A/N: Thank you 4SeasonsChick for reviewing and Batfangirl7773 and Trudes193 for following! Good to see you again, my friends. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman. Probably. My memory is fuzzy. :)
Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection
-Chapter Five: RESEARCH-
-/-/-/-/-
It was all over the news. "The near-death experience of three Gotham citizens in a home in a quiet neighborhood, at the hands of two gunmen, was thwarted by Gotham's greatest hero – the Batman!" Vicki Vale's cheerful voice blared from the radio. "Fortunately, the Batman was able to take out the gunmen, and two other men in a getaway car, and prevent what would have been certain tragedy—"
Danielle clicked off the radio and sighed deeply. Scott had called her last night to tell her the news personally. He left a message rambling about how lucky he had been that Batman had been in the neighborhood and how he hoped that no one else would come after him. It made her heart soar to hear the happiness in her student's voice. Hopefully he would be there for Tuesday's class so she could congratulate him personally on his safety, and to covertly make sure there were no follow up threats. He had no idea that she had talked to Batman and she wanted to keep it that way.
She went to the dojo again to practice, and afterward she felt so lighthearted that she went to Gotham Square. They weren't selling ice cream right now, but they did have some delicious hot chocolate.
Monday rolled around quickly enough. She got to the office early, eager to start the new week—strange. She didn't remember leaving the door ajar when she left on Friday evening. Could there have been a reason for anyone to—
No. She knew there wouldn't be. There would be no reason for anyone to enter her office when she wasn't there.
Her blood froze in her veins. Hastily she summoned the security guard from the main lobby. He came grumpily, wanting to go back upstairs to guard the prime area of the hospital. She waited in the hallway, twisting her purse in her hands as the guard checked the room. "Nothing looks amiss, miss," he finally said, and before she could answer he disappeared back down the hallway.
She went inside. The pure white note was sitting on her desk. She knew it would be.
With trembling fingers, she began to read:
Naughty teacher did not learn…
I warned you once and will again:
Giving people self-defense
Hastens you toward your end!
Take a better path and live,
Make the choice to heed my threat.
Attempt to ignore my warning twice
Results in your most deep regret.
Excepting if you end the class.
Solace in your skill will not last.
In dreams he floats. Giant ragdolls meander in the opposite direction, feet several inches off the ground, scraping the pink wallpaper.
He looks down at his hands. Blood everywhere! He gasps. Stinging all over his body, as though he has been cut hundreds of times. He doesn't dare look, afraid of what he might see.
The doors are oddly shaped, and the clocks are melting. Hands spinning backwards. Bizarre. But not as scary as the moaning.
He can barely hear it, just a wisp of it at first. But the more he focuses on it, the more he realizes he can hear nothing else. Just the ticking of the clock…and the moaning.
He tries to will his body to float toward a wall, or possibly toward a chair. They seem bolted down enough. But when he gets there, his grip loosens perpetually and he cannot anchor himself in one spot. For all his efforts to grab on, his hands are too slippery, and his attempts speed him rapidly away from the chair.
He keeps moving, more and more swiftly, as the ragdolls continue to pass him by—
On closer inspection, there is something wrong. The ragdolls' eyes are black buttons, their mouths sewn shut…
And yet each and every one of their throats is slit!
Zsasz screams. With a violent start, he realizes that the moaning is coming FROM THEM!
With horror, he begins to recognize features about each doll. This one has red hair made of yarn, wears a doctor's white lab coat. The next one, blonde yarn…a red dress…clearly a rich woman. And the one after, black muddy yarn hair, high heels, long nails, a short skirt… condom in hand...
They shouldn't have come back! He had saved them! They were gone… So why did they haunt him so?!
One by one, the ragdolls pass by him, rattling their porcelain limbs, emitting their low moans and screams… What makes them suffer so much? Can't he possibly do something to ease their suffering? The blood that drips from their necks is so much louder than the tick of the clocks. Each drop makes the hands move faster.
Cold steel in his hand. He is holding a bloody knife. The drops of fresh blood from the blade are the loudest.
A white light lies ahead. He scrambles to grab another chair, and another, and they slip through his fingers like butter. He must not go into the light! If he does, he will be sucked in and incinerated by the white hot pureness of truth! He would cease to exist and his mission would end! Oblivion, forever!
Now blood rains from the ceiling, falling on his face like crimson tears.
One final doll, just before the light of oblivion. This one isn't screaming…
Blank, soulless eyes stare at him with chilling recognition. Her porcelain lips part, baring razor-sharp teeth. As Zsasz's mouth widens in terror, the angry doll raises a large baseball bat and swings—
-/-/-/-/-
He awoke with a gasp. Sweat poured off his forehead, and he sighed deeply, almost pleasantly. "Zombies… they're all zombies…"
He had been having flashbacks for a few days. More of the puzzle pieces were beginning to slip into place. He remembered his parents. He remembered how he was orphaned. His familiarity with the blade was growing, as was his bloodlust.
The remorse he had felt at killing the five sailors had slipped away. All he felt now was…peace. Acceptance. I have given them peace, a precious gift.
He smiled. "So that's what I am…"
A serial murderer. A savior somehow.
'"Savior" might be pushing it.'
"Shut up," he told The Voice, and it scoffed in response.
That dream, albeit disturbing, had answered a lot of his questions. He felt a strange comfort as he looked down at the knife that materialized from his pocket. The handle felt so right. But he needed to know more.
Why, if he had led such an exciting life before, had he forgotten everything?
What could have happened to him that made him forget?
Who had he been?
It was her.
The doll with the baseball bat…the one who was still alive… She knew him, knew who he was. He could feel it. Somehow she had all the answers.
The spectrometer had not yielded anything. But Batman was sure that there was something there. Something about it struck him as…off.
He sat in the Batcave, old-fashioned microscope in hand, peering down at the note Danielle Lee had received on Tuesday. He adjusted the lens ever so slowly… There! A slight iridescent sheen on the surface of the paper. But what did it mean?
If he didn't know any better, he would think it looked like-
BEEP! BEEP! His ears pricked up. That sounded like the police station's broadcast.
He pushed aside the note gently and tuned his cowl to hear better.
"Calling all units…" He could hear Officer Montoya's voice over the crackling frequency, "We are sending out an ABP for a suspect in five murders. Suspect is Victor Zsasz. Sending out an APB…"
He quickly patched himself in to a different frequency. "Oracle!"
He heard a yawn. "What is it, Bruce?"
"There was an alert just sent out over the police radio. Something about Victor Zsasz."
"What?! Zsasz is alive?!"
"Can you check the police database for any recent reports?"
He heard typing. "Yeah, here it is. Two separate reports. Four murders committed on the F-120, USS Lodi, four sailors. All posed, throats slashed. A knife was recovered with positive ID on Zsasz's fingerprints… The second crime scene wasn't far away. A lone sailor, same M.O."
"Hello, Master Bruce?" Alfred interrupted their conversation as he entered the Batcave, formal as always.
"One moment, Oracle. Yes, Alfred?"
"How do you do, Miss Barbara? Mrs. Selina has readied your breakfast, sir. She's very proud: she made the pancakes all by herself."
"Let Selina know I'll be there in a moment."
"Is something wrong, sir?"
"Victor Zsasz might be back." He stood up. "Oracle, I'm going to check out some of Zsasz's old hideouts. If he's really back, then he's extremely dangerous. I'm going to start searching for him."
"OK."
It's only a matter of time before more bodies start turning up. I need to move quickly!
Batman turned apologetically to Alfred. "Come to think of it… Tell Selina that I might need to take breakfast to go!"
"I need to find her."
'Whom are you rambling about?'
"A former victim of mine. She survived somehow. Ah, she has the answers I need." The reaction I had to her in the dream… She's not a stranger to me, and I am not one to her. She recognized me. Maybe she can tell me what I've forgotten. "I know that when I see her, it will come back to me." A psychotic smile. "And then I will bathe in her blood. I'm just dying to know how she survived a man with my track record."
And yet even as he talked of shedding her blood, he felt flustered inside. The thought of killing another person surprisingly no longer bothered him… But... Kill someone, anyone who might have a connection to me? he thought. So easily? And then go back to wandering aimlessly?
He realized with a start that he didn't want to be alone. It wasn't anything to do with this girl or not - after all, he didn't even know who she was. Rather, it was the fear of being left alone with only The Voice for company… Alone, without even his own memories or his sense of self… But this talk of murdering her burst from him. Somehow, he thought it would appease The Voice to hear of his violence.
'You would jeopardize your great mission for a mere woman?' Zsasz was surprised to hear the derision in The Voice. 'Are you sure that this is where your destiny leads you?' As The Voice spoke, Zsasz felt the vague fuzziness start to return – but he would not be deterred!
"I must regain my memories, and she has the answers. I have never been more certain of anything in my life."
'Memories are overrated. You have a mission now. You must not stop until the blood of all humanity runs beneath your boots—'
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Zsasz screamed. If he had to listen to that cackling, condescending, disembodied voice for one more second–!
The Voice laughed maliciously. 'If you want me so badly, I challenge you – come and find me. You will find me ready.'
Zsasz gritted his teeth. The knife in his hand felt good. "Ohh, today is a glorious day for you to die on!" He vowed to himself he would say those words someday – to the corpse that housed The Voice.
He wandered through the empty streets and the frosty air, searching for lost memories. He passed by a large compound with a skeletal sign heralding the desolate place as 'Sionis Steel Mill'. He shivered. Something about the look of the place unsettled him. His pace sped up as he continued past the gates, past the small smelly near-frozen moat nearby, past an old payphone…
White, blue, red, and green lights sparkled in the distance and caught his eyes.
It was festive. Beyond the skeletal buildings in this gloomy place were Christmas lights. This cold weather… it could only mean that Christmas was soon to come here. Somehow, the thought cheered him up.
What do I usually do on Christmas? Do I enjoy the lights, the seasonal cheer? Or do I hate the world for experiencing such happiness while I remain alone? I wish I knew.
He stopped. "Oh…" Something about this building…
He went inside. He could hear the rushing of the water so close. There was a large floor-grate system, ruptured pipes, and a large empty chamber in the back of the room with a frost monitor…
"Not this one!"
He checked almost every building he could find in the Industrial District. He was beginning to feel dejected. What had given him the idea, even for a second, that he should listen to his own half-delusional ideas that the answers must be here of all places?
Suddenly, unbidden, the image of the doll came to mind – the one with the baseball bat. She had looked so fierce…and something else. Familiar. He felt an unexpected warmth when he thought of her. It made no sense! But…
"I cannot give up."
He tried another building. This one had large double doors on the inside, which led to a room surrounded entirely by water. The level kept rising and falling. Zsasz looked over the edge.
A skeleton lay on the bottom of the floor, barely exposed even when the water was at its lowest. Shreds of clothes hung off its body – it looked like a hooded jacket! He shuddered and continued over the walkway.
There was a glass room in the center, and inside were two cages. Abruptly Zsasz clutched his head.
-ZZZ!
The knife scraped eerily against the metal bars. Goosebumps erupted over his skin. It was- ecstasy!
"Oho! Oho ho ho ha ha ha ha haaaa!" the joyous laugh sprang from deep inside him, and he turned away, brandishing the knife again. "You are probably praying I will end your lives quickly. I won't." He smiled into scared eyes, eyes that couldn't stop staring at the shining blade in his hand. "You…you I will gut like a fish!"
The prisoner moved away from the bars, terrified, as he swiped the air. Holding the blade up to his mouth, he kissed it. "Muah!"
His eyes opened. "This is it… This is the place!" He looked down into the water again at the skeleton with a contemptuous sneer. "Poor little zombie…"
There was a floating bridge on the other side of the room, a whole other area he could not get to. Above it, on a ledge, was a vent, and he had seen an open air vent on the outside of the room near the double doors. If I could just get up there…
A few tries later, he was inside the vent, crawling along. Here it branched off… and at the end of the narrow tunnel, there was a shorted fuse box with a piece of metal sticking out. To his side, a small nook, filled with a bundle of papers—
Eagerly, lying flat on his belly in the narrow vent, he untied the bundle and realized, to his joy, that they were old newspaper articles, dated to a few years ago. He immediately recognized his name in the headlines.
'TRIPLE HOMICIDE! ZSASZ LEAVES POLICE POSED!' This one was dated five years ago. Apparently he had killed three policemen and left them sitting around a table in a strip joint, eating donuts. His brow furrowed.
There are so many articles here. So many people I killed. And The Voice said I had a mission… Was this my great mission in life before now?
'MR. ZSASZ STRIKES AGAIN! SEVENTH STREETWALKER FOUND DEAD.' Apparently he had been responsible for a string of murders dated six years back in another city. He had been killing streetwalkers, though the reports had indicated he did not engage in any sexual activities with them either before or after they were killed. "So I'm not a sexual predator at least…" he mumbled to himself. Precious little comfort there.
'MR. ZSASZ APPREHENDED BY UNDERCOVER COP.' Apparently his little stint with the prostitutes had gotten him arrested. They had caught him by letting one of the officers pose undercover as a streetwalker, to bait him. His lip curled.
'ESCAPE FROM ARKHAM! ZSASZ AGAIN ON THE LOOSE!' Apparently—
Enough. He flipped through the articles, ignoring the headlines and instead focusing on the pictures. He failed to see any pictures that reminded him of the doll with the baseball bat. Somehow, he felt, he would just know when he saw her.
Here! The last article, dated three and a half years ago. 'ZSASZ ATTEMPTS HOSPITAL MURDER, GIRL SURVIVES'. There was a picture of his own face, a mugshot, and a second smaller picture of a girl with long dark hair and big dark eyes.
"Is this you?" he whispered to himself.
Underneath the picture was the caption: 'Danielle Lee.'
"Danielle…Lee," he tried the name slowly, wondering if saying it aloud would poke loose any memories.
Three and a half years ago? How could she survive for so long? He searched again, but there was no article about her death.
He found himself humming a song as he looked carefully at her picture. He could hear the words: "All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces…" He could hear the piano softly in his ears, a ghostly melancholic sound.
No mention of a baseball bat. But something about her is so familiar… I feel… I feel like I know her… Can she help me remember? Is this why I returned?
Hope burst in him, soon squelched by a fearful thought. Or is she somehow responsible for what happened to me? That baseball bat… He shuddered. Did she hit my head and make my memories disappear? Three years ago when the last article was? Or sooner? If I go to her now… The thought didn't sit well with him.
He looked at her picture again. She didn't look intimidating. But then, that didn't mean very much, especially considering his own track record. You could never judge a book by its cover.
Except for maybe the Batman… Anger bristled, and then…something occurred to him. Something strange, something he had just seen. Fear pricking up his back, he slowly looked again toward the shorted circuit box. More specifically, toward the metal that had shorted it. His mouth fell open in astonishment.
The piece of metal was in the shape of a bat.
With a soft flutter, Batman landed in front of the old hideout. It had been years since he had needed to enter here. There were two other known hideouts of Victor Zsasz; this was the earliest one of recent years.
He could hear the water softly rising and falling from the other room. The police had never removed the remains of the political prisoner Zsasz had murdered here. He had saved the other two… but the unfortunate third man was now one more person who haunted his conscience. One more person I couldn't save.
He searched the room quickly. No sign of Zsasz. But something in the air… It felt like someone had been here recently.
He turned to go.
A flash of metal caught his eye. Right beneath the old vent near the double doors… Batman came closer to investigate.
Then his eyes narrowed.
There was a knife sticking out of the wall. And speared on the end was one of his own Batarangs.
Mist swirled around him. The footsteps of doom approaching on an unsuspecting world.
Knives in one pocket. Newspaper articles in the other. A hoodie on from some unfortunate homeless man he had stabbed. Yes. He was Victor Zsasz. And no—
'Where are you going now, Killer?'
No stupid voice in his head was going to stop him!
Yet he paused. Glared at the nothingness in front of him, and growled. "To the store. I'm starving." Not waiting for an answer from the mental menace, he walked onward.
The modest store hadn't much. Mostly breads and canned goods, a couple of packaged pastries. Low quality food. He didn't mind. He hadn't eaten in… several days, it felt like. Not counting the blood he'd ingested from his kills.
He bought two small bags of candy, some bread, and a beer. The cashier gave him a look for favoring alcohol so early in the day.
He stared at the cashier. Something about the man was off—No, rather something about the man's reaction to him was off. He stood stupidly at the register for a moment, change collected in his hand, and tried to piece it together. The cashier gave him an impatient look.
It wasn't until he was out of the store that he realized: it was the cashier's lack of a reaction that disturbed him. Somehow, that didn't feel normal.
He looked at his reflection in the store window. Aside from the bags under his eyes, he looked perfectly… normal.
Something was missing.
"And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had…"
The bridge loomed before him, half concealed by mist. His feet had led him here, and he had followed, despite The Voice's protests and loud mockeries. The mist made the metal smell even stronger, mixed with the salty spray.
This was it. The great and terrible bridge he had seen in the shred of a vision. His mouth fell open softly. Something happened here. I feel it.
He leaned on the railing and looked down. The waves were far below him, crashing into the pilings. A fall from this height would kill a man—
Or perhaps the homeless man in the shadows would kill him. The old man stank of urine and cigarettes and bad breath. Several teeth were missing. He must have looked shocked, for the man held out his knife with a sharp jab. "All your money, now!" He felt his pockets. They were empty. The sheer nakedness of the moment crashed down on him. He would die. It was inevitable—
Zsasz gasped, shuddering and clutching his head.
And he stared into the beggar's eyes, willing him to understand—and there he saw something…familiar. Something equally inevitable.
This man was just as alone as he was, needlessly suffering.
Tears almost stung Zsasz's eyes. He could help. He didn't need to suffer anymore; Zsasz could take away this man's suffering.
The scream of the homeless man echoed in his head, and he twitched, as if hit by a wave of blood. When he looked down at himself, he was clean, and yet the memory stained his skin. He looked again at the railing, eyes calculating, heart darkening. Instead of receding, the nausea worsened suddenly. And to his horror, the next memory burst forth in perfect clarity.
He walked along the bridge, as the streetlights cast an eerie glow. There! In the middle of the bridge… It was her! The girl from the article… She turned to look at him—his heart leaped in his throat—
She listed. Clutched her head. "I'm so confused." The words echoed in the air around him. He approached her.
"I finally see the world as you do, Zsasz…"
He felt a shiver of fear, of despair.
"We can be happy together!"
Shapes blurred around them- Pain- A cutting sensation- Too much!
Soft arms wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He looked down at the head of brown hair. "Danielle…" Intense warmth, her head resting soothingly against his chest, and then—falling!
The hands that had gripped him, suddenly pushed him, leaving him cold and alone! Her face fading away and the wind bearing down. Plummeting, toppling, tumbling alone into oblivion-
"No-" he choked as the final memory ripped through him.
He shook his head but he could not block out the images. He saw the railing of the bridge again, fading out of reach, and her face at an odd angle, watching coldly as he fell. Fear swelled in him as he realized he was about to die alone-
This was it. I understand. My mind could not handle this memory, so it buried it - but it has never stopped haunting my heart.
He closed his eyes, his own screams echoing in his head. And when he opened them, veins bulging, he had only one desire.
"I will kill you, zombie!"
Reason was gone, and blood pounded through him. Oh, he remembered now! He could see her brown hair, the soft smile on her face - the eyes hiding her deceit. This girl, this would-be murderer…
She had tricked and seduced him. Tried to end his life. He shuddered as he recalled again the momentary relief he'd felt when she hugged him. All torn away mere second later when she had pushed him over the edge!
It was time to pay her back in kind!
His eyes swept along, and through the mist he saw a payphone booth. There was even a phone book swinging idly on the inside…
She sat at home, hands shaking. Officer Bullock had arrived at the hospital to investigate. He had taken the note with him for evidence and told her to go home early. He was right. She was in no shape to teach the class. Was this it? Would the class be permanently closed down?
She hugged the pillow softly to her chest. Everything they had been working for… The work that she and Bruce Wayne and Mrs. Phillips had done… That class was to give them all hope. So that no one would be sitting home alone terrified for their lives ever again. And to think that some arrogant prick had threatened to revictimize them through the very class that undid their victimhood—
Her teeth clenched.
No, Goddamn it!
The pillow went flying across the room.
She stood up. Punched the sofa so hard that the wood splintered. Now there was a nice dent in the armrest.
"You think you can intimidate us?!" she ranted to thin air. "You little coward, you write two-bit little anonymous notes and want to shut us down? I dare you! Come and find me, face-to-face. I will make you sorry you ever messed with us!"
She sat down in a huff. Too bad the police said they had to proceed cautiously. She wanted nothing more than to take matters into her own hands. She'd beat every crook who came her way until she found the creep who was writing the notes – and then she'd break each of his (or her) fingers! They'd never write another nursery rhyme ever again!
She sighed. She needed to tell Cindy. Maybe, just maybe the police would catch a lucky break and find this creep. Thanksgiving was on Thursday. Maybe she could just try to relax and enjoy the day with Cindy's family and Mrs. Phillips and then maybe-
The phone rang. She checked caller ID, but did not recognize the number.
"Hello?" she snapped.
There was a long pause on the other end, and for a moment she thought – hoped – that it was the Note Writer.
"Hello, little zombie…"
She gasped.
"Do you recognize my voice?"
Her skin turned to gooseflesh. Her scars ached.
Three long years…
"It can't be!"
-/-/-/-/-
-0-
A/N: The song Zsasz is singing is "Mad World", Gary Jules' version. I don't own it (disclaimer).