So I'll go ahead and say it. There really isn't any excuse for me to take 3 months to update. Rediculous! But I just started college and have really been focusing on it. Regardless, here's my next chapter!

Chapter Nine

Psychology

7:00 P.M.

It was late in the afternoon before I finished helping Dr. Thompson remodel his living area. As a woman of my word, I painted, helped set up the hardwood floor, and rearranged his furniture. His spirits seemed to brighten tremendously by the end of it all. Discovering that I wasn't that bad of a painter really seemed to make him, in a sense, happy.

"If you need anything--anything at all," he started, kindly ushering me out of his home.

"I'll know exactly who to call. Thank you so much for being patient with me and answering all of my questions."

"Of course, Helena, of course. I haven't met a more polite journalist."

Yes, I knew how to turn on the charm when it was needed. There was no doubt about that. I could get the rudest, most heartless man to do back flips for me in the middle of winter with nothing on but a Speedo. Just ask Ricky.

Dr. Thompson closed the door behind me, leaving me to walk alone to my car with just my thoughts. He hadn't really shared any more details about the Joker. But subsequently, I was starting to put things together.

"Very impatient…loved all the things automatic…Daniel Ashman…" I whispered to myself all these random thoughts floating around in my head. I had rather hoped that verbally they would make more sense.

Dusk began to fall on Gotham. Lights were slowly coming on in surrounding homes. Birds fell silent, and the sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon.

I hadn't really noticed my car from a distance; but now that I was nearly ten feet away from it, it was all so unmistakably clear. I dropped my purse in near horror.

My windshield was busted; someone took a sledgehammer against it. There was graffiti on the side, red and yellow paint, splayed out where all could see. It read, "Stop the hunt or pay". Under my windshield wiper was a playing card: the Joker.

11:00 P.M.

I called the police immediately, but of course, they could do nothing to help. The perpetrator was long gone by now. But those words continued to play over and over in my mind: "Stop the hunt or pay". The kind officer was polite enough to inform me that I "shouldn't be an idiot. Stop the search, whatever the hell you're searching for."

The vigilante responsible for this must've known more about me than what car I drove. For God's sake, he even knew I was at Dr. Thompson's home and I hadn't disclosed that information to anyone-not even Ricky.

Obviously, the only conclusion that I could come up with was that he had followed me. I just assumed he was a man--it could have very well been a woman (I had seriously doubted that).

The officer that arrived at least had the decency to escort me back to my office building while my car was being towed in for repairs. I was now unlocking my office door, getting ready for a long night of tying together different strings of thought.

Opening the door, I was greeted by a familiar face--or should I say, mask.

"I was wondering if you'd show," I stated, unnerved by his presence.

"I could say the same for you. Long day?"

"You have no idea." He was standing against the adjacent wall, leaning back with his arms folded. Batman had a way of sending shivers down your spine without you even realizing it.

"Care to enlighten me?"

"Not really." He remained silent, staring back at me with deep, penetrating eyes. It was as if he could read my every thought. I knew he wasn't going to break the silence first. "I haven't really had time to think…put things together."

"That's why I'm here."

"Uh…" I sighed, not knowing where to even begin. "He's got such a scattered history. One thing doesn't always lead to another. I've…" approaching my desk, I dropped my purse with a load thud, "been researching his psychological patterns more than anything."

"Any particular reason why?"

"He's not doing all of this just for the fun of it."

"He may be. Perhaps that's just what makes him sick."

"In any case, it might even lead us to his next strike. When people do things, they have certain patterns and techniques. We'll go around in circles until we get things right."

"What you're saying is that he's trying to achieve something."

"Exactly. But…I took two psychology courses in college. I'm a journalist, not a therapist."

"You just talk to one, right?" He was attempting to get more answers than I bargained for. Batman stood there, still in the same position as when I arrived. His arms remained folded across his chest and at that moment, it seemed possible that he hadn't even blinked.

"Not for personal reasons if that's what you are insinuating." I slid into my chair and scooted closely to my desk, wondering how I was going to busy my fidgeting hands.

"I wasn't insinuating anything."

"I've spoken with Dr. Thompson twice in the past few days. That's it."

A change in conversation seemed to be appropriate at the time; I was just thankful that he initiated it. "You came here in a police car."

"I suppose your were watching me."

"Where's your vehicle?"

"It's getting worked on--a few repairs here and there." Well, at least it wasn't a lie.

"And you had a cop escort you back to work?"

"He, uh…saw me on the side of the road. I guess he was just being kind." I was always told that if you told the truth, you wouldn't have to remember anything. One lie just builds into a whole web, stretching out to even bigger webs.

"Okay."

All right. Another change in subject. Again. "I don't think Jack killed Daniel Ashman."

"Who?"

"Daniel Ashman. He was murdered--"

"I know about Daniel Ashman. I meant Jack."

"Jack Napier-the Joker. They're one in the same."

"So," he pushed himself off the wall and took a step forward, pausing again, "he's Jack now."

"His choice of weapon is an M60. Daniel Ashman was killed with a .45," I stated, blatantly ignoring his previous statement.

"Okay."

"I…I don't know what to do. I've hit a dead end." Batman took another step forward. He stood in front of my desk, leaning against it. I was frustrated and he could tell. "You're going to have to help. Talk to people; get inside their heads…because I'm stuck."

"Okay." Okay? Is that all he could say?

By now, he pushed himself off the desk and was getting ready to exit. I stood to watch him as he was leaving, but something began to tug at my heart. I needed an explanation.

"The other night," I began, "I was in my house, asleep. I heard somebody in my room. Now, I remember telling you to come by my house if you needed anything. But…when I woke up, this person just ran out as fast as he could. I need to know--"

"It wasn't me."

I could feel bile rising up in my throat as my heart dropped to my stomach. "Oh, my God."

"You need to lock your doors from now on."

"This is Gotham. I always lock my doors."

"Then change the locks."

"Who would have a key to my…?" I sat back down, not knowing what else to do. "Shit."