Gotham's Discontent

Chapter Fourteen: Bang!

Laura Greenburg jiggled her keys into the dead bolt, twisted the doorknob, and stepped into her apartment after a long day at work. Usual civil unrest at Arkham had taken its toll on her youthful face since her first day. She flicked on the lights in her living room. Phew. That Valeska boy, Jerome, had mentioned that Laura should be on her toes since Delilah had left Arkham. She had thought that at first, Jerome was trying to get under her skin until Jerry the Janitor had confirmed that Dr. Strange had approved of Inmate #9696 had been released to the city streets of Gotham during the late hours of the night. Uncommon, but certainly not unheard of.

She had questions about the decision, but she wouldn't question Dr. Strange's decisions to his face. If he approved it, then Warden Carlson Grey certainly knew about it. It was best to move on and never think about her again; but just because Laura had tried to keep the idea of Delilah out of her head didn't mean that she had done the same.

So, when Laura entered her bedroom to change out of her work uniform, and she turned on the lights, she screamed when she noticed a woman in her bed.

"What—?"

"Hey there, Squirt." Deedee greeted her with a little wave, propped comfortably against the headboard, an ankle crossed over the other, pretending to read the novel that Laura had kept on her bedside. She held it up for Laura to see. "I never understood the obsession with Wuthering Heights."

"Supposed to be romantic."

"Romance is for shmucks." Deedee remarked, sliding off the edge of the bed and jumping to her feet. "I've always been a big fan of mystery myself." A pause. "Oh. I'm sorry, guess you're wondering why I am here."

"I haven't laid a hand on him," said Laura lightly, her voice shaking. She slowly backed up.

Deedee cocked her head to the side. Easy, Deedee. Jerome would have told her to stay calm, to take it slow, the way he liked it in order to enjoy the moment. But something bubbled in Deedee's stomach. Deedee took a step forward. Laura took a step back.

"How's Jerome?" Deedee questioned with a genuine smile.

"He's fine."

"Really?" Deedee breathed. A note of danger.

"He sends his regards…" Laura said quietly. "That's what he asked for me to tell you…'On the off chance you'd stop by', he said. But…"

"You thought he was joking, didn't you?" lamented Deedee, nodding with understanding. "Yeah. He's got that way about him. But if ya live with him for 19 years, you get a bit of understanding when he means it or not. But hell, sometimes I don't even know when he's being serious."

"He's not mad at you for leaving…" Ah, she's trying to say enough to spare her life. "He said so himself."

"Well, I'm not here for him." Deedee said, her face betrayed her annoyance. "See, since our first encounter—you and I—I've had this massive urge to beat your head against a wall. Probably because of that insufferable thing you do: act like you got some balls in front of the guards and puff out your chest when I couldn't get to you. But here we are. On level ground. Just you and me and—"

"Deedee, I…" Laura went to open the door; however, Tabitha stood behind her, shadowed in black leather wearing a half-mask; only her obsidian eyes staring down at the little twerp who had vexed Deedee for a solid month. "Who's your friend?"

"That's Tabby, she's just here to watch." Deedee dismissed Tabitha with a hand.

"No, you can't hurt me. Arkham will know I'm missing—they'll tell the news." Laura warned, shaking her head.

Deedee snorted, "That's kind of the point, pumpkin."

"You want people to know you're out of Arkham…" Laura whispered.

"Well, duh." Deedee slapped her hands against her thighs. "How are people supposed to take me seriously if they don't know who I am, you silly goose?"

Laura opened her mouth to speak, but Deedee marched forward and grabbed Laura by her tight, uniform bun and pulled—Laura fell to the floor as Deedee dragged her by the head, shoving her onto the bed. Tabitha closed the door calmly, enclosing the three of them inside the bedroom. Laura called out for help; Deedee punched her in the mouth.

And what should have been a slow kill as Deedee had always imagined it, she couldn't contain the seething hatred that had bubbled in her chest. Tabitha, tall and sleek, propped herself against the wall with crossed arms as she watched the hot-tempered Valeska hold down the uniformed guard around the neck, and beat the living shit out of Laura's face. Skin slapping hard against skin, just the whacking sounds of bone and blood, wet and soft flesh pulling apart.

Laura's hands flailed, much like her father had done, as she tried to shield her face from Deedee's fist, but it only made the beating worse. Rather Jerome enjoyed it when they fought, it only enraged her. It was act of rebellion, trying to fend her off.

Bloody and bruised, Laura spat blood into Deedee's face. Deedee pulled back, wiping the slime off her cheek with disgust. Laura, mangled, tried to crawl off the bed.

"Look at you, trying to run away. Coward." Deedee said furiously, and she rounded the bed.

Laura, reaching under the bed—

Click.

Tabitha had come to the Laura's side of the bed, a handgun cocked in her hand, holding it to Laura's forehead.

"Drop it," Tabitha said tauntingly, as if to a dog whom had picked up something it shouldn't have. She was right. Deedee met Tabitha on the left side of the bed and saw Laura's hand reaching for a hidden revolver. "Drop it, or I will pull this trigger."

"What does it matter?" Laura said, and although her words were defiant, her voice broke.

Deedee uttered a delicious laugh, jumping for joy. "Oh, it does matter. This is so much better!"

Tabitha glanced at her new friend curiously, a brow raised, and Deedee reached for the revolver with an ecstatic grin. Laura began to cry. Her eyes were bloodshot, cut up, and her nose was broken; blood dribbled down her chin, neck, staining her uniform where Deedee's fist had raised and fell. Deedee gestured for Tabitha to sit Laura up politely; Tabitha did so, her handgun still in her hand.

"Sit up, Laura," said Tabitha.

"Oh, my brother and I played this game when we were kids," said Deedee, checking the chamber of the revolver. "Mostly, it was out of a chance that it'd take us both out. We weren't so unfortunate, but it might be for you, Laura."

"But if you get killed, you won't be able to see Jerome again," Laura pleaded for a way out.

Deedee rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm really good at this game. Guess you never played before."

"It's not about skill, you sociopath!" Laura said, finally angry with the drawn-out game. "It's luck."

Deedee spun the barrel and pointed the gun at her own head, placing the barrel directly against her cheek. "Don't you see, Squirt? The best way for you to die—it's so…Tabitha, what's the word you said earlier?"

"Poetic." Tabitha answered.

"Yes!" Deedee squealed. She pulled the trigger. "Oopsie, I win."

Deedee dropped her smile, staring maliciously at Laura as she shoved the gun between Laura's eyes. "Your turn."

Laura shook her head, "No. No. I don't want to play."

"Yeah, well…" Deedee leaned forward and grinned, "Life ain't fair."

"I didn't do anything to you. I didn't…" Laura wept, "It's not justifiable, I don't deserve this."

Deedee shrugged her shoulders. "I don't really care." Click—

BANG!