Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related. I believe DC comics does.
--
"Eva, the Commissioner is dead."
Gordon's raspy voice echoes in my memory.
"Judge Surrillo is dead."
The Joker escaped.
"We've got Dent. He's safe."
It is my fault he is still slathering on his face paint for another massacre. The GPD might have been able to secure a perimeter around Wayne's penthouse and arrest what was left of the Joker's thugs, but the Joker has crawled back into the shadowed slums of Gotham to lick his wounds happily until he plans something again.
Something bigger.
Something worse.
The reminiscence of our encounter earlier tonight haunts my psyche. The way I was pinned underneath him and cried like some kind of innocent makes me feel sick.
I showed my repulsive susceptibility to him.
And, he loved it.
He saw the glitter of fear in my brown eyes and wanted more, he now wants a hunt. The Joker views me as a toy to play with, but my query is what happens when he gets bored? His not-so-fastidious arched blade will want the last dibs.
My stomach gets that sick dropping feeling like one gets while plummeting down a treacherous drop on a rollercoaster. Your hair swirls around you head as you see the ground coming closing and closer, but yet you know very well that there is no getting off the ride that is life.
Keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times.
The Joker manipulated my emotional pain, digging into my soul and letting me know who would be the dominant one: him. It infuriates me. He deserves death, but am I really the one to decide that?
Should've pulled the trigger.
I could have.
I should have.
But I didn't.
The question that bites into my conscience like a voracious crocodile is, "Why didn't I?"
I think it is at this moment for the first time that I realize that this case in not a "case" anymore.
When I started just about one year ago as an officer, I remember that I was never afraid of any kind of criminal or thug. Paranoia was always a factor, but if one is a woman in the city of Gotham that would be a reasonable emotion. However, it was always easy to slap on a pair of cuffs and shove them away in the catacombs of prison. They did not matter to me; I just wanted to fight the scum of the city that I love, Gotham. I never thought anything of it except my job and my life; everything was so predictable and reliable, even for Gotham. However, this Joker is quite the opposite of his stage name. He has taken my friend and a piece of me to her grave, perhaps that piece was my courage. To know that he is out there alive make my blood boil and run cold in a repetitious cycle.
Should've pulled the trigger.
Killing is wrong, I know that. I do not need a lesson in morals, but right now retribution sounds so good. However, something that I have learned honestly in my short diminutive life is that thoughts about a situation are almost always different than how we really act. I was am still am blinded by the idea of some kind of revenge, but I mine as well agree with myself deep down and be realistic; alone I can never win and killing is never a first-class answer.
Maybe I am not being realistic.
I continue to ponder what the glass hands of the future hold for Gotham and myself. In the deepest grittiest fiber of my being, I know that my fate resides within the Joker's love for anarchy and if the GPD and I are lucky enough to catch him.
My life of trying to serve justice will be determined by an insane nihilist.
I can only hope for a fairytale of a salvation.
Tonight, the same night after the disastrous fundraiser for Dent, I lay awake in Lucas Marks' bed. Together we are entwined by his satin bed sheets and our heads rest on his thick luxurious pillows. My naked body is pressed to his and the blissful sound of his sleeping breaths wisp by my ear. For this one moment, everything that has happened in the past few weeks dissipates into my restless mind and I cherish that I have a lover. He is so gentle, so kind to me and I trust him with my life. His arm is draped possessively across my midsection with his fingers subconsciously pressed into my abdomen.
Sleep drags at my tired eyes.
I pray that this serene moment in a city of corruption and hate will never end.
He loves me, I think.
I feel safe and not afraid with Lucas.
I crane my head over my shoulder to sneak a look at his sleeping form. His brown hair tickles his tan face. Light from the city creeps in through his halfway opened window and dances over his soft, but yet masculine features.
His eyes flutter open.
"Eva," he whispers and stares at me through moonlight stained eyes. He moves his hand on my abdomen up to stroke some of my dangling hairs out of my face. I turn fully to face him. My eyes close slowly as his tender fingertips sweep across my brow.
"Yes Lucas," I whisper back shakily.
"Are you afraid?" He asks softly.
"No."
"Then why does your voice shake?" Lucas inquires.
"I am scared, Lucas," I admit pitifully, feeling tears tugging at the corners of my eyes.
"Tell me," Lucas slides his arm back down and places his warm soft palm on my ribcage.
"You know what happened at the fundraiser, with the Joker," I speak softly, "he said…"
I pause.
"What?" Lucas presses warmly.
"He said he was going to keep me around," I murmur with fear curled throughout my words, "He killed Ilia, Lucas, he murdered her. I thought I could handle all of this, handle him, but I guess I overestimated what I could take."
Should've pulled the trigger.
"No," Lucas says to me gently, "You didn't."
"Do you promise?"
"Yes."
"I trust you Lucas," I whisper.
"I like to hear that," he says and kisses me tenderly.
I kiss back.
Lucas then stops and pulls back slightly to look at me curiously.
"You're crying," he states as tears trickle down my face.
"I'm fine," I murmur and roll my eyes at my own foolish lie.
Lucas is not a fool.
He stares at me with his intelligent gaze and moves his hand upward toward my bare breast. His thumb makes circular messaging motions underneath it while his hand tightens around it.
"Don't worry Eva, I'll keep you safe. I won't let him touch you again," he whispers in my ever-listening ear. I can feel Lucas' moist breath on my neck now.
I moan slightly.
I wish his words are true.
"You can't stop him Lucas. You can't," I place a hand on his firm chest and push him back gently, enough to give him the message that now is not the time, even though his arousal has awoken mine.
He reins his sexual desire and considers my statement.
"You don't know that," he says with lust powdered across his thick words.
"Yes I do."
I give Lucas a pathetic smile as a few tears spill silently onto my face. He pulls me tightly against him and rests his head in the crook of my neck. I embrace him back and curl against him. Soon, I fall victim to the console of his arms and tumble into what I wish was a timeless sleep.
****
Gordon had asked me to take the day off, especially considering the Joker escapade last night, but I guess something has come up. A little under an hour ago, I received a phone call from him and was informed that there was a double homicide committed by none other than the infamous "Joker".
Great.
I was asked to come down to an apartment complex known as The Burrows. Via word of mouth, I have heard it is not such a wonderful place to reside, for it is in the pit of central Gotham. However, the Narrows has it beat by a landside in terms of poor living conditions.
The sun is setting again, its golden radiance on the sleek glass windows of corporate buildings melt off and seem to hide under the streetlights that cast their faux greasy orange glow. A thick white fog blankets the twilight sky, covering the almost iridescent stars. The streets are full of angry drivers trying to make their way home from work, but the funny part is, I am on my way to mine. Thankfully, I have my own car back now. I could not keep the bike anyway, for I did not have a motorcycle license and the Ilia's bike was not registered in my name. I slid by though without prosecution. If you are an officer, and the city that you work in is Gotham, then almost anything flies.
Soon enough, I find myself pulling into a very run don parking lot to that of The Burrows. When I get out of my car, I hear a sharp crunch under my foot. I look down and see that it is green glass from a broken beer bottle.
How lovely.
In the surrounding vicinity of the complex, I see that the other units have already arrived. A few officers are standing outside. Luckily, I recognize one of them.
"Hey Mendes," I say, "Where's Gordon?"
He points a thick finger to an entrance of one of the sections of The Burrows. It happens to be section E. I nod in response and let my feet carry me to the building.
When I enter section E of The Burrows a familiar scent enters my sinus; the stench is that of recently fired gunpowder. Down a long hallway, I see two male GPD officers dress in finely pressed dark blue uniforms standing outside the last door.
"Excuse me," I say approaching, "Where's the Lieutenant?"
They turn their attention to me, surprisingly, a woman's voice pipes up from behind them. I see its owner as she shoves her way out of the room.
"Listen Officer Duren, Gordon's busy right now," she says sternly with furrowed brows. Her straight dark hair is pulled up into a disheveled ponytail and a few loose strands hang intimidating in her fierce face.
"I was call-"
"I know you were called, Duren," she spits my last name ferociously and continues, "but you're just going to have to wait." Now, normally, Ramirez and I get along quite well, but I am guessing that today is an "off" day for her.
I smile delicately and sadden my eyes to try and diffuse the her frustration. Slowly, I walk to the end of the hall, waltz past the two officers and a fuming detective and poked my head into the forbidden room.
A musk of gunpowder, sweat and blood suffocates the cramped apartment. At one corner of the living room, there is a ratty looking sofa and a dinosaur of a T.V. The flooring and thin walls peel to reveal a moldy undergrowth.
There are no windows.
I see Gordon with his hands on his hips. I notice that his breathing is quick and flustered; that is never a good sign. Gordon acknowledges my presence with a perturbed glance through his shadowed spectacles
I now see why he is truly "busy".
Like a black mass that seethes in the darkness, the Batman glides throughout the dark room. There is a table in the middle of the apartment, with two dead men slumped over opposing each other. They both have one arm stretched out across the table. In their lifeless hands they each hold a fan of playing cards.
Joker playing cards.
When my vision starts to adjust to the room, I see that the men's' faces have been carved into perfect Glasgow smiles. Black, red and white paint has been skillfully applied to create a cruel parody of the Joker's.
Murderer.
My blood simmers in angst under my skin, but it soon cools when I glance at the Batman to find him staring back.
Right back.
He holds something in his hand, a brick perhaps? It is too dark to tell.
Cautiously, I take a few steps into the room toward Gordon.
"What happen?" I ask.
He looks at me a long time before answering.
Almost too long.
"Seemingly, Eva, some puzzle pieces are finally starting to fit," he says while walking slowly over to the table laden with two corpses. I watch him curiously as he motions with his head ever so slightly for me to come closer to him.
I obey.
When I am next to him, I look at his face waiting for an answer.
He points to the center of the table which has a folded up newspaper. On it, I notice Gotham City's mayor, however his faced has been scribbled on. His eyes have been blotted out by dark pits and his mouth is an ear to ear read smile.
The Joker leaves his mark again.
"He's got his eyes set on our Mayor now," Gordon says in a soft voice, "and he's put it in tomorrow's paper."
I nod and peer closer at the article. That familiar feeling of anxiety swirls inside me; he has selected a new target. The Joker is controlling my fear and I wonder how long it will take for him to finally cradle my frailty fully. It is a very daunting thought that the only thing that might stand between us is Gordon, the Batman and my own wits. The thought of Batman immediately triggers the temptation to take a sneaky glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head slightly to see if I can catch a glimpse of the being that saved me, but to my disappointment, he has vanished from the scene.
Gone.
I look back at Gordon and see the discontentment in his aged eyes. Tomorrow is Loeb's funeral ceremony. Tomorrow the Mayor will give some elegant speech about how great our Commissioner was, and if the Joker holds true to his threat…
Tomorrow will be full of many surprises.
--
A/N: I am very very sorry that I did not update for a very long time. I had a lot of school work and I could never find the time to write, but hopefully you will all enjoy this chapter.
This chapter was basically a glimpse into the relationship with Lucas and Eva. Please let me know what you think about them! Another thing that I would like to address about this chapter is that it goes into (hopefully) an explaination as to why Eva is so timid. She by nature is a tad paranoid, but nothing to excessive. It is the Joker that makes her so afriad; she fears him above all things.
If you do get the chance, please review! What makes writing this story so worthwhile is to hear what you all think about it. Thank you for all of your kind and thoughtul reviews, I read them and respond to them all! BTW, for those of you who are anynomous reviewers, I could never thank you enough for your support.