UPDATE: I made a few small changes to this chapter recently, nothing in terms of plot, I just added more detailed descriptions of the dinner guests and how they behaved while they at the party because after reading this chapter over again, I thought the descriptions were somewhat abrupt.

Chapter three: A Day of Rest?

My eyes slowly creaked open. I was vaguely aware of a throbbing sensation in the back of my head. I blinked twice as the room around me came into focus. I was lying flat on my back, a small stack of pillows propped up my feet. I could hear voices coming from nearby,

"Yes, she's been out for fifteen minutes. Is she going to be okay Doc?"

"I don't know Miss Cummings; I'll have to take a look at her."

"Vikki?" I asked, sitting up.

Vikki and a tall thin man who I didn't recognize walked into the room.

"Sarah!" Cried Vikki, rushing over to me, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, what happened?"

"You fainted!" she replied, "You really don't remember?"

I nearly gasped as it all came flooding back. The Riddler, the suit, the Rubik's cube…shit…

"Good evening Miss Valens." Said the man pleasantly, "my name is Dr. Roth, how are you feeling?"

"Better, thanks." I replied, sitting up straight.

"Do you feel lightheaded or dizzy?" He asked,

"A little" I replied.

"Are you on any medication?"

"Just pain pills, for my migraines" I replied.

Dr. Roth nodded and pulled a light out of his pocket, shining it next to my face. "Follow this with your eyes, please" he moved the light across my line of vision; I followed it as best I could. He nodded, "good news; you're not concussed." He pocketed his light, "when you fainted, were you feeling dizzy, or sick?"

"Yes" I replied, which was not entirely a lie.

"You probably have a twenty-for hour bug, it shouldn't be anything to worry about. I recommend having a full day of rest tomorrow. If this happens again, call me immediately." He stood up and walked to the door, "well, if that's everything I'll be going now."

"Thank you, Doctor." I replied as Roth shut the door behind him.

Vikki looked at me, "well, you heard the Doctor, time for bed."

"You don't have to tell me twice," I replied standing up, "'night Vikki."

I walked into my room and shut the door. I dejectedly fell onto the bed, letting out a small sigh as I did so. This is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Sarah! I thought, why didn't you quit when Mr. Peabody told you to sew a green custom suit? I groaned; there was no use trying to undo it; I was just going to have to get used to the fact that I had helped to disguise a felon. Well, it can't really be called a disguise, can it? I thought, the Riddler's identity is on public record, anyone can find it out. Not bothering to change, I snuggled under the covers and squeezed my eyes shut. The fuzzy blanket did nothing to comfort me, not now. I kept telling myself that as long as I kept my big mouth shut, I would never see or hear from Edward Nigma again, it was cold comfort but it helped a little. I slowly drifted into an uneasy sleep, thinking with a roll of nausea that somewhere across Gotham, the Riddler was probably just waking up.

…

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep! My eyes shot open,

"Vikki!" I shouted, "Vikki, what's happening?"

I scrambled out of bed, imagining all the things that could be happening to her, and rushed into the kitchen to find Vikki standing over a stove with a smoking pile of mush sat on a black griddle. "I was trying to make pancakes and this happened!" She said, panicking, "what do I do?"

"Well, turn the stove off for starters!" I shouted, flabbergasted, I grabbed the small black nob and turned it, switching the stove off. The smoke gradually died down until all that was left was the smell. I groaned, "You do know the doctor said I should rest today, right?" I cried, the two of us stared at each other for a few moments. Vikki's lips twitched, a grin spread across our faces, and finally we burst out laughing. "Sarah! You know I can't cook!" She laughed,

"I know Vikki, I know!" I laughed, slowly our laughter died down to giggles. "Ha…thanks, it's been a long time since I had a good laugh like that." I said, smiling genuinely.

"You're welcome" said Vikki, "and now, you should rest, Doctor's orders. I'll go fetch us breakfast sandwiches from Subway; you have sausage and egg on flatbread, right?"

"Yeah" I replied, "thanks."

"Okay, see you later!" said Vikki, taking her coat out of the closet and rushing out.

As the door shut a chill ran up my spine; I was alone, completely alone. Not that Vikki could have done much good if the Riddler decided to sic one of his grunts on me, but it was reassuring to have someone else there. Calm down, Sarah I thought, you haven't done anything wrong, the Riddler can be reasoned with, we don't have anything to worry about.

Crack! I gave out a little yelp and wheeled around to see where the noise had come from, and found myself looking at my bedroom door. I cautiously proceeded slowly towards my room; I eyed the empty, plastic flower vase on the table next to the door and grabbed it. It wasn't much, but it was a little protection. I opened the door and peered inside, "hello?" I called; no response. I looked around the room, there was no one there. I looked at the window and saw that it had been blown open. I blushed red with embarrassment; you're behaving like a ninny, Sarah! I thought, slamming the window shut, you can't let once stupid incident take control of your life like this!

The front door slammed open, "breakfast!" Shouted Vikki, strutting into the room, I walked back into the living room and placed the vase on the table as discreetly as possible; Vikki didn't seem to notice. She placed a drink tray and a white paper bag on the table. "Black coffee, sausage and egg; just the way you like it. Will that be all ma'am?" She said with a mocking bow of the head.

"Yes, yes, you may run along now" I joked, opening my sandwich and taking a bite out of it.

"I'm going to have to finish quickly" said Vikki, "I have to go to work today, but only until two! We could do something fun later!"

"Like?"

"How about we go window shopping down town?" She checked her watch "crap! I'm late!" She rushed to the door and began to gather her stuff for the day.

"Sounds like fun." I replied, standing up from the table.

"Great!" She threw her coat on "see you at 2:00! Ms. Beaumont's going to kill me!" she rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

That same chill ran up my spine, alone again. I thought.

…

At around 1:00 a wave of curiosity passed over me. Who the hell is the Riddler? I thought, and then, with a small grimace, do I really want to know? I picked up Vikki's black Dell laptop from the table and turned it on, unsurprisingly I found myself typing in the words "Edward Nigma". Dozens of links popped up; links to old newspaper articles, criminal records, and even a fan-site believe it or not. Okay, I thought, but this is it, from now on, no more Riddler. I clicked on a link to a Gotham Times article titled "Edward Nigma; Evil or Insane?"

Apparently about three years ago there had been a debate as to whether or not the Riddler was actually insane. Most of the Arkham guards and several of the doctors described him as being "calm and collected, if not a bit of a sadist." They believed him to be perfectly sane and as such, believed that he should be transferred to a regular prison rather than an asylum. However, a few other Arkham doctors, as well as psychiatrists who worked outside the asylum, and later a criminologist, argued that leaving riddles which, if solved, told you where to find him when or before he had committed his crimes were not the acts of a sane man. After a brief hearing he was returned to Arkham.

I learned from other articles that he had been a video game developer before becoming a criminal and had created the Riddle of the Minotaur game. I had played that game, only getting through about a third of it; to this day no one had reached the center of the maze. However, he had later been fired for no apparent reason, his first act as a criminal was to kidnap his former boss, Daniel Mockridge. He had left a clue for the Batman to find; "when is the owner of the minotaur as high as an elephant's eye?" The answer was, "when Mockridge is in the maze" maize being another word for corn. Batman outsmarted him and saved Mockridge's life, but the Riddler had long since fled. An image of his costume after it had been processed at Arkham the first time he had been arrested had been included under his mug shot. It had been a lighter shade of green then I wonder what poor slob tailored that one? I thought with a nervous giggle.

After researching him for what didn't feel like a long time, I looked up at the clock and realized that three hours had passed, 4:00! I thought, wasn't Vikki supposed to be finished with work by 2:00?

Concerned, I picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Ridgewood, the hotel where Vikki worked. A high pitched, male voice answered the phone. "This is the Ridgewood, my name is Louis how may I help you?"

"Hi, my name is Sarah Valens; I'm looking for one of your employees, Vikki Cummings?"

"I'm sorry, but Miss Cummings is very busy at the moment and…"

"No I'm not!" shouted a voice in the background, "gimme the phone, Louie!"

"Vikki-"I heard the sound of a phone being wrenched away.

"Hello?" Asked Vikki,

"Hi Vikki"

"Oh, hey Sarah!" she said "I'm so sorry, I meant to call you! We're having a really busy night here and I probably won't be able to get home until 5:00; you want to dial up a movie when I get home?"

"Okay" I sighed,

"Great!" I could barely perceive a shrieking, female voice somewhere in the hotel, "oops! I have to go! Bye!" She hung up before I could reply.

...

The next morning I left the house and returned to work to find Mr. Peabody and a short woman laughing at the front desk.

The door creaked open and they immediately looked up at me. "Sarah, my girl!" shouted Mr. Peabody gleefully, "how're you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks." I replied,

"So, this is the famous Sarah." Said the redhead, standing up, "I'm Dahlia, Roscoe's wife; I've heard so much about you" she said, extending her hand to me. "Oh, you have?" I asked, shaking her hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Peabody." Wife number eight, I thought, I hope this one works out. Dahlia was sickly pale, and thin to the point of looking emaciated. Her flat-ironed red hair hung just below her shoulder blades, she wore bright lime green contacts and red lipstick.

"Please darling" she said, a toothy grin spreading across her face, "Mrs. Peabody is my mother-in-law; just call me Dahlia!" Her voice was airy and low pitched; it probably was supposed to sound sexy but it just sounded nasal to me.

I thought. "Alright, M-, Dahlia"

"I think we'll get along just fine Roscoe." She beamed,

"Well, in that case" said Mr. Peabody, he looked at me. "Sarah, how would you like to accompany me to a party at the Lockwood tonight? My colleagues want to meet you."

"Say what?" I asked,

"I can't go," sighed Dahlia, "previous engagement; so we thought we'd give you my ticket!"

"Why would your colleagues want to meet me?" I asked, knowing that his colleagues might very well be other dangerous men.

"They want to see if you're everything you're cracked up to be, of course!" He said,

"Everything I'm cracked up to be?" I asked, my face paled "Have you-"

"But you'll need a nice dress; why don't you and Dahlia look through the racks?"

"Okay!" Dahlia grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me towards the dress section of the store. I winced; waifish as she was, she had a strong grip. She rummaged through the racks and tossed me a slinky, cornflower blue dress with bell sleeves and a cinched waist. "Try this on!" I squinted at the dress for a moment, and stepped into the changing room.

"Uh…Dahlia?" I asked from behind the door, trying to say anything I could to get out of going to this party, "aren't you concerned about leaving your husband with another woman?"

Dahlia laughed heartily, "no, sweetie! Our relationship isn't like that!"

"…Really?" I muttered, explains why they're still married, I thought before walking out of the changing room in the dress.

Dahlia shook her head, "cornflower is definitely not your color, honey." She took a magenta dress from a nearby rack; it looked as if it would barely cover my rear end "it's too small!" I objected,

"Just try it!"

I sighed; I knew this was going to be a long afternoon.

...

I honestly didn't think I was going to survive that night.

I found myself wearing more makeup than I ever had in my life; bright pink blush on both cheeks, red lipstick, and fake eyelashes which made my eyes look like they had giant black fans over them. The dress Dahlia had finally picked out was short, green and covered with sequins, as well as a pair of six inch black heels; I thought I looked like a walking shrub. "Green's your color darling!" Dahlia had insisted. Mr. Peabody had left Hallward's early, so Dahlia had driven me to the party on the way to her "previous engagement;" whatever that was.

"Here we are, dear!" She said, as we pulled up outside the Lockwood. "You have fun, oh, and by the way, Jermaine Carlyle is going to be there, he's so dreamy! And he's single!" she raised her eyebrows expectantly before shutting the door and driving away.

I took a deep breath and walked through the gold doors of the building. I stood at the door and gasped, instantly overwhelmed. Two ivory pillars stretched from floor to ceiling in the center of the room, the walls were a beautiful shade of cream with silver appliques, the floors were made of glistening white linoleum. On either side of the door were the tallest blue hyacinths I had ever seen, it was without a doubt the most beautiful hotel in Gotham.

At the back of the room there was a dining area, most of the tables were roped off with a red, velvet cord; a sign labeled "Private Party" hung from one of the ropes. I assumed that was where I had to go, so I crossed the room to the ropes. A tall, bulky man stood near the sign, I knew almost immediately that he was the bouncer. "Name please?" He grunted,

"Hi, I'm Sarah Valens; I'm here with Roscoe Peabody?"

He pulled a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, "I'm afraid you're not on the list, Miss Valens."

"Oh, Mr. Peabody's wife couldn't make it, so he asked me to come along just today, it was very sudden…" I hastily replied,

"You're not. On. The list, Miss Valens" said the guard, "I'm afraid I can't-"

"Let her in, Victor." Called a voice, the two of us wheeled around.

"Mr. Carlyle" grunted Victor, staring down at his shoes. Carlyle was a thin man with short brown hair and big, alarmingly bright, blue eyes, he wore a black tuxedo and a white tie; I was so unaccustomed to seeing men like this that I admittedly felt a little intimidated. "Miss Valens is indeed a guest of mine, I'm afraid I didn't have time to put her on the guest list."

"Alright" said Victor, moving the rope aside for me.

"Thank you" I muttered hastily, walking into the reserved area.

"No, no, it's my fault" he said with a smile, "I should have added your name to the guest list, slipped my mind."

"That's okay" I replied, "the decision was very last minute."

"True" he extended his hand to me, "Jermaine Carlyle, it's a pleasure to meet you Sarah."

I shook his hand, "it's nice to meet you too, Mr. Carlyle."

"Please, call me Jermaine." He said with a cheeky grin, "Roscoe is over here, follow me." I nodded and followed him, weaving in and out between the tables to a small group of people chatting. "Roscoe!" Called Jermaine, "I believe you've lost someone!"

Mr. Peabody looked up from his champagne and beamed, "Sarah, my girl!" He called, "you look lovely."

"Thank you, sir." I replied quickly,

"Sarah, these are Jason and Olivia Browning," he gestured to a portly, gray-haired man and a plump brunette woman. Mrs. Browning smiled slightly at me while Mr. Browning barely acknowledged my existence. "Richard Archer" Peabody nodded at the long-haired blonde man standing next to Mr. Browning. He wore a black tuxedo with the collar turned straight up, on his left ear was a small stud and a thin scar ran up his jaw. He eerily smirked at me from his place next to Mr. Browning, "and of course, you've met our host, Jermaine Carlyle."

"So this is the famous Sarah" remarked Mrs. Browning "we've heard so much about you."

"I'm…flattered." I said quietly,

"There's no need to act like a timid mouse" laughed the woman, "we don't bite." Are you sure about that? I thought, stealing a glance at Mr. Archer, who continued to smirk.

"Well" said Jermaine, "why don't we sit down? Dinner should be served shortly."

Murmurs of agreement ran through the group, Jermaine gestured to a table in the center of the room. We followed him to a table in the center of the room and each sat down, I took the place marked "Dahlia Peabody," Jermaine sat to my right, and Mr. Peabody sat to my left.

The group mostly spoke about various "business deals" in Gotham which I didn't understand fully, but could tell from their slightly hushed voices were nothing legitimate. About fifteen minutes later, steaming plates of fish were placed in front of us, I tried not to grimace, I had never liked fish but I wanted to be polite. "So, Sarah?" Asked Mr. Archer, running a finger around the rim of his wine glass, "what's your job like?"

"What, doing alterations?" I laughed, "It's a living."

"No, not that," He bent over slightly, "your…side job?" He whispered, grinning as if he had just told a rude joke.

I almost choked, "you know about that?" I asked,

"Of course we do, we all do!" Laughed Jermaine, "it's ah... the talk of the table."

Crap… Peabody, you idiot!

"So, what's he like?" Asked Mrs. Browning, "Did he ask you any of his famous riddles?"

"Y-yeah" I replied, feeling a deep sensation of dread sneak up on me, I took a sip of wine, trying to act normal.

"What did he say?" Pressed Mrs. Browning,

"Uh, I was carved by a man who doesn't need me…" I felt very faint,

"Are you alright Sarah?" Asked Jermaine,

"Um, I don't feel so well," I said, slowly standing from the table "I think I had better go home, may I be excused?"

"Oh, dear, let me call you a cab!" Offered Mr. Browning,

"Thanks, that's very kind of you…" I replied placing a hand to my forehead, I'm not going to pass out; I'm not going to pass out, I thought, repeating it to myself over and over again.

Mr. Browning got up from the table, "you sit down." He walked to the back of the room, picked up a white phone and dialed; he quickly muttered something into the phone and came back to the table. "They'll be here in five minutes,"

"Thanks" I said standing from the table, "I'm really sorry to pop out like this…"

Replies of "that's okay" and "It's alright" and "feel better soon," ran across the table.

"Here, I'll walk you out" said Jermaine, offering me his arm.

"Thanks."

Jermaine guided me past the tables, hurriedly muttering "excuse me" and "coming through" as we passed.

We walked back through the doors and waited outside in the old snow. He took off his jacket and handed it to me, "here" he said, "it's no wonder you're ill; it's cold out, and that's not much of a coat."

I muttered my thanks as I wrapped the jacket around my shoulders.

"When did you start working for Roscoe?" He asked,

"About a year ago" I replied, trying with all my might not to fall over. "I had enjoyed sewing for a long time and I was pretty good at it, I guess that was enough for my boss." I looked at him, "what do you do for a living?"

Jermaine looked off into space, as if thinking about it, "I'm a…stockbroker." He slowly replied,

Right.

"Ah, here's your cab!" Said Jermaine as the yellow car pulled up in front of us, "feel better, Sarah."
I took off his jacket and handed it to him "thanks Jermaine." I said, sliding into the backseat of the cab and shutting the door.

"Beckham apartments, please" I groaned.

The car turned around and drove down the street, making a hard left at the first light and heading down McLaughlin Street.

"Uh, sir?" I asked, "We're going in the wrong direction."

The driver didn't respond, "sir, I said we're going in the wrong direction; stop the car."

He still didn't respond, "Sir!" I put a hand on his arm and his hand fell limply off the wheel. "Huh?" He wasn't the one driving the car. I picked up his arm and pulled off the black glove, the hand underneath was beige plastic.

"A mannequin…" I breathed,

"Always pays to give things a second look, doesn't it Sarah?" Said a familiar, smug voice through the radio speakers,

I gasped, click, all four doors locked, a hissing sound filled the back seat as gas flooded the car. I shrieked and sputtered, pounding on the doors but it was no use. My eyes unwillingly shut, my head fell onto the seat next to me and everything went dark.

Yes! This next part is what I've really been looking forward to writing so far!

I know this wasn't the most exciting chapter, but it's necessary for the rest of the story.

Constructive criticism is...you know what? I won't say it, you all know the drill! Thanks for reading!