Thanks to a friend's tendency to blast Fall Out Boy on her car stereo, I am now falling asleep at night to dreams of Jonathan and Jackson with "Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying" blasting in the background. It's quite odd, sleeping with those running through your head.

Here's rooting for 'The Wind That Shakes the Barley' at Cannes! Go Cillian!

No flashbacks in this chapter, just because it would get far too complicated, since there's already two plotlines: Jackson in Gotham and Jonathan in Miami. Flashbacks would be a bit much.

And I bring you yet another chapter written in a rush. Sorry!

-----

THE ONE WARNING: I do not give warnings. I really mean it.

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A Twisted Kind of Brotherhood

I Don't Want to Hurt You (But I Really Want to Hurt Him)

Jackson checked his appearance in a mirror, slightly anxious but mostly exhilarated. Examining his reflection, he looked at the subtle changes he'd added, hoping they were convincing. His hair had been rearranged, looking stiffer now that he'd added a myriad mix of hair products. On the edge of his nose sat a pair of fake glasses, the lenses made in such a way that they didn't hinder his vision. Thick makeup covered the scar on his throat, obscuring it from view, and he was dressed in a sweater and slacks, a getup he'd normally have hated.

As he stared in the mirror, he fervently hoped that he looked exactly like his brother.

Satisfied with his appearance, he walked out to the den and picked up Jonathan's cell phone and scrolled down its list of contacts. When he got to the name 'Leon Warren', he hit 'Call' and pressed the phone to his ear.

After three rings, a familiar voice answered, "Hello?"

Adapting Jonathan's clinical tone of voice, Jackson answered, "Hi. It's me, Jonathan."

Leon's voice became much more energetic, his tone cheerful. "Hey there! You made it to Miami alright? Or are you still on the plane?"

Even over the phone, Jackson wanted to gag at the fact that he was going to have to talk to this bastard. "My flight was the canceled. Apparently, there's some terrible weather down in Florida, so I'll have to take a flight tomorrow morning."

A slight pause on the other end. "And that won't make you late for the funeral?"

Jackson frowned. Funeral? What the hell? "…well, it doesn't start 'til mid-afternoon, so I should make it in time." Drumming his fingers on the wall, he said, "I was wondering if I could come over, since I won't be leaving until tomorrow…"

Seemingly in an attempt to be coy, Leon murmured, "Well, I don't see why not…" He giggled slightly, and Jackson could feel bile rising in his throat.

Swallowing hard, a headache forming with every syllable that Leon spoke, Jackson rubbed his temple as he added, "I'll bring drinks."

"Well, I'll see you in a few minutes, then. Talk to you later!"

And with that, the call ended. Even though he felt a strong sense of disgust, he also knew that it was necessary. The night's plans rested in the balance, and Jackson would hate to have them ruined.

-----

Confused and unsettled by the strange woman with the knife, Jonathan tried to figure out what this woman thought she was doing. His mind racing, he attempted to figure out something to say that would calm her down.

Before he could say anything, the brunette woman was hissing once again as she knocked his glasses off his face with her free hand. "What, did you think I wouldn't notice that you had come here? That a pair of specs would stop me from recognizing you?"

Holding the tip of the knife under his chin, she forcefully asked, "Why did you come back?"

Completely perplexed, with his vision having gone completely fuzzy, all Jonathan could do was ask in a bewildered tone, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" she shrilly replied. "Did you think I wouldn't remember who you are? Even after the flight, after what you wanted me to do, after trying to kill me, after seeing your face in the papers for weeks and weeks on end? Did you think I could forget?"

Jonathan, still on edge and confused, asked her, "Who do you think I am?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Jack!" she shrieked, and something in Jonathan's mind put two and two together. Of course…

"You think…" he stated carefully, not wanting to startle her, "…you think I'm Jackson Rippner, don't you?"

"Think? I know who you are." she replied, sounding slightly more level-headed. Waving the blade in front of his face, she asked once more, "Why did you come here? Why did you…"

"I'm not Jackson," he answered evenly, trying not to anger her further.

"Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not." Thinking quickly, Jonathan pointed out, "If I were Jackson Rippner, wouldn't I have a scar on my throat?"

The brunette woman seemed to consider this for a moment. Then, using her unoccupied hand, she rubbed the base of his throat with her thumb, checking for concealer or powder or something else that might cover up his scar. When she found nothing, her eyes widened.

Feeling somewhat more secure, Jonathan stated firmly and tranquilly, "My name is Jonathan Crane. I'm from Gotham City. I am simply staying at this hotel for a few days on business."

Backing away from him slowly, the woman dropped the knife to the ground, her hands starting to shake slightly. Pressing her palms to her forehead, she muttered, "Oh no…"

Deciding to be cautious, Jonathan kicked the knife away, just in case her suspicions returned. Quietly, he added, "I have my driver's license, if you need proof. I also have my reservation confirmation and my ID card from the hospital where I work."

Shaking her head, she muttered, "I can't believe I just…oh, dammit…" Looking up at him, she said meekly, "I am so sorry."

Jonathan wasn't exactly sure what to say in response. 'Oh, don't worry about it'? The whole situation was laced with a morbid absurdity, and he knew that if Jackson had seen them, he'd laugh at the sight.

Eventually, Jonathan was able to quietly state, "It's an easy mistake to make."

Reaching down and handing back his glasses, she muttered, "It's just…I didn't realize…" Stumbling over her words, she managed to say, "I saw you, and you looked so much like him…until you said that you had no scar…"

"…you didn't notice that we don't look exactly alike?" She nodded, and from the way she glanced over him, Jonathan guessed that she was beginning to spot the differences.

Jonathan knew from experience the changes between him and his brother, even excluding scars. Jonathan tended to walk in a stiff, upright manner, while Jackson always seemed to be leaning back on an invisible wall. As a result, no one ever seemed to notice that Jackson was taller by an inch or two; the difference was concealed by the way he carried himself. Also, Jonathan's eyesight was extremely poor from over two decades of wearing glasses. Without them, he could only squint at the fuzzy images before him, while Jackson seemed to have perfect vision. Aside from that were a myriad collection of differences in the way that they presented themselves, from the clothes they wore to the way they combed their hair.

Still in disbelief, the woman remarked, "I guess I'm fired, then."

Or arrested, Jonathan added mentally. But he had no intention of reporting her to either the hotel or the police. Rather than being angry, he was intrigued; this woman had obviously know Jackson at some point, and was possibly one of the people he'd been hired to kill. Or had she worked with him? Or was there some other connection between them that Jonathan hadn't thought of?

"What's your name?" Jonathan asked abruptly. The woman blinked a few times before answering softly, "Lisa Reisert."

"Lisa." He tested the name out on his tongue as he looked at the woman before him. Weighing his options in his head, he asked her, "Would you like to go get a drink?"

She stared at him for a second, as though he were asking her something ridiculous. "What?"

"A drink. Coffee, tea, juice. Something else, if that's what you'd prefer."

Recovering slightly from her surprise, Lisa stammered, "U-um, I suppose…"

"Alright, then," he said calmly. "Let's go to the hotel café, shall we?"

-----

Not long after their phone call, Jackson was standing outside the door to Leon's apartment, one hand rapping against the door while the other clutched a bottle of vodka. He had originally planned on bringing wine, but he figured something stronger would do the trick more quickly.

Leon answered the door after a few knocks, poking his head out the door. Upon seeing "Jonathan" standing there, his lips pulled into a wide smile.

"Hey." Swinging the door all the way open, Leon beckoned him to come inside. Jackson felt a very slight sense of trepidation, hoping his ruse would work. Leon, for his part, didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

Leading Jackson into his kitchen, he apologized, "I'm sorry the place is such a mess, but you came on such short notice, so…"

"That's fine," Jackson said sweetly. Plunking the bottle of vodka down onto Leon's kitchen table, he said, "I brought drinks, like I promised."

Looking down at the bottle on the table, Leon looked intrigued. Strolling towards his refrigerator, he said cheerily, "Well, vodka calls for Bloody Marys." Glancing towards Jackson, he asked, "That sound OK to you?"

Jackson nodded agreeably, and it was only a second later that Leon emerged from the fridge with V8 and celery stalks in hand. Pouring the tomato juice into two glasses, Leon asked, "Did you get my message earlier?"

"The one about your car? Yes."

Adding vodka to the glasses, Leon nodded a little as he said, "Yeah. The police are checking to see if they can figure out who did that to all those vehicles." Stirring the drinks with the celery, he added, "But I got my car back. The doors are still a wreck, but I got new tires."

After he handed one of the glasses off to Jackson, Leon raised his own glass in the air. "Cheers." Jackson raised his own glass and clinked it against Leon's, and they both sipped from their drinks.

Putting his drink down, Jackson silently resolved to drink as little as he could during his visit. He'd need to remain sober, so abstinence was essential.

Taking a large gulp from his Bloody Mary, Leon looked over at Jackson and smiled. "So, did you decide to come over for any particular reason?"

Attempting to look coy, Jackson replied, "I wanted to see you."

Arching an eyebrow, Leon asked, "Are you sure that's it? Nothing more to it than that?"

Grinning darkly, Jackson responded, "Maybe."

Leon laughed. "Right."

Jackson decided to change the subject, choosing to nod towards Leon's glass. "Drink up. Don't let good liquor go to waste."

Leon smiled carefully. "Trying to get me drunk?"

Once again, a dark look came into Jackson's eyes as he smirked at Leon. "Maybe."

Leon didn't seem to notice any change in "Jonathan's" demeanor. Instead, he smiled, picked up his drink, and obliged his request. When he had finished, the glass was empty except for the dregs and the celery stalk.

Looking at the glass, Jackson asked, "Want me to make you another?"

"Oh, what a gentleman." He handed his glass over to Jackson, who placed it on the counter next to the sink, where the vodka and tomato juice had been left.

As Jackson poured out some vodka, Leon checked his clock and remarked, "It'll be late soon."

Fully aware of this fact, Jackson dryly replied, "Really now."

Tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, Leon asked frankly, "You need to get home for your flight tomorrow, or you want to stay over?"

Pouring the tomato juice into the glass, Jackson replied, "Well, which would you prefer?"

Leon chuckled. "You need to ask?"

At that moment, the phone rang and Leon got out of his chair to answer it. As he stirred Leon's drink with the stalk of celery, Jackson listened to Leon's conversation on the phone.

"Hello…oh, hi, Harlene." Leon leaned against the wall next to the phone's cradle. "Uh-huh…uh-huh…" As he listened to the other end of the line, he pulled out a pack of Capris and a lighter. On the other side of the kitchen, Jackson discreetly poured the rest of the vodka down the sink's drain. Leon didn't seem to notice.

"Uh-huh…no, I don't think so…uh-huh." Leon rolled his eyes before lighting his cigarette and taking a puff. Jackson silently placed the Bloody Mary in front of Leon's spot on the table. Putting the phone between his ear and his shoulder, Leon grabbed the drink with his left hand and took a swig as he held onto his cigarette with his right hand.

"Harlene, I'm pretty sure we…ah, well…uh-huh…" Still balancing the phone, Leon managed to take another gulp from his glass and then take a puff from his cigarette. Jackson patiently stood on the other side of the room, the empty vodka bottle dangling from his right fist.

"Well, you'll have to him about that…uh-huh…I see…" Glancing over at Jackson, Leon said, "Look, Harlene, I have to go. I've got someone over, okay?" A pause. "Uh-huh. Okay."

Leon put his drink on the table before putting the phone back in its cradle. Looking back at Jackson, he rolled his eyes. "Harlene from work." Picking his glass back up, Leon finished off the rest of his second Bloody Mary.

Slowly walking around the table, Jackson asked, "What did she call about?"

After taking a drag off of his cigarette and exhaling the smoke, Leon answered, "Some trouble with a few of the other doctors. Wants me to say something on her behalf."

"To who?"

Leon smiled. "You, most likely." He took a drag off of his cigarette again and exhaled sharply. "Anyway, you want…?"

He was quickly cut off, because by this point, Jackson had reached the other side of table. He had pulled back his arm and brought the vodka bottle crashing against the back of Leon's head. With the tinkling of shards of glass and a growing circle of red in his hair, Leon teetered for a second before crashing forward to the ground.

Jackson crouched next to him on the ground, watching to see if he would remain unconscious. When he saw no sign of movement or awareness, Jackson smiled. Finally.

Scanning the shards of glass lying all over the ground, Jackson sighed, knowing that he would have to sweep all of them up. As he looked across the ground, he spotted Leon's cigarette still dangling from the unconscious man's fingers. Curious, Jackson reached forward and brought it to his lips, taking a drag. As the taste filled his mouth, he flinched. This was one of those girly cigarettes, all filters and menthol. Exhaling the smoke, Jackson reached over and extinguished the cigarette on the back of Leon's hand, leaving a scorching red burn mark in its wake.

-----

About ten minutes after their initial "meeting", Jonathan and Lisa found themselves at one of the tables in the hotel's restaurant, the Lux Café. Jonathan had ordered some coffee, while Lisa quietly sipped some jasmine tea. They had been sitting in awkward silence for the last minute and a half, neither of them sure how to approach a conversation.

Eventually, Lisa was the one who spoke, tentatively murmuring, "Would it be bad to ask why you bought me a drink instead of having me arrested?"

Jonathan added a spoonful of sugar to his coffee, shrugging as he answered. "I suppose not."

"Alright, then." She leaned forward slightly, her curiosity evident in her expression. "Why?"

Glancing up at her as he stirred his coffee, Jonathan mentally debated how to reply. Eventually, he decided to be straightforward. Sighing, he responded, "He's my brother."

Lisa blinked. "What?"

"Jackson was…is my brother."

Lisa watched him for a few seconds, as though waiting for a punch line. When none came, she sighed. "Makes sense, I guess." Frowning slightly, she added, "But didn't you say your last name is Crane?"

"It is." Pushing his glasses further up his nose, Jonathan explained, "His name was Jackson Crane, until he turned sixteen, which is when I suppose he changed it."

"Why would he change it?"

Jonathan bit his lip, pausing for a moment before stating quietly, "He died."

Lisa looked slightly bewildered at this response. "What?"

Meeting her gaze evenly, he stated, "There was a fire thirteen years ago. Someone poured gasoline all over the floors of our house and lit a match." He paused. "They found three bodies inside. Three burned, mangled, almost indistinguishable bodies. Everyone assumed that they were the bodies of Jackson and our parents. I even identified the bodies as such when the police asked me to look at them." Jonathan took a sip of his coffee before continuing. "That same night, a teenage girl went missing in our town for no apparent reason. She just vanished, with no evidence, no leads, and no clue where she went." He paused. "They never did find her."

Frowning slightly, Lisa said, "So…you think that one of the bodies was really this girl?"

Jonathan shrugged slightly. "It would appear so."

Adding some sugar to her jasmine tea, Lisa continued her questioning. "So he set your house on fire and killed your parents and this girl…and just left?"

Slightly testy, Jonathan replied, "Again, that's how it would appear to be."

Lisa bit her lip, thinking over this as she stirred her tea. Jonathan said nothing, going back to sipping his coffee quietly.

After a moment of silent meditation, Lisa tentatively inquired, "And you're sure that your brother is Jackson Rippner?"

Serenely staring at Lisa, Jonathan replied, "When I saw the newspaper after he was arrested, I saw a copy of his mug shot splashed across the front cover. The second I saw it, there was no doubt in my mind that I was looking at a picture of my brother." Picking up his coffee, he added, "Besides, it would be quite the coincidence to have a man who looked exactly like my brother, and almost exactly like me, turn out not to be him, especially since they share the same first name." Biting his lip for a second, Jonathan added, "Besides, it's the sort of thing Jackson would have done."

Lisa slowly nodded, in response. Leaning back slightly in his chair, Jonathan said, "So now it's my turn. How did you meet my brother?"

Looking down at her tea, Lisa quietly asked, "You said you saw the photo of him after he was arrested, right?"

"Yes."

"Then you know about the assassination attempt he made. How he arranged for the murders of the Keefe family?"

Jonathan nodded. "Yes."

Refusing to look up from the table, Lisa replied, "He held me hostage on a plane. When I was flying home to Miami, he wanted me to help him arrange Keefe's assassination." She paused, biting her lip. "And I did it, too. But when our flight landed, I got away. I stabbed him, and I warned everyone in time." Running her finger on the rim of her teacup, she continued, "He tried to kill me. So I stabbed him, and I shot him, and my father shot him." Smiling sadly, she added, "And he lived."

Jonathan watched her cautiously. "You were upset when he made it?"

She nodded. "I hoped that, when they rushed him away in the ambulance, the doctors would botch the job somehow. Because I didn't want to have to see him again, to see him staring at me with those eyes he has." Looking up, she added, "Like you're doing now."

Averting his gaze, Jonathan mumbled, "My apologies."

Lisa smiled. "It's alright. You're not him." Shaking her head slightly, she continued, "I was always worried that I'd have to see him again."

"You're worried that he wants to seek vengeance?"

Lisa thought about this for a second, eventually replying, "In a way. But it's more than that. I just…I don't like to be reminded of what happened. I just want to move on, to keep living without constantly going back to what happened."

Jonathan cocked his head to one side and looked at her as though examining one of his patients. "Are you afraid of reliving the emotions you felt during the flight?"

Lisa didn't answer, staring at her tea mutely. Still observing her clinically, Jonathan asked, "Is it that you don't like the feelings of being helpless, or of being threatened?""

Lisa continued to say nothing, obviously not sure or not willing to respond to his questions.

Jonathan watched her for a second or two, and then asked her quietly, "You were attracted to him, weren't you?"

Lisa kept her gaze planted firmly on her drink, replying only after a long pause. "…yes." She bit her lip, frowning. "Before he told me who he was, we talked. He impressed me. He was charming, he was straightforward, he was polite, he listened..."

Looking up, she continued morosely, "I hadn't been attracted to a man for a while before he came along…and when he did, I thought we'd hit it off. And it's strange, looking back on it and realizing that it was all calculated, that he knew how to impress me, that he knew how to lure me in. He had followed me for weeks before the flight, so he'd planned out exactly how to wrap me around his finger. And, dammit, it worked. It worked and I fell for it."

Smiling sadly, Jonathan couldn't help but recall evenings from when he was fourteen, during those months that he and Jackson had become more than brothers, and Jonathan suddenly felt tired and drained. "He was always a good manipulator. Whatever he wanted…no matter what it was…he knew how to get it, one way or another."

Looking past Lisa, he added, "Sometimes, victims blame themselves for things that are simply beyond their control." Lisa looked up at him, her attention rapt as he continued, "They'll manage to blame themselves by thinking of something that somehow made it their fault, even if it's completely unrelated…like their initial attraction to their tormentor."

Lisa nodded her head slightly. "Yeah…" She smiled. "You're a shrink?"

Jonathan smiled in kind. "Psychopharmocologist."

Lisa laughed airily. "I see." After taking a sip of her tea, she noted, "You seem to remember him very well."

Looking down at the table, Jonathan shrugged lightly. "He's hard to forget."

Staring straight at Jonathan's face, Lisa said, "Especially after what he did before he left."

Hearing her comment, Jonathan closed his eyes for a second, and he could suddenly see the flames dancing as though it were happening all over again. The smoke filled his nostrils, and he could feel the sparks and heat on his cheeks. Suddenly, his heart ached, feeling the pain accompanying the loss of someone dear and irreplaceable.

Opening his eyes, Jonathan was brought back to Miami, where Lisa looked at him expectantly.

Smiling lightheartedly, Jonathan attempted to look nonchalant.

"That's Jackson for you."

-----

Leon didn't regain consciousness for forty-five minutes, and when he did, he could only see darkness for several seconds. His eyes opened halfway, and Leon saw what seemed to be endless blackness. Blinking several times, his eyes began to adjust, and he slowly started to see his surroundings.

He was no longer in his apartment's kitchen. Instead, he found himself in the driver's seat of his car, for some reason. Even odder was the fact that his wrists appeared to be tied to the seat's armrests with long strips of cloth twisted into complicated knots, while his ankles were similarly tied to the seat-adjustment bar underneath the driver's chair.

Still not completely aware of what was going on, he looked around frantically through half-closed eyes. The car wasn't near his apartment building; it was about fifteen feet away from one of the roadways directly outside of Gotham. It was facing away from the road, the land in front of it invisible because of the pitch black night. No light cam from the roadway, since the streetlights were all either out or dimly lit, and there were seemingly no other cars on the road. The only sounds that Leon could hear were from the wind whistling past the car and his own breathing.

A sharp pain shooting through the back of his hand brought him fully back to consciousness. Trying to lean forward, Leon found that yet another strip of cloth was tied around his neck to the back of his headrest, uncomfortably keeping him against the back of his seat and strangling him if he attempted to move.

Panicking, Leon attempted to writhe his way out of his binds, a sense of urgency rising inside him. But as soon as he did so, he heard a voice state calmly, "You're not gonna escape those. I know my knots, and it'll be damn near impossible to work your way out of those."

Leon looked to his right to see Jonathan's face watching him cautiously through the passenger side window, twirling Leon's key rung on one finger.

"Jonathan…?" he asked in a strangled voice, the ties around his neck pressing painfully against his windpipe. "Jonathan, what's going on?"

Strolling around the back of the car to the driver's side window, Jonathan said casually, "You went driving after a few drinks and got into a tragic accident."

Confused, Leon tried to turn his head to look at Jonathan as he managed to choke out, "Jonathan, what are you talking about? Did you do this?"

Leaning on the driver side window frame, Jonathan continued speaking as though he hadn't heard Leon say a word. "For reasons unclear, you went out driving after your judgment was impaired by two drinks of vodka, drunk in rapid succession. While driving, you made your way onto this very dark, very deserted road outside of the city."

Leon shook his head slightly, the pressure on his throat still painful. "I don't…I don't understand…"

Pointing towards the area in front of the car, Jonathan continued, "The area off the side of the road turns into a downward slope at about the point where your car is sitting. It's not steep enough that hitting the brakes wouldn't stop the car, but if you don't hit the brakes…" He shrugged carelessly, leaving the thought dangling. Looking directly at Leon, he added, "But if you're, say, inebriated, you might not have the sense to hit the brake, even if there's a sharp drop at the end of the slope. Of course, that might be hard to see in the middle of the night."

Taking something out of his pants pocket, Jonathan coldly stated, "That sharp drop goes about twenty feet down. If your car goes over it, you could be crushed on impact. If not…" He revealed a lighter in his palm, and began to flick it on and off as he spoke. "If not, a stray spark might shoot out of the car. And since you accidentally spilled vodka on yourself while you were drinking…" Jonathan stared at Leon with cold, unfeeling eyes, his lips curling up with the hint of a smile. "…a spark might just light you up like a candle."

Leon's eyes grew wide with panic, and he tried his best to figure out if this was some sort of prank. But even as he tried to convince himself that it was, he could feel the damp cloth of his shirt, and smell the sharp scent of vodka in his nostrils. And Jonathan was holding that lighter in a way that seemed deadly serious.

Leon's mouth tried to form words, but he couldn't speak. This was too much, too fast. Nothing escaped his lips as he desperately prayed that this were some sort of dream that he was having.

Smirking, Jonathan noted, "It's hard to think about, I bet." Flicking the lighter on and allowing the flame to linger, he added coldly, "But I suppose that's what you get for drinking and driving."

Looking at Jonathan with disbelief, Leon hoarsely asked, "Why?"

Jonathan was silent, staring at Leon with hateful, uncaring eyes. Growing desperate, Leon asked once more, "Jonathan, why?"

Continuing to flick the lighter, he answered, "Jonathan is currently in Miami, probably asleep in his hotel room by now."

Leon didn't understand. That was impossible. Jonathan was standing right next to him. How could he be a thousand miles away when he was right there?

His throat being rubbed raw against its binding, Leon croaked, "…who…?"

Calmly, he stated, "I'm his brother."

For a second or two, Leon stared at him, absorbing this information slowly. As he did so, a small giggle escaped his lips, and he soon found himself laughing weakly and uncontrollably, each chuckle sounding a lot like a sob.

As his frail laughter continued, Leon could hear a voice asking, "What are you laughing at?"

Still giggling, Leon managed to reply, "You're the one that left that note. You're the freak of nature broth-…"

He was cut off when the man outside the car reached in and grabbed his throat with both hands, still carrying the lighter in his palm. Even as he gasped for air and felt the cold metal of the lighter pressing against his throat, Leon's sobbing laughter continued, and tears began to slide down his face as he realized that he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

As he felt increasingly dizzy and light-headed, Leon could vaguely hear the man hissing threats at him, but Leon couldn't care less. He just kept shaking with silent laughter and choked sobs.

Eventually, the man released him, and Leon was grateful for the decreased pressure to his windpipe. He slowly stopped laughing, his giddiness subsiding as the seriousness of the situation sunk in. Lolling his head to his left, Leon looked back at the strange man, who was now running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Anger still evident in his voice, the strange man coldly stated, "In a minute, your car is going to switch from Park to Drive. When that happens, it'll coast forward a few inches before rolling down the slope until it hits the drop." Pacing near the driver's side door, he continued, "When they find you tomorrow, it'll look like an accident and nothing more. I soaked the cloths tying you down in the same vodka that's on your shirt, so they'll simply burn away. And your hair is doused in hairspray, which'll take care of the mark from where I hit you."

Looking down at Leon, he concluded, "And that'll be that. You'll be dead, and there'll be no evidence that it was anything but a tragic accident." Smiling cruelly, he leaned on the window frame and asked, "Any last words?"

Leon stared at him numbly, all too aware of what was about to happen to him and all too aware that he was helpless to stop it. He couldn't escape his binds, he couldn't scream for help, and there was no one around to see them. He couldn't reach any of the controls or pedals, so there was no way for him to attempt to control the car. And even if he did manage any of these feats, who knew what kind of retribution this man would dole out?

Leaning his head back against the headrest, Leon felt resigned to what was to come, and he only hoped that it would be over quickly.

Calmly, he asked the man in a weak voice, "Why?" When the man looked away without responding, Leon asked again in a slightly louder voice, "Why?"

The man turned his head and gave him a strange look, as though contemplating his answer. Eventually, he shrugged and stated simply, "Because I hate you."

Laughing cruelly, he added, "You should never have gotten involved with him. You should have left him alone and gone and fucked some other pretty boy."

Tossing the lighter from one hand to the other, the man smirked, "It'd have been much better for you if you'd just stayed away. You should've realized that Jonathan belonged to someone else. That he was mine."

Leon blinked several times, perplexed and frightened. What was he talking about?

Taking Leon's keys out of his pocket, the man muttered, "But it's too late for that now."

Reaching through the window frame and over Leon, he inserted the key into the ignition, and started the engine. He then reached past the steering wheel and switched the car from 'Park' to 'Drive', and quickly extracted himself from the window frame as the car began to inch forward.

Leon shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to watch. If he'd had the option, he would've crossed himself. Instead, he had to settle for quietly reciting a prayer as he felt the car hitting the slope, the speed of the vehicle slowly increasing until he felt a sense of weightlessness as it went into a freefall.

-----

Jonathan's evening ended with him shaking Lisa Reisert's hand in an attempt at friendliness, both of them exhausted from the late hour and the emotions they associated with their topics of discussion.

"Once again, I am really sorry about before," Lisa reiterated, firmly grasping Jonathan's hand as she shook.

"Don't worry about it," Jonathan replied, extracting his hand. "I'm glad we had our discussion."

Looking slightly wistful, Lisa nodded. "So am I."

Grabbing a tissue and a pen from her purse, she quickly scribbled something onto the tissue. Handing it to Jonathan, she explained, "My address and my phone number. If you ever need anything, just drop me a line or call." Smiling slightly she said, "Hope you like Miami."

He nodded his gratitude, glancing at the words and numbers scrawled onto the tissue before pocketing it. "Thank you."

-----

Strolling down towards the empty street on the way towards the bright lights of Gotham, Jackson still had the smell of smoke lingering in his nostrils. Even though he had walked a mile from where he had left Leon, his eyes were still adjusting to the brightness of the flames, and he could almost imagine the feel of sparks against his face.

The plan had gone all too well. When the car had fallen down the drop, sparks from the crash had started the fire by itself without any aid from Jackson's lighter, thanks to the abundance of flammable materials in the car. He had watched from the edge of the slope as the car erupted into flames, the bright orange fire dancing against the darkness of the night.

No one had noticed. No one had seen or heard anything. Whenever Leon would be found, the evidence would have burned away, and it would be written off as a tragic accident and a reminder not to drink and drive.

As the lights of Gotham grew closer, Jackson decided what to do. When he walked into the city, he would hail a taxi. He would go back to Jonathan's apartment. He would fall asleep, perhaps sneaking into bed, rather than sleeping on the couch as he usually did. And when he awoke in the morning, he would go about his day as he usually did.