"It's going to be alright." Niteowl ripped his goggles off and threw them on the cold floor of Archie. His mask was pulled back to reveal his face. The lines on his skin indicated years of both happiness and pain. "Just try to breathe."

Connie's breathing started to slow and even out, but she still took gulps of air like she was drowning. Eventually, the panic ebbed out of her system, and she slumped down to join the discarded goggles.

"I need to read these, Niteowl." she gathered up the journals like birds with broken wings. "They teach me about my... about Rorschach. I have to know this."

"Do you want to read up in my house? I'll get you some dinner." Niteowl's fatherly kindness began to take over. This was Rorscach's child. He couldn't let her take on his antisocial tendencies.

"Sure, Mr. Niteowl," her voice was tired and quiet, older than her years.

"Call me Daniel." Niteowl smiled at her.

"Okay," Connie stepped off the flying contraption and walked up the stairs to the landing, then made her way into the house.

.O.

Walter had been confused the next day, on March first, 1965. A woman came in with Jamie. They looked exactly alike, but this woman was decidedly not a good woman.

'I told you there was a whore involved in this somewhere.' the cynic voice whispered in his ear. He mentally yelled at it that it could take its comments and shove them up its–

"Hello," the Jamie look-alike placed her hands on the counter. "I'm told you're the one that made my dress."

Walter took stock of her. She looked like a twisted version of Jamie, but that's where the similarities ended. Her face was caked with makeup, with garish purple lipstick adorning her scowl. Her clothes were tight and revealing, consisting of a tight black pencil skirt that was too short, and a purple button up shirt that had the first four buttons undone. Her breasts were obviously altered, as pads were peaking out of her revealed bra. Large purple pearls hung off her ears. Her hair was swept up in curls, but were done hastily, as many straight hairs flew every which-way off of the main group. He decided he liked Jamie much better, what with her conservative sun dress that accentuated her curvature, but still hid her skin from prying eyes.

"Yes, I did." he answered again in a gruff voice.

"You missed some stitches." she didn't ask it as a question. He decided he also didn't like her attitude. She obviously held herself in such high regard that she didn't fell she needed manners.

"I did." he answered again. He looked over at Jamie, who looked horrified with her sister's actions. Her clean scrubbed face held nothing but outrage at her sister. Chapstick adorned her lips, but that was all. The yellow of her dress was soft, like the petals of a sunflower. He looked back at the angry sister. "May I ask who you are?"

"I am Beatrice Cooper. And I am an outraged customer." she answered, her delicate eyebrows furrowed in anger.

"Um, Bea? It's not nice to treat people like that. He told me that he missed a few stitches. It's all right. They still look great. They still fit. Can't you be happy with that?" Jamie's words were a balm to his rising ire.

'Now is not the time for romance. You don't need that.' the irritating voice reemerged, and Walter could have punched Beatrice out of pure reaction.

"No! I won't accept such shitty craftsmanship." Beatrice spread her fingers over the counter. Purple nail polish. It didn't really surprise him, really. He found cigarette burns between the joints of her fingers. He had seen burns like that on his mother. Her clients would do that to her to get themselves off. It was disgusting. The pieces clicked, and the annoying voice reared its ugly head once more.

'I knew that she was a whore. Jamie's sister Beatrice is a whore. Call her on it.'

"Ma'am, I deal with people every day. Some of them are good people, like your sister. Others are like you. Whores. Smooth talkers. Horrible people that make up the scum of the Earth."

Beatrice was dumbstruck. This man went from a small, freckled red-haired man to a man who just kindly insulted her. Jamie smiled at him from her place behind her sister. She mouthed a 'thank you' to him as her sister stalked out of the shop like the angry prostitute she was.

Walter nodded to her as she left, and he looked at his clenched fists resting on the counter.

'Good job. Maybe now you won't get as many sluts in here.'

Walter sighed at the voice in his head. As long as Jamie kept coming back, he really didn't care. He just wanted to see her again.

.O.

Connie pulled out the white diary of her mother again once she sat on Mr. Dreiberg's comfortable couch. Her loopy handwriting was rushed, sloppy. It was difficult to read the words on the page. They were obviously important.

March 25, 1965.

I, as Muse, was saved today. I was fulfilling my duties as a Watchman, when a man in a weird costume showed up. I was wary of him, as he was alarming in personality. He was following me, crying out 'punish me, punish me!' Eventually, I grew tired of his pleas, so I acquiesced. This was a mistake on my part. He began to enjoy my fighting, and I noticed he was… well… he was certainly enjoying the experience, let me put it that way.

Connie blushed at the implication, but read on.

I started to run away, but he started to chase me, saying that his punishment was not over. I began to panic, something that should never happen. Thank God for Rorschach. We had began to work together as of late, and whenever I need his help, he is always there for me. I do the same for him, but he hardly ever needs me! Anyway, he scared the odd man away, saying that he would tie him to a pole and leave him there for the police. I couldn't believe the man actually bought his bluff, as Rorschach always inflicts some kind of injury to our quarry, but hey, I'm not complaining! I asked him to walk me home, because I was still worried that this man would return for me, and he agreed. He told me that 'creeps like that usually come back multiple times for pretty girls. It's best that I'm there for you.' I found that to be both reassuring and scary.

We arrived to my apartment, and I invited him inside. He said no, but he would be sure that I remained safe. I kissed him on the cheek, right on his mask, and went inside. Right before I went to bed, I thought I saw him sitting on my windowsill, but I looked again, and he was gone.

Connie flipped through the leather journal until March 25 came up. She just had to see what her father – er, Rorschach – had written. The steady ink strokes his handwriting made were much neater than her mother's. In fact, her writing was closer to her mother's, but held the same kind of style on her vowels, all capital letters, the only indication of their placement being the literal size of the letter.

Rorschach's journal. March 25, 1965.

It's been about two weeks since Muse and I have started working together, and already she's getting into more trouble than she can handle. She can take down three large men with ease, but a masochistic sexual predator had approached her. Naturally, once she figured this out, she tried to run, and he was in close pursuit. I aided her in getting rid of him, and she asked me to walk her home. This idea was a good one, for creeps like that usually come back to finish what they started, and then kill their victims. I gave her a slightly less terrifying version of that fact, but she agreed all the same. I walked her to her apartment, and she kissed me on the cheek. This is the first time such a display of affection was ever given to me. She offered me to come with her into her home, but I denied the request. There was no reason to make it look like that I was taking advantage of her.

Instead, I made a mental note of which apartment she lived in, and perched myself on her bedroom windowsill. I think she might have seen a glimpse of me, but I dropped fast enough for her to think that I wasn't there. I returned to my place a few minutes later to see her asleep in her bed. Her bedroom window was unlocked. How reckless of her! I slipped inside, just for a moment, to make sure that the other windows were locked. They were not, and I fixed that for her. On my way back to the bedroom window, I was presented with a surprise that I must admit I did not expect at all. In Muse's bed, her body uncovered, was none other than Jamie Cooper!

The connection made so much sense, now that I think about it. There was no way that multiple women look like each other and have the same personality.

I am loathe to admit it, but it made me smile to know that I get to see her tomorrow at work. She is coming to ask for a job there as a designer. I get to see her every day, and now, every night as well. I do not know what to do with such information, though. At least I will not have to investigate about her sister being Muse. She works a corner somewhere in this city, in the red light district. I hate her with a passion, to be honest. She is nothing like her sister.