Chapter Five: The Silent Era
Gwendolyn couldn't miss the amusement in the masked man's voice.
"Come now Miss Mourn, you know that everything said in the newsroom is not true."
Gwendolyn blinked at Bane, swallowing hard as she held her hands out to her sides.
Behind his mask, Bane's lips twitched as he saw her slim fingers trembling.
Gwendolyn's eyes dropped to Vincent's body, the blood flow had slowed to a steady seep, the large caliber bullet had torn a hot, wet path through his brain, bisecting the hemispheres.
"What do you want?" she asked as she returned her startlingly bright eyes back to his, the inky black pupils pulsing in time with her heartbeat, within the cerulean blue orbs.
"Why to do your job Miss Mourn," Bane stated in a casual melody.
He didn't give Gwendolyn time to speak before he continued, "you'll report on the progress of Gotham's liberation from the front lines."
Gwendolyn shook her head, confused at what Bane was saying. "Report? Report from where?"
She pressed her lips together to keep from adding that she wasn't a war correspondent. Being on the front lines was when she didn't have her pore minimizing makeup or an air-conditioned set.
"Alongside Talia ah Ghul and myself of course, you'll tell the people of Gotham to bend the knee," Bane rasped as he gestured at Vincent's fallen corpse.
Gwendolyn felt a flare of indignation. "You can't control my voice, use me as some instrument in your terrorist plot," she snapped.
"Control?" Bane asked, amused mocking in his tone as he continued. "Control is an illusion. I will take everything, including your voice. Then I will silence you."
"You can't do that," she helplessly stammered, instant nausea blooming in her belly when Bane spoke in the dead language to one of the random paid murderers. The man jogged over and handed Bane a fully loaded handgun, the magazine holding fifteen rounds, a smaller caliber than the first gun Gwendolyn had seen him handle.
Gwendolyn's ability to speak was temporarily hobbled as she watched Bane pull a hooded and restrained news staffer to their knees, ripping off the hood to reveal a fresh-faced young intern.
She recognized him as one of the college kids interning for credits.
"No," was all Gwendolyn was able to shout before Bane shot the nineteen-year-old in the head. The smaller caliber bullet was swaddled in grey matter, coming to a rest after it destroyed the pituitary gland, bleeding adrenaline.
"Please stop," Gwendolyn begged, a sob threatening to break her words.
Bane regarded her for a few agonizingly long, silent seconds. "It's time to go mobile," he finally said as he slipped the gun to the small of his back. "We need to make a stop at your dressing room," he added, gesturing to the swinging doors which led to the main, tiled hallway.
Gwendolyn inhaled sharply, looking around the newsroom at her hooded and bound co-workers before turning on her spiked heels and heading for the swinging exit doors.
Bane followed Gwendolyn down a series of hallways at a close distance.
She fumbled and nearly dropped the key to her spacious dressing room, hurrying inside, feeling the masked man's shadow pressing against her back.
Bane plucked a mesh hamper from beside her antique vanity. "Pack only what you need," he stated in a flat melody as he held out the hamper towards her.
Gwendolyn gingerly accepted the basket, careful to avoid any contact between their hands.
She wanted to ask how long she was packing for but didn't want to hear any kind of number that could equate to the end of her life.
Bane watched as she packed, startling her as he reached past her, his form eclipsing the light as he pulled several outfits from their plastic hangers and added them to the hamper.
Gwendolyn blinked up at him and let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding as he returned to stand by the door. She looked down at the outfits he'd chosen, frowning as she recalled each episode she'd hosted of The Morning Hoot and the panel of experts airing their factual diagnoses of the masked man.
Gwendolyn pawed through Bane's selections with a shaking hand.
She pressed her lips together as she traced the shiny buttons of a peacock blue silk blouse, feeling Bane's eyes on her as he was also recalling the recent airing of The Morning Hoot where she insinuated that the masked terrorist plaguing the city was a scared, little boy inside, hiding behind a mask and well-spoken bravado.
Gwendolyn pushed a pair of well-fitting slacks aside to reveal the plunging neckline of the gown she'd recently worn at the annual Correspondent's Dinner.
Her forehead pulled into a frown as she looked up at Bane who had closed the door to her dressing room, casually leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
"What am I supposed to report on wearing this?" Gwendolyn scoffed.
"That comes later," Bane said, amusement dancing in his voice and eyes.
Gwendolyn shook her head as she pulled the delicate gown from the hamper and tossed it to land soundlessly on the top of her vanity.
Bane pushed away from the door, closing the small distance between them.
"Be careful Miss Mourn, you will not be afforded the same fundamental rights in the new world order," Bane finally said as he plucked the gown from the top of the vanity and returned it to the mix of colorful clothing.
Gwendolyn stared up at Bane for as long as she could without blinking until he took the mesh hamper from her arms.
"You don't have to do this," Gwendolyn said in a hushed tone.
"Miss Mourn, I'm not doing anything, the people of Gotham and their wayward direction has brought the need for liberation upon themselves."
Gwendolyn's full lips parted but no sound emerged as Bane shifted the hamper and gripped her elbow with his free hand. She flinched as his large hand closed around the elbow joint, his strong fingers holding with just enough pressure to not invite a stab at a futile struggle.
As Gwendolyn was led out of her dressing room and back through a series of hallways and service elevators, eventually ending up in the parking garage where she was ushered into a waiting, slate-grey SUV, across Gotham City, Talia touched up her lipstick and walked through the vast lobby of Wayne Enterprises.
"Miss Tate, Miss Tate," the lobby receptionist called out from behind her tall desk.
Talia's lacquered lips pulled into a Miranda Tata smile as she turned her attention to the young woman.
"Miss Tate, I just heard about Mr. Daggett, I'm so sorry. I, um, I didn't expect to see you here today," the young woman said as she anxiously wrung her hands.
The woman stood up straight and cleared her throat at Miranda's expression, overexplaining.
"I thought you'd be at the funeral home arranging Mr. Daggett's internment. You must know that he has no one resembling family around and he was oh so fond of you," the woman added before she trailed off into embarrassing silence.
Miranda smiled so wide; her sharp, shiny canines showed. "Yes, Mr. Daggett and I had a special relationship. I need to pick something up from my office and will then head downtown," she added as the young receptionist handed her a somber looking funeral home selection of coffins, flowers, and services.
As Miranda gave the young receptionist a dazzling smile before she boarded the glass elevator to the top floor of Wayne Enterprises, on the other side of the city, Barsad merged the heavy SUV onto the freeway and pressed the large accelerator to the floor, urging the large engine to guzzle the over-priced fuel and move.
Gwendolyn shifted on the leather seat after Bane slammed the heavy door.
He left her free of zip-tied restraints or handcuffs and had only assertively held onto to her elbow as he directed her movements, releasing her after he'd opened the rear passenger door.
Bane added a few crates to the seat next to Gwendolyn, she was forced to slide across the leather bench seat until she was behind the driver's side, glimpsing shades of the driver's red bandana that he had promptly put on after he discarded the stolen uniform.
Bane put Gwendolyn in that specific seat so he would be able to see her in the windshield visor mirror and with the smallest turn of his head.
Gwendolyn kept her hands clasped in her lap, politely declined Barsad's offer a water or soda.
Bane adjusted the volume knob until he found a repeat episode of Gwendolyn Mourn's The Morning Hoot, Bane was of course the opening, middle and ending subject.
"Please turn that off," Gwendolyn stated from the second-row seating. Behind his mask, Bane's lips pulled into a dangerous smile as he remained wordless but increased the volume, never looking back at Gwendolyn where she glowered, wishing she could reach the handgun he'd moved from the small of his back to a thigh holster.