Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, or Zsasz.
A/N: Thank you 4SeasonsChick and Trudes193 for the reviews. They always make my day. :)
Anyone else excited for Batman: Arkham Knight? :D October, woo hooooo!
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Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection
-Chapter Six: REMEMBER-
-/-/-/-/-
Danielle stared at the phone. The room pitched suddenly and she had to hold on to the dented armrest of the couch to steady herself.
"Do you recognize my voice?"
"It can't be!"
"Say my name, little zombie. I want to hear my murderer breathe my name with fear in her voice…" his voice grew higher in his deranged joy.
"I—"
"Say it!"
"Victor Zsasz," she whispered. Chills erupted across her skin. "It can't be you."
"'It can't be you'," the cruel voice on the other end mocked her. "But it is! I have returned, and this time it will be for your blood!"
"But how?"
"Does it matter how?"
"Yes! How did you survive?"
A pause, and then a soft malevolent chuckle on the other end. "You sound so disappointed. Did you think your pathetic attempt to end my life would work?"
She took a deep breath. "I—"
"I wonder, do you feel guilty for trying to seduce me, only to betray me in the end? How did you pull it off, zombie? How did you make me sacrifice everything? Well?" His voice rose. "What do you have to say in your defense?"
She wanted to yell, to say it wasn't true, to remind him that she had meant for them to die together.
But somewhere inside of her, a cynical voice spoke up. How ironic is it, it cautioned her, that Zsasz would return in the very same week that someone leaves you not one note but two, threatening your classes? What are the chances, or are you really so naïve? Someone is playing games with you…
"How do I even know it's you?" she said slowly. "How do I know you're not someone playing a joke on me?"
"What-" Zsasz heard the abrupt change in tone. "Why-?"
"Victor Zsasz has been dead for three years!" Her voice hardened. "If he were really still alive, he would have come back before now. Sorry, loser, your joke didn't work. Go hug yourself!" She hung up.
Zsasz stared at the receiver, burning with anger. So, the would-be murderer thought she could hang up on him? His lip curled. He had the distinctive impression that he was good at tracking people down before his memory loss. It was time to put that to the test.
-/-/-/-/-
BRIIING! Danielle's landline rang again.
"Are you persistent or what?!" she fumed, staring down at the phone. She was so tempted to pick it up, chew the mystery person out—
BRIING!
—As tempting as that was, maybe she should let the police handle it. Heck, she could copy down the number from caller ID and see if it would help them track this guy—
BRIING!
Oh crap. Caller ID says this is a different number. It's not him!
"Hello?" she asked, hastily picking up the phone.
"Sorry to disturb you at home, Miss Lee."
Batman. Thank god. "It's no trouble…" Something must be serious if he's calling me at home. "Um, was there something else about the people who attacked Scott?"
"No, it's not that. Something happened, and I thought I should tell you personally. There have been two crimes. Five bodies, posed, with their throats slashed. You know what this means."
Her stomach lurched.
"Oh God no—"
"Danielle, Victor Zsasz is back."
Her heart was hammering in her chest. For a long moment, a haze came over her, drowning out all sound and thought. One sentence floated in her brain: Victor Zsasz is back.
"We thought you should know about it," Batman's voice snapped her out of her daze. "You were his last target. He has a habit of picking up where he left off. You might need some police protection—"
"No! Ugh, I mean…" she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I-I'm sorry…it's…"
"What is it?"
"I heard from him."
"You what?"
"I thought it was someone just pretending to be him. Funny story really, he called me a few minutes ago. Wants me dead, of course," she said shakily.
"Of course," there was no humor in Batman's tone. "You're in danger."
"We got another note today," she blurted out.
"Another one? With rhymes?" He could hear the fear in her voice, though she masked it well.
"Yeah." She laughed bitterly. "And now Zsasz is—Well, that would make sense, wouldn't it? If Zsasz is alive, maybe he's the one who's been sending me these creepy notes!"
"I wouldn't be too hasty to assume." Zsasz's M.O. never involved sending written threats before, not that I know of. "Have you told the police?"
"Yes. They're analyzing it and said they'll get back to me about whether or not to stop the classes."
"You might need more protection than just stopping the classes, now that two maniacs are after you. Check in with Gordon, and stay sharp."
"I will—" Click.
She stared at the receiver blankly and then hung up the phone with more force than usual.
Meanwhile, as Batman's mind raced, he made a call.
"Oracle! I need your help with something…"
"What is it, Bruce? More stuff on Zsasz?"
"Not this time. Can you check to see which regulars at Arkham are imprisoned, and which ones are still at large?"
"Anyone specific you have in mind?"
"Either the Mad Hatter or the Scarecrow. Possibly Riddler as well. Someone's been leaving the self-defense teacher death threats in nursery rhyme form."
"Danielle Lee? Someone's threatening her?"
"I'm amazed they didn't do it sooner. Criminals aren't thrilled when someone starts fighting back, or in this case, several people. They must have found out about her classes."
"Maybe she needs a secret identity…"
"Out of the question! Not after what—"
He heard her sigh into the headpiece. "Bruce, you're going to have to forgive yourself for that one day. I've accepted it. I don't want you to burden yourself with it. You have enough that you burden yourself with."
Batman didn't say anything. He couldn't; he was gritting his teeth too hard. He thought of Oracle up in the Clock Tower, wheelchair-bound, possibly forever. I wish I'd been faster, Barbara…
Drip, drip.
The Note Writer sighed, flexing fingers, hiding in the damp hole in plain view. The perpetual smell of sweat and rubbing alcohol drifted faintly in the air from the hallway.
Would the little teacher stop the classes? The police had been eager to find clues. There had been none. The Note Writer was too careful.
Common ink and nice paper, and it was amazing what a simple threat could do. An innocuous little note could make people contort in the most amusing ways.
The little teacher had not seen the extent of the Note Writer's work. She had better stop those classes soon. If not… well, she would find out soon enough, wouldn't she?
Drip, drip.
Danielle stood in the brilliant white living room, ambient light from the foggy outdoors filtering in and making her surroundings glow. She looked out her window beyond the opaque curtains. A world of greys, light and dark, making the world outside seem asleep.
Victor Zsasz is back.
The sentence filtered into her head. Millions of images passing in each instant, ethereal, flashing back and forth as she blinked.
Victor Zsasz is back. He's still here.
He was still in the world somewhere. Maybe even here, in Gotham.
I didn't kill him.
She sat down very suddenly on her couch. She tried to form a coherent thought. Tried to make herself feel a certain way about it. There was too much there. All she knew was that an enormous world of possibilities had just opened up – some scary, some downright evil, some strangely hopeful – but all surrounding the basic reality that Victor Zsasz is alive.
She couldn't move. And after a few long moments, she stopped trying to.
"Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher, tell me, what's my lesson?
Look right through me, look right through me…"
"And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles, it's a very very…
Mad world."
It's all going to begin again. The phone calls, the chases…the sexual assaults… She shivered. No, actually, none of that's going to happen. He said he's back here to kill me. He's not playing any games this time…
Hours seemed to pass. She found her fingers softly tracing the enso tattoo on her stomach, the peaks of the mountain tattoo inside the enso… and gradually the scar he had given her when he stabbed her through the left side of her abdomen. This one was raised higher than the others and had faded the least. It could easily be called her "ugliest" scar, even in light of the criss-crosses and constellations that marred her back. She had gotten the one on her abdomen the night she had tried to burn Zsasz alive.
Ugly or not, her scars had become very special to her. They were the equivalent of Zsasz's marks in some way. Proof that she lived.
I wonder how many more marks he has now?
She stood up, fingers falling away from her stomach, and shuffled toward the kitchen.
The last time she had seen him, he had 488 marks on his body. That was 488 people that the police had failed to save. How many more had they failed to save now?
"Where on Earth was he these past three years?" she mused aloud as she put the kettle of water on the stove. "Was he somewhere else 'liberating' people? Butchering and snuffing out other people's brightness?"
Goddamn it, I didn't stop him after all! And now more people are dead because Zsasz is alive! Because of me!
Anguish rent her guts. "Why the hell did I carry around the guilt for so long? And why am I still carrying it now?"
As much as she wanted him to stop, she inexplicably wanted to apologize to him for killing- no, almost killing him. It had never stopped weighing on her. It seemed he hadn't forgotten about it either, not that he would. Was that why he had taken so long to return? Because he hated her? Or because he loved her and had to relearn how to hate?
"Really?" she admonished herself as she put the teabag in the cup and poured the boiling water over it. Steam invaded her nostrils and she coughed, tears leaking out. "A sociopathic serial killer wants me dead, and that's what I'm thinking about? I need to prepare to fight for my life!"
And yet as the tea steeped, all those nights came back, the nights she had spent walking home, strolling with ghosts, shouting in the wind, reliving every moment of that one night. And the many days she spent, standing on the Sprang Bridge, wishing and grieving that it had gone differently. How many times had she felt remorseful for Zsasz's death, even though she shouldn't?
And now he's alive. He didn't die.
A softly hopeful thought came to her.
"Maybe now that he's alive… it's not too late." A watery smile. "Maybe I can show him the value of life after all. If he doesn't kill me first."
You mean, if he doesn't kill hundreds of others first. Let the police handle him, and just try to survive for now, and protect you and yours!
"Oh my God, that's right…" she murmured, dropping her teacup onto the coffee table and picking up the phone. "Cindy?"
She sighed with relief when she heard a yawn on the other end. "Yes, girl? Are we still on for tea on Wednesday?"
"Absolutely. Cindy… there's something important I have to tell you…"
She awoke the next morning with a stiff neck. Sleeping awkwardly on the couch will do that to you. That and the nightmares.
There was work to do.
Now there were potentially two people after her. Living here just keeps getting more and more dangerous, she thought with a grim smile. It was time to put some extra precautions in place.
Zsasz had broken into her home before. She had no idea if he knew where she lived now. She wouldn't try to kill him again – but she sure as hell wouldn't make it easy on him if he tried to pay her a house visit.
The phone usually sat on a small table next to the couch, very close to the phone jack but very far away from the front door. Luckily the phone cord was several meters long. The extra wire usually sat in a neat bundle under the side table. She worked for a half hour, taping the wire to snake around the room, and then finally mounting the phone to the wall directly across from her front door.
I can call the police immediately if I need to when I get in the door. And I know how Zsasz thinks… I wouldn't put it past him to disconnect my phone lines to make sure our "conversation" is uninterrupted. If I come home and the phone is dead, I know right away that someone's in here. She promised herself to make a habit of picking up the phone first thing when she got home, just to make sure there was a dial tone. There would still be time and space to escape if it were dead.
Next she hid the knives. Though he's probably already armed to the teeth. The oven broiler seemed like a good place for them.
The first aid kit went on the coffee table. If I have to escape quickly, I'll take that instead of my purse this time. She also put out a handful of money.
Broom, mop, practice staff from the dojo, anything with a long handle. She put those things neatly by the front door. Weapons on hand in case someone was waiting inside the door for her.
She glanced out the window. Her balcony had a fire escape on it. In spite of the necessity of the fire escape, she always worried that someone determined enough could hoist themselves up from ground level onto the lowest balcony and climb up to her floor, breaking in through the large sliding window. Or alternatively take the common elevator to the roof and then descend using the fire escapes. She lived on the seventh floor. Yet she still didn't feel totally safe.
I should have gotten bars over the glass. Or an accordion gate or something. She briefly considered moving two tall bookshelves in front of the sliding window to prevent someone from getting in. But if I do that, then I'll have no way to escape if there's a fire! Am I strong enough to topple a bookshelf in an emergency?
Yes I could. But then, an intruder would be just as capable. They could break the glass from the outside, reach in and push over the bookshelves. Damn!
She decided to move the bookshelves in front of the window anyway.
If someone's determined enough to get in, then they will. I just have to be ready for that.
Before she left for work, she took a final look under the bed. The object lying there made her smile grimly. If things were desperate, she always had her backup plan.
The streets seemed crisper today. Or maybe she was hyperaware of every breeze, every sound, every footstep of every person around her.
She didn't run. She didn't panic. It wouldn't do any good. It was not a matter of if Zsasz came for her, but rather when. She could spend the rest of her life running from him, or… she could face him. She could answer for what she had done to him…and accept what he had done to her. She could finally stand her ground.
Mace in one pocket, cell phone in the other. If she could hold her own long enough for the police to arrive, then she could get him behind bars. He would never kill another person again as long as they kept him this time. She had a better chance of surviving him than some innocent victim out there, and so it was better if he was fixating on her. If he thinks I'm the same Danielle Lee I was three years ago, he has another thing coming.
I will never become your victim again, Victor Zsasz! Bring it.
When she stepped into the hospital, it hit her that Zsasz had stalked her there before, since her last job had been in the same building. She almost facepalmed at the realization. Her old office was even right down the hall! He'd definitely come there!
If he steps into my self-defense studio, he'll get a lesson he'll never forget.
She spent most of the day scrubbing the mats. When it came time for class, she found herself pushing her students harder, warning them that the classes might be shutting down soon, determined to toughen them up faster. She put all her energy into their exercises, exhausting herself, and after class she wound up calling a taxi to go home.
Sorry Zsasz, she thought as the yellow and black cab pulled away from the curb, orange taillights bouncing off the front doors of the hospital. If you were there today, you'll have to try again tomorrow.
The same restlessness continued the next day. If her students noticed how distracted she was, they didn't show it. She drank her usual tea with Cindy, carefully watching the cafe to make sure no one was following them. After work, she waited at the bus stop for her usual leisurely ride to the dojo. This time, the wait seemed anything but relaxing.
She glanced as casually as possible to the left. There were a couple of kids playing with a red ball next to the stop. Their mother looked hassled. No one else in sight.
To the right. Some people in heavy jackets walking the other way.
To the front. No one- Wait. Someone's standing there, under the awning. Is he looking at me? She stiffened. The man under the awning didn't move. She could not see his face, but long skeletal fingers peeked out from thick sleeves. His body was angled toward hers. How long has he been staring over there? Seconds dribbled by. The stranger didn't move, and her tension grew. Finally, he shifted a little, and a bright red ember suddenly blazed near his mouth. When she squinted harder, she could see the smoke of a cigarette against the dark. She relaxed. I'm too paranoid. I need to chill out.
The bus came shortly. Danielle took one last look around before she got on. Half the people on the bus were wearing heavy winter hoods, obscuring their faces. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She sat near the front and, at each stop, watched the new people get on the bus, scanning for anyone familiar. No one got on who resembled Zsasz.
Soon the smell of fish and the harbor wafted through the windows. She got off at the fish market and weaved through the stalls, back to Kairi's dojo, not sparing the bus another glance.
"Don't worry, I know she'll be out here," Zsasz grated. He looked around the desolate area. Large pillars barely showed in front of him as the sky rapidly darkened. An old highway once ran here… He wondered what had happened to it.
'You are wasting your time! Surely there are worthier victims you can pursue. Why waste your time on one?'
"For revenge," he spoke evenly. His eyes darted, looking for the brown-haired girl. Danielle. He had seen her disappear behind a stall, and now the stall was long gone, dismantled and packed away. Had he missed her somehow?
'Revenge? Could there be a more pathetic target for revenge? Take vengeance against the society that made you what you are, Victor Zsasz! Slaughter them all. I will help you…'
"Are you crazy?" He gritted his teeth. "I only just came here and I've found that this woman meant to kill me!" The grip on his knife tightened. "She is just begging to be slaughtered! After I kill her, there will be time to—"
'You are close to the ship. Return to it. I will show you your true weapons. We will go from port to port, slaughtering everyone in the shipyards, and then you will be ready, and we will return to Gotham.'
The ship. Now that The Voice mentioned it… he was rather close. The sound of the waves washed softly over his ears. Spectral silhouettes peered through the sea mist and incoming fog. He could go back to the boat—
He winced. Were the bodies of the sailors still there? Suddenly he could picture the blood still staining his fingertips, taste the metallic residue in air tinged with blood. His stomach lurched.
What? he panicked. I thought I was past worrying over their mortalities. Where are these feelings coming from? His chest hurt, and the world swam before him. He could not get the sailors' screams out of his head...
"No," he said, regathering his strength, speaking more to himself than the wretched voice. "I tracked her here. I was successful. I will not let my prey live."
'Of course not,' The Voice said, almost soothingly. 'You must do what is necessary, of course. Show no mercy, starting with your would-be murderess.'
The Voice agreed! He seized on its encouragement. The Voice thought he should do this; then it was one more vote of confidence! The knife tightened. He wouldn't let these feelings, these apparitions, get in his way… He was Mr. Zsasz the Killer, after all.
As The Voice spoke in his ear, his eyes swept the harbor. The evening mist was coming in thick waves, obscuring his sight. Time to paint it red.
One by one the streetlamps ignited, and his pulse quickened until it pumped sickeningly fast. His smile was dark, excited.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Thank you, sensei," Danielle called as she left the dojo. Julien had been sick that day, so she was riding the bus home.
She passed by the koi pond just outside and stopped for a moment, watching the orange and black fish swim lazily. "What will you do when winter sets in?" she wondered. "Will your pond freeze over? Well, you survived last year, so Tanaga-sensei must know… I can't remember." She left through the hidden area behind Tanaga-sensei's fish stall.
There was a thick blanket of fog all around, with a hint of frost in the air. Great, zero visibility. If I walk the wrong way, I could end up falling in Gotham Bay! It was so dense that she could not even see the pilings of the old broken highway.
Streetlights cut through the fog like ghost lanterns, turning the mist around their bulbs golden and ethereal. Her can of mace was in her hand. It would be too easy for someone to leap out of the fog and surprise her.
Cindy's right, she scoffed. I really am too much the self-defense teacher… But it's this carefulness that keeps me safe. Her sneakers barely whispered on the concrete.
Two blocks to the bus stop. The outbound bus stop was farther away than the inbound one. Normally not something she had to worry about. But with Zsasz on the loose…
Doubt he followed me all the way out here. I was careful. Still… can't be too careful.
No sign of the bus stop. She frowned. This isn't right. Do I need to retrace my footsteps? She shut her eyes, growing quiet inside, trying to get her bearings—
"Oh Danielle…"
Her eyes snapped open.
Oh no.
FWWP!
She turned, and it seemed like everything moved too slowly. She saw the flash of silver cleaving the fog, felt a slight wind as she moved, and something whooshed through her hair, barely grazing her nose. The metal clanged, hitting the concrete pillar behind her and falling harmlessly to the ground.
It had missed her face by half an inch.
She pivoted. No one there… but a soft ominous chuckle.
He's using the fog as a cover.
Stealthily she took out her cell phone and readied herself into an alert stance.
FWWP! Another knife out of the fog! Danielle dodged and the knife landed several yards behind her. He's good. Her fingers swiftly dialed 911.
He might be getting ready to throw another knife. I need to stall him.
"It's been a long time, Zsasz!" she called out, crouching low and peering into the swirling mist.
"Please state your emergency—" her phone squawked.
"Gotham City, Harbor Market Square, please hurry," she whispered, slipping the phone into her purse. Quietly, she set the purse down, cell phone inside and on. Hopefully the police can find us. No time to talk to them now.
"You are no longer in denial who I am? Now that you're faced with my knife!" His voice. There was no mistaking that voice. Her heart skipped a beat.
"No, Zsasz, I'm not in denial anymore."
She heard a soft giggle and turned her head subtly, trying to pinpoint the sound. Boots crunched on the gravelly pavement, then stopped.
"How did you find me here? I thought I was careful this time."
A long silence…
FWWP! She dodged again and heard his laughter, louder this time.
"You were careful, little zombie. Just not careful enough. You should have paid more attention to who was already on the bus!"
Lesson learned, if I get out of here alive.
"I was surprised to hear you were back. I thought… I thought you would have come back much sooner."
No answer.
"I heard about the five men you killed." He's got more knives, and he's in a throwing mood. I can dodge him for a while, but getting in close is going to be a challenge. He was smart to choose this environment. "So you really are back, huh? Same old Zsasz I remember."
"And how much do you remember?" his voice came out a hiss.
"I remember enough." She thought of the memorial stone on Arkham Island dedicated to his victims, how she had wept over the names. "I remember all the people you killed!" Groping blindly, she felt the cold steel handle of one of his thrown knives…
"And I will kill more, starting with you! I will not stop until the blood of humanity runs beneath my boots!"
She flung the knife in the direction of his voice. She heard a startled yelp and a scramble over moist pavement. A beat of silence. And then his eerie laugh, high and deranged, as if she had merely amused him rather than threatened him.
There was something wrong with the phrase he just used. It was…unlike him.
"How many more people have you murdered these last three years? Wherever you were?"
"Three years?" he sighed, breathlessly. "Has it really been so long since we've seen each other?"
"I never stopped keeping count."
Silence. Only the whistling of the fog as the wind picked up, leaving salty droplets on her face.
"We could play hide-and-seek all night, Zsasz… Or you could show yourself."
"As you wish." Behind her. She turned, anticipating another knife, and the mist swirled dramatically, revealing him.
He was standing in the shadow near one of the highway pillars, staring at her. She could barely make out his face; sunken cheeks, crazy wide eyes, dark rings under them, a smile lined with teeth – he looked so much like the zombie in her dreams. But this was no dream. This was real.
"Hello, little Danielle… Do you remember me now, in the flesh?"
He was the same as she remembered. Exactly the same. No, wait, there's something wrong… But I can't put my finger on it…
"How could I ever forget you, Zsasz?" she asked quietly. Her insides raced.
He smirked. The familiarity behind it made her lightheaded.
"How did you survive?" she breathed.
Here she was, finally. The girl who had plagued his thoughts for the past three days. She was prettier than he remembered — well, he didn't remember, but that was beside the point. Her cheeks flushed in the cold, with mist gathering in her hair…even the thin scars on her face were strangely beautiful. His mind flashed on the warrior's look that had emerged when he threw the first knife at her, and he wondered where her baseball bat had gone.
He wished he had all of the memories they must share, so that breaking her would be even sweeter – oh yes, he wanted her to suffer before he killed her.
"Perhaps you can tell me, zombie, why it was you wanted me to die? Why you threw me over a bridge and left me to drown?"
"So… You're back here for revenge. Is that it?" That's it, keep him talking, get him to lower his guard and keep inching closer… C'mon, police, where are you?
"I have got a knife in my hand, little zombie, calling out for your blood. Look how shiny! Do you want to see it soaked in red?" He smiled maliciously, and his voice took on a deceptively soft tone. "Now. I already know what you're going to do. I'm a cold-blooded murderer, aren't I? And you are going to beg me for your life. Make it good. I might let you live a few pathetic seconds longer for my own amusement…" His eyes widened in anticipation.
He looks like death itself. What happened to him? How did he survive?
"You look sad," his menacing voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Are you so sad that I didn't die? That all your planning was for nothing?"
"Planning? You think I planned to be rescued at the last minute, while you oh-so-conveniently fell to your death? That takes a talent I don't possess, Zsasz."
"Speaking of talent, how exactly did you seduce me?" he licked his lips slowly and leered at her with hungry blue eyes. "How did you manage to make me lower my guard, enough to get in close and kill me?" His wrist snapped forward and a knife hurtled straight at her, landing in the ground at her feet. She stopped advancing.
"'Seduce'…" she said slowly, bitterly. "That's a funny word for it."
The fights, the sexual assaults, the pleading, the conversations, the fear and pain and disgust from her ordeal three years ago passed fleetingly through her mind – yet she held her ground.
"You drove me to be suicidal… You knew I was suicidal!" she kicked the knife in front of her angrily. "I didn't set out to be a murderer that night!"
"You lie. Payback is a horrible mistress, little zombie!"
"You know what?" She shook her head. "For just a second, I was relieved to hear you were still alive. I was afraid…that I had killed you, and I didn't want to. I wished that…that all of it had gone a different way. I would have helped you. But now you're back here, killing again? I wish you had stayed dead!" A look of regret flashed across her face.
A flash of something… A flash of green— pain— Screaming—
"Did you feel happy when I died?" he snarled. "Did you dance on my grave?"
"No. I felt sorry for you."
"Oho! Spare me your pathetic pity! It won't save you. Now I think it is time you begged me for your life."
"Zsasz…"
"Well? You do seem upset!" he chuckled. "Please, continue. This should be interesting."
She stared at her toes. What could she possibly say? Everything he said, everything he accused her of… was right.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
Zsasz stopped grinning and leaned forward in spite of himself.
"I wish so much it hadn't happened that way." Her words burst out, not to distract him anymore, but because she could no longer hold them back. "I have thought of you every day for the past three years, Zsasz. You've never gone away, no matter how much I wanted you to! And I wanted to tell you-"
She looked up. He was staring at her, listening.
"I'm so sorry I tried to kill you, Zsasz. I thought we were going out together. You were surrounded and… I was giving us both salvation. After everything you taught me, it made sense. And I thought you wanted it too. But then…" She drew in a shaky breath. "I-I was such a coward and I didn't want to die alone. And then you died alone instead. And I'm so, so sorry for that!"
His head was lowered. For a moment, she wondered if her apology had gotten through to him.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
She heard slow, mocking applause, and his dark laughter rang out. Her heart sank, but what else could she have expected?
"I am impressed. Such a moving tribute!" he exclaimed. "You did better than I expected, little murderess. I'll make your death quick!"
She readied herself to dash forward, to avoid his knives and to fight-
Zsasz stepped out from the shadows.
Mist drifted in the air around him, creating an ethereal halo and making his skin gleam. He looked even more like a ghost in the dim ochre light. A gleeful grin adorned his face and if it weren't for the knives in his hands, raised and ready, his smile would have appeared almost warm. Such familiarity that it left an ache… In spite of herself, the memory burst forth of hugging him, of trailing her fingers along his chest-
Whatever words she would have spoken died in her throat.
"Do you like my knives?"
He took another step forward, relishing her startled reaction—when suddenly, her expression morphed into horror, her eyes rising slowly from his chest to pierce his face. She isn't looking at my knives, he realized. His stomach dropped. What is she staring at?
"What are you—"
"Zsasz–" she whispered, cutting him off. "What happened to your marks?"
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