This chapter is dedicated to my friend, Trudes193! :D Shout-out to you, my friend, and thank you for everything! :)
Thank you Lapetitepivione and Arkami for Following/Favoriting, and thank you 4SeasonsChick and Batfangirl7773 for reviewing! :D I love your guesses! Hopefully you'll find out next chapter who the mystery Note Writer is… Hehehe… It's killing me not to give it away! ;)
So sorry for taking so long to update! I am rewriting some of the earlier chapters to make them flow better, but that doesn't change the plot line at all. Might update them later… But for now, on with the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman nor Zsasz. Please don't stab me, Zsasz!
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Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection
-Chapter Nine: THE SPRANG BRIDGE AGAIN-
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"I swear, if Dr. Murphy reminds me one more time about bedside manner, I'll stick this thermometer up his—"
It had been a long shift for Nurse Carrie McClune. Ever since the business yesterday with the Gotham Square Massacre, the scheduling was haywire. Several staff members had taken sudden sick leave, and she learned only later that two of the victims in the square had been fellow staff. Not surprising. The Square was about ten blocks away from the hospital. The two victims had been there on a break, enjoying the hot chocolate. She lowered her eyes briefly, before sucking in a breath and grabbing the next patient's chart.
She had been on shift for 15 hours, a double shift since ICU was temporarily short-staffed. One more hour to go.
"God, what I wouldn't give for a bath… Mmm, hot lilac bath..." she sighed, adjusting her uniform. "Hot water soaking through my bones…" Ahhh, she could almost smell the steam now. She wondered briefly how badly she would prune if she happened to fall asleep in the tub. Her body wavered in protest. "Goddamnit!" Nurse McClune groaned. "I can taste the end of my shift, but dammit all if I don't have more patients!" She hit her head lightly with the clipboard. "Not— allowed— to sleep— on the— job!" One of the male nurses Marty passed by, giving her a look, and she smiled wearily.
Glancing down at the chart, she saw that this patient was being watched for a concussion risk, in addition to the numerous lacerations on his body. He was a John Doe, an unidentified victim and survivor of the massacre yesterday. He had been displaying signs of disorientation 15 hours ago, and a small chip had been removed from the back of his head. She sighed. One hour left.
Dr. Murphy approached down the hallway, consulting with Nurse Wilson. As Nurse McClune passed them, Dr. Murphy glanced up from his conversation, piercing her with his blue eyes. When she told him that she was checking on John Doe #3 and evaluating him for further concussion risks, he promised to join her in 15 minutes. She groaned. Asshole.
She knocked before entering, as was customary. She was careful to knock quietly, knowing that the patient was still recovering—
Nurse McClune never finished her thought.
She saw it, as if in slow motion, and her mind was equally slow to understand. The bodies of two RNs lay spread on the ground, blood beneath them pooling over the sanitized hospital floors. Mouths open in silent screams. Nurse McClune stared in disbelief. Monica…? James…? They weren't moving! How had this happened?! Her eyes swept the room for the phone—
And then she saw him.
A man was standing in the shadows of the room, his back to her, hospital gown parted, revealing a tattoo – a hooded figure surrounded by knives. He was the patient she had been coming to see.
Even as she reached for the door handle, John Doe #3 turned. And what she saw terrified her. Manic glee, almost childlike, but with a darkness that cut her to the core. A scream rose in her throat. She had no doubt then that he had murdered Monica Gonzales and James Smith, her friends, in cold blood. This was no man. This was the devil!
An unholy fear washed through her, freezing her to the spot, even as every muscle in her body screamed at her to run.
Then the killer looked up, right into her eyes, and he smiled, head shaking softly, and his smile was so damn cold.
Wham! The force of the blow blew her backward into the wall, head slamming against the plaster. Blood dripped onto her uniform, shed by the scalpel protruding from her eye socket. Nurse Carrie McClune slumped to the ground and lay still.
Zsasz stretched lazily. Ahh yes, there was something so very satisfying about throwing the blade, different from his usual preference of stabbing them personally. When he threw the knives, his quarries had such amusing expressions on their faces as they died. "Shift's over, little piggy," he spoke disdainfully to the dead woman. "This time, the patient has cured you, once and for all."
At leisure he ambled over, pulling the scalpel from her eye and swiping the blade across his skin – making the mark.
"It has been too long. So long since my mind was my own. And making the mark has never been sweeter." He gazed ecstatically at the three victims. Oh, it would be fun to pose them finally… The Voice couldn't stop him now. And now that his mind was clear, he knew exactly whose voice he had been hearing. His lip curled disdainfully.
He would just as soon throw that monster off the Sprang Bridge a hundred times, and it would be more than he deserved. But - and Zsasz shuddered to admit it - his foe was too strong. If he wanted his revenge on the menace who had held his mind hostage, he would need a very good strategy.
But enough on that! He would make plans later. Now was the time for being impulsive!
He undressed the male nurse, a Mr. James Smith by his nameplate. The clothes underneath the scrubs were a little big, but they would do in a pinch. Zsasz left the nurse in his own hospital gown, propped against the pillows of the patient's bed, speculum in hand. He posed the second victim, Nurse Monica Gonzales, leaning over him, listening for a heartbeat with the stethoscope. He smiled mirthlessly. They'd never find one.
He lifted up the third nurse, his most recent victim, and propped her against the sink, dead hand on the faucet.
Just a quick step out the door, and he would escape. Without his distinctive scars and covered head to toe in green hospital scrubs, he would blend in. He could just go out the window, but he wasn't fond of the thought of falling. He had done enough of that to last a lifetime.
Through the front door. Through the crowded hallways. The schedule was helter-skelter, and he wasn't stopped. If he had been - well, he would not have hesitated to rip them all to shreds. The bloody scalpel lay comfortably in his left hand. And if security had come? He chuckled. He wasn't afraid. He no longer feared death.
"Oh, my dearest Danielle…" he smiled, and there was so much wickedness in it. "Absence truly makes the heart grow fonder."
"Greta Byrney passed away this weekend," Danielle faced her class solemnly, tears streaming down her face. "All of you knew her, I believe. She was one of our most dedicated students." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "She was found in her home yesterday. We believe it was intentional and not accidental."
Her students' expressions broke her heart further. Becky was unabashedly crying. Lloyd, the big teddy-bear-looking man, was standing near her, trying to comfort her, his face screwed up with pain. Cecil's eyes were shut. Scott was shaking, while Sarah stared at the ground. Theodore was staring at her with determination and sorrow. She stared back, taking momentary strength from Theodore's expression. He didn't blame her. Maybe he should.
Monica was absent. Maybe she was overbooked - she usually worked in ICU here at Gotham General, and Danielle knew that the nurses were extra busy after the mess Zsasz had caused. Maybe she would go upstairs to deliver the news personally.
"I'm letting you know that this class will be cancelled indefinitely." She ignored the gasps and continued. "Police evidence indicates that—that Greta was targeted because of her enrollment in my class. They believe she was murdered… though there were no obvious causes of death. I cannot and will not let any of you remain at risk. We are shutting down all self-defense classes until further notice."
"What?" Scott's mouth was hanging open, incredulity and anger on his face. "You can't just shut these classes down! We need you! Without you, we're sitting ducks!"
"This class is the first time I've felt confident in my life!" Becky protested. "I finally learned how to stand up to my stupid uncle, and now this? If someone's going to attack us, then we need to defend ourselves!"
"Greta didn't have a chance!" Cecil joined in. "She quit because of the threat, and this guy still went after her, even though she wasn't even taking the classes anymore! What chance do the rest of us have on our own?! We've got to stick together! Who knows how many more of us he could go after?"
"Yeah!" There were other expressions of outrage.
"The whole reason why you would be targeted is because I did not give up teaching the class," Danielle said quietly. "The…the suspected murderer left another note, demanding we shut down classes." She chose not to tell them that it was, in fact, the third note, not the second. Why? Because of cowardice? Is that why I'm not telling them? I don't want them to know so that I can't see the blame in their eyes, that if I'd stopped the classes sooner, then Greta would still be alive? Hypocrite! You're the one who's supposed to be strong! She shook her head, trying to ignore the internal, all-too-truthful voice.
"So that's it?!" Scott stared at her with such betrayal on his face – such fear. Danielle hung her head. Tears stung her eyes.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
The discussion did not last much longer than that. The class ended with sadness lingering in the air. Several of her students came and hugged her. Becky sobbed on her shoulder, and Danielle stroked her hair. Near the door, she saw Cecil holding out a notebook with his good hand, asking everyone for their numbers - trying to look after everyone on his own. That's right, she remembered. His greatest fear was seeing it happen to a friend, and not being able to do anything about it, not being a good enough friend to even know about it …and here he is, facing his fears. Making sure it doesn't happen again.
Her students were still growing, still being brave no matter what she was doing herself - no matter how much of a failure she was. It killed her, feeling her students slip away. Killed her, like a mother watching her children leave the nest. She wanted to keep them. But, the tiny voice inside her whispered, this way, they might stay alive and safe. Our "home" isn't safe anymore.
When she was sure her students were gone, Danielle buried her head in her hands and wept softly.
She didn't notice Theodore, who hadn't said a word, standing in the doorway watching her, the gleam of determination still in his eyes.
The green scrubs lay in the bushes outside the hospital, as discarded as their owner. Zsasz walked slowly, feeling the coldness of Gotham air on his skin. Ahhh, at last. It had been too long. The early chill of December - December 2nd, according to the paperwork the dead RNs had been carrying. Where had the time gone?
Nothing had changed.
The drizzle was a distant patter, and it seemed to his eyes that the drops became darker and thicker as he watched the zombies exiting the hospital. Their eyes- He caught a glimpse inside someone's eyes. The emptiness there sickened him.
The zombie lurched out from under the awning, blinking, startled when one of the thicker drops hit him. He opened his umbrella… Zsasz could see clearly from where he was standing that the startled zombie had a drop of blood running down his cheek - but the zombie didn't seem to realize it. He didn't know he was already dead. They all were. A scream nearly rose in Zsasz's throat, along with bile. Surrounded! In a sea of zombies holding up umbrellas, dark against the grey sky, to protect against the viscous blood that rained down. Blood rushing into the gutters of the grey streets, the sewers belching blood and filth - perhaps the Voice had had a point - the scum of humanity infected him. Black umbrellas everywhere, as if that alone could protect them from themselves! The world was a madhouse!
Umbrellas - Penguin. The name evoked anger, the old grudge, as fresh as always. Cut his throat with a metal card! Yes. This time, there would be no regrets.
He meandered. The stench of humanity still sickened him. He had forgotten - no. No he hadn't. His real self never forgot. But his real self had been under their control for too long. No longer. He was no one's lapdog.
He was the Savior and the Butcher all in one.
"I will remake my marks. And then I will save you all. No one is safe from my knife. No one will be spared. I will cut until the whole world is free!" he smiled in exultation. "I will follow my divine purpose!"
But first, a little visit. He needed to pay homage to someone. Two someones actually.
The Sprang Bridge had not changed. True, it was not the balmy weather of the summertime - it was cold and rainy - but if anything, it only deepened the somber mood that was always present on the mighty bridge. Perhaps his mother was here hidden in the mist somewhere, crying. And yet the tears felt good. He was alive. He was here. This was the way it was supposed to be.
He ran his fingertips along the moist railing, tasting the rust in the air mixed with sea salt. The wind licked his bald head appreciatively - no, not totally bald. He had one tally mark there now. He sighed.
The fog parted for a moment, and he saw a dark shape ahead, clothes and hair billowing against the wind. Fear jolted his heart suddenly. Had they come for him? Come to throw him over the edge a second time? He began to panic. No! Not here!
Slowly his eyes adjusted. The apparition suddenly disappeared, leaving a bent figure in its place… Not one of the shadows, but rather a person. A person who was very familiar...
He smiled.
Some things do change.
She wore black jeans, black sneakers, black long-sleeved v-neck shirt, a black band around one wrist… She's in mourning. Brown unadorned hair flowed freely as she leaned against the bridge, gazing out across the water at the horizon. Danielle. Her thoughts must be very far away for him to be this close to her without her noticing. She should really learn to be more mindful of her surroundings.
Scalpel in his left hand, carving knife in his right.
He was close enough to touch her hair...
She spun suddenly. Bad move.
He was barely aware of the blow that came, the pain exploding in the side of his head. The ferocity, the wildness in her eyes, had already captivated him. And yet somehow, it seemed not all of the hatred was directed at him.
Her mouth curled into a snarl. He grinned back. Both baring their teeth.
He expected words. Maybe some kind of sarcastic salute, or an outburst. Her fists did her talking instead.
WHACK! The scalpel went flying, spinning in slow motion, dried blood still painting the slender handle. Zsasz moved his head to watch the blade as it vanished into the mist.
He barely dodged her next blow and aimed his own at her ribs, spotting an opening. She was too fast. She twisted his body, twisted his right arm and wrenched hard, and the carving knife clattered to the pavement. She kicked it away. He boxed her ear with his forehead, loosening her grip, and they righted themselves, panting and glaring, now in unarmed combat. Danielle looked positively murderous.
She was so beautiful!
"You kept my work," he nodded at her face. The scar stretched from forehead to nose, gleaming all the more as the blood rushed to her face. "But that's not even the best one…" He yearned to touch the diamond-shaped one on the back of her neck.
"If you wanted to kill me, you should have done it while my back was turned!" she snapped. That anger… oh yes… He wanted to make many more marks upon her, and it would be so much more rewarding if she resisted him, turning their fight into an art of slashes and parries, but for now… for now, he wanted to dance with her.
"Ahh, but I didn't try to kill you," he called back conversationally. "If I did… you wouldn't still be alive, now would you, Danielle?"
"What?"
Another blade materialized in his hand, and he held it up casually, examining its sharpness, picking a blackened nail with the tip… and then he looked at her. Her stoic expression remained, but her heart nearly stopped. The familiar look in his eyes was back. He was back.
Panic and anger swept across Zsasz's face. She had asked it of him – the thing that she knew would give her peace. And he was refusing her! Trying to talk her off the ledge. Again, she heard herself plead with him, telling him that she was scared, that she didn't know who she was anymore. Couldn't he understand? And now he was staring straight into her with a blazing look, past all her fears, right into her very core. How? How could he see so much? "I know who you are…" he whispered. "I have always known."
Danielle blinked.
"You never left…" He extended his arms with a flourish. "I knew you…couldn't. This is the place, isn't it? The last time we were together was here. Right here." He pointed to the railing behind her. "The place where we almost ascended together, to oblivion…" There was no anger in his gaze, only softness. "But life has other plans sometimes, doesn't it?"
"You killed 34 people," she spat flatly. So what if he was back? After what he did in Gotham Square… no. This changed nothing.
"Nothing is more intimate than witnessing someone's death. You of all people should know that best. This is an honor I am giving you." She knew that this was her duty now. It was the only way she could escape him.
"Would you believe temporary insanity?" he laughed his high, chilling laugh. "I wouldn't! I couldn't be prouder of liberating those poor piggies from their mundane lives… as soon as I make those marks in my skin, that is."
"Yeah, how's that going for you, your marks and all?" she asked nastily.
He merely shook his head. "Temper, temper… Danielle… You haven't given me a welcome home hug."
Suddenly he was kissing her. She wrapped her arms around him and they devoured each other. It felt like the wind picked up speed within their fierce embrace. He tasted so good.
"Didn't figure you'd want one, what with us being arch-nemeses and all. Didn't you say last week you want me dead? Why the change in heart?"
He approached her again. "I know it wasn't your fault. Those words I spoke – well, they weren't my own. But you already know that, don't you?" Her jeans made the curves of her legs stand out, and he wanted to squeeze them to himself—
"Maybe I'll kill you this time!" she screamed at him, briefly losing her composure.
"No," his calmness infuriated her, "You won't. You meant every word you said that night at the piers. You don't want to kill me. I could hear the sincerity in your voice."
"You want to test me?" she hissed.
"Always."
She jumped back as Zsasz made a sudden swipe with the knife. "Dance with me, Danielle!" Instantly he was crouched low, teeth bared, a predatory gleam in his eyes. She immediately took a defensive position. Speed is his thing… I need to be mindful of that.
"How did you escape from the hospital?" She glared at him.
He slashed; she moved to cover on the outside of his arm and he pivoted to track her. He wants a dance? I'll give him one. I don't care how many knives he has on him, I'll take away every last one of them, and then I'll KILL him!
"Now… Why would you ask an obvious question like that? What you really mean to ask, dearest Danielle, is how many did I kill before I escaped?"
"Bastard!" She spun. WHACK! Zsasz's knife went flying.
SWIPP! A line of red down her sleeve. Two knives, fuck!
He went for her shoulder. "Ugh!" She blocked; reversed her hold and twisted his arm. He dropped the blade, not anticipating her speed. Four knives down! Infinity more to go!
They squared off. Zsasz's gaunt, nightmarish face was filled with glee at her predicament. Danielle's cheeks were flushed and the veins in her eyes were showing. He was scrutinizing her every movement.
She stopped. His eyes narrowed. She's standing too straight.
WHOOOSH! He felt the wind of her kick as he dodged. She landed, pivoting— WHACK!
He managed a smirk. Hope she liked that one, square on her butt.
She was too quick to recover—BAM! Zsasz's fist in her face. She clutched her nose. A second blow. "Fah!" A hand around her neck, grabbing her hair, wrenching back her head.
"Your skills are showing, my Alive Girl." She struggled to keep her balance as he bent her backward slowly over the railing, drawing yet another knife. "Your form has improved since the last time we fought." Was that supposed to be a compliment? "You worked so hard to become a… what was it? A self-defense teacher now… aren't you?" She remembered with a jolt that she no longer was, now that the Note Writer had destroyed that dream… was it him? Was Zsasz the Note Writer after all? "But are your skills match enough for me?" he whispered, his horrid breath washing over her face.
Her hands scrabbled desperately. Nails bit into the skin of his face. She dragged his head close to hers—CRUNCH! Zsasz groaned and dropped his hold to grasp his own nose. WHACK! A kick to the nuts, which he barely dodged. SMACK! The fifth knife skittered away over the pavement, as lost as the others. Zsasz did not bother to rearm this time.
Bruises were rising on both their faces. Danielle could barely feel hers over the rush of adrenaline. Zsasz didn't feel his at all.
"You know… I took martial arts, once upon a time. I traveled to another place to learn."
Danielle's heart was thundering, her hands raised and ready. If I had my baseball bat…
"So you see, even without my knives—"
She swung. "Don't get overconfident!"
"You said that to me before," Zsasz replied, sidestepping her attack.
She just barely moved out of the way as he came at her with a fresh bout of energy – and this time, he left no openings. She kept her guard up, forearms rained with blows as he increased his speed. It was all she could do to defend herself. He fights even better unarmed, more fluidly— "AHH!"
Sickening nausea. Zsasz's fist withdrew from her stomach. No! No! She blocked unsuccessfully. He nailed her in the side of the head. She almost threw up. He knocked her on the ground with a vicious knee to the face.
Then he was pulling her to her feet and slamming her backward into the railing. His body flush against hers, his hips pressing into her, dominating her, bending her backward. Lightheaded, with blood pattering softly from her broken nose. Nowhere to go.
Hands around her shoulders. He was lifting her up! She struggled to keep her balance. They stood on the railing above the waves at dizzying heights. Zsasz's hands were fast around her shoulders. She glared up at him. I refuse to be weak, ever again. I will look my enemy in the eye.
POW! Zsasz's fist in her face, and he ended her right there. She felt gravity take hold, felt the inevitable dip in her stomach as she began to plummet helplessly from the bridge, toward the water—
A hand, grabbing her, steadying her, pulling her back. She opened her eyes. Zsasz's blue eyes stared down into hers.
Sudden understanding.
His mouth covered hers. A slow burn started somewhere deep inside her, with a fierceness that shook her. Sensually, hungrily he devoured her. She moaned softly into the kiss, and his grip on her arms tightened. They stood still on the railing, high above the waves, sun burning down from above through the ubiquitous fog… or was it her imagination? The lightheadedness worsened, and she felt like she was falling. But Zsasz did not let go, and he did not waver.
He released her lips. She stared at him, out-of-breath and speechless. For a moment, she wondered if he were holding her here to plummet with her, to die together this time—
He pulled her to him with strong arms, hands provocatively low on her waist, and then jumped with her – safely onto the pavement. Only then did he fully release her.
Well, physically at least. In those short few seconds, he had fully taken possession of her world again, somehow.
Danielle was still staring at him. No snarky comment, no punch, no attempt to escape. She wasn't doing anything at all but staring at him with the eyes of someone lost. Her confusion was almost precious to him. It meant, among other things, that she didn't totally hate him right now. He knew she didn't. It meant that the spark he had felt when they kissed – he had caused the same spark in her. She felt it too.
She is staring at me this way because… because I give her just as much meaning as she gives me, and she cannot deny it anymore.
He could see her nipples through her shirt, only enhanced by her harsh breathing. Her face was flushed, her nose bloodied, and her eyes… Yes, he thought as he followed her gaze to his chest. She is…attracted to me. And he smiled widely at this revelation.
"The last time we were here…" he said, feeling oddly gentle at the moment, "You asked me to kill you, and you said that I gave your life unbearable meaning…"
She blinked. His words seemed to snap her partially out of her trance. She waited for him to continue.
"But now look at you. You are still alive, and you have found even greater meaning. You have begun a crusade, just like Batman." He sneered at the vigilante's name and his eyes flickered to the streetlight. No one up there to spoil our moment. "You have become a different person these last years. And yet, in spite of it all, you could never forget about me. You still need me to give your life meaning."
"No, I—"
"I don't hate you for your crusade. You'd think I would. It would be only too easy to want to kill you for trying so hard to keep the zombies tethered to this world, for having such a... different purpose from mine. But… there is a spark you have not lost. Your passion for life. Even though you hide it, dulled it, it's still there. And I still… love you for it. You're mine, Danielle. You still need me."
You still need me. Danielle felt sick to her stomach. His words, rather than ensnaring her further, had released her. How close she had been to losing everything, once again, to this man… this murderer. How could she think they had ever shared a connection, when they held such opposite views on the sacredness of life? "No, Zsasz," she said softly, sadly, "The only thing I have ever needed from you… is for you to lay down your crusade and spare all the innocent people's lives. Just… just stop killing them, Zsasz! Let them live." Zsasz saw tears gather in her eyes, and she blinked them back, trying so very hard to be strong in front of him.
Then the fight drained from her and she slumped forward, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She knew he would never be able to agree to it… so she walked away instead.
"Where are you going?" he yelled indignantly. Their conversation wasn't over!
"I'm going to the hospital to see about my broken nose," she replied over her shoulder. "And then I'm going to make amends with my baseball bat!"
Zsasz's mouth fell open. She… walked away. He almost smiled at the irony… Hadn't he walked away from her once, in a crowded Gotham Square, on a hot summer day with ice cream and families all around? What it had meant to him, not at the time but easily visible much later, was that neither one of them could stand to kill the other. He left because he did not want her to die, and she let him walk away for the same reason. And now she was again walking away from the fight… away from him.
He touched the spot on his chest softly. Here was one spot that would never be marked with his blade… hers. But no matter what scars he regained and made anew, he knew her mark would always be there.
His teeth clenched suddenly and he glared hard at her retreating back. He would let her go this once, on a whim, but… "This is not over," he whispered as the terrible anger blackened his heart and dimmed his thoughts, "and I will be damned if you walk away from me again, Danielle!"
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