Chapter 70
From the rooftops of Gotham Batwoman and I look out into the clear night sky illuminated by a full moon.
"...you alright?" Batwoman asks, her cape billowing in the wind, "You've seemed...distracted today."
I lie down, resting my head against the hard plaster of the roof, "Yeah, I've had a busy week, especially with the Talon after you."
"Hey, we still don't know what the Talon wants, or if he's specifically going after me. Maybe...it was just a coincidence."
Should I tell her I saw the Talon at Don Falcone's mansion? But then she would certainly question what I was doing there, and since she knows I'm a cop, she might think I'm one of the corrupt ones.
"It's hard to see the situation as a coincidence seeing that you're Batwoman," I point out.
She shrugs, "True...but I think there's a little something more on your mind than just the Talon," she ends her sentence with a suggestive wink.
What should I tell her? What can I tell her? That Gordon's acquaintance "Peter" is actually a psychopathic murderer named Oswald Cobblepot who I'm also in love with? But then again, she does deserve some kind of answer, even if it is a half-hearted one.
"Let's just say I'm having some guy troubles," I tell her, keeping my tone light and casual.
She gasps, "No way, you never told me you were dating anyone! Hang on...is it Peter? It's totally Peter, isn't it?"
I scratch my head, is it that obvious? "Haha...yeah, caught me red-handed."
"Yes, I knew it! I knew you two were dating when I first met you at the art gallery. You can tell just by how he looks at you."
"How does he look at me? Like a piece of meat?" I joke.
"No...it's like, how you'd look at a newborn pup. It's sort of...protective," she explains.
Huh, I'd never thought of Oswald as being protective of me, more like possessive. But I guess it's all a matter of perspective. After all, she doesn't know about the dove and the cage. Or his murderous tendencies.
"Peter's great but...some of the things he does I just can't excuse."
"Oh...is he corrupt? Does he work for the mob? You...you don't have to tell me," she pulls back, realizing the issue is rather personal.
Uhm...all of the above?
"Hey, I just remembered something," Batwoman changes the subject, and takes out a tape recorder, "I heard this while painting today."
She plays the tape, and the tinny music of a familiar radio show comes on.
"This week, in 'Tales of Suspense', the masked man the the night: the Talon, battles the villainous femme fatales: Batwoman and the Trickstress!" the announcer practically shouts, giving an almost forced drama to his voice.
"No way, we're on 'Tales of Suspense'?! I loved this show as a kid!" I cry, shaking my hands in excitement.
"Aren't you listening? It's complete propaganda, they're painting us as the bad guys," she points out.
"I'm sorry, it's just in that moment I was just happy that I'm appearing as a character on my favorite radio drama," I apologize.
She nods understandably, "I get it...it was my favorite show too."
We go back to listening to the radio show, where the Talon catches Batwoman and the Trickstress robbing a bank...but only taking the Susan B. Anthony coins.
"I don't want these! These are men!" shouts the nasally Batwoman actress, after the bank teller offers her hundred dollar bills with the face of Benjamin Franklin.
The Talon swoops in and makes quick work of Batwoman and the Trickstess, tying them up and sending them to jail.
"Ladies, why would you commit such an atrocious crime?!" the hammy Talon actor asks.
"If only we had boyfriends our idle minds wouldn't have turned us to crime," the Trickstress actress whines.
As the radio show ends, Batwoman and I glance at each other both in horror and disgust. Finally, I speak, "Well...I guess 'Tales of Suspense' hasn't changed at all."
"No kidding...but thousands of people still listen to the show, what are people going to think of us?" she wonders.
"Hey, they painted Green Lantern as a stereotypical Italian immigrant and that didn't do anything to change public opinion of him," I point out.
"That's true...you know, wouldn't it be great if we could get Green Lantern to join us? Compared to us, he's a real superhero, with powers and everything," Batwoman dreams.
I chuckle, "Isn't he off in space half the time? And I don't think he's ever come to Gotham...dream on Babs."
"But he stands for all-American values and justice! And if anywhere's in need of some old-fashioned American ethics, then it's Gotham!" she argues.
"Uhm...I think Gotham stands for all-American values just fine as it is," I counter, smirking.
Montoya and Allen storm into the GCPD as I'm working at my desk. I've been watching them investigate the missing children's case at Haly's Circus for the past week, and not much has turned up. The performers from the circus don't seem to know much, or else aren't admitting to it.
"The Captain suggests that we hand this case over to Abduction," Allen mentions.
"Why? Because they think the case has gone cold? We've got this, we just need a little more time," Montoya resists.
"All we have are a handful of indiscernible pictures from the circus. That man could be anyone," he sighs.
A cop walks in from outside, "Montoya! Allen! You're needed between Morrison and Moore!"
The two detectives get up and leave the precinct, leaving behind all of their paperwork on their desk. Glancing around, I push my chair over to their desk and start shuffling through their papers. They've compiled files on all of the missing children. They all seem to be about the same age, on the younger side, from lower-class backgrounds, and all with exceptional acrobatic skills. They also all seem to have histories of violence, but that's not unusual for children who've been abandoned by their parents. I remember when my parents first passed I was pretty violent myself. But wait...if they were all from lower-class backgrounds, wouldn't the kids have been to the Flea at one point? There's no mention of the Flea in Montoya and Allen's notes, maybe they haven't checked it yet.
"A possible case for us, Natalie?" Ed asks, standing directly behind me, leaning over my shoulder.
"Actually, yes. We're going to the Flea," I announce.
Ed lets out an excited giggle, "Ooh...I just love our adventures! I'll go pack!"
After jimmying the lock on her front door, Oswald shambles into Trixie's apartment. Her apartment has practically become a second home to him. He breaths in the smell of steamed vegetables and oyster sauce. She's been cooking.
Oswald sits on her couch. He imagines her splayed out on his lap, her dress just barely falling past her knees. She'd been in this position just hours ago, the dress she wore now laid out on her bed in the next room.
He holds both of his hands up, feeling her soft skin in the empty air. His solution to coping with her repeated betrayals have been to retreat into fantasies. Perhaps that's all their romance is, a fantasy. A delusion of his own invention, meant to distract him in moments of weakness.
He thought back to earlier today. He'd killed Frankie, and taken his men. In that moment, he'd reached a new level of satisfaction. Conquest over his passions, his weaknesses. But is the answer the same for Trixie? Would killing her be the only way to truly satiate his craving? He'd often dreamed of it. Watching the life drain from her eyes, knowing that she would forever belong in his arms, and his alone.
But there would be no new experiences, no more new memories to create with her. No longer would he be able to look forward to seeing how she would surprise him with each passing day. And while Frankie only brought him pain and suffering, she, on occasion, brought him joy...true, unbridled joy. What is this, exactly? Why would she choose him to bring joy and happiness to? What motive does she have?
That's not to say she's been completely faithful. No, even today she denied him pleasures, even if she wanted to give them. He could see it, clear as day, that she wanted to. What's compelled her to such a place where she works against exactly what she wants?
Could she be upset about their first time together? True, Oswald isn't the finest of lovers, and needing Trixie to explain how to use protection was...embarrassing at best. But she wasn't his first, at least, not in some respects. No, that award goes to the young man in the trailer, whom Oswald killed promptly after. Trixie, however, is certainly is his first willing lover, and while not knowing for certain, he'd like to think that he was her first...and only lover.
Maybe he'll wait for her to arrive home, she always works far later hours than he does. It's good, it gives him time to prepare. Perhaps he should surprise her, maybe with a gift. Maybe he'll return all the clothing he's been stealing from her. He's been amassing quite the collection, and Mother would be displeased if she were to discover it.
He gets up, and moves into her bedroom. There's an armchair next to the bed, which Oswald sits in. Glancing over to the bed, he reaches over and runs his hand through the sheets. Is there a place for him in her bed? It's a king size, certainly enough room for two. But...did he deserve to sleep beside her, to experience the joys brought about by its other occupant? His heart sinks, perhaps he isn't worthy.
Oswald picks up her dress from the bed. Being so short, she looks better in these shorter dresses, and plus, they're easier to remove. Scrunching the fabric in his hands, he begins quietly sobbing into the dress. Yes, there might be enough room in her bed for two, but that spot will be unopen to him as long as he's unworthy of it. He must prove himself to her, prove that he is more than worthy of her affection.
He again looks down at her dress, still slightly warm in his hands, and damp from his tears. Maybe just one more, one more for the collection…
Author's Note:
Erik-is-my-angel1234: Thanks, that scene is the one from Episode 7 where Oswald kills Frankie. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
Thanks! :)