A/N: Standard Disclaimers Apply

Chapter Six: Breakfast at MacDonald's

I stood rooted to the spot, and my stomach lurched. Part of me wanted to rip it down right then and there, but, thank God, the detective part took over. I stepped into the shrine and visually examined the pictures. Some were newspaper photographs, but an unsettling many were shots of Rae picking the mushrooms off her pizza, or the going to her new bookstore, or slipping into Gino's for a gelato. Interesting. I didn't even know she liked it. The angles and quality of the shots were amateurish at best. But the shrine builder knew Raven's habits. My attention turned to the cloak. Each piece was dated and marked with the battle location.

The cloak on the wall was made up of various pieces of Rae's cloaks.

"She's perfect, isn't she?" a slow rolling voice said behind me.

I spun around and actually told myself not to go into combat mode. A rail thin young man, about my age, stood there. His skin was ashen, and his black bangs concealed one of his eyes. The other eye had heavy eyeliner drawn out to resemble long eyelashes or tears. One hand was stuffed in his pocket. A cartoon like skull adorned his worn, grey tee shirt, and he loosely held a bottle of imported beer.

"I saw her for the first time," he continued as if I weren't there. "Right over there." He pointed to the dance floor. "She stood there like a dark angel, so pale and mysterious, and yet so innocent and vulnerable. And then we talked." He looked past me to the shrine. "She likes Sondheim. Did you know that?"

I wanted to plant my fist across the bridge of his nose.

He finally looked up and then glanced to away, "You'll have to excuse me. I don't often wax poetic."

"Right," I said very slowly.

He took a long swig of his beer and finally made eye contact with me. His eyes dropped to the large blue bird motif on my uniform, and he snarled. "You."

I narrowed my eyes and waited for him to make the next move. If it was at all aggressive, I already had thirteen ways to take him down planned out. Most of them hurt. He took another look at me and thought better about starting something he knew I would finish quickly. Instead, he dropped to the ground, cross-legged, and cried.

"She was mine until you got all dark," he sobbed. "She was mine, but gave me the 'It's too dangerous' line and told me she wouldn't see me anymore. It was like being cast out of Eden."

I thought he wasn't going to wax poetic.

"So you've been stalking her instead?" I snarled. I stepped over and pulled him up by his collar, pushed him into a wall, put my forearm across his throat, and showed him pictures of three of the dead girls. "Have you ever seen these women?"

He gave me the answer I expected, "No."

"Look at them again."

"I told you, I don't know them." He glanced to the shrine and then back to me. "This is about the dead girl found dressed as her, isn't it?"

My silence answered the question for me.

"I swear, Nightwing, I would never hurt her in any way. I… I still lover her more than anything in the universe. I know that you will catch whoever's killed that girl; it's what you do. But, it wasn't me."

I dropped him and put the pictures back in my pouch before stepping over him. Before I left the alcove, I looked over my shoulder and growled, "If I even think you're within two blocks of her or you're leaving the city, I will make life very unpleasant for you."

I peeled off the jacket and walked out the front door much to the amazement and astonishment of the bouncer, the ticket booth clerk, and all the patrons waiting for their turn. I completely ignored them, but one of the girl wannabes jumped out of line and pushed a flier on me. I would have crumpled it up right then, but I tried to be nice just to clear my head of negativity. The Goth girl got back in line, fanning herself and giggling with her friends.

I glanced down at the paper politely, not intending to read it, but thank God, I did. The Jump City Convention Center was hosting the first annual Haney County Cosplay Convention. It listed the date, two weeks from Saturday, website, contests, "come dressed as your favorite" whatever… Great. There was a killer playing dress-up, and now there'll be a ridiculous amount of targets all in one area. This day was getting better and better. I was as close to a lead on Rohypnol now as when I started the night, meaning I had nothing.

Sure, Goth boy was creepy and a stalker, but a killer? Without evidence, tying him to one of the crimes there wasn't much the police could do. Me? That was a different story. I glanced at my fingertips, rolled a few strands of his hair between my thumb and forefinger, and grinned darkly. Before I got to my bike, I put the hairs in a small zip top bag and put them in a secure pouch on my belt. Having access to some of the most advanced tech on the planet is a definite plus, and Cyborg can do a DNA test in the morning. I just need to see if there's a comparative sample from the crime scenes.

There was one place to get it.

I drove to the neat, tidy area of Cardy Street and camped out in one of the alleys between townhouses. The bright colors painted on the houses refused to be muted. I didn't much like the area, personally. It felt like being in an MGM Technicolor extravaganza. Time passed slowly, and I hoped the others were sleeping comfortably. They've more than earned it.

Five-fifteen.

A light turned on in the back of Thirteen Two Seventy Cardy, and I balanced on the concrete wall between the houses. Eileen MacDonald stepped on her back porch in a long sleep shirt and slippers. She lit her first morning cigarette.

I grinned sarcastically, "Breakfast of champions, Dectective?"