AN: I'm not a big fan of Nickelback. I don't loathe them, they're just sort of…there. But there's a few songs of theirs I like-this one included.
The Puppeteer Patient 120402-I don't like them. Yeah, you haven't been sleeping much lately... No. I know what this means! Kitty... Hug therapy! Please don't. Hold still, it'll be over faster. Help me. Stay back or I'll kill you!
Christineoftheopera-Scarecrow is absent when I'm sick. I don't know why, but I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He would have made it worse.
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-It didn't feel dream-like. Never again. Shh, it's all right now. Why are you clutching me and humming. It's a hug, and Mum used to do it when I had bad dreams. It's clutching. HUG.
He's been watching her since she got on the train. She didn't notice at first, but more and more people got off and fewer and fewer got on and then…they were alone. He's not even trying to be subtle-he's just staring at her like she's an interesting exhibit.
It's nighttime now-hers is the last stop-and she tries to ignore him. No need to encourage him, right? She can't help sneaking glances, though, and she's relieved when she looks over and sees him reading a book.
She puts in her headphones and leans against the grimy seat. Ugh, thank god it's Friday. Although why her good-for-nothing boyfriend couldn't have picked her up…probably at a strip club. Fucking asshole. She's been meaning to dump him, but then her hours got cut and her mom got sick and she just…doesn't care enough.
Has he moved? She'd heard a scrabbling noise from the far end of the train, but when she looked over there he was still immersed in his book. Maybe her headphones are dying.
God, how long is it gonna take? She wants to go home.
She shoots another look over there. Yeah, he's gotten a little bit closer. Just a seat or two, but he's definitely closer.
The headphones come out and she reaches for her pepper spray instead. She doesn't take it out, just holds it in her hand.
The train comes to a shuddering stop and she gets up, walks quickly-but-confidently towards the exit. She hears him get to his feet behind her, but she's on the platform before he can catch up.
The streets are empty tonight-well, for Gotham-and she goes ahead and takes her pepper spray out of her purse. There's footsteps behind her but she does not turn to see.
She's never been so glad to get home.
She's forgotten all about the weirdo a week later-until she sees him again, on the last train of the day.
She didn't see him when she got in the car, but then somebody moved and she spotted him, standing in the throng, swaying gently with the train.
And watching her with that same, unblinking gaze.
She flips him off and he smiles at her, shakes his head ever so slightly.
Brr. What a creep. Shame-he's kinda cute-but she doesn't go for creeps, even cute ones.
Although she did date Jeffery for six months, but he didn't advertise his creep-ness at first.
She gets off a stop early, but that doesn't deter him and she ends up dodging into an all-night coffee shop to call a friend to come and get her. While she waits, she sees him across the street, hands in his pockets, just watching her.
And grinning.
It's her first night coming home to an empty apartment. She finally kicked Tom to the curb-caught his ass with a cheap whore-and she's looking forward to some ice cream.
It feels weird in here. Nothing's out of place-well, Tom's stuff is gone. Maybe that's it.
She tosses her heels into the corner and pads into the bedroom, undoing her bra as she goes. Ahh. Nothing like coming home and freeing the ladies from their cotton prison.
She flicks on the light. God, why does it feel like she's being watched?
The blinds are open. That might be why. She goes to close them and the blood drains from her face.
The guy, the guy from the train-he's standing in the street below, watching her. She knows he's watching her, this is too much of a coincidence.
She whisks the blinds shut and sinks onto her bed, shivering. What the hell has she done? She's done everything right-no eye contact, no skimpy clothing, no flirting with strange men. Isn't that supposed to deter these kinds of sickos?
She almost misses Tom.
"I don't know, man…I think he's stalking me."
"Well, you are hot, hon."
"Sarah!"
Sarah laughs.
"Sorry. Really, Charlotte, d'you need me to come over?"
She appreciates the offer, but she kind of wants to be alone.
"No, I'm okay. But if I disappear…"
"Yeah, yeah. I gotta go to work, hon. Be safe."
"Thanks, Sarah."
Charlotte drops back on her bed and closes her eyes. She's hungry today-he wasn't on the train, and he's not outside her house.
She'll make some bacon, she decides, Bacon makes everything better.
Wasn't her frying pan right here?
Huh. Must've left it in the sink last night. God, she's tired…
She throws a few rashers of bacon into the pan and rubs her head. Is he out there now, where she can't see him? Does he watch her at work? Oh, god, does he have some kind of shrine set up?
Now where'd her tongs go? God, she really needs to get it together.
She's grown increasingly scatter-brained since Weirdo started watching her. More often than not she'll reach for her book or her shampoo and realise that she's left it somewhere else and forgotten.
He seems to know she's afraid-every time she sees him now, on the train or on the street, he gives her a little we've-got-a-secret smile. She's quit flipping him off. The less interaction they have, the better.
Eventually, though, she can't take it anymore. One night, when they're alone on the train, she marches over to him.
"What do you want?"
He looks up from his book, cocks his head.
"Pardon?"
"You've been watching me for weeks. What the fuck is your problem?"
He says nothing, only gives her that snake smile. She slaps him hard across the face and goes to do it again when he grabs her wrist and squeezes hard enough for her to hear the bones shift.
The train turns hard and she's flung into him. She tries frantically to get away, to pull the emergency stop or something, but he doesn't let her go.
"When I'm through with you, you'll wish this was all." he murmurs. "Good night, Miss Verne." Then he shoves her back, sends her sprawling, and disappears into another car.
It takes her a long while to get up.
The power's out when she gets home one night. Mother fucker. It was out this morning, too, and she'd been late to work because she was telling the manager. What the hell was she paying the rent for, then?
Assholes…oughtta move, for chrissake…
She goes into her room to get a flashlight. Now, where did she leave that it, it was here just two days ago…?
Something brushes the back of her neck and she flails, expecting to hit something with legs. Just hair. Ugh, she needs a haircut. Just last week she freaked out upon seeing what she thought was a giant spider. (It had turned out to be a hair clump that blew out of the trash.)
Ah! flashlight…
She clicks it on and turns around.
And screams.
Standing right behind her is the man from the train.
"Boo."
She drops the flashlight and it goes out. Nononononono!
"How are we tonight?" She can't hear him moving, but his voice is getting closer.
"Get away from me, get away!"
She drops down, fumbles for the light, and frantically pushes the button. It finally turns on, weak and flickering, and she casts the beam around.
He's not there.
She pulls her phone from her back pocket and gets in 9-1 when it's ripped out of her hand and thrown against the wall. She whirls, clocks him in the shoulder.
"Get away from me, you sick bastard! Help! Police!"
"Lived in Gotham long?" He's grinning. "Nobody comes for that. Nobody comes for anything. And your neighbors are both out."
"No they're not."
"My dear, I've been following you for weeks. I know their schedule as well as yours." He ducks out of the beam and she turns, trying to find him again. The light goes out and she unscrews the top. Maybe a good battery shaking, come on…
"Get out!"
"Hush, hush, sweet Charlotte…"
The light turns back on. Where is he, where is he…
She'll hide in the bathroom, she decides. She can climb out the window.
She doesn't even bother going for her phone, just sprints inside and locks the door behind her after a quick sweep to make sure he's not in the shower or something.
The doorknob rattles just as she's clearing her shampoo from the little sill.
"Well. This is unfortunate."
She doesn't answer, just looks under the sink for something to break the glass.
CRASH! SPLINTER! CRACK!
A thin hand shoots through the new hole in the door and unlocks it. A second later he's grabbed her ponytail and pulled her out, paying no nevermind to her shrieks and flails.
"Let go of me! Let go of me you sick, twisted son of a bitch!"
Something-a sock?-shoves itself into her mouth. She tries to spit it out and only succeeds in licking it. Oh, gross…
"Shh, shh. Come along, now."
She kicks him in the shin and makes a break for it. She gets maybe four steps before she's knocked to the ground with a battered chair.
"Try that again." he says softly. "Go ahead. There's always others…"
She doesn't try it again. Her back hurts where the chair hit it. She does, however, rip the sock from her mouth and spit several times to get the taste out.
"It doesn't have to be like this." she whimpers. "Please, I'll do whatever you want…"
"Something tells me you won't." He yanks her up, his grip painfully tight on her upper arm. "Try anything again, and I'll rip your shoulder out. Clear?"
She's sobbing, snot congealing on her face and dripping a little into her mouth. She spits it out as best she can.
"Please, my mom…"
One hand is on her ribs and before she can say anything else he pulls back-hard. There's a dull pop and for a minute nothing, but then it's PAIN PAIN SO MUCH PAIN and there's a shrieking from far away. The sock is stuffed back in her mouth and it's only then that she realizes that the shrieking was her.
"Come along, child. It's time to go."
They pass an abandoned newspaper on the stairs and through the haze of agony she sees the front page-Scarecrow Escapes Arkham.
Right below the headline is a picture of her captor.
THE END