I hadn't realized Edward Nigma still worked for the police department.
I hadn't planned to be here, in this room, either. I'd just been doing my city rounds, looking at the job boards, hoping to find a score on one of the apartment listings. This precinct was up.
Then James Gordon walked by.
I was wearing different clothes last time he'd seen me and while my back was turned, I still had a bright red beanie stuffed on my head. It wasn't inconspicuous, because most of the time that's more of a problem then I need, but I wished that I'd just picked the nice grey one, even as I resist the urge to duck and cover, making myself stare straight ahead as the man passes behind me.
Sending up a mental curse when the guy lingers in the entryway, talking to another officer, I decide to slide quickly into the back room to look for another way out. I'm aware that I'm acting too bizarre, skirting around the edges like a guilty dog, especially in an area filled with people on the lookout for odd things. So I steal into the first dark, unoccupied room I can find.
Which leads me to this predicament.
The place looks so ordinary, so atypical, that for a long moment, I don't see it. And honestly? If I hadn't entered the room the way I had, I never would have.
The furniture is arranged strangely, when looked at an angle. The papers pinned on the corkboard across the way seem to twist and spin. Even the things on the desk appear out of place, despite the fact that they all belong there.
I have to blink the strangeness from my eyes.
I round the desk, careful not to touch anything, wet boots tapping lightly against the tile flooring. The computer screen is suspiciously blank for a workday and when I dare to reach out and press a key, it lights up with text, soundless and green.
Password protected.
I stare blankly for a second, before I huff, rolling my eyes. I'm in a government agency. Of course employees have to log in.
But I am so tempted.
The computer screen blinks lazily at me, the shiny surface begging to be marred by an invisible ink.
My hand twitches and I lean forward ever so slightly. The corner of my mouth lifts. I blame the urge on my inability to make any real impact on the world in which I live. And even though I'm not stupid enough to interfere with anything remotely important, I still want this. This tiny token, just for myself.
So I breathe and the glass fogs. My finger traces out the mocking symbol, then the words.
Satisfied, I straighten, nearly knocking a coffee cup covered with sticky notes off the desk with my elbow. I catch it, barely, and place it back where it belongs. But just as I step away to leave, one of the notes flakes off. There's something underneath the green slips of paper, drawn in black marker.
The doorknob rattles and my attention snaps up.
I'm in the small space behind the door when it opens, stifling my breath. I can see the silhouette of a man on the other side of the frosted privacy window and know the exact moment he freezes, hand fixed on the doorknob as something catches his attention.
I still too, our eyes undoubtedly stuck on the same thing.
My wet foot prints.
One minute passes, two, and then he shifts to shut the door behind him. I try to match his breathing on the off chance that he won't find me, but the soft click of the latch catching sounds with a kind of finality I don't like.
He's turned around before I can make a bolt for the handle, a stack of files falling from his hands as he takes two steps towards me. And his eyes are focused directly on my face, bright green and unblinking, staring behind black frames, watching with an intensity not unlike witnessing someone suffocate; because it's been so long since someone has actually looked at me and it's freaking me out, and oh God he needs to look away!
I lurch forward the same instant he opens his mouth to speak, eyes hard like I've never seen them, because this man is not so much Edward as he is Riddler and right now I only know one way to stop a riddle.
Don't let it be said.
My arms lash out to slap his restraining hands away even as my forehead collides with his chin. We both stagger, my eyes watering, but I force my head up just in time to meet his down turned face. Lips touch and, horrified, I bite down.
He flinches, eyes shutting in a grimace.
It's all the reaction I need and I'm throwing open the door, speed walking down the stairs and across the lobby, relieved to see Detective Gordon nowhere in sight.
I'm cursing myself as I fade into the afternoon crowd, rubbing blood from my mouth.
I strip and burn the days' clothes at the first opportunity, feeding the red beanie into the flames of a convenient street fire pit.
I've made a mistake and my only hope is that he'll forget.
Never mind how much one E. Nigma loves puzzles.
