Thanks for the reviews on the fic so far guys. It truly means a lot, and each one is very much appreciated. I had to replace this chapter for typing and grammar errors I realized after I had uploaded it.
The police station was buzzing as officers scampered here and there, important papers in their hands. Phones rang wildly off the hook while other officers chatted idly by the water cooler. No one seemed too worried about anything until a newbie on the force came streaking into the office. He was shoving past the other officers, his face reddened from what must have been a grueling run.
One man, a heavyset policeman, held out his hand, stopping his sprinting companion. "Whoa, Rookie! You look like a tomato. You okay?"
"Gordon!" The man blurted out, sweat dripping down his face. "Where's Commissioner Gordon?"
"Here." James Gordon was at his office, having gone out for a quick cup of coffee. "What's the problem, Charlie?"
The rookie pointed wildly towards the glass doors leading to the street. "I came as fast as I could, sir. We found another one."
Gordon rubbed his eyes in frustration and sighed. "Fourth one this week." He muttered before trudging towards the officer. "Alright, Charlie. Show me where he's at."
The rookie drove ahead of Gordon, weaving through intersections, lights flashing and siren blaring. James couldn't bear to see another crime scene. He knew there was a pattern, an obvious pattern, but there were no leads at all. That's what frustrated him the most.
When the squad car parked outside a lavish apartment building, Gordon already knew what he was going to face when he entered the building. He got out of his vehicle and pointed to the group of policemen crowded behind him.
"Make sure to keep civilians OUT of here. This is a crime scene. Understood?" They all nodded and hurried to keep their posts. Gordon turned to Charlie and nodded to the building. "Lead the way."
Various tenants were sticking their heads out the doors, but a quick glance from Gordon was enough to send them back through their doorway. The rookie headed to the elevator and stuck a card into the slot.
"Penthouse?" Gordon murmured and Charlie nodded. The commissioner rubbed his chin, his eyebrows knitted in deep concentration. The silence in the elevator was overbearing. Gordon could have sworn the rookie next to him was going to have a breakdown before they even reached the top.
Once the elevator doors slid open, the two men entered a posh, ornately decorated home. Rich fur rugs were scattered around, modern furniture made of metal and glass were the main eye-catching decorations.
But one thing was definitely out of place. A body, lying face up on the polished marble floors.
"Just like the others." James murmured, circling around the corpse like a vulture. "Rich, handsome young man found dead in the most unlikely place. Here, we have a penthouse. Last one was an opera box." The commissioner squatted beside the body and frowned. "He was posed…like the others. Hands folded together, eyes closed, lying face up. White dress shirt, black pants." The rookie peeked over the commissioner's head and cleared his throat.
"And…the…uh, the black mark on his shirt. Along with the flower."
Gordon eyed the messy black mark on the man's shirt. It was an 'X' shape, located right over the heart. And right beside the mark, running along the sternum, was a single white flower.
"So…you think it's the same person?"
Gordon nodded, grabbing his phone from his jacket. He flipped it open, dialed a few numbers and placed it against his ear.
"Carlson. Gordon here. Listen, get crime lab up here now. We need the whole deal…dust for prints, check for blood, anything and everything. And I need the examiner up here now. We have to check if this guy died the same way the others did."
Gordon closed the phone, wrapped up in his thoughts. Someone out there was killing these wealthy young men…men who suffered fatal heart attacks and dropped dead on the spot. Could there possibly be a criminal out there crazed enough to surprise a normally healthy man into cardiac arrest?
Then again, perhaps they were not so crazed after all. The care and patience it takes to arrange the body in a peaceful manner is something like a mother tucking her child in to sleep.
Gordon couldn't bear it. He rose from his position and headed to the door. "I'll wait for them to get here. Charlie, go take a look around. Don't touch anything. See if there's anything here in the house that can help us figure this little mystery out."
"Few witnesses are coming out, for fear of repercussions. One person, who wishes to remain anonymous, states that the string of recent deaths among aristocratic young men is no coincidence. Gotham's elite is facing a terrifying reality. Is someone targeting the wealthy among them? And if so…they ask…who will be next?"
"Who next indeed." Adriana whispered breathlessly to herself, flicking the radio off. She paced along the wall in her bedroom, her eyes dancing wildly as a toothy grin consumed her face.
The wall was littered with photographs, each one of a man more beautiful then the last. The pale woman raised a hand covered in what looked like black paint or ink and slowly dragged it across the face of one of the men.
"Poor thing. To be cut down so early in life. Sad really." She murmured, cocking her head to the side. Her tone couldn't be called remorseful, but it wasn't cold-hearted either. She felt a little guilty for the men she struck down…but they deserved it anyways. The flirts, the sweet comments, the buying of drinks in order to impress…if she hadn't had these men targeted early on, she would have never been able to figure out who to finish off first.
But her plan was working perfectly. She was striking fear into the hearts of the cowardly city dwellers. It wouldn't be long before cries for their hero would be fulfilled. The bat would come out of hiding and finally…finally she could see him face to face.
Oh the things she longed to tell him, to scream, to beat into his head.
No…for now, she had to remain composed and careful. Any slip ups and she would be caught.
She had managed to come this far. Everyone thought the cause of death was heart failure from a shock of some sort. Oh how wrong they were. She recalled her days of working in a pharmacy and picked her poison wisely enough. It caused all the symptoms of cardiac arrest, but was virtually undetectable. It worked best when inserted into a drink or food. Her vessel for the deadly concoction was something no one had ever used before. Pomegranates. It seemed a little odd…most would expect a drug to be placed in a drink or a more common garden delicacy. But Adriana could see that coming…and she was sure that's where the police checked first. She played her cards right, portraying the depressed young woman in need of attention. Once given to her, she simply spilled her heart out to the unknowing sap. He felt terrible once they heard her story and asked if anything could help. Here she had her lies perfected.
A sob story about the garden she and her husband planted yielded the right environment to introduce the tainted fruit. Her husband's fruits of choice were the pomegranates that grew from the garden. Ever since his death, the tree seemed to die along with him. So, as her grief counselor advised her, she was to rid herself of the horrible reminder.
Thus, she convinced the male would-be-suitor to take the fruit for her sake, just to help her with her treatment. They agree happily and, to show their ability to try and comfort her, they eat the fruit.
It was foolproof. These men were health freaks anyway. The fruit couldn't have been suspicious in the least.
Adriana sneered, casting a surveying eye over the field of new potential victims. All of them were perfect candidates. But she wanted one that would stand out…one that would grab all attention. One that would certainly get the attention of "Batman". Her eyes fell on one photo and her smile curled wider as her calculative, of not slightly psychotic, mind began for focus its attention on the picture.
"Perfect…" she mused, dragging her finger in a circle around the head of the victim, enclosing it in a messy black ring. "He's perfect. Now…where to find him…" She whipped around to the growing piles of newspapers and notebooks scattered around her room. She wiped her hand clean of the black ink before rummaging through the papers.
Her movements grew quick and sporadic, her dainty hands flinging the papers wildly out of the way. She grew agitated as no helpful clue could be picked out. Adriana's patient nature had collapsed and was practically non-existent, unless you count the calculated murders.
Finally, she was rewarded with a single article on the three day old Gotham Gazette.
Mayor Preparing to Throw Charity Gala for Gotham Elite
After murders cause citizens to cry out for relief, a lavish ball is set to raise money for the dwindling police force, as well as to serve in the remodeling of both Blackgate Maximum Security Penitentiary and Arkham Asylum. Various beneficiaries will attend, as well as noted philanthropist Bruce Wayne.
Mayor has great confidence, believing the ball will be a 'terrific success'…
Adriana pursed her lips and squinted, focusing her eyes on the article. She looked at her watch and muttered beneath her breath, hurrying towards the phone. She only had a few hours to get ready…but first, a call had to be made.
She picked up the receiver and listened to the dull hum, struggling for the memory of the number she needed to dial.
Adriana punched in the buttons and waited, the ringing was painfully loud in her ears. Finally a click on the other line followed by a gentle voice she immediately recognized.
"Hello?"
Adriana opened her mouth, struggling to answer. But no words came out. The caller hesitated.
"Hellooo? Is anyone there?"
"C-Cassie…" Adriana managed to squeak in a hoarse, barely audible voice.
"Yes, this is she. Who is…" the woman on the other line paused. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she started up again. "Adriana, is that you?"
"Y-yeah…yeah it's…it's me." She fumbled. It had been ages since she and her sister had spoken. It was like she was talking to a stranger.
"Adriana, I haven't heard from you in…like…forever. Sweetheart, are you okay? Is something wrong?"
Adriana looked down at her feet and her lips trembled as she spoke. "Yes. Cassie…I need to borrow some money."
There was more silence on the other line. Adriana bit her lip and took a deep breath. "Cassie, I need this money…I really do. It's not for anything bad, don't worry…but please Cassie. I need your help."
Finally, Adriana heard a quiet sigh from her sister. "Adriana, I trust you. Come over to the house and tell me how much you need. I'll make out a check."
Adriana's faint smile returned. She felt a genuine relief wash over her, thankful her sister could still forgive her.
"Thank you Cassie. I'll be over in a little bit." She gently placed the phone in the cradle. She held up the article and scanned her eyes over it, seeking out a particular bit of information.
Adriana picked up the phone again and dialed another number.
"Hi, I would like to reserve a table for tonight's gala at City Hall." She looked down at her nails, eyes closing drowsily as the operator drawled out numbers and prices.
"No, just myself. How much? …alright. Thank you. I'll bring a check down there in about…twenty minutes."
Doctor Crane grunted, struggling to find a comfortable spot on the rock hard mattress he was forced to sleep on. Ever since he had gone on the lam, Crane had been living in a dilapidated shack of sorts tucked away somewhere behind Arkham Asylum. No one bothered to come around, so he felt it was the safest place to be…plus, he still had keys to Arkham if he ever needed some more…items…for his experiments.
But now, his experiments weren't on his mind. No. Now, he was occupied with something a little more, intriguing.
Jon sat with the latest addition of the Gotham Gazette unfolded before him. He ran his fingers down the lines and rows of words, but he was barely reading the words. Only certain phrases stuck out like a sore thumb.
Black marks over hearts
White flower
Heart attacks
Rich, handsome, young
Strange crime scenes
Serenely posed bodies
Those rough descriptions of the crime scenes drove Crane's brilliant if not quirky mind to think outside of the box. Since he was unable to study patients in the comfort of his office in Arkham, he took to studying and analyzing petty crimes in the city. But these murders, these cruel crimes appealed to him. He was busy trying to get into the criminal's head rather than trying to find the criminal.
Jonathan stared up at the wall above his bed and frowned, focusing on various articles and things pinned onto the wall. Something seemed so oddly familiar about it all. Obviously, the murderer had something to say. The black marks were a pattern, always placed over the heart. He didn't think their wealth or looks had much to do with it, but was rather were used to get people's attention. The bodies weren't strewn wildly, but were lovingly placed on the floor, hands folded. The flower was an unexpected gesture, showing that the killer felt a sort of guilt over the whole thing.
Crane pushed his glasses up, sighing. It would be much easier if the killer was sitting in front of him. Instead of guesswork, he could study the subject easily. Crane reached out for his glass of water sitting on the nightstand, but wasn't paying enough attention and bumped his hand against it. The glass fell with a startling crash and water spread over the various papers strewn across the floor.
"NO! MY NOTES!" Crane yelped, collapsing to the dirty wooden floor and scooping up his papers. He managed to save most, but others were drenched into nothing more than masses of swirling black ink on paper. Crane cursed as the glass hidden on his notes cut into his fingers and dumped the papers on the bed. He reached down, spotting a napkin not yet fully soaked from the water. He held it in the air and grimaced. His notes on Subject B, Mrs. De Soto,were ruined.
With a hateful snarl, he raised his hand, ready to toss away the soggy commentary, when he hesitated. He looked once more at the unreadable notes, then stared at the articles on the wall. The wheels in his mind started to turn slowly...but a sudden realization hit him. He furrowed his brow, focusing on the newspaper on his bed and the soaking napkin in his hand.
Marks on the heart…an obvious sign ofa broken hearted individual. Love comes difficultly to the killer...so she marks the greatest symbol of love...the heart.
Attention…she wants the bat's attention. She wanted him to get the point...she wasn't going to be taken lightly.
Pose…Crane slapped his forehead. Of course that poselooked sofamiliar. It was the same way bodies are placed in caskets. Another sign pointing to the lady in black.
The white flower…
Jon dropped the napkin on the floor and raced to the front door, if it could be called that. It took a few tries to open, but he finally managed to jiggle the knob and race down the road to his car.
His lovely lady in black thought she could get away…but her chilling clues were just pieces in the puzzle she was making of her life. Jon knew she was going to keep killing until she was either caught or got her wish…the meeting with the Bat-Man.
And where better to cause a scene than the gala Gotham's mayor was throwing just minutes away from now?
Jonathan's faint smile appeared once more. Maybe he could get his wish of studying the killer face to face fulfilled as well.