suites, I let my the gears of my mind turn silently. I had given myself too much time on this case, let him get to bold and too brave. I had dealt with far worse in my time, and victim tolls that reached the triple digits, but I had always been able to unravel the clues, however subtle, and bring in those responsible.

The only thing that was different, my practical mind mused, was that I had allowed myself to lower my guard personally, letting Selina into my life. I had always kept my work before my personal life, before and after I had exposed myself to her. When working my way through the city, all of my energy and focus went into patrols, never straying to futile thoughts of what she was doing or what she was thinking. I ahd it under control, I had been able to split my life into perfect and polar opposites, but Selina was the only link between the two…

And since all of the other variables had remained the same, logically speaking, the one that had changed was the one to bare the blame.

I hated myself for letting the though cross my mind...

Suddenly, our waitress arrived to top off our beverages, sighing to herself before putting on a cheery smile. When she departed, she went the long way around to get behind the counter, which seemed strange since timeliness was a priority in her trade. Looking over my shoulder, I spotted a tall, curly haired man smoothing out his shirt as he quickly walked towards the door. When we had entered, I had let myself scan the faces and figures in the crowded bakery, more out of force of habit than for any other reason. He had been reading a newspaper at the counter and when I looked to where he had been sitting, I noticed he had left it behind. Nothing outstanding about him at all, near middle age, well built, plain face.

Tim was staring as well, his mouth chewing slowly and his eyes sharp as razors as he watched the man walk out of the bakery. Dick looked up as well, as confused as I was.

"What?" he asked.

Tim shrugged and stabbed a crumb of scrambled egg, "Nothing. Guy touched the waitress's butt when she walked by. I thought it was an accident but he was staring right at her…. Uh, backside."

I nodded, thinking of all the times that Bruce Wayne had to undressed women with his eyes and how many lame sexual innuendos he had dished out over the years.

Not in the proper setting to get into any serious detail, I told them to meet me at the Clocktower that evening at nine. Tim nodded, "Cass is working with Barbara right now on the interrogation room tapes, looking for body language confessions as she called them."

I nodded, setting a fifty dollar bill on the table, "Good. I want you to keep working on the surveillance. Dick… I know you're on vacation, but if you wouldn't mind dropping by police headquarters."

He smirked as he rose from the table, "And put my big nose into their business, no problem. I'll bring Gordon some coffee, play it up like a social call."

As we made our way to the door, Tim asked, what about you?"

"I, regrettably have to put in an appearance at Wayne Enterprises… hope to use an exit strategy to get out by noon."

Dick held the door for the woman who had exited behind us, "Well, it's a beautiful day… and I think you could use nine holes to relax, get some sun."

If only it was true…

Departing in the opposite direction as them, I walked briskly and kept my eyes up and my ears opened. I had never enjoyed walking the streets during the day, seeing how they were so crowded and jumbled, pedestrians packed onto cracked sidewalks. As hard as it was to believe, I always felt safer in the middle of the night on the rooftops of twenty story buildings.

I had another eight blocks to go before reaching Wayne Tower when my cell phone chirped from my pants pocket. I found it and answered without looking at the Caller ID, "Yes."

"I don't think it's polite to greet someone of my caliber with the answer to a yes-or-no question, Bruce."

Usually at the sound of her voice, my mind eased itself of its worries. But with dark thoughts plaguing every corner of my mind, I found Selina's soft voice on the verge of being irritating. I corrected my greeting, "Hi."

"Much better. I watched the press conference on the news… Heavy stuff. At least they didn't paint targets on anyone's back."

"Not yet."

She paused, sensing the tension in my voice before asking, "Were you coming back here?"

I had left her sleeping in my bed this morning without making the attempt to wake her in order to say goodbye. "No," I said too quickly, too sternly, "Sorry, I've got some things to take care of."

"You and your things," she replied quietly before her tone sharpened, "Well, I'll let you go so your things can get taken care of."

"Selina, wait-."

"I don't want to use up my weekly allotted time with you. Seems to me I've wasted most of it sleeping your bed…"

It was difficult to tell over the phone if she was angry or if she was just picking on me. I had always used the look in her eye to match the emotion to her voice.

After avoiding a head-on collision with a messenger on a skateboard, I said, "I can be there by noon. Two at the latest."

"Bruce… don't worry about it. I'll call you later tonight."

Click.

The few hours I had been forced set aside for work was promptly reduced to forty-eight minutes. The second I stepped foot on the executives' eighty-second floor, I realized it would be an all day affair and not a brief visit. The broad, glass surface of my desk was layered in documents, neatly, but still overwhelming. I had been neglecting my role in my family's company for the better part of a month. Taking a seat, my assistant, Melinda, buzzed in and asked if I had a request for coffee.

"Something large and very strong."

"I'll get right on it, also Mr. Fox-."

"Don't tell him I'm here, I have to leave by eleven if I'm going to make the pre-tee off luncheon."

"Okay…" she replied hesitantly.

As I skimmed the phone messages left for me in neat rows on my desk, I found three of them worthy of returning. The remaining four dozen pink swatches of paper were crumbled up and tossed in the recycle bin. From there, I quickly scanned the coming week's schedule, nothing of which technically required my presence save for the shareholder's meeting on Friday.

Melinda appeared with a large, glossy black mug as I sampled it, she smiled, "Well, I prepared this so you can review the agenda for the shareholder's meeting…"

I took the hefty packet form her, "Fantastic. I'll have my caddy read them to me."

She shook her head, "Well, I prepared things for the other meetings, but I figured you would opt out of them."

I winked at her, "You know me better than I do." Rising from the still cluttered desk, I promised to be in first thing the next morning.

"Also… Wednesday there's an orientation brunch for new employees, and it's been highly recommended by the HR department that you donate a few spare minutes to make an appearance, eat a bagel, shake some hands.."

I nodded, patted her shoulder, "Warm welcome to the new crewmembers. I've got it. What time is it at?"

"Eight."

I stepped back, "In the morning?"

She smiled and shook her head, "Well, actually it's at nine, but if I told you eight, you would show up an hour late and would then in turn be on time."

"You are very clever," I said while heading towards the door, "Nine it is."

^V^

Rockledge State Park, June 28th, 6:21 p.m.

Rockledge, a rural town forty-five miles beyond the Gotham City limits boasted two things: the cherished state park that covered over two thousand acres of trees, trails, rivers and mountains and a quiet, friendly atmosphere, the kind desired by many to raise children in.

Pete had spent his early childhood there, until his mother died.

During the summer, when things were still okay, his father had taught him to fish there, his mother had taken the family there for afternoon picnics. When they had stopped being a real family, Pete rode his bike to the park on his own, trying to recreate memories on his own. In fact, the day he was due to leave with his Father and the Whore, Pete had run away Rockledge Park and had hid in the bathhouse. A park ranger had found him that night and promptly taken him home.

The Whore had been livid that they had to wait until the next day to move.

Parked in one of the smaller camper lots, Pete stared out at the massive lake that sprawled before him. He remembered his fifth birthday party had been held there. At that age, everyone in the class went to each other's parties but he had feared that they wouldn't come to his. But just as his mother had promised, all twenty kids showed up bearing gifts and birthday cards and big smiles.

On his sixth birthday, he had sat next to his mother on the bed as she stared at the wall.

With school out for the summer and considering the beautiful weather, the beachgoers were jut calling it quits. Mothers packing up coolers and towels, fathers chasing down young children as they tried to make one last splash in the shore. Young men and women sat on the dock leading fifty yards out into the lake, their laughter echoing softly. The lifeguard on duty was making a final announcement that to the patrons that the beach was closing in thirty minutes.

Although he would occasionally use the pool at the YMCA or at one of the five health centers he was enlisted in for lap swimming, he rarely swam in open water. As a child, his father had warned him of lake monsters and giant crabs, and even though he knew better as an adult, he still heeded his warnings. Occasionally, he liked to visit the park's spacious beach, not only for personal desires but because it was clean and well-maintained, something he truly appreciated.

During his long drives, generally one out of five ended in the very same spot in the park. Same parking lot, same view, same spot as long as it wasn't occupied. He liked it when he made it in time for sun set as to see the orange reflections dance across the water. He had made that particular trip out to the park to let the water lap over his bare feet as it crept up the sandy shoreline, an attempt to try and put his mind at ease… but it had been too busy. With the families already back to their campers and cars, only the four young adults remained, slowly making their way off of the dock.

Pete studied them, seeing how the sun's reflections off of the water had become too bright and hurt his eyes. One was tall, all legs and had wavy brown hair that ran the length of her back. Her bright smile reminded him of Christine and he looked down at his hands in self-hatred. His prompt leaving at the bank had no doubt affected her, and he was uncertain how he felt about that. She had always been nice to him, genuine and thoughtful. A rare rose amidst the thorny briar patch.

The other girl in the group had been wearing a skimpy two piece suit, her blond hair tied up in a chaotic bun. She flirted shamelessly with their two male counterparts, both wearing knee length swimming trunks. They laughed, nudged each other and then promptly began a game of tag once they reached the sand, the dark haired girl's laughter was music to Pete's ears.

There was usually a period of time where he could try to be happy, try to be normal. He had always known he was different, but rather than completely accept it, he secretly wondered what it would be like if he had lived a different life. If he hadn't lost his mother, if the Whore had never ruined his life… A selfish act, wanting to have a different life, wanting to have more, wanting to be like everyone else. Whenever Pete found himself following that line of thought, it only fueled him, reminding him why he had to keep his promise.

And why he always would.

It hadn't felt right, the previous night. She fought back more than the others but he was conflicted in completing the task, something that had never happened before. He had done everything right, waited until the right time, went through the right steps and chose the right one. In fact, it had been more than the right one, perhaps too right. Her step-father was an important man, but it didn't change the fact that she was a monster.

The fact that the police had been actively looking for him for four months and had not come after him suggested that Pete was safe from being interrupted by them. The federal agents didn't seem to bother him either, especially since they announced that they had questioned suspects and he hadn't heard a word from them. It wasn't that he wanted to get away with what he was doing, he knew on some level that it was wrong to take a life, especially if he applied the rule his mother had raised him on.

But was it better to let them roam free? Let them get stronger, let them target their evil on innocents?

No, it wasn't about getting away with his actions. It was about righting a wrong, one no one had cared about but him. It was the satisfaction that he was appeasing his mother and also making the world a better place. For a long time, he had been able to sate her with minimal effort, but in the last month, she had been unrelenting and knowing he had done right was not enough. It troubled him to some extent, mainly because he was worried of letting her down and at the same time, making a mistake.

In his work, he was still in control, able to stay calm and collected. But for day-to-day functions, he found that he was slipping. Yelling at the woman in the traffic jam had been the start of things, of which had escalated that morning. Biting his lip, he thought back to how he had reached out and touched the waitress at the bakery. Impulsive and uncalled for, but Pete couldn't help himself. When he had left, he walked to his car, got in and fled the city in order to drive to the state park.

She had called him a pervert.

The Whore had called him the same name once, saying little boys who peed the bed grew up to be perverts.

They were wrong…

From the silence of the car, Pete heard his mother's voice, "Name calling is a dishonest thing to do, Peter. I would go back there and teach her a lesson."

"No, it's too late," he said quietly, but for a change without the frailty that his voice took when speaking with her. As he closed his eyes, he continued, "It was my fault, not hers."

"It was always her fault, Peter, always. You were never to blame."

"But I was the one who-."

She interrupted him with shushing noises, "Don't raise your tone, Peter. It was always her fault and it will always be her fault. That's why you must do what do, so that they can learn, all of them."

Leaning forward, he rested his brow on the steering wheel. It was the first time all day that he felt tired. First time he had felt tired in a long time. He apologized for raising his tone, still with his brow on the wheel. He was about to ask her what he could do when he heard a tapping on his driver side window. Jumping up, he looked to his left to see a uniformed man looking down at him. His first impression had been a policeman, but upon closer inspection, he recognized the garb of the state park ranger.

"Sir, are you all right?" the ranger asked through the open window.

Pete nodded and spoke quietly, "Must have dozed off."

The ranger offered a polite smile, "No problem. Do you have a camping permit?"

Pete shook his head, "No, I was just visiting for the afternoon… needed to get out of the city."

"I hear you… well, Park's closing up, if you're okay to drive, you can follow me to the exit."

"I am, sir... And thank you."

Pete watched the ranger return to his own vehicle, a large red truck with massive tires and floodlights fixed to the roof, and turned the Jeep in order to follow him out. Even in one of the quietest places, he still couldn't find peace. Hey waved as they reached the exit, passing the truck at a slow pace before heading up to the turnoff back onto the county highway. As he started the trek home, Pete did his best to think about his future and not his past. A difficult task, but one he felt was necessary.

While training for Wayne Enterprises, he would undo his connections at the Bank and would be able to leave that part of his life behind. He would be able to start anew, something he had tried several times in his life.

He couldn't abandon all of his past, not in a million years.

How could he possibly forget what the Whore did to him and his family? How she drove his mother to an early grave and forced his father into marrying her? A vixen, a sorceress, a witch. She alone had forced him into a life of violence, where he took control over others that were like her in a way he never even dreamed as a child.

Like his mother had said, it had been her fault, not his.

A sudden horn honk and shouting snapped him back into the present. There was no car behind him and large pines on the side of the road, the very outskirts of the state park, he reasoned. Directly in front of him was a car parked in the middle of his lane with no lights on and a young woman waving her arms.

Despite his quick reflexes, Pete did not swerve out of his lane to the left or right and was unable to stop completely from his fifty-five mile per an hour traveling rate. With a remarkably calm look on his face, he rear ended the stalled car that rested in the middle of his lane as the young woman raced off to the shoulder. Without hesitating, Pete cut the ignition on his car, unbuckled himself and stepped out. Aside from a slight burning on his neck where the seatbelt had abraded his skin, he felt no other sites of pain on his body.

Then he looked at the front of his car.

The hood had crumpled considerably and there were soft wanes of smoke sifting out and into the sky. The left hand tire had jutted out from under the car nearly four inches and the hubcap had been forced off. Both headlights were shattered, revealing the small bulb and the guts of wiring. As he surveyed the damage, the young woman ran up to him, swearing and screaming in a panic. After his long day, Pete had done his best to remain calm, "Are you all right?"

"All right? Look at my car! It just had a dead battery, now thanks to you asshole, it's a helluva lot more!"

She strode over to him, her high ponytail bobbing and her pixie face scrunched with anger. When she was a mere yard away she asked sarcastically, "What are you?

Blind and deaf? I was honking and waving my arms! Damn lucky I jumped out of the way when I did. This is all your fault!"

"Why were you in the middle of the road. You are supposed to pull off onto the shoulder."

"Um hello, do you honestly think I am strong enough to push my car by myself?" the woman snapped before turning away, swearing at her phone for not having service.

"We need to exchange insurance information."

"Well, first, we need to get a tow truck. And the cops. And you need to see your fucking eye doctor."

The very moment she turned away from him, he heard his mother, "It was all her fault, Peter, not yours."

"I should have been paying better attention," he replied.

The woman thought it had been directed to her and she shook her head, back still towards him, "Damn straight you should have… my uncle's a lawyer, you're screwed, pal."

"How dare she threaten you, Peter. She wants to hurt you."

"No," he muttered and strode after the girl.

As one of his hands grabbed her ponytail, the hooked around her neck, ending her profanity but cutting off her oxygen. As she frantically writhed in his hold, Pete dragged her to the shoulder and crossed the shallow ditch.

"It was all your fault," he whispered into her ear, tilting her head back by pulling on the mass of fair hair.

After stepping into the thick trees, Pete found a small, fern covered area, shoving her to the ground roughly so that she landed face down. He knelt on top of her, digging his knees into the back of hers as she gasped for air and clawed at the ground, trying to pull herself away. When she tried to reach back and claw at him, swearing and coughing hoarsely, he let go of her hair hand hit her, hard, at the right temple. She somehow managed to roll around from underneath him, kicking and clawing at him desperately.

She let out a muffled cry from under his hand as he hit her again, and again. In the dark cover, he could barely see her, only her bright, glassy eyes as they fluttered white. Pete paused for a moment, staring down at her limp figure as it struggled to breathe. Lifting his hand had been striking her with up to the night sky, he saw that it was bloodied.

He flashed to images of his mother's blood on his hands, how slick and warm it had been.

The rest was easy.

^V^

Southern Border of Rockledge State Park, June 29th, 3:21 a.m.

While watching the local six o' clock news over a cold roast beef sandwich and a cup of coffee, three feature stories of interest had been broadcasted. First had been a recap of the Deputy Mayor's press conference and morning news appearance and his plea for the killer to be brought in. In addition, there was coverage on SAIC Caffery's words formt hat morning as well as a special interview where he listed the crucial profile that he and his team had developed based on the facts that he had personally taken and observed in the investigation. The third had been that a county sheriff had come across two abandoned cars, both appeared to have sustained damage from an accident, but no signs of drivers or passengers on the scene.

The first car had been a small four-door sedan while the second had been a large SUV, both severely damaged from the collision, the latter rear-ending the former. What was peculiar was that both had the license plates and registrations cards removed, in addition to the VIN numbers scratched off and all personal effects removed. There were no indications of where either the drivers were, but both vehicles had been towed to the Gotham County impound yard and anyone with information relating to the accident could call the Sheriff's department.

I had started patrols early that night, taking a break shortly in to meet with the others at the Clocktower. Tim had explained that all of the interrogations made to the suspects in Caffery's list were bogus, all of them more then capable of explaining their alibis and backing them up. Of the two men that they had yet to locate, one had moved to a remote town in western Canada to avoid income taxes and the other had ended up being a missing person for nearly six months. A possible ID on a body in Washington DC was still unverifiable, but it was safe to assume he was out of the running.

I had nodded, "As expected… I want you and Cassandra to work through the bar patrons form Mimi's."

"Again?" Tim had asked, his mask in his hands.

"Yes, again. He had to have been in the bar, it's how he's choosing them. He picks one, let's them get comfortable… let's them get vulnerable. Interrogate the bartender if you have to. Visit everyone on the credit card list and those that she mentioned."

He had put his mask into place before replying, "Consider it done."

Dick had been quick to offer his help covering patrols on the south side of the city. Although I had never been one to show gratitude, especially to him, I was thankful that he had decided to help. His time off from work would be wrapping up shortly, but I had doubted that he was going to leave until things were safe for Gotham. Or at least safer.

I had agreed and let the three of them make their exit before asking Barbara to pull up anything she had on the car accident.

As she typed away, she had commented, "That was weird, wasn't it? As if the people involved in the crash were wiping their hands clean of it."

There had been no progress on the owners at that point or any viable leads on finding them. Fourteen missing persons reports had been filed that day, but none of them were owners of vehicles that matched either of the descriptions. She had promised to keep me posted as I headed back out into the night.

It had been much later that evening that I finally made it to the impound yard, deftly avoiding security cameras and a single patrolman in order to get a look at the two cars. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that the fairly new Jeep had a considerable amount of miles on it. I had Barbara start to run checks on similar makes and models having abundant oil changes or services over the last two years. After she had found nothing out of the ordinary, I had moved on.

With Selina staying at her penthouse that night, I had decided to extend my evening out by making a trek to the scene of the accident. If anything, it would give me time to clear my head and focus on something else, even if only for an hour or two. While making the drive down to Rockledge, I listened to police scanners, changing frequencies as I moved out into more rural settings. It was peculiar, hearing lulls in activity, listening to state troopers and sheriffs chatting more than reporting crime.

Less than a mile from the scene, a large doe leapt into the road, paused, ears erect and eyes glowing. Thankfully, I managed to stop and waited for the deer to make her move. She looked back in the direction she had just come and then bounded across the rest of the road to safety, a fawn, its spots already fading, went right after her.

The remainder of the drive was uneventful. I drove passed the actual scene and found a small dirt turnaround several yards up. After parking in the seclusion of tall, dark pine boughs, I made my way up on foot. I hadn't seen a single car or even a tractor trailer in over thirty minutes. With the nonexistent traffic, I used the privacy to cross the road and make my way towards a pair of skid marks on the asphalt.

The responding units from that morning had already cleaned up shattered glass and debris upon removing the vehicles. Despite their efforts, the tiniest of particles shimmered under my flashlight's beam as I scanned it over the asphalt. The tire marks left on the road were fairly straight, only minute hints of deviation, suggesting no attempt to swerve to miss the first car. According to the sheriff's report the first car had been in its braked position and had a dead battery, suggesting it had broken down and the second car had hit it.

Intentionally?

I photographed the tire tracks and then stepped down into the ditch and flashed my light across the short grass. Some disturbances, footprints, but it was hard to discern what had been from emergency personnel that had responded to the scene or if they were clues to where the drivers had ended up. Carefully searching the ditch, I found signs of heavy contamination, not only from the heavy boot prints but also tire tracks, fresh cigarette butts and even empty coffee cups.

A rustling within the trees caused me to look up abruptly, waiting for silence before I passed my light on the trees. I caught two pairs of glowing eyes reflecting back at me and then more rustling as they took off into the darkness. I followed the sound of movement with careful steps into the foliage, passing the light in front of me to set out a path. The eyes had been fairly low to the ground, so they hadn't been the deer I had encountered moments earlier.

Thirty yards later, there was more than just twigs snapping and dead leaves crackling. Sharp yaps and low growls and lots of glowing eyes. Even as I bared their cover with my flashlight, there was little effect to dim the aggression as the small cluster of coyotes frantically feasted. As if a practiced move, each looked up at me simultaneously and then dashed off. While they scattered away, I stepped forward to morbidly glance at their remains.

It took less than a second to differentiate what lay before me with any forest animal that the coyotes commonly preyed upon. Blue jeans pulled down to a pair of ankles, a ragged white sleeveless shirt ripped opened, exposing a light purple bathing suit and large gaping wounds. Soft, caramel hair matted with leaves and a pair of shocked dead blue eyes.

This had been the prey of a much bigger and much stronger predator.

"Oracle?"

She replied a moment later, "Ah, the midnight torch still burns, what do you need?"

"A crime scene unit and a morgue van."

I heard her typing on the other end, "Why are you out in the middle of no where? Is your GPS malfunctioning?"

"No, I'm just outside of the Rockledge State Park. Investigating the motor vehicle accident."

I crouched down next to the still form and looked beyond the small nips and tears as a result of the coyotes hard work. There were distinguished stab wounds that scarred the torso, deep and visceral gouges in the side that no animal could make. A massive edema at the temple and bruises on the lower abdomen nearly as prominent as those that marred her face and throat.

A pattern I had seen twelve times before.

^V^