Joice woke up from a dream. Or maybe it had been a nightmare. She was not so very sure about that. Lately, she was never sure whether or not she dreamed good dreams or bad ones. But it probably did not matter either way. She slowly sat up and looked around her room. She had taken down her posters and pictures, telling her parents that she was too old for them, so that when she looked at the wall with an expressionless face, it seemed to stare back at her with an equally blank look. A tingling feeling on her hand caught her attention. There was a spider on her hand. As Joice regarded the spider with something between mild interest and indifference, it came to her that her dream had been a memory.
It truly was a magnificent cathedral. The sun barely shone through the stained-glass windows and the only light provided came from two rows of lamps that hung from the ceiling. To Sophie, this did not really qualify as light. It looked more like the shadows were less prominent in the light cone instead of gone.
The thing most illuminated within the building was the coffin which contained Carmine Falcone. Two dozen candles were placed next to him and shed light on his mortal remains.
Sophie had never been to funeral and while she had, during her time in Gotham, witnessed people die, looking at a corpse barred up in a wooden coffin was something else. The pale and powdered face of the dead man seemed to be one of the brightest elements in this scenery.
Strangely, Sophie felt drawn towards the body. She wondered if the face of the former mobster looked peaceful, if he looked like someone sleeping or made of wax. Would a smell of decay omit from him? Or did they use chemicals to cover everything up that might be perceived as unpleasant.
She could hear her steps echoing through the building, but no one seemed to notice or mind the sound of the intruder that was walking closer to the front of the building, making her way like a moth to the flame.
Fortunately for her, she was early and there were only few other people gathered around who paid little attention to the woman who was standing in front of the coffin with her eyes fixated on the dead man's face.
She smelled… nothing, really. There was a faint smell of incense and flowers and maybe some perfume of another attendee. But nothing rotten.
The figure in the coffin looked as if it did not belong to this world. Or maybe just simply not to this place. His features were so pale that they seemed to have a bewildering glow.
Sophie slowly raised her hand to touch the dead man's face – and stopped herself. She had done enough to satisfy her curiosity. And she had no idea how much time passed since she had made her way to the front of the building.
Sophie realised that it would be wise to get away from the centre of attention and to turn as invisible as possible. With hung shoulders and her eyes fixated on the floor, she made her way to the back of the church and took place in one of the last rows which were untouched by both the candles' and the artificial light.
In the safety of the dark, Sophie allowed herself to examine the few people who were present so far.
Press, she concluded when she saw a young lady in a blouse, blazer, and skirt with a notepad in her hand which did not look too sad in the given circumstances. Instead, the woman chatted happily with a man who clung to his camera as if it was his life.
A priest once came seemingly out of nowhere to relight a candle that had gone out and then disappeared in what must have been a side room.
So far, she did not see anyone suspicious that lived up to her ideas of what a criminal mobster must look like. But, to be fair, her ideas were mostly based on Victor Zsasz.
Along with the number of guests, Sophie's disappointment grew. There seemed to be nothing but old married couples. And if any of the men in expensive suits were gangsters, the way they snorted into their handkerchiefs must have been the perfect disguise.
When the two men walked by her row, Sophie was so surprised that she almost choked on the yawn she had no longer been able to supress.
What caused many heads to turn after the weird pair was not their difference in height.
Maybe it was the smaller man's gait which looked as if his ankle had been twisted too far once and then stayed in this position. Maybe it was the fact that he, despite his height and gait, walked down the aisle like he owned the place. Maybe it was the lethal aura of the man who accompanied him. Maybe it was their reputation that induced –
"They say Penguin killed Falcone", Sophie heard a man seated in front of her whisper far too loudly and with undisguised disgust in his voice.
Or maybe it was the rumours. The rumours that she came for, that she had hoped to hear.
But with the arrival of Victor Zsasz, Sophie had forgotten about her initial quest. Instead of paying further attention to the man who had spoken, her eyes remained fixed on the bald man's head and followed him throughout the room until he finally sat down, far too much away from her, and her view upon his scalp got covered by the silly hairstyle of some vain woman.
Sophie sighed.
Had Victor Zsasz seen her when he came in? She thought that she had found a great corner for hiding, in the shadow of one of the cathedral's pillars, but the fact that no one else seemed to have taken notice of her so far did not necessarily mean that the hitman hadn't either.
Should she try and talk to him after the service? It would be reckless to confront him in the company of the Penguin. But she really wanted him to notice her.
Her attempts of looking through the hairdo of the woman sitting behind Zsasz were stopped when Sofia Falcone was rolled in and captured her attention.
The grieving daughter of the man in the coffin wore a black veil over her face, a black dress which left her pale shoulders uncovered and dark red leather gloves. In Sophie's esteem, she looked stunning.
A bearded man with a serious look on his face moved the last Falcone's wheelchair closer to the front of the cathedral and stopped when James Gordon stepped in front of them.
When did he get in? Sophie felt bad for not being more attentive.
They were too far away for her to make out the words they were saying, and since she could only see the back of Sofia's head, the one thing she could focus on was Gordon's face.
In situations like this, Sophie wondered why she had never learned lip reading.
She was nine and at Lisa's place. The adults assumed that their daughters were playing with puppets when in fact they were saving the planet from evil aliens who had infiltrated their school and, from their drawings, showed some similarities with their P.E. teacher. And only the town's best detectives (and their two interns) would be able to uncover the space conspiracy. Joice was rather pleased with the plot and the quality of their drawings. She was rather sure they would become famous once their comic was published. She watched Lisa draw a terrifying alien with a lightsaber. They had wanted to go for laser guns first, but they had turned out to be rather tricky to draw. When she took a pencil to work on her spaceship, Lisa let out a small scream and made her way to the wall faster that it should be possible. It was rather unsettling, but Joice decided to be brave.
"What's wrong?" She looked at her friends trembling lips. "Are you hurt?" "There's a spider." Joice was not keen on spiders. She did not hate them, and she wouldn't say that she was scared of them. They just made her feel very uncomfortable. But she decided that she had to be brave for her friend. Slowly, like an animal of prey, she approached the spider and crouched down in front of it. With a trembling hand, she tried to capture the little animal which tried to escape- and crushed it. Joice felt guilt rush through her body and burning on her cheeks. She could almost hear her father say "How people treat animals shows a lot about their true nature. Be careful with people who neglect or harm those weaker than them"
Once Sophie had given up on her futile attempts on lip reading, she noticed that Victor Zsasz was no longer seated next to the penguin-man. Within seconds, her eyes, which had immediately picked on the task of frantically scanning the room, found the tall figure. He was standing in front of the corps and paying his respects. That was interesting.
First of all, it occurred to her that the simple idea of an assassin at a funeral had something absurd about it. Secondly, she could have sworn that, while his posture was usually admirably upright, his shoulders now hung low. Sophie would have loved to see his face.
From behind, it seemed as if he was fumbling around with his hands. Almost shocked, Sophie imagined that Victor Zsasz might be praying. The idea quickly proved to be as ridiculous as it had sounded. Sophie heard a sound that, ever since she had moved to Gotham, almost became familiar. Victor Zsasz had cocked his gun.
Is he going to shoot a corpse?
Fortunately, he didn't. Although she was quite sure that the press would have enjoyed witnessing that. Sophie could not see what he had done, but there could be a chance that she might do so in the future.
With long strides, Victor Zsasz made his way through the rows of benches, ignoring the penguin-man and passing by Sophie without taking notice of her.
He still looks terrible. Sophie observed when the centre of her attention came into a better view. The dark circles under his eyes indicated that he might not have slept in a very long time.
She looked around to make sure that no one, especially not Oswald Cobblepot, was looking into her direction, and then quickly got up to follow Zsasz.
Joice gave the spider on her hand another glance, and, when it did not move, slowly got out of bed and made her way to the window. Her hand did not tremble. If she thought about it, she hadn't trembled for months. Lately, she seemed to be immune to the cold. She opened the window in a swift motion and held her hand out in the cold. The spider still did not move, so Joice decided to wait. After several minutes, she could see a spinning thread reflecting in the moonlight. The spider had decided to leave. Feeling almost pleased, she brushed the thread against the outer façade of her house, closed the window, and went back to bed.
Her shoes were not suitable for running and Sophie was sure that she wasn't the epitome of gracefulness when she hastened behind her obsession.
"Victor wait!" She shouted and watched the figure in front of her come to a halt. He didn't turn around until she had caught up with him.
He looked at her expectantly.
Sophie could feel herself blush. She had no idea what to say to him. And it certainly did not help that she was still breathing heavily.
To throw her curiosity into his face seemed rude (which he wouldn't mind) and insensitive (which he, at some level, could mind).
Instead, she decided to settle for the truth.
"I have decided to come here because I'm worried about you. You seem upset."
The only comment she received was one crooked eyebrow. The haunted look in his eyes seemed to gain a nuance of irritation. Great.
"Victor, please?" she tried, not sure what she was asking for.
He looked away.
Maybe because he was annoyed of her and her inclination to show up at places she was not supposed to be. Maybe he was tired of her attempts to get through to him. Maybe her unverbalised begging for his affection finally got on his nerves
Sophie suppressed a sigh.
"There are some things I've got to do. I will see you in a couple of days."
And with that, he turned around and left.
Sophie just stood there and watched his figure disappear into an alley. She felt as if her had was both occupied by racing thoughts and utterly dull nothingness.
When a hand touched her shoulder, she winced in fright and jerked around.
It was Gina, who looked confused, disappointed, and angry.
A.N.: Happy new year to everyone. :)
The good news is: I've finally found time to finish this chapter. The bad news is: It took forever. I hope you enjoyed this chapter despite the wait.