Disclaimer: I only own my own OCs and none of the characters that are owned by DC, including Batman.

AN: Happy early Valentine's Day! I hope everyone has a great one. Thank you so much to everyone who has added this story to favorites, alerts, and reviews. You guys really help motivate me to write, especially when I'm completely stuck, like I was on this chapter. Things are going to get a bit dark, but let's face it; it's a story about a serial killer so that was bound to happen. I hope you all enjoy! And I'd also like to add a special thanks to my best friend for being my beta on this chapter! Happy Reading!

"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"

Mad World –Gary Jules

The heat was stifling as Cassidy heaved a heavy sigh, this time one of frustration, as she pulled at the metal restraints that bound her wrists to the tethered chain. She had hoped that the sweat would lubricate her hands enough so that they would slide through metal bracelet, but she wasn't having much luck with it. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she pressed her back against the concrete wall behind her, thankful that it was slightly cool.

She could tell that it was daytime, not just by the small sliver of light that escaped from beneath the door above the stairs, but by the hustle and bustle of the city outside. The noises were vaguely familiar: the engine's revving, cars honking and neighbors yelling, but she could barely make them out due to the slight soundproofing of the walls.

Of course she'd known that the outside world hadn't heard her screams. Her throat had been raw and achy after the amount of screaming she had done the first day after she had woken up. And since then, she had watched four slivers of sunlight come and go—four days that she'd spent in this abysmal room.

The darkness had been almost as oppressive as the heat. She had feared it at first, but she soon learned that the darkness was an ally: When she was here in the darkness, she wasn't on his mind. (And being on his mind was something that she desperately didn't want.)

No, the four days of consciousness had been full of torture. Often times she was beaten, even after she had submitted to her captor. She was drugged and her body ravaged. And she was left alone in the darkness and the heat, her own personal version of Hell: Alive, yet seemingly dead to the world beyond her cage of despair.

In the four days that Cassidy had been conscious, she came to realize what it meant to be consumed by hatred and fear. She came to know just what her physical limitations were. And Cassidy knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if she didn't gain a tangible purchase on hope, that if things didn't change, that she wasn't going to make it out of there alive. Even now, Cassidy warily questioned why the man had even kept her alive for so long. Her only answer was the he wanted her to suffer, and Cassidy Jenkins was certainly suffering, mentally and physically as sweat dampened her squalid clothing, making her reek of bodily fluids and sex as the cloth clung to her as if they were one.

She closed her eyes, trying to rest momentarily. She knew that her body needed to heal itself but she was still on edge. The sliver of light was slowly waning and she hadn't heard her captor stirring for quite a while. Whether it was a ploy to put her at ease-or whether the man was really gone-she had no idea.

Twisting her hand around the chain that held her right arm, she began yanking hard, hoping to loosen it from the wall. But it stubbornly held, just like the hundreds of times that she'd attempted it before. Still, she gritted her teeth and pulled with what energy she could muster until she heard a very audible slam.

Cassidy froze in place, left hand still on the iron chain, and eyes wide with fright as fear washed over her. She subconsciously slowed her breathing as she strained to listen to the uneven footsteps above. They didn't have the grace that they normally held, and Cassidy contemplated calling out to see if it was some knight in shining armor coming to rescue her.

She slowly let go of the chain and scooted into the dark corner, back against the wall, as she stared at the door above. Now she could see the tiniest bit of a shadow blocking out the sliver of light. She held her breath, praying it was a savior and she heard the knob jiggle.

The heavy wooden door swung open, revealing her captor and she tried to cower further into the darkness, as if she were burying herself in its depths. She watched as the man turned and bent, and then grunted, muttering something under his breath. When he appeared again, facing her, she could make out a limp figure in his arms as he began clopping down the stairs: She couldn't make out any features, save for the long, dark pony tail and an arm that dangled, scraping against the wooden stairs as he descended.

She winced as the woman was dumped unceremoniously to the hard floor across from her. There was no doubt that whoever she was would have a goose egg on her head whenever she woke up. Cassidy silently watched as the man lifted each wrist, and inserted them into the metal shackles. She wondered if she'd been like that—so unaware of what was going on and of her new surroundings. And for a brief moment, Cassidy envied the woman and her ignorance.

Once the woman was bound, the man stood up, cracking his back as he did so. He turned toward Cassidy and smiled, though it was anything but pleasant. Slowly, as if he were stalking prey before the attack, he slid toward Cassidy.

Her heart began racing and she broke out into a cold sweat as he drew near. He bent down, still smiling and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, examining her swollen cheek and the fear in her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that. I've brought you a friend and all you can do is cower in fear?"

The admonishment in his tone bristled Cassidy, but she refused to rise to his baiting.

"Oh I get it. You're not talking to me," he said, still grasping her chin. "You know what the problem is with a girl like you Cassidy? You're an ungrateful bitch," he spat. "I go out of my way and bring you someone to keep you company, and you are such an ungrateful little whore that you can't even say thank you!"

"I…I'm…sorry-," Cassidy sputtered as the man violently released his grip. She bit back a sob as she felt the meaty palm of his hand impact her already swollen cheek.

"No. You're not sorry-not yet. You women are all the same: lying little whores. Apparently you've learned nothing in our time together," he sneered nastily.

Cassidy held her eyes together tightly as the tears began to spill over. She couldn't help it anymore, she just felt so broken. He grabbed her chin forcefully once again, as she blubbered in her own tears. "You'll regret not learning better manners."

With that, he released her chin and stormed from the room, slamming the aged door behind him. She heard the lock click and let a wail escape her lips as she clutched her swollen face. Cassidy Jenkins paid little attention to the woman across from her, to the world outside, or to the outer door slamming once again as she rocked back and forth, her body racked with sobbing, praying that somehow she would survive this ordeal.

Bruce Wayne discarded the heavy armor on the long metal table, breathing in the cool air of the cave as he did so. His hair was damp with sweat, as was the rest of his body, which was a common occurrence since his suit seemed to retain heat, no matter what season it was. Carefully, he removed the three vials of blood from his belt, along with two cameras: It may have been nearly dawn, but he had a lot of work ahead of him.

He strode to the opposite side of the cave, a man on a mission, and inserted the vials into one of the newer machines in his vast array of forensics equipment: A Wayne Enterprises prototype that had been green lit only a few months ago. Among its many features, it was able to run blood analysis and generate toxicology reports in a matter of a few hours, and was especially useful for trace analysis (It had certainly proved invaluable the past few weeks).

He pressed the button to start the initial test cycle and moved to his desk, his eyes already searching for the results from the machine's previous scan that Alfred had conducted while he was out. Biting back a yawn, he picked up the papers, sat in his high-backed chair, and began reading the analysis.

It seemed as if the blood samples from the warehouse matched Tiffany Anders, confirming that she had once been there. Bruce was convinced that she was also killed there, but he would let Gordon know later (considering Gordon already had a unit staked out at the place in the event the Calendar Killer made an appearance). However, Bruce thought that it was unlikely that he would return, considering the amount of time that had elapsed.

Thumbing through another stack of papers from an earlier analysis, Bruce's eyes widened when he read that the DNA analysis in the Metropolis file confirmed a match with the DNA found under the fingernails of Jessica York. Granted, the computer had failed to find a match in the records of just who the DNA belonged to, but at least he could now tie the murders together. Whoever it was has obviously left Metropolis nearly eight months ago, and then moved to Gotham where he continued his work.

Still, without a donor, the DNA wouldn't do much good. But it was progress, and he wouldn't begrudge what little headway he had made so far.

Swiveling in the chair, he picked up Rebecca Blake's shiny-new Nikon digital camera; he studied it carefully before connecting it to his computer. Suddenly, his monitor was flooded with pictures and videos -five hundred and sixty six pictures and 6 videos to be exact—and he was momentarily surprised at how many pictures she could take with a week-old camera. He flipped through many of the pictures of engineering students, noting the people that cropped up in more than one picture, and then scoured through random pictures showing Nicole and Rebecca goofing off in their apartment. He felt slightly voyeuristic, watching videos of the two girls dancing around the middle of their living room to some pop song that he didn't recognize. He told himself that it was just research, even if he knew it was a lie, trying to appease his conscience. It didn't work, so he clicked through to the next set of pictures which were taken at the amusement park, remembering what he felt. After examining them for anything out of the ordinary, he moved on to the last set—pictures from their last night out at the club. Still, he didn't see any sign of Cassidy or anyone that was watching the group, so he disconnected the Nikon with a sigh.

Setting the little red camera aside, he grabbed Nicole's- a slightly scratched, silver Sony Cybershot-and hooked the USB cord to his computer. He wasn't sure what surprised him more: the fact she had enough memory for eight hundred pictures and nearly forty videos, or that she had used it all. No doubt both women were fond of documenting every moment in their lives, and Bruce wryly thought that the two of them could have made a fortune as paparazzi. Shaking the thought away, he began poring over the pictures.

He found pictures of many of Gotham's attractions that were obviously from when she first arrived: These tourist-type pictures showed no one of significance besides herself and her friends. As for the videos, most were of concerts or air shows. It seemed that Nicole was rather eclectic, a fan of multiple genres of rock. The pictures from the concerts showed a wilder side to the young woman than he knew. There were also hundreds of photos from air shows and fly-ins, making it easy to flip through those without being too studious.

Finally he came to the pictures from Amusement Mile. The bulk of them were of Rebecca, Nicole and the various treats and rides. A few were of him, which surprised him somewhat. Most were candid shots that he himself had been unaware of at the time. He had been genuinely happy in those pictures, especially in their company, but he hadn't noticed that he was being photographed from afar. Briefly he wondered if it was Rebecca rather than Nicole that had taken the photos but he soon pushed the thought to the back of his mind- now wasn't the time for reminiscing.

Like Rebecca's camera, the last pictures on Nicole's were of her last night out. It was apparent that she and her friends had become quite inebriated as the night wore on, and the more they indulged, the more snapshots she felt obliged to take. There were a few shots of Nicole and Cassidy that he saved to his computer to analyze more thoroughly, but it was the last picture that made him stop in his tracks, his heartbeat quickening with the thrill of discovery.

At that moment came a beeping sound from across the cave, signaling the end of the analysis he'd been waiting on. Bruce hadn't realized just how long he'd been searching the photos and immediately rose, much to the chagrin of his stiffened leg muscles, and retrieved the printout from the machine. After studying it for a few moments, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion: It seemed that Purefoy and Avery both had traces of Belladonna in their blood.

He'd read about it somewhere and knew that it fit with both of the men's symptoms: the dilation of pupils, upset stomachs, and even unconsciousness if mixed with the wrong things. However, what confused him is that both traces indicated that the men had been given enough to incapacitate them rather than kill them. Suddenly, an idea began to take root in Bruce's head.

He grabbed the file on Stuart Mitchell and flipped through it, already having read that he hadn't had any Belladonna in his system, and stared at the MRI. Bruce was no doctor, but he did know a thing or two about where to land a blow, and the impact area on Stuart's skull was one least likely to cause significant brain damage or death.

Like a flash of a camera, Bruce connected everything at once: the excessive violence toward women, the cauterizing of Jessica York's tattoo, the three incapacitated men charged to watch Nicole Miller, and the lack of a crime scene on Father's Day (another major holiday). Whoever this psycho was had been wronged by a woman in the past, most likely rejected in some form, and was taking out his vengeful fantasies on female victims. In fact, they had all been strong, confident women, quite easy to approach. The earliest of them were prostitutes, those that would be easily missed, but he had progressed rapidly to women who were easily seen, some of whom had a less than desirable reputation. And with each killing he was changing not only the choice of victim (based on some demented, perceived value of worth), but the brutality and cunning of the tactics he employed. It wasn't a fine tuned motive that Bruce had realized, by any means, but the glaringly obvious fact that he'd left three men alive only solidified how much the Calendar Killer hated his victims.

Now for the most pressing question: Who would do such a thing?

Remembering the photo he'd found, he returned to the monitor, enlarging and enhancing the image. It wasn't the smiling face of Nicole and her unknown friends that he was looking at, but what he saw in the background: Cassidy leaning up against the bar, her arm on the man in front of her. His back was to the camera, but Bruce could already tell that he was tall, possessed light-colored hair, and impeccably dressed. Bruce quickly began studying the (hunched or upright?) form intensely, looking for marks or other clues: anything that might reveal the identity of the figure on the screen before him.

"Found something have you, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, emerging from the darkness near the elevator. Bruce was a bit surprised that he hadn't heard the groaning of the ancient machine, but he quickly brushed it off.

"Maybe. A picture of Cassidy and an unknown male," replied Bruce, not looking away from the monitor.

Alfred gazed at the monitor over the younger man's shoulder. "You can't see his face."

"No. But it's the only picture we have."

"And out of all of the men this young lady might have known, why do you think it's him, sir?"

Bruce turned in his chair and grabbed a small evidence bag. "This hair I found in the warehouse is a match to the one found in Metropolis. Both are blonde. Granted, one was found in a dumpster but I don't believe it's a coincidence that the same person's hair was found at two murder scenes- nevermind the fact that DNA fragments from Jessica York's fingernails were a match for the follicles found in Metropolis and the warehouse." Bruce stared at Alfred, noticing the files he held in his arms. "What's that?" he asked, motioning toward the manila bundle.

"Well, sir, I decided to look up information on the Lanford warehouse, since you were called away last night. I know the Commissioner is doing the same, but they have to obtain the information by-ah, shall we say- more honest means (which takes a bit longer to do, I might add)"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his manservant. "What did you find?"

"The warehouse is owned by Broadway Properties."

"Broadway deals with half of the commercial and industrial properties in Gotham."

"Correct. And this property has been on the market for quite some time, under the care of a Mr. Harper-"

"Harper…you don't mean Alex Harper?"

"His son, I believe, sir."

"Hm. That may be the first real lead we've had all along. I'll pass it along to Gordon so that he can bring him in for questioning," Bruce said, picking up the phone with a direct line to the Commissioner's office. It seemed like things were finally looking up, but who knew when (or from where) the next critical lead in the case would surface.

Nicole drew in a haggard gasp that chaffed her raw throat. She let out a wheeze and struggled to control her gulps of air as her eyes fluttered open. She panicked in the blackness of the room for a moment, still half caught in a nightmare of drowning in some deep abyss until she rolled over onto her back—and onto a hard surface.
Blinking her eyes rapidly, she tried to focus on something, anything really, to overcome the pain in her head. She was disoriented and dizzy and virtually blind in the shadows. Her skin was slick with sweat and gritty with something—she couldn't tell what. She forced down a wave of nausea and tried to focus on her breathing to remain calm, choking on the fetid stench that wafted through the inky room as she drew a deep breath. She fought desperately to ignore roaring in her ears and the pounding in her skull.

Raising her hand to her head, she was startled by a series of metallic clanks, making her want to cry out for help but her throat was too thick and dry and her tongue felt like dead weight in her mouth. Still, she cradled her sore head, despite the noise, and was surprised to discover something crusty caked on her forehead. Following the trail of dried blood upward, she winced as her finger touched the wound near hear hairline where she had collided with the floor. No wonder her head was pounding. A wave of nausea wracked her body and her hand flew to her mouth, trying to contain the contents of the stomach as the metal continued clanking. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than the darkness to go way and for the eerie noise to end.

And then, just as suddenly as she had woken, the ringing in her ears lessened and she became aware of another noise-hissing. No not hissing exactly, more like whispering, but it was still hard to focus on the words.

"Hey, are you awake?" That was the phrase that her ears managed to recognize. It seemed a bit hurried, but maybe it was just her.

Nicole attempted to speak but her tongue was too heavy and only a low moan slipped out.

"Was that you?"

Nicole's eyes squinted shut in concentration and she willed her tongue to work. "Yeah," was all she could muster.

"Good you're awake! I was getting worried," the voice rasped.

"Wh-who," Nicole slurred drunkenly, trying to gain control of her voice once again.

"Cassidy, but that's not important right now. What's important is that we need to find a way out of here. Do you have anything on you? Anything that could unlock the shackles?"

Nicole tried to focus. It took a few minutes for her to place the name and when she did she let out a grunt as her memory came flooding back to her. She moved her arm and heard the horrible resonance of chains sliding across a concrete floor. Apparently Cassidy was serious about the shackles part. She tried to sit up but the blinding pain in her head kept her down and elicited a moan.

"Did you find anything?"

"No. Can't look yet. It hurts. What's wrong with me?" she brokenly declared.

"You've been drugged, but it'll wear off. And keep your voice down, he'll hear us!"

Nicole didn't want to know exactly who he was, though she had a pretty good idea of who it might be.

"Where are we?"

Cassidy was exasperated with the questions and it showed in the harshness of her whisper. "I don't know some basement! Look do you have anything or not, we have to get out of here, like now!"

Nicole rolled over onto her side and used one of the chains to pull herself up, grunting in agony as she did so. Slowly, she slid her hand into the pockets of her jeans, hoping she would find something. Apparently her captor had already searched them because all she found was lint. Willing the frustration away, she moved her left foot to her lap, hoping to use the aglets from the laces of her tennis shoes only to discover that her shoes were missing entirely. Sighing loudly she pulled at the chains shackled to her wrists, hoping that they would give way. They didn't.

"I don't have anything," Nicole stated morosely.

"Did you check everywhere? Your jeans? Shirt? Bra? Any jewelry or piercings you still have? Pins in your hair," Cassidy pleaded.

Nicole ran her hands over her sweat dampened body, careful to feel for anything that might be of use and was dismayed to find that she had nothing left upon her person.

"There's nothing. I think he searched me," Nicole managed to say coherently, feeling somewhat violated.

Cassidy was silent for a moment, her last vestige of hope having been smothered like a dying flame, as tears began prickling her eyes.

Nicole seemed to sense her despondency despite the chasm between them. "Someone will come for us," she reassured, the words hanging in the thickness of the room.

Cassidy sniffled, "Then why haven't they come yet?"

Nicole worded her next statement carefully, knowing that she needed to provide hope for both of them. "They're looking for us, and they already have more evidence than they had a week ago."

Cassidy was about to ask another question when both girls were suddenly startled by the basement door creaking open, the light behind revealing a dark figure and causing them to shut their eyes momentarily against the cruel glare of light.

Nicole heard Cassidy whimper and the girl's chains drag against the floor as she scrambled to the corner across from Nicole, but she saw none of it. Instead, her gaze was completely transfixed upon the man sauntering down the wooden staircase as if he didn't have a care in the world. Though she couldn't see his features, something about the man inspired fear and gave him an air of power.

Without so much as glancing at the two women, the man walked into the middle of the room, separating the girls with his figure. Yellow light suddenly bathed the room as he pulled on the ancient string above, forcing Nicole to wrench her eyes shut.

Seconds later, she forced them open, blinking several times as she took in the scene around her, her dark eyes searching for a possible weapon or escape route. The floors were coated with dust and grime, causing the grittiness that she felt against her skin. The room itself was barren and gray, the only fixtures being a hot water heater under the stairs and the two sets of restraints bound to each wall.

Wrenching her eyes from the surrounding scene, she focused on the figure in front of her. Though his back was to her, she could tell that he was impeccably dressed in chino pants and a cerulean polo shirt with a head full of wavy blonde hair. His height was as impressive as it had been that night in the alley, but unlike their brief encounters before, she never quite realized how his stature had exuded such raw power, something that unnerved her as it was obviously meant to do.

Still, she sat helplessly as he stalked toward Cassidy with an ease that almost sent the chills up Nicole's spine.

"My dear, Cassidy," he purred. "Have you been acquainting yourself with our new guest?"

Cassidy shook her head vigorously from side to side; her eyes never leaving the hell spawn in front of her.

He sighed and managed to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "That's too bad. Really it is. She's our guest," he emphasized, gesturing to Nicole behind him, "and you're still not mannered enough to greet her for us? I see you're not any well mannered than you were earlier," he totted.

Cassidy blanched and looked dangerously close to fainting, though she remained silent, her pale lips pinched in a thin line.

"Well I guess it's up to me then, isn't it," the man asked of no one in particular. Side stepping to the right so that Cassidy could get a good look at the girl behind him, he once again gestured behind himself. "Take a good look Cassidy. Do you recognize her?"

Cassidy obeyed, more out of curiosity than anything else, though her sandy eyebrows were knitted in confusion. Across from her, the girl was covered in dried blood from her hairline down to her cheek. A blackened eye in the middle of healing along with a gash covered by butterfly clips on her forehead marred the rest of her features. It was enough to cause Cassidy to visibly wince at the woman's injuries though she had plenty of her own. Still, she couldn't place the wounded face even though it did seem vaguely familiar.

"Cassidy, I'd like you to meet Nicole Miller of unit 890 Northridge Apartments, located near Gotham University, at least that's what it lists on her driver's license. Of course, you might know her from Hue. Either way, it's mostly your fault she's here with us. Would you like to know why? And do speak up, it's rude to ignore a question."

Nicole watched as Cassidy asked why she was here, with a shaky voice.

"Well, it appears Miss Miller fancies herself a hero. She tried to save you that night you know," he simply stated as Cassidy's eyes widened in horror and flickered to Nicole's face.

"Oh yes. She even attacked me to free you! Such selflessness! Miss Miller, the saint of Gotham," he taunted. "But I wasn't fooled by her," he stated almost as if speaking to himself.

He turned then, and it seemed that it only took a step for his lean form to close the gap between himself and Nicole. Suddenly, she was staring face to face with a pair of cobalt eyes hidden behind glasses, a smirk on his face showing off his pearly teeth, and she felt the tinges of recognition grasp her.

"You!" she blurted out, unable to contain herself. She couldn't believe that the man before her was the same man that had stopped to hold her things in the rain only a couple of weeks ago.

He chuckled then, deepening the gap between them as he leaned away, letting Cassidy watch as he caressed the side of Nicole's face that wasn't coated in dried blood.

Nicole wanted desperately to lash out, to knock his large hand away, but she knew that it would do no good as long as she was bound in chains and not able to escape for the last thing Nicole wanted was retaliation for a whim she couldn't control.

"Yes, I! I have to admit, I was afraid you wouldn't know me. You know, it was a very rude thing that you did, not even giving me a second glance. Weren't you raised with any manners at all," he questioned dramatically.

Nicole bit back a retort, grinding her teeth as she did so.

"No matter. I'm going to teach you Nicole. And when I'm done with you, it will be something that you'll never regret."

And just as suddenly as he had arrived, he leapt up and pulled the chain above him, once again leaving Nicole blind in the dark. She waited for something, anything to happen, but was surprised when the man simply began climbing the wooden stairs without as much as another word.

Before he closed the wooden door behind him, he seemed to feel Nicole's gawk and turned back. "I think I'll leave you two alone for now. I'm sure you'll want to think about what I've said."

And with that, the man retreated from the room, swinging the door shut behind him and leaving the two women in the darkness. Cassidy sobbed about how sorry she was over and over again until she eventually cried herself to sleep while Nicole sat silently, trying to form some kind of plan that could save them both and praying that somehow, someone would discover them, and she wouldn't have to.