Chapter 77

Two weeks passed. They never seemed to end.

It started with Oswald's supposed visitor from the other side. His father, he'd claimed, dressed in the nightgown he'd always worn with a candle in his hand. "He is not to be trusted. The birthday boy." What could that mean? Who? Oswald and Ruby had both looked up the birthdays of everyone around them. None of them would occur in the nearby future.

Ruby had been awakened at three a.m. by frantic knocking and even more hysterical buzzing. She'd opened the door, one hand morphed into a knife, to find a shaking and blabbering Oswald standing before her. Three hot cups of his favorite tea later, coupled with some painkillers for his knee, he'd told her what he'd seen.

"Are you sure you really saw...saw him?" Ruby's voice had trembled a bit at the mention. "Maybe it was just a nightmare."

"No! I saw him, really." Oswald had taken her hand. His own had been sweaty and clammy but wonderful to hold. "Ruby, I swear on all that is holy, I would never lie about this. Ever." Ruby had held him then, for both their sakes.

But within a few days, she had been the one in need of holding. When her Master's corpse had been reported missing.

Mercury had cradled Beryl, casting worried looks in Ruby's direction, as the latter wept in Oswald's arms. "Who would do this?!" She'd cried. "Who would dig up the body of someone who's been dead for almost two years? It makes no sense!" Oswald, who'd been holding back his own tears, had been silent as he'd stroked her hair.

It didn't help that Edward had all but vanished, refusing to answer Oswald's calls and almost never being seen. Sometimes at night, Oswald could hear the water tubes humming and distant footsteps. But never did Edward come to speak to him. In that way, besides deserting Oswald, he made it impossible to see if the drug had worked. He'd stopped showing up at working, instead sending Oswald a tiny tool named Tarquin Stemmel.

Then came that woman. Margaret Hearst. The one who offered to 'take his legacy on a national scale'. Who was he to refuse, despite her openly admitting that she did not believe in him?

The day came before either Oswald or Ruby knew it. The day of the Hearst interview.

It would be the beginning of the end.

"This is Ed Nygma. Leave a message. Or don't. It doesn't really matter."

Sighing, Oswald hung up. For all the people pushing past him, he felt as alone as a palm tree in the desert. What was the point of being in City Hall, surrounded by underlings, if he couldn't feel good about himself. As he struggled up the stairs, Oswald examined Ruby's latest texts. Hopefully she would cheer him up, and he could do the same. Hiking his way upward, he couldn't help smile as he skimmed through the messages.

'Hey, Oz! Sorry, again, for not coming to your interview. Beryl's been coughing all night and I need to give her the syrup.' Sent at 7:30 a.m.

'Mercury is here, too. He wants to know how the hell you can afford a wardrobe like that and not live off ramen noodles.' Sent at 8:15 a.m.

'Is it weird that I wish that you were here? Despite knowing that you hate to hear babies crying?' Sent at 8:45 a.m, just five minutes ago.

Unable to resist, Oswald texted back. 'Not at all. The feeling is very much mutual, my dear.' He sent it. A few seconds later, Ruby replied with a happy-face emoji. Chuckling, Oswald at last reached the final step.

As if by magic, one of his secretaries - whose names he could not remember with a gun to his head - ran up to him. "Mr. Mayor-"

Oswald held up a hand, effectively silencing her. "Unless you are bringing strong coffee or you have information on my father's stolen remains, go away." The secretary bit her lip and obeyed. Grateful for small miracles, Oswald entered the office. He had barely made it through the door, however, when the echoes reached him. They were of a song so familiar, yet so alien in its cheer.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..."

It was then that Oswald remembered. The tool. Tarquin. Birthday boy. His pulse suddenly thrice faster, Oswald knew what he had to do. Where he had to go. He made a beeline for Tarquin's office, all oak's wood and gold-framed paintings. Clearly, the kid had squandered his paycheque. Knowing that his time was limited, Oswald attacked the desk first. He opened the drawers, scanned the documents, and found nothing. He examined the cabinets and the backs of paintings, with no results. It was only then that he spotted the muddy footprints. Suddenly feeling like he was in a Scooby-Doo episode, but unable to ignore the implications, Oswald followed the smudges.

It brought him to the closet. And within it, a bag used for carrying exercising equiptment. Kneeling before it, with his knee screaming all the way, Oswald tore open the zipper.

His father's decayed body was waiting for him inside.

With a scream Oswald lurched backwards. His hand slapped over his mouth and nose. Keeping the stench out and the screams in. Tears filled his eyes as they gazed at the thing that once been his loving, kind father. The skin was a greenish-black, with the lips pulled back to reveal yellowing teeth. The eyes had rotted away long ago, leaving shriveled sockets. The hair had become thin and brittle. The suit seemed too large now, covering a skeletal form.

It proved too much for Oswald. He twisted around. Vomit gushed from his lips and seeped between the floorboards. His stomach squeezed itself empty, painfully so, until only foam exited Oswald's mouth. He heaved and coughed even as the air soured, yet he couldn't stop. Anything beat looking back at the body. Oswald had seen hundreds of corpses in his career. But never had they been more than steps to near him to his goal. Never had he batted an eye at death, nor wondered what his victims had been like prior to warranting punishment. This was different. This had been someone he'd loved, and who'd returned that love tenfold. All the bodies in the world couldn't compare to that.

A voice cut through to him. "Your Honour!"

Oswald looked up, eyes wild.

The 'birthday boy' himself was standing there, holding a cake-laden paper plate. His expression was clueless. It was the oil poured over the flames of Oswald's fury. A fury that Tarquin did not survive.

Ruby looked up from the thermometer with a smile. "No cough, no fever!" She tapped the baby's button-like nose. "I'd say that's earned you a treat!" Scooping Beryl into her arms, Ruby left the bedroom. Mercury was there, wearing a gray hoodie and jeans so faded that they were almost white. He had just finished arranging a banquet on the coffee table in front of the television, and Ruby felt full from the sight alone. Pizza. Soda. Pretzels. Peanuts. Apple and cherry pie. Hot Pockets. Macaroni and cheese. For a moment, Ruby considered being truthful and admitting that concern had blocked her appetite. But when she saw Mercury grin at her, she couldn't do it.

Sitting next to him on the couch, she asked, "what time is it?"

"Er," Mercury looked up, "it's five to noon."

"Good, let's get to the news channel!" Ruby grinned as she held up Beryl's bottle. "I want to see Oswald take a bite out of that Hearst lady."

"Knowing him, he'll take a bite, then spit it back in her face." Mercury chuckled as the television awakened. Ruby sniggered, holding Beryl close as she fed the baby. When Beryl finished, Ruby patted her back until a polite little burp made itself heard. Kissing the child's fuzzy head, Ruby watched.

Hearst was a thin, middle-aged woman with a pinched face and blonde hair that looked like a wig. Her clothes and jewelry were excessive both in design and in color, making Ruby certain that the stones were fake. Had this woman dated clowns in the past, or did she simply have awful taste?

Oswald, on the other hand, looked amazing. As always, he took Ruby's breath away. But beyond his elegant suit and carefully-slicked hair, something was off. Ruby could see it. He was anxious. Jittery. Almost frightened. Concerned, Ruby gave Beryl to Mercury. If she ended up seeing something unpleasant, she feared dropping the baby. As Mercury tickled the baby's stomach, Ruby closed her eyes. Cleared her mind. Welcomed the connection between her and Oswald, rusty from lack of use.

Then, with a flare, she saw it. The rotting body. The birthday boy. The blood that flowed from his cracked skull.

Slapping a hand over her mouth, Ruby jumped to her feet.

"Rubes?" Mercury's questioning tone grew alarmed as Ruby raced to the kitchen. She'd barely knelt over the trash can when her breakfast came oozing out. Coffee, milk, and partially digested cereal splattered into the bag. Her sweaty-palmed hands clutched at the sink for support, and tears filled her eyes.

"Hey, hey, whoa!" Mercury's scent - a mixture of cheap cologne and unwashed skin - tickled Ruby's nose. His hand patted her back as she vomited. When at last her stomach was empty, and her cheeks were wet with tears, Ruby leaned over the sink. First she rinsed her mouth with cold water, then she doused her face. Feeling a bit more human, she accepted Mercury's offer of a towel and dried herself. When she saw his big, worried eyes, guilt hit her like a weight to the stomach. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, don't worry." Mercury patted her shoulder. "But like, are you okay? You want me to get you something in the farmacy?"

"No, no." Ruby shook her head, nevertheless touched by the gesture. "I...I think I just ate something icky, that's all. Some hot tea and I'll be fine."

"Alright, babe." Mercury pointed to the divan, where Beryl was lying. "Go park it. I'll bring ya the tea in a sec."

Ruby blinked, then chuckled. "I'm a grown woman. I think I can make my own tea."

"You just puked up a storm." Mercury countered. "So, you'd better take it easy." He gave her a gentle push. "Go on, I promise I won't set the building on fire."

Ruby quirked a brow as she made her way back. "You mean like that time you put that dinner tray in the oven without taking off the plastic?"

Blushing, Mercury replied, "I thought we'd never talk of it again!"

Despite the images still reeling behind her eyelids, Ruby chuckled. But concern and terror pumped through her with a vengeance. Why? Why had some guy dug up Master's remains? What was the motive?

All of a sudden, Ruby realized that Oswald had seen his father's corpse minutes before this interview. No wonder he looked so anxious. Taking Beryl back into her arms, Ruby stared at the television screen. Thankfully, Oswald seemed to have calmed down somewhat. He was talking about his ascent in power, minus the conspiracies and murder. As he spoke he loosened up and even smiled from time to time, clearly proud of how far he'd come. Ruby watched, feeling proud of him, and letting him know it. The experience was not unlike squeezing a friend's shoulder, or blowing a kiss. A simple gesture that went a long way. Ruby watched as Oswald smiled sporadically throughout the interview, and how his cheeks reddened.

For a little while, it seemed that all would proceed well. Mercury brought her some tea, and she thanked him with a hug. They continued to watch the interview, snacking all the way. Beryl passed between them like a shared beer can. It truly seemed that Oswald would come out swinging.

Then, Hearst brought up the discussion of Oswald's father. Ruby's Master. "A man whose identity your mother kept from you."

"Oh, my God." Oswald looked at something beyond Hearst, his face losing all color.

"Yes, that must have been very upsetting for you." Hearst replied with feigned empathy. Oswald looked back at her, as if just remembering that she existed, before whispering a distracted, "yes."

Ruby leaned forward in her seat, holding Beryl close.

"He also died under suspicious circumstances. His wife and stepchildren disappeared soon after."

But Oswald wasn't listening to the older woman's unveiled implications. He was staring at something, jaw dropped. Ruby had never seen him this terrified. Just like that, she rose. "I have to go to him."

"What?" Mercury looked befuddled.

"Thanks so much for everything." Ruby said quickly as she dressed Beryl in her little coat. "You can stay here if you want, and watch some TV. I should be back in time for my shift."

"But what happened?" Mercury asked. "Did he just go nuts or something?"

In that moment, Oswald, having stood up, spat out the most vicious dribble of venom he could muster: "To hell with the people!"

Ruby froze, shocked. Mercury stared at the television. "Well, that answers that!"

The woman shook her head as she grabbed her purse. "Something's wrong. Oswald cares about image, almost obsesses over it. He'd never freak out in public like this." She blew Mercury a kiss as she ran out. "Bye, Merc! See you soon!"

Mercury raised his hand, but the door was already closing. He sighed. Stroked the small box sitting in his hoody pocket. "It's never a good time, is it?"

Oswald ran out of City Hall as quickly as he could, his knee screaming every step of the way. He didn't care. He'd chop his knee off with a hacksaw if it meant getting him to his father sooner.

For that was what - nay, whom - he had seen. His dear father, just as he'd been almost two years ago, weaving through the room with a sombre look in his eyes. He'd gone unnoticed by all, yet the light had been shining on him. Like an aura surrounding an angel, it had been there, almost blinding. Then, just as quickly as he'd appeared, he'd left. Oswald had gotten up, stripping himself of his mike and his public image. But he didn't care. If it meant seeing his father again, if only for a second...

The cold air chased him like a mad dog as he wandered about, his hair getting into teary eyes, as he scanned the streets. But to no avail. Like a puff of smoke, his father had come and gone. Just like before. He'd appeared, made him feel so much hope and love, only to abandon him. Just...like...before.

Oswald was crying at this point, no different from a child lost in a crowd. He didn't hear the distant calls, drawing closer. Nor did he see the figure in the sky, not quite a bird and certainly not a plane. Getting closer, wings of flesh flapping.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He whipped around, almost stumbling, to find Ruby standing before him. Her hair was windswept and her cheeks and nose had gone red from the cold. Strapped to her chest, all snuggled up in blankets, was a gurgling baby. She looked at him with huge indigo eyes. Her fingers traced his face, concerned and loving. Oswald's heart broke then and there. He closed the space between them and, careful not to hurt the child, embraced her. Ruby returned the gesture, resting her cheek on the top of his head. Oswald's hunched shoulders trembled hysterically, while the front of Ruby's sweater dampened. But Ruby clung on, stroking her friend's hair and kissing his head. "It's okay." She whispered over and over. "It's alright. I'm here, Oz. I'm here." Oswald merely cried louder, holding her tighter, as the pain of loss overtook him again.

Little did they know that this was only the beginning of the end.

The end of which Edward Nygma was the architect.