Celine didn't come to until just a little past noon. She had been content to live out the naughtiest dream she'd ever had involving a certain well-dressed clown, a yard stick, his tie, and her high school's principal office. Needless to say, she was hot and bothered by the time consciousness returned to her. And may have spent a few minutes touching herself to relieve the ache between her legs.
That he'd wandered out of reality and into a sex dream should have bothered her, but honestly with how her week was going it served as one of the few truly pleasurable escapes. If dream him wanted to fuck her overtop the principal's desk who was she to deny him? All that mattered is it stayed in the realm of fantasy where it belonged.
She'd forgotten to charge her phone over the night so plugged that in before gathering up a basket of clothes to do her laundry. At the last minute she ended up grabbing Joker's purple glove and tossing it in with the rest of her clothes. Who knew where his pyromaniac hands have been? A successful clown was a clean clown.
It was only when she flicked on her TV that her well-rested mood subsided.
Martha Graves was dead.
A solemn reporter relayed that a family member checked in on her after she failed to show up for breakfast, only to find her body hanging from a ceiling fan along with a suicide note. In the note she admitted to being consumed with guilt for letting her daughter Elle be sexually assaulted by her then boyfriend. This admittance, plus Elle's death, was ultimately too much for her. She apologized also to Celine for using her as a scapegoat and lying about the lawsuit.
Celine couldn't help it. She started to laugh. Both hands covered her mouth to halt the onslaught of giggles. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes.
By all means none of this was funny. Her heart genuinely went out to Martha despite her actions of the past week. The headspace one had to be in to take their own life…that wasn't something she would wish upon her worst enemy. At her core compassion extended even to the most self-absent of creatures. Martha's suicide felt like a backhanded win.
None of it was funny, but in the span of one night her reputation was on its way to being restored and the individual responsible for tarnishing it would now join her daughter six feet under. The absurdity of it is what fueled her laughter.
When it was finally all out of her system, she frowned, brushing away at the remaining tears.
What just happened? Martha's suicide…I guess I can see it. Maybe John's visit with her in the bathroom brought up some buried guilt. And she realized taking it out on me wasn't as cathartic as she wished it'd be. Still…the timing of it…is it possible John disobeyed my wishes and had a hand to play in her demise? Martha just seemed too…committed to bringing me down.
She stood and walked over to her charging phone. Bruce had texted her about meeting for lunch. He no doubt wanted to discuss her miraculous change in fortune. She asked him if he'd be willing to come to her place for a meal. Who knew if the events of the last few hours would prompt another gathering of reporters outside her building? Her meeting later in the evening with Agatha was the only event worth coming out of hiding for.
Her text to John was short and sweet.
Did you have something to do with Martha's death?
Bruce got back to her first, promising to stop by shortly with takeout.
John responded just a few minutes later.
I could not stand idly by and let her defame you. If this strains our friendship, I apologize. But I will not apologize for defending the hard work you've put in to making Oz possible. She was a leech bent on bleeding you dry; applying a torch to her was the only way to remove her. Just as well…you may be interested to learn that by the time I arrived at her home she had another visitor already there with the same intentions as myself.
Her brows furrowed.
He shot her one more text before going silent.
Do not take lightly Joker's dedication to you. It runs deeper than either of us can fathom.
She lowered herself onto the couch, tapping her phone against her forehead. A strangled noise escaped her. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
John going against her wishes wasn't okay. She understood where he was coming from and wasn't so removed from the situation as to not feel some form of flattery that he'd gone through the trouble. From his point of view, he considered it preserving her integrity.
But her 'no' on helping her out meant no. Regardless of Martha's vindictiveness, she didn't deserve to end up hung from her own ceiling fan, likely with great struggle on her part.
How did she go about dealing with this? Not just her relationship with John, but Joker too as it turns out.
What is it he said last night? No one was allowed to hurt me but him. I get why John did it. Joker on the other hand…what does he have to gain from this? Did Martha's persecution of me really bother him that much? Or is this just him protecting his investment? That investment being…me.
She ran a hand through her hair, fighting down the sudden urge to scream. Her emotions were scrambled all over the place. Disbelief, frustration, regret. And at the root of all those emotions rested guilt. She felt like she'd signed Martha's death warrant.
Stop it. This is exactly the headspace I need to pull myself out of. I am not responsible for their actions. Blaming myself is going backwards, not forward.
How did she move forward from this then? It seemed wrong to ignore Gotham's most villainous figures dealing with her tormentor in such a brutal way. But lingering on it only worsened the self-blame. What was the balance between the two? Did John deserve to be forgiven more than Joker despite them being equally culpable?
Here's an idea…I knock Joker out. Then put him in a crate. Then have Bruce ship him off to an uninhabited island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe the island will have snakes. Maybe turtles. He can become their leader. He can become their Jokester-in-Chief. He can rule as he sees fit.
Imagining him stranded on an island did make her feel a little bit better. Maybe he'd resort to using mud as his makeup? Maybe he'd grow out his facial hair? He'd turn a lovely shade of tan no doubt. Tone up his already fit body trying to construct a sleeping shelter out of natural resources…
She groaned, eyes squeezing shut. One hand was tempted to roam further south, but she wouldn't allow it. Her basement didn't need to be any more flooded than it already was.
This is so fucked. He killed someone for my benefit and I'm getting turned on.
She laughed a little at that.
There's no point in overthinking this. What was it Bruce Lee said? Be water, my friend. Formless, shapeless, adaptable…ever flowing. There is no easy fix to all this. John doesn't regret what he did, he'll wait however long it takes for me to forgive him. Joker on the other hand…he needs to be dealt with. His homicidal impulses are far worse than John's. He's the more severe threat between the two. If I don't like him killing others for me, then I do something about it. I'm not helpless. I know I can't take his life, so what option does this leave me? Arkham. I get him caught. By Bruce specifically. I…don't want him harmed unnecessarily. He gets captured, put on a daily helping of the most powerful sedative…something that doesn't give him the energy to escape again. It will have to be daily, he's too dangerous otherwise.
The longer she thought this over, the more encouraged she felt to begin formulating a plan with Bruce. It was time she practiced what she preached. She warned him to leave her alone. If he wasn't going to respect those wishes, she'd show him the consequences of ignoring them. No more Miss Nice Celine. Their acquaintanceship ended now.
By the time Bruce arrived she was in slightly better spirits. It was as if she'd been wandering aimlessly in a fog since meeting Joker. Now, the fog was finally clearing and so was the answer to what she needed to do. Reclaiming that focus felt so very empowering.
"You've been drinking," she stated as soon as he brushed past her to set down their food. "Expensive scotch from the smells of it."
"If there was ever an occasion for it…" he trailed off.
"Did you drive here?"
He met her sharp look with a weary sigh.
"Alfred drove and he'll pick me back up. I'm not stupid."
Her shoulders relaxed.
"Sorry," she voiced. "Today's been…yeah, what you said. I'm tempted to join in. How uh…how's it look outside? Will I have to slip out the backdoor again?"
"You're in the clear," he assured, opening up a tray of food and handing it to her. "The few family members Martha had left are on the receiving end of the media's scrutiny. The articles that are going to be printed about her won't be pretty."
That same guilt from earlier returned to gnaw at her. How morbidly appropriate for her to die not only physically, but posthumously as well.
"Despite everything, I do feel sorry that it ended like this," she said.
Bruce took a moment to respond, forking up some noodles from his tray.
"There is a rumor floating around of a neighbor hearing laughter come from her home late last night. It wasn't hers."
She averted his gaze, eyeing her tray instead.
"You think Martha's suicide was staged?"
He shrugged.
"No foul play has been reported, but I have a hunch that there is more than meets the eye."
She tried to eat her food without reddening under Bruce's stare. Unfortunately, he didn't let up and the silence was only making the air that much more tense.
"Out with it," she blurted. "Who do you suspect?"
"The same person you do."
"Bugs Bunny?"
He wasn't amused by this response.
"Would it kill you to take this seriously? She may have been a thorn in our side, but that isn't grounds for death. If we don't take initiative, Joker will strike again. It seems his fixation on you is far more dangerous than I previously assumed."
She was slightly hurt by the remark but didn't let on.
"Fine. We're going to set a trap," she said. "I lure him here. Shoot him with your taser gun and knock him out. We get him to Arkham. We help oversee that he gets the proper dosage of sedatives. We make sure only the best guards are assigned to him. No chance of his threat level being lowered, he stays at the highest one possible."
He nodded.
"You're sure you can get him here?"
"I have his number. I'll tell him I want to thank him in person for all he's done. His pride won't be able to say no to that. You can be here too if you want. Just in case I miss."
"You're sure?"
"You wanted me to take it seriously. This is me doing that."
"Okay." He closed his tray. "When?"
"Tomorrow evening. Come up my fire escape. He usually comes in through the front door."
Bruce froze.
"Usually?"
Ah…fuck.
"…yeah?"
He crossed his arms and pinned her with a stormy glare.
"How many times has he been here besides the one time you told me about?"
"Just…one other time."
"Celine…"
She threw her arms up in frustration.
"You said it yourself, I'm a big girl. I can handle myself. As you can see, I'm still in one piece."
"Of course you are it's what you two do alone that-."
He dropped his gaze and gritted his teeth.
"That what?" She stomped toward him. "That what Bruce? What do you think we get up to when he breaks into my apartment uninvited?"
She was faintly aware it was the liquor that had made him looser lipped. But his words…she knew he'd been meaning to voice them for a while.
"You're soft for him," he accused. "And that softness has not only gotten someone killed but will guarantee your own end too if you continue behaving this recklessly. Joker is not someone you can domesticate. He's not someone you can reason with. No matter how you think he feels about you, he will bite the hand that feeds him for no other reason than making it bleed. It's only a matter of time. You know all this. But you still let him…"
Her eye was twitching. It was taking a strenuous amount of patience not to blow up on him. Because he was one of the few whose opinions mattered, his disappointment in her was only that much more grueling.
"Let him what?" she asked tightly.
His eyes shot below her chin.
"Your neck was covered in hickeys after his first time here. That you didn't even feel shame enough to try hiding them makes me think…" He inhaled deeply and shook his head. "It makes me think you like his attention. It makes me think you like him…touching you. And the thought of you being receptive to his advances…disgusts me. You've lost your way. This isn't the Celine I know."
Her hands were shaking. She worked on trying to keep her breaths even. It was a rapidly losing battle.
"You mean it's not the Celine you want me to be," she retorted. "News flash for you Bruce, I don't live to cater to your perception of me. I've handled him as best as I could given the fact that he's been able to get to me no matter how often I've tried deterring his attentions. If how I've handled him disgusts you that goddamn much then maybe you're better off being friends with someone else."
His jaw clenched.
"Maybe I am."
Oh, that stung. Worse than she anticipated it to.
"Get. Out."
He didn't need to be told twice.
In the aftermath of his exit she grabbed her fork and stabbed the Styrofoam tray twelve times. She then threw the fork across her living room and ran both hands through her hair, fingers gripping onto the locks until her skull started to throb.
Her knees gave out. She let her body drop and curl up on the floor, arms circling around her legs, teeth digging into her bottom lip.
It was a conversation she had hoped they would never have. But Bruce being Bruce…just sly enough to make you think he was nonethewiser…it was inevitable he would bring it up. And he chose just the right words to make her feel even shittier than she already did.
Worse yet, he had been spot on about something. Joker had caused her to lose her way. She consensually allowed him to touch her with hands that joyously spilled blood. She let him comfort her just the other night without immediately calling the police. She was passive with him and that emboldened him to think that what was happening between them was okay. It wasn't. Though he did a shit job of reminding her, the message was crystal clear. For her personal wellbeing Joker needed to be dealt with. With or without Bruce's involvement.
She would go through with what the plan she'd constructed earlier. Lure him here tomorrow. Tase him. Call the police. Get him somewhere he could do no further harm. Where he couldn't compromise her more than he already had. It was for the greater good. The betterment of all. Whatever fondness she had toward him needed to be extinguished once and for all.
This means I'll be on his shit list. For real this time. Once he realizes I screwed him over…
She didn't care to harp on that thought. Surprisingly, it wasn't because of the possible consequences for fucking him over. Rather it was how fucking him over made her feel.
Not good. Not good at all.
Celine closed her eyes and hugged herself tighter.
I should have never opened my mouth in that church.
x_X_x_X_x
It was unusually breezy by the time she arrived at Agatha's store House of Intuition. The neon green CLOSED sign had just been switched on. Below it blinked a red emblem of the third eye.
She knocked once, peering around out of habit. Although the front of her apartment building had been reporter-free, she still received some looks on the way over here. She could almost read their minds as she hustled past them.
'Wait, I know you from somewhere. Aren't you-?'
She didn't plan on lingering long enough to let them fill in the blank.
Upon peeking through the blinds, Agatha beamed. She unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her in.
The moment Celine's eyes landed on the woman; her body instantly did its own equivalent of a deep sigh.
"I have missed you so much it's not even funny," she stated, moving towards the woman.
They embraced tightly, one of Agatha's hands reaching up to stroke the back of her head.
Agatha was just a little bit taller than Celine, boasting frizzy long black hair with natural gray highlights woven in. Her skin was a gorgeous warm bronze and she had darkest brown eyes she'd ever glimpsed in a person. This evening she was clad in a floral-patterned yellow dress and moccasin sandals. An amethyst crystal rested around her neck instead of the jasper stone she so often saw on her.
"You are so tense dear," Agatha murmured. "Relax. You're in good company."
She tried her best to loosen up in the woman's arms.
"This past month has just been-I feel like I'm losing my mind."
They pulled away. Agatha reached up and cupped Celine's jaw, tilting her head gently to the left and then to the right.
"I am sorry to see your spark has dulled since we last met. Thankfully, I won't be letting you leave like this." She took a step back and examined the empty space surrounding her upper torso. "Come, I've made tea."
She followed Agatha inside, locking the door behind them.
They made their way to the back of the store, Celine's eyes roving over the aisles of items as they passed. Spell books, incense sticks, bound-books on interpreting dreams, crystals, tarot card packs, palm reading guides, bundles of sage, mandolin tapestries, meditation manuals both on CDs and in book form, handmade statuettes depicting various gods and goddesses, marble altars, an entire wall dedicated to herbs for spell casting…anything spiritual, metaphysical, or wiccan-related one needed, Agatha carried.
It was by dumb luck she'd discovered this store. Almost four years ago, on the seventh anniversary of her mom's death she had been killing time in a part of Gotham she wasn't as familiar with. Anything to get her mind off of the loss that still felt at times like a freshly inflicted wound.
Her attention had been drawn to a beautiful Showshoe cat watching her from behind the window front of Agatha's store. Its piercing blue eyes followed her every movement no matter which direction she stepped. Before she could deter her feet, they were entering the store.
The Snowshoe had hopped down from its perch and sauntered in between the aisles, her hot on its heels. It ended up pausing at an endcap hosting an array of tarot card decks.
She'd known next to nothing then about tarot cards or tarot card readings. Mediums, psychics, dabblers of the paranormal…it's not that she scoffed at these sorts of people, but rather her healthy skepticism prevented her from taking their credentials seriously. Though a firm believer in the existence of a soul, in a life after death where the soul transcends, dimensions of existence that were imperceptible to the human eye, drug or plant-induced altered states of consciousness that allowed one to pick up on higher frequency beings…she wasn't as willing to suspend her disbelief for persons claiming they had premonitions or conversations with the departed or extra sensory knowledge of past, present, and future events. There either had to be a logical explanation or they were just trying to pull one over on the vulnerable for financial gain. The surest way to avoid getting fooled was to remain stoic and give nothing away in body language.
Agatha had snuck up on her as she perused the various tarot card decks, unsure what she was even looking for.
"It appears Ghost has taken to you."
She glanced down at the cat gazing unblinkingly up at her. Then up at the woman watching her with a serene half smile. One look into her eyes and Celine knew this woman to be good. It practically radiated off of her like the inside of an oven, nearly causing her to take a step closer just to bask in her warmth.
"Does he always stare customers down until they're manipulated into taking a peek inside?"
Her smile was coy.
"No, but it certainly helps with the foot traffic." She gave her a once over, not bothering to hide her curiosity. Celine felt cross-examined by both cat and woman. "First time in a store like this?"
"Yes. I don't really know why I'm here."
She nodded.
"Life is funny like that, isn't it? It will construct for you a path to walk but offer no clues as to why or what the end destination is. Often those answers reveal themselves in moments of retrospection. Awfully inconvenient to the inquiring mind, but I'm a firm believer there is always a reason, even if that reason has not yet fully been revealed to us. It is all a matter of…trust. Intuition cannot scientifically be explained and yet you discuss its presence with just about anyone and they will agree listening to it is beneficial and aids us in navigating this life. It would appear yours has led you here. Well, that and Ghost. And you've conveniently taken to examining something I specialize in."
Celine's eyes returned to the tarot cards.
"You read them?" she confirmed, tilting her head. "How? Sorry if I sound ignorant about it … it's never made sense to me."
"Would you care for a reading?"
She grimaced.
"How much is it going to be?"
"Consider it on me. An apology for letting Ghost tempt you inside. He's generally very passive but can be quite the rascal when left to his own devices."
Ghost meowed proudly at this, weaving his way in between the woman's legs. Something must have caught his attention for he trotted away seconds later, back to the perch at the storefront.
"I'm Agatha," she introduced, extending a hand.
"Celine."
They shook hands, causing Agatha to smile.
"You have a solid foundation in you."
"Oh…um…thank you?"
She didn't quite know what to make of the comment.
"Come."
They made their way to the back of the store, Agatha relaying to the other woman working the counter that she would be back in a bibt.
Beyond two pale green curtains was a smaller, cozier section of the store. A sturdy, dark brown roundtable was the first thing to catch Celine's eye. The lighting in the space was considerably dimmer and more intimate. Two wooden chairs were gathered around the table.
"Would you like some tea?"
Celine nodded, accepting a partially chipped teacup steaming with the scent of chamomile. Agatha took a seat in one of the chairs and she followed suit, blowing at her drink.
"Seeing as this is your first time, I don't wish to overwhelm you. We'll do your reading from my Major Arcana deck…it is the one you'll find sold in most stores. This deck has your common cards…The Fool, The Hanged Man, The Lovers, etcetera and so forth. Now, there are a few ways I can do this," she began, pulling out a deck of tarot cards and languidly shuffling them. "We can go the route of asking specific questions. We can go the route of a past, present, and future reading. Or I can simply ask if there is anyone attempting to convey a message to you who has passed."
She could feel her skeptical nature roll her eyes at the choices. For the time being, she forced a muzzle on it. This experience would be approached with an open mind until Agatha gave her a reason not to view it as such.
"I-." She cleared her throat, tempted to choose the last one but not wanting to exacerbate her sadness or make it easy for Agatha to pick up on her emotional state. "Let's do the middle option."
Agatha nodded, continuing to shuffle the deck until she thought it sufficiently reorganized. She then extended the deck to her, thumbs shifting the cards apart to look like an upside holding fan.
"Choose any three that you feel drawn to."
She eyed each of the cards carefully before snatching two from the middle and one from the very end.
Agatha deposited the rest of the deck on her right-hand side. She then asked her to flip each of them over in whatever order she desired.
Upon doing so, she watched Agatha's index finger tap against each card, humming lightly under her breath as she did so.
"For your past, The Sun was drawn," she revealed. "However, it is reversed. That is its pointed away from me. I sense…you were…struggling for a long time. Significant inner turmoil…a thunderous cloud rumbling inside you, preventing you from seeing glimpses of light. You always knew it was there, it's just…taken time finding it again. You are…more well acquainted with sadness than most…but made an important choice one day to not let it dictate what you want out of this life."
She was peering intensely at the Sun card, brows knitted together. Celine kept her expression blank. It was an accurate ascertation, but one that could be made just about anyone residing in Gotham. If you didn't have your wits about you, this city could be nothing but sadness.
"Congratulations," Agatha mentioned suddenly, peering up at her. "On not opening up the fifth in your cupboard. That is a promising show of will…I'm excited to see what your future will hold, but…one thing at a time."
Try as she might on staying neutral, the fifth in her cabinet comment had her internally reeling. There was no way she could have known that. Nothing about her outward appearance screamed alcoholic anymore. And the way she phrased it…
Releasing a shaky breath, Celine rolled her shoulders back. She'd attribute it to an extremely lucky guess.
Taking a sip from her tea, she watched Agatha's focus avert to the second card. Instantly, her lips peeled back into a smile.
"The Wheel of Fortune…upright. Toward me. Exciting, very exciting." She looked up at Celine, tilting her head slightly. "I said earlier you have a solid internal foundation. I can…sense you've worked hard on creating a healthy relationship with your mind and your higher conscious self…the soul. You know right from wrong, you know when to extend love and compassion and when to guard yourself as a means of self-preservation. These are important attributes to be sure…but it is crucial to keep in mind…there is a lot of gray in this world. Many situations you have and will encounter that forces an adaptable frame of mind. Continue nourishing that adaptability…it will get you far. The Wheel of Fortune signifies what you already know…change is inevitable. And you've suspected recently it is on the horizon for you…be ready when it comes."
She turned her attention to the last card.
Celine's shoulders were hunched together. Her body was leaning forward, ears glued to every word. Accurate yes, but surely…surely this could be said about anyone and anything. Yes, she had felt…had sensed something was coming…got a thrill up her spine anytime she envisioned what it could be. The outline of an idea for an app was drawn up in a notebook that currently sat on her living room table along with the beginnings of coding for said app. She had to refrain from blurting out if this change at all had to do with it.
"And lastly…The Magician," she said. "Upside. This one is…tricky…and then again it isn't. You have been working on something that is close to your heart. A passion project…something that will give voice to others whose are still stuck beneath that stormy cloud you lived under for so long. Your heart is in it. Good. You are motivated, though fear sharing this idea with anyone. It cannot stay locked up in your head, can it?"
Not until Agatha gazed at her did she realize how hard she was holding her breath. Exhaling sharply, she lowered her eyes to the chip in her teacup.
"No, it can't. I-I know it would be utilized…Gotham's yearly suicide rate is abysmal. The amount of insurance companies that don't cover mental health is motivation alone to create this. But…there is still so much to figure out. Money is the biggest setback."
Agatha was silent for a few moments.
"Oz Ascending you're thinking of calling it?" she inquired. "Short for Oizys, the Greek Goddess of Grief, Misery, and Depression."
Celine blinked.
"How the fuck did you know that?"
Agatha thankfully took her colorful astonishment in good humor.
"All these cards have meaning depending on which way they land…your choice of each…picking them out by hand…attunes them to your energy." She leaned back and clasped her hands. "Clairvoyance is what many would call what I do…it is what I utilize in interpreting these cards…though…sometimes words or phrases pop into my head…sometimes I close my eyes and an image appears…usually relevant but I am prone to the spontaneous daydream every now and again. This last time I blinked; I saw a college rule notebook upon a coffee table with the words 'Oz Ascending' scribbled in hasty cursive from a recently sharpened pencil."
She shook her head, mouth forming around a crowd of words desperately seeking answers.
"You said my energy is absorbed by them," she decided on. "How do you mean?"
"The cards serve as a receptor if you will. When you chose yours and touched them, though you could not see it, energy was exchanged. After all, what are we at our most base, physiological form? If we were to shine the world's greatest microscope onto our bodies, what would we see?"
"Atoms."
"And are you a believer in the soul?"
"I am."
"What do you suspect the soul is comprised of?"
This was a question she had spent a good portion of the last decade ruminating on. She thought she had an answer, but there were so many possibilities she didn't want to commit herself to one answer just in case she was blind to another. She'd read countless philosophical works and essays by spiritual leaders and mystics on the soul…but it was perhaps one of her favorite comedians Bill Hicks who said it best during a stand-up special of his from the 1980's.
"Today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration, that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively, there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Heres Tom with the Weather."
The commentary held the privilege of tickling her pink while simultaneously easing her. She'd been so serious about finding a right answer that she forgot to listen to what the voice within believed after absorbing so much varying information. And under Agatha's encouraging gaze, an answer wasn't so difficult to produce.
"A form of energy, separate of that composing our physical bodies, that we can't even begin to mathematically equate because our human form limits us," she guessed. "I don't think the soul is a human construct, but a byproduct of a potentially conscious universe. And the soul vibrates on a frequency we as a species are rarely able to tune into because that frequency requires us to…this is going to sound corny…but to love unconditionally. I think so long as we are conscious, so too are our thoughts…so too are our emotions…and both can either cause us to vibrate higher or lower. Though we can't perceive it as you said, all we are is energy reacting to energy. Be it the physical or subconscious form."
"My," she stated. "Inquiring mind indeed. I agree with much of what you said. Personally, I believe that every human being upon birth has an extra sensory gift stored within them. Be it precognition, clairvoyance, telepathy, mediumship…for some it is a combination. Over time, we lose touch with these gifts. Quite often it is due to environment. Society is not so inclined to believe in that which cannot be immediately perceived by the five primary senses. Just as well, major religions have in the past burned, tortured, and crucified those exhibiting these gifts. By all means it is easier to submerge and forget than to acknowledge and cultivate. If I hadn't had the upbringing I did, I would have fallen into the former."
Her expression briefly turned nostalgic before her attention returned to the conversation.
"The physical human body provides us with five senses…so…where do these extrasensory ones hail from? Most would be inclined to say God. And they are right. Though, my interpretation of God may vary slightly from theirs or yours. God to me is what resides in the soul of every living creature. It is not an identity nor physical manifestation…it is the most potent, heightened energy in the universe. And you already mentioned it earlier…what's more powerful a force than anything else?"
It left her mouth without hesitance.
"Love."
"Precisely…you knowing this despite your past gives you an advantage. Pain often leads us astray from this truth." She interlocked her fingers and smiled. "The vibration that is love…that is God…that is what's stored within our soul…it is from here I believe these extra senses come. And it is this energy I have taught myself to tune into. It is this energy you carry within you as well."
The more Agatha explained, the more it felt like a long-elusive puzzle piece was falling into place. For so long she refused to settle on one theory. Nothing could be ruled out. Plato once claimed Socrates said, "The only thing I know is that I know nothing." She'd always loved that narration because it liberated her from the pressure of investing in one specific belief system. It encouraged her to consider everything without the pesky need to be right. And though being so open had benefited her, certain experiences – glimpsing her soul while on magic mushrooms, naturally gravitating toward spiritual leaders like Alan Watts and the Dalai Lama who emphasized love was the universal language, her intuition being spot on once she began to put her trust in it – made her wonder if humans weren't instinctively predisposed to believe in something. Be it the higher self or some form of a creator.
Not until Agatha shared her perspective did Celine realize just how aligned, subconsciously, her own views were with the woman. Remarkably, she felt none of the panic that usually set in when she allowed herself to believe in one theory more than the other. None of the anxiety of potentially being wrong.
"You're the real deal," Celine stated, shaking her head a little. "Unless you drugged my tea and I'm hallucinating all this."
She lifted her right hand.
"Guilty."
Her jaw slackened. Agatha immediately tried to cover up her chuckles.
"I assure you…the tea is just tea." She relocated her gaze down to the Magician card. "A final thing I feel compelled to tell you…do the initials BW mean anything to you?"
Butt Water? Bar Worker? Baby Wacker?
"That's pretty vague," she admitted, chewing at her lower lip.
"Story of my life," Agatha lamented. "Sometimes it remains vague no matter how much I focus. But in this instance…those initials combined with this card facing upward…they will be a positive presence in your life, instrumental in helping you with Oz. So, keep an eye out, but don't strain yourself trying to find an answer in everyone and everything. It will all happen when it is meant to. You just have a slight advantage of knowing what to look for when it does."
She found herself nodding, mind wracking over all the information she'd obtained in the past half hour.
"And that concludes your reading," Agatha announced, gathering the three cards back into the deck and reshuffling them. "I oughta thank Ghost for piquing your interest. It is clear you needed this. I also quite enjoyed your company…we have…similar worldviews. I suspect there is much we can learn from each other."
She thought back to why she'd been outside Agatha's store to begin with.
"I-I don't mean to overstay my welcome or take advantage of your…gift…but now that I know you're well- you're you…I was um…wondering if-um…you know what nevermind. Sorry, sorry."
Agatha reclined in her chair, eyeing her with a look of understanding.
"I was wondering who she might be. She's yet to leave your side. Usually, they'll pop around to check on their loved ones. But this one…radiates with the sort of devotion I only ever see from a mother to a child. Nora is her name?"
Celine gulped before discretely looking around.
"She's…here?"
"Always almost is," Agatha promised, staring at the empty space behind her right shoulder. "She says that while she's proud of you for working so passionately on the creation of Oz, you need to add something else into your diet besides Ramen Noodles and cereal."
Her eyes suddenly went wide.
"Does she uh…watch me while I-?"
She curled her fingers into a fist and made a couple of jerking motions.
"Your private time remains private," she assured, trying to cover her up her grin.
Celine nodded, extremely relieved to hear that.
"She says she's proud of you," she went on. "But you need to learn to forgive yourself. She understands you weren't in the right frame of mind to attend her funeral. She was actually with you that day. And her heart broke at seeing you a shell of your former self. She wishes she'd have listened to her gut and come visit you at least once. Perhaps then you wouldn't have felt so alone."
Her bottom lip quivered. Tears involuntarily prodded at the corners of her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, wiping at her nose. "I wish I'd been stronger."
Agatha shook her head, reaching out for her hand. Celine gently lowered hers into it, unable to keep the tears at bay any longer.
"Just because you lacked the strength then doesn't mean you aren't strong. We all lose our way at some point in our life. The important thing is you've found your way back. Not everyone has that luxury. Be satisfied with the progress you've made…it's only going to get better from here." Her hand squeezed hers. "And even if it doesn't…Nora will be with you every step of the way. She is but one of a handful silently guiding you…looking out for you. You…you are more loved than you'll ever know."
An ugly sob flew out of her. Her shoulders quaked violently. It hurt and yet…nothing in the world felt better. Guilt that'd lessened over time but never fully receded…it was time for its permanent departure. Something beckoned the feeling away…it no longer served a purpose…and she was more than willing to help see it out.
The hairs on the back of her neck tingled. She closed her eyes and felt something brush against her nape. Agatha watched on with a tender expression.
"I can feel her," she sounded out quietly, voice slightly hoarse. "How is that possible?"
"As I said," Agatha answered softly, "we all have extrasensory gifts stored within us. Yours have been on their way to being dug up for quite some time. It also helps that you listen to your intuition when it speaks to you. If you would like…if you are serious about this…I can help you find out what those gifts are. Find them and help develop them as they were meant to be."
It wasn't even a consideration to say no. In the span of thirty minutes she felt as if she'd bathed in a warm pond and re-emerged a cleaner, more fully realized self. There was a whole other world inside her all this time and she never knew how to go about accessing it. Not until now.
"Yes please," was her shaky response.
"Excellent. I can't wait to begin this journey with you, Celine."
When she met with Agatha two weeks later, her cat Ghost had a companion in the form of an amber-gold Persian long hair. Pangea, Agatha had christened her as. Ghost was long overdue for a feline friend and the two got on so well they'd become practically inseparable. Pangea also took to crawling onto Celine's lap any chance she allotted it; wholly demandful of pettings and attention. It had been a struggle not to cat-nap her when Agatha wasn't looking.
They had discussed meditation at great length as being one of the key avenues of tapping into the higher self and allowing her gift, whatever it may be, to flourish. Celine wasn't new to meditation but had never taken the time to form it into a daily habit. It quite often occurred incidentally, either while she was taking a lengthy shower or left alone to ruminate on the day's events just before slumber or under the influence of a potent psychedelic. She'd only witnessed glimpses of her soul, never in its entirety.
So, for the next few months while Agatha worked up front, she took to sealing herself away in the backroom for thirty minutes to an hour. During this time, she listened closely to a guided meditation on a CD from a revered yogi in the north of India. Nothing out of the ordinary happened initially. She would sit cross legged, breathing in and out along with the low, soothing voice from the CD, eyes shut, desperately attempting to empty her mind of all thoughts. Easier said than done she learned very quickly. The more she tried not to think, the more thoughts bubbled out of her. It was discouraging to say the least.
"It's not working," she'd relayed to Agatha after the twelfth session. "I feel silly just sitting there in the dark, waiting for something to happen."
"Try focusing on developing a rhythmic sort of breathing pattern with your inhales and exhales. The silence will come eventually."
"It does come eventually," she agreed. "But it takes so long to get there. And nothing happens beyond it."
"Hmm…how about I let you take the CD home with you then? See if a more familiar environment can help. It's difficult to say what exactly will prompt the connection…everyone's ability to tune in is different."
That's when a breakthrough had occurred.
She'd reached that silent, meditative state sooner than any of the sessions past. A tingling had begun to prick in the center of her forehead. And then like a sheet being lifted off a piece of dusty furniture, she'd seen it. Her eyes were closed, but vivid images filtered before her. Quickly at first, too swift to give name to. Followed by a kaleidoscope of warm colors.
Her body hummed with pleasure and the area between her shoulder blades felt like something invisible was sinking in and spreading out. Not a painful feeling in the least, just…a little intense, almost like being tickled roughly by an unseen masseuse…and not something she'd experienced often enough in her life to consider familiar.
The occurrence had been brief…eventually everything returned to the black she so frequently saw every time she closed her eyes. Her body cooled its jets, all hints of humming dispersing. But it was enough incentive to continue nurturing the habit. She'd accessed that all on her own. Her soul was just waiting to communicate right back. Cyclical breathing and stillness of mind appeared to be the key.
During this time, she and Agatha gathered one of her natural extrasensory gifts to be clairsentience. She could read and experience the emotions of others.
She'd always been excellent at reading body language, sensing feelings by tone of voice…sometimes a truth would come to her about a person without them saying a single thing. What a coincidence had been a recurrent thought of hers growing up. And though the worst years of her depression made her think that inherent knowledge had disappeared, as she healed and read up on the works of spiritual leaders, it all began to re-emerge.
This was by far the toughest thing to believe herself capable of without definitive, scientific proof. For so long she had attested this knowledge to dumb luck. One of her married neighbors reeked of guilt because they'd been unfaithful and days later a screaming match had broken out through the entire building? Dumb luck. Someone she passed on her way out of a convenience store wracked with nerves for what they were about to do, robbing it shortly after? Dumb luck. It was so convenient and habitual to chuck it up to dumb luck or an educated guess that it took some getting used to separating what was a thought and what was an intuitive truth.
What helped immensely was Agatha allowing her to hang out around the store and observe customers coming in and out. She would attempt to read them discretely, sometimes not able to conclude anything, other times being able to read the person as if she had a part of their autobiography tucked away in her brain. Often it was the eyes that gave it away, sometimes it was the way their shoulders sagged as they walked, sometimes it was the hastiness or patience with which they spoke.
These observations extended to her daily life and all those she encountered. She'd known her landlord Miss Pendergrass was widowed from the moment she shook hands with the woman. This was later confirmed in their discussions. She'd known the co-host anchors on the morning telecast Good Morning Gotham were sleeping with each other despite both being married. When that affair had gone public, she'd felt strangely validated.
More often than not, she was spot on, though some people were easier to pinpoint the emotions of than others.
The easiest ones tended to be those who suffered from some sort of grief or sadness. She was wholly familiar with these emotions and could pick up on them quickly. It had become custom to show these individuals as much compassion as possible, even if it was just being a listening ear. People suffering often wanted others to know they were, even if they lacked the ability to communicate this. A good amount ended up being grateful, though a few reacted with hostility. Not everyone was willing to acknowledge that pain, let alone having a stranger do so.
The most difficult ones to read were those who lived in a state of disillusion. What they knew internally didn't match up with how they were living their lives externally. It was always a struggle of whether to ask them about it or let them continue living in blissful ignorance.
Agatha had understood this conflict without Celine having to voice it.
"You are progressing along nicely with developing your ability. The next step is perhaps one of the more confusing. I know someone is suffering or unhealed or living inauthentically…do I risk helping them? Do they want my help? That…is on every individual to decide for themselves. Some hurt people…all they want to do is hurt people. Perhaps as atonement for the injustices they themselves suffered. Some hurt people…they are looking for a new way to be…to work through their pain and insecurities. All they lack is guidance. It is on you alone to decide who to use your gift for. There is no right or wrong choice, though…always keep in mind there is a difference between those who wish to be helped and those who don't. This will save you a lot of stress down the road."
She'd accepted this advice without protest. One of the most difficult epiphanies she'd come to as a child was learning not everyone shared her heart...her mercy…her compassion. Having been a hypersensitive kid, these learning experiences ended up wounding her deeply. And although she had tended to these wounds…kissed and nurtured them back to health…the underlying lesson couldn't be forgotten. No matter how much love she wished to bathe others in, self-preservation needed to accompany that desire to help. Perfecting this balance was crucial.
Eventually, the hard work started to pay off. The more she meditated and relied on her gift, the more in alignment her mind, body, and soul became. Her mind was already sharp, and she worked on expanding it daily with reading anything she could get her hands on and interacting with Gothamites from all walks of life, further expanding her understanding of the spectrum of human emotions. Her body benefited from a shift to a less processed diet (it was agonizing having to part with her Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles, but hey commitment was commitment) and falling into a routine of doing something active at least once a day, be it a stroll around Gotham or self-defense classes or a yoga session. And the soul gathered strength and clarity the more she relied on its intuitive voice.
In moments of deep meditation, she would begin to feel the lifeforce beating within that was so often spoken of in Taoism, emanating nothing short of grace, love, and tranquility. It offered her stillness, rejuvenation, and bolstered the calmness she worked tirelessly at making the foundation of her very core. If she could have somewhere special to retreat to when life got burdensome and uncertain, somewhere she could step back from her physical body and see things as they were, tune into the voice within that offered clear and concise guidance…that was a place she was eager to make a home out of. The harder she worked at cultivating this, the easier it was to tap into. And the more of a tangible presence she would experience when her eyes were closed, and her third eye was open.
As Agatha had predicted, The Wheel of Fortune brought with it change. Namely in the form of an investor she was sure would barely give her the time of day. Within a year of making Agatha's acquaintance, the outline of Oz had been finished; the rough draft of a code established…she only needed to pique the interest of someone financially equipped to help expand those beginnings into a reality.
It'd not occurred to her initially that the BW initials Agatha had provided her with so long ago would translate to one very affluent playboy named Bruce Wayne.
The first meeting between them consisted of him nearly hitting her with his car as she was crossing the street. Barely an inch separated the metal hood of his black Lamborghini with her thigh. A plethora of curses were resting on the tip of her tongue, but they were swallowed down with some ease. Her daily meditations had taught her to observe emotions, not absorb. As temporarily heated and caught off guard as she'd been, calmness had soon been restored.
To her amazement, Bruce Wayne was capable of apologizing profusely. He was in a rush to get to work after a night involving him, $12,000 worth of champagne, and two rambunctious socialites. She'd not had a good first impression of him, content to believe that for once the tabloids had it right.
Nevertheless, she accepted his phone number and a promise of a free meal to make up for the near-death collision. She'd been sorely tempted to choose the most expensive place in Gotham…make the playboy sweat a little for her own amusement…but ultimately chose a dimly lit dive bar that was home to Gotham's more…alternative crowd when the sun disappeared. Still make him sweat, but in an affordable way.
Though initially uncomfortable with the locale, it didn't take long for Bruce to showcase his true nature. Something lurked in his eyes that alluded to more self-awareness than anyone would credit him with. Her intuition urged her not to ignore it, even if it meant being proved wrong about him. And never had she been so thankful to be wrong about anyone.
They'd ended up talking well into the night and left just before last calls were made. He agreed to be her investor within ten minutes of her relaying to him her idea, and not until he'd dropped her off at home and she passed through her front door that realization dawned on her.
B.W. Bruce Wayne.
Then, everything seemed to fall into place. She trusted in Bruce and that led to the acquisition of a team of coders more well-versed than herself. As they worked on developing her app, she – with Bruce's assistance – reached out to Arkham State Hospital for licensed doctors. This process was a bit lengthier than she'd anticipated it being. Few initially were willing to be consultants without payment. And meeting Jonathan Crane for the first time…someone her intuition begged her to be extremely careful around…and yet someone who had managed to charm her pants off with his dry wit and intelligence…someone she was fascinated by because the word 'sociopath' had struck her clear as day while listening to him speak and interact with others…it'd been a time of relying heavily on that calm voice within to get her by unscarred.
Surrendering is what Agatha called it. Surrender she did.
As her abilities flourished and her mind and soul learned to work in tangency with one another, her visits to Agatha became infrequenter. She would pop by to visit of course, say hi to the cats and give Pangea her complimentary head and back scratches, catch up with Agatha now that they had acquainted themselves on a more personal level, even meditate with her which often seemed to supercharge her as Agatha's energy was like a bolt of lightning. They kept up at least a monthly communication, but after the official launch of her app, life got to be so busy their correspondence sometimes was restrained to text messages alone.
She'd felt bad seeing so little of who she considered her mentor and confidant, but Agatha had assured her she was aware of the gratitude and fondness she carried for her.
"Your life is moving forward rapidly, dear. As it was meant to. No matter how much it speeds up, don't forget you're in the driver's seat. You still have control of the pedal and break. And I'll be here when you need me."
The last time she'd visited Agatha was on New Year's Eve of last year. She'd closed down her shop early and they took to drinking tea, eating an assortment of muffins, and welcoming the transition of the new year.
By this point Celine had mastered a meditative state in which she communicated wordlessly with her higher self, was beginning to experiment with lucid dreaming (her mom appeared in a lot of these dreams and they engaged in conversation as if she'd never departed in the first place), had fine-tuned her clairsentience, and with Agatha's insistence on learning how to manipulate energy, attempted to harness a ball of light between her palms, the use of which wasn't all that clear.
She was aware there was still untapped power within her…had felt pockets of it whenever she focused on manifesting the gold sphere of energy Agatha spoke of, which made her body feel like a receptor to all the universe's energetic potency. But she just didn't know what to do with it yet. What to focus on so the true nature of that power was channeled more easily. And what that power would allow her to do.
Now, on this unusually breezy night in July, Celine felt more lost than ever before.
She'd not properly meditated since Joker had kept her as a hostage. Anytime she tried, it felt like the first few times. Too many thoughts with nowhere to go. Her clairsentience worked only in select moments, leaving her blind to the nature of persons like Martha Graves. Her emotions weren't observed but absorbed. The energies of others wasn't able to be buffered away by the white light she'd learned to drape herself in whenever others emotions got to be too much for her. Her intuition was burdened by overthinking…it was becoming more difficult to distinguish the two. Simply put, she felt woefully misaligned with her mind and soul, and dreadfully unsure of herself.
She needed guidance. A push in the right direction. The self she'd been prior to encountering Joker…it was there. How to access that again…that was the conundrum.
Something brushed against her ankles, causing Celine to briefly jump in place.
Pangea gazed up at her, seemingly affronted she would have such a worrisome reaction to her.
"I'm sorry sweetheart," she tried to coo, leaning down to scoop up the bushy cat. "I've missed you so much."
The moment her index finger and thumb began to rub at the sides of her cheeks, all was forgiven. She purred emphatically in her arms, nestling herself closer.
Agatha watched on, a gentle smile in place.
"Where's Ghost?" she asked, peering around.
"Sleeping off a busy day. Pangea was provoking him more than usual and they may have battled it out in between the aisles for a good portion of the afternoon."
When Celine finally lowered Pangea, Agatha gestured to the back of the room.
"Let's see how we can help you regain that which has been lost."
She didn't need to be told twice, following Agatha with a gut full of nerves.
I ended up going through all 20 previous chapters and doing some much needed editing. Mainly spelling errors, sentences or scenes that didn't sound right to me but I couldn't think of anything better at the time, and correcting information as I've contradicted myself numerous times, mainly because once I post a chapter I'm too afraid to go back and read it. So, hopefully this makes for a bit of a smoother read overall.
Ghost the Snowshoe is entirely inspired by my own cat/reason to live. He's taught me unconditional love and I'm thrilled to give him a little shout out in this story. He has no idea how revered he is.