Only in Gotham.
It was Oswald's first thought as he read the gazette's headline: «Fake CPS workers snatch children from home». He shook his head - your usual Monday in town - and sipped his tea. He felt positively serene. He spread blackcurrant jam over his still warm homemade bread, and took a hearty, cheerful bite.
Then Zsasz walked in.
The freak appeared overly smug, as Oswald had expected.
«I hear Giulia Maroni caught your men», Victor taunted him. Or attempted to.
«My men? What in the world are you talking about?»
The hitman chuckled and shook his head.
«She knows they were yours. She will come for you.»
«That would be surprising, seeing how they themselves do not know who they belonged to. Even I was unable to track down their employer.»
Oswald had made sure to ask around, as if he had been surprised by the attempt on the bitch's life. It was all pretend. He knew it, and she knew it. But there was no proof. The three thugs had been hired through a friend of a friend of an acquaintance of an enemy, and that through purely verbal communication. And after that enemy had given the instructions to his acquaintance, as he was bound to do with the fate of his infant daughter hanging in the balance, he had fallen asleep with a cigarette.
Giulia might not have needed proof to strike back, but her forces were stretched thin. In the meantime, Oswald had equipped the mansion with good old fashioned weaponry, all of it pointing at the entrances. Gabe had recruited a fairly efficient team of guards. Oswald was never more than teen feet away from a perfectly concealed panic room, room he had discovered by accident while studying the house's floor plan. He felt safe. Gone were the days when he had to cower in fear and beg for protection. Now, he was the one his enemies needed to be protected from. Having Miriam Loeb as a guest was also quite an advantage, as the entirety of the police force (save for one very obnoxious Jim Gordon) was now inclined to ensure his continued good health.
And Zsasz. Zsasz's recurrent visits were a blessing in disguise. No one was crazy enough to raid the mansion when the maniac was present. His company left much to be desired but, in view of its benefits, Oswald was willing to overlook that small issue. Victor was content enough to dawdle around the place, his attempts to converse only occasional. He was ghoulish and frightening, true, but he was also easily managed, and harmless when you knew how to distract him.
The crime lord finished his toast and focused on the gazette. Without that nonsensical «fake child protective services employees» abduction story, it would have been a slow news day. A body found in the river, a law firm going bankrupt, complaints about the airport from some disgruntled flown-over citizens. Some appeasing speech from mayor James. No, really, with the gang war over, the city was going back to normal. As for that kidnapping case, it stretched belief. Two men, pretending to work for social services, taking custody of some downtrodden woman's boys and vanishing into thin air? Oswald was willing to bet the (mentally ill, as the article pointed out) mother had murdered her sons, and that the bodies would soon be found.
Overall, there was nothing interesting to be found in the paper, and he discarded it.
«You didn't have Jim Gordon killed», Zsasz commented. «You have noooo plan.»
Cobblepot rolled his eyes.
«Sincerely! Just because I don't barrel into it, you have to believe I am not preparing my move. I'm sorry I'm not charging blindly like some befuddled ox. Maybe I should walk into the GCPD right now and start shooting people? Would that do?»
The hitman pursed his lips.
«I'm biding my time», Oswald explained. «I do not need to to murder Jim to teach him a lesson. I don't need to touch a hair of his head. That would be wasting his tremendous potential. No. I will merely crush his spirit so thoroughly that the only thing keeping him on his feet will be the strings I pull. It will be easy.»
«Demonstrate, then, creep.»
«Don't call me that. And do I have to teach you your own job? You don't go after someone the day after you argued with them. It would be awfully incriminating.»
###
Watching Jim, lately, was like watching a mirror staring ten years into the past.
Sure, there were some major divergences between their two stories. Dix had never been a damsel in distress, and he and Harvey had sure as hell never fucked. That was one thing. And Dix had not died, that was another. Sure, the Kean lady was technically alive, but she was a full blown case of «Satan take the wheel» if Harvey had ever seen one. He could sympathize on the whole «ex going nuts» thing, really, as he had lived through it, but it didn't quite compare. Maria could be labeled histrionic and possibly bipolar and all, but underneath the rage fits and the homicidal episodes, you could still find her. Barbara Kean would have been better off dead as, for all intents and purposes, Barbara Kean did not exist anymore. What was left was a conniving, vengeful lunatic, who played Jim like a fiddle. She was so, so good at playing the doe-eyed, innocent little victim, all the while fucking with his mind.
«She said… She's being so nice. But most of the time she is just… Blank. And when she's not, she's depressed», the blond had explained. «She said things like 'how could I let you walk away, you're the only one who really knew me at all' and 'all I can do now is watch you go', 'look at me now, there's just an empty space'…»
Harvey had stared at him at that.
«Hate to break it to you, but she was quoting Phill Collins.»
He had seen his partner's face fall apart, which was a daily occurrence since the girl had been admitted to Arkham.
«She's toying with you. You know she's toying with you. You need to tune it all out, for Christ's sake», the older man had said.
He did not tell Jim to stop going to the nuthouse, because he knew all about fucking up and having someone else pay the price. The blond would go every day, and then the exhaustion would catch up with him, and he would never show his face in Arkham again. Would he send gifts and necessities, maybe magazines? Sure. Would he call the doctors once in a blue moon to check on Kean? Of course he would. But shame always beat duty. The day would come where he could not bear to show his face to Barbara, and could not stand to see hers either.
In the meantime, he was damn depressing.
The boy had caught a few breaks, though. He was not the kind of guy who'd drink himself numb. Also, he had Leslie. She was a bit nicer than, say, Maria Mercedes Mooney (not that it was a hard goal to achieve). She'd do him good. He wasn't going through all of that shit alone. He'd be fine. Harvey tried to help his friend along the way, but you had to balance «talking sense into him» with «not bruising his tender, battered feelings». A vulnerable Jim was a weird thing to have to handle. Thankfully, Soldier Boy didn't like to let his weaknesses show, and attempted to work the guilt away.
«I think we have an ID for our Jane Doe», he announced after his ninth phone call of the day. «Fresh missing person report. Delores Stephenson. Red haired college student, wealthy family, was living on her own in Burnside.»
Harvey looked up from his crosswords and removed his glasses.
«What makes you think it's the same girl?»
«Matching birthmarks, same blood type as our vic'.»
«And they report it now?»
«Here is where it gets strange. She was supposedly on a trip. She left on a whim, bought a train ticket to Florida and emailed her family that she was taking a break from work. She sent postcards. Her father grew worried when he stopped getting them, so he called the motel she was supposedly staying at… They'd never seen her. As for her job, she quit by email ten minutes after buying her train ticket online, which she did from her apartment. MPU did some digging already. The IP address for the online transaction matches her home's. As for the postcards, they of Miami, but were sent from Gotham.»
«So someone snatched her and covered it all up? Had her cover up her own abduction?»
«That's the idea. If she booked that trip herself, she was grabbed before she got to the station, because she never collected the tickets. Or maybe she was taken from her flat and our perp covered his tracks at the same time.»
And he got her to write postcards to her family, when she knew it would prevent her from being found. Well, an explosive necklace was a pretty good motivator.
Harvey groaned.
«Let that guy not be a repeat offender. I've had it with serial killers.»
Jim stared at his desk for a moment, lips pursed, then shook his head.
«MPU sent pictures and hair samples to Lee so she can confirm the ID. We should go and check that apartment. It was searched already, but maybe it can tell us something.»
As it turned out, there was little to see in that apartment. Family pictures. Fancy fluorescent fake flowers. Fairy-themed lamps. A month's worth of dust. A wardrobe filled with winter clothes only. No socks, no panties, no bras. All of that had possibly been packed away for that trip Delores had never taken. Harvey peeked at some pictures of the girl, and he had to admit she was probably their Jane Doe. The hair color was a definite match, as well as its fuzzy, curly type. The body type was about the same, bloating aside. She'd been cute, too, and nearly a kid still.
Jim examined the place, mostly silent. He peeked at this and that, as if some plastic cactus could give him a better sense of what had happened. It was a waste of time. There had been no fighting in the flat, no breaking and entering. There was nothing to find. All he was managing to do was make himself see the girl as a person, which was gonna make him pissed and driven and insufferable. Harvey walked out and waited in the street, lighting a cigarette.
His phone rang.
«Captain?» he answered.
«You need to come back to the precinct right now», Sarah announced. «Whatever you and Jim are doing, drop it. I want the two of you back this instant, am I clear?»
The detective was not unused to be called to the precinct, and was fairly adept at figuring out when he could take his bloody sweet time arriving. Now was not one of those times. Essen's voice was sharp and adamant.
«'Somethin' happen?»
«Yes. Just get Jim and come back.»
###
Sabrina woke up at four in the afternoon, to a persistent banging noise. She had planned to sleep the day away, as her daily date was only at seven. Gardenia Lane was usually silent as a tomb, so the noise confused her more than it grated her nerves. She stumbled out of bed, put some pants on, and walked out of her house. The noise came from Sophie and Nate's garden. For the first time, the house's windows were open, and there was light inside. As for the noise, someone was banging something on something metallic. And giggling in a child's voice. Sabrina froze, then raced to the garden, circling the hedge.
A toddler was sitting on the artificial lawn, smashing a wooden spoon against a cooking pan.
She thought she was dreaming. A child didn't belong on the Street. David had told her about Nate's existence. She knew Sophie from the restaurant, as the jittery, closemouthed waitress that cooked their food and served them. But a child was not supposed to be there. Certainly not a three years old little boy with fluffy blond hair and an upturned nose. He noticed her and looked at her, eyes going wide with surprise.
He wore one of the necklaces. It was just the same as Sabrina's: black metal wrapped in a layer of cloth so it would not chafe the skin, with a black plastic box for the microphone and speaker.
She stared at him. Her heart was thumping in her ears, and she felt light-headed. She was breathing too quickly.
Sophie ran out of her home.
«I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I completely forgot you had moved in. The noise must have been driving you insane», she said, grabbing the little boy by the waist and lifting him up. «Shawn is not used to having people around. He runs totally amok.»
Sabrina didn't quite manage to answer. Sophie gave her a brilliant smile, totally different from her usual withdrawn expression. She was a beautiful woman, when she smiled. She had lustrous brown her that fell in thick curls on her shoulders, almond-shaped green eyes, and a lovely heart shaped face. Then again, if she was kept captive to portray the female protagonist of some twisted romantic plot, she had to be beautiful. David was dashing. Sabrina herself was gorgeous, and she knew it.
«Say hello, Shawn!» Sophie prompted.
«Hellooo!» said the toddler.
Sabrina was barely keeping herself upright.
«Hello, Shawn», she replied in a strangled voice. «Nice to meet you. How old are you?»
«Tu-ree!»
«You're a biiig boy», Sabrina commented automatically, flatly.
She hoped, she bitterly hoped that the boy had been abducted with his mother. If he had not been, then he had been born in their prison, and Sabrina could not process that thought.
It could happen to you. It will happen to you.
She thought of David pushing into her as she swallowed her sobs and felt even more ill.
It could happen to you. No condoms, no pills.
She had scrubbed herself raw afterwards.
«Do you want to come in?» Sophie asked.
She was as good as an actress as David, that woman. Now that the focus was on her, her mask was perfect. She had not bothered to look that sunny and nice in her role as a waitress. The younger woman blinked, trying to focus.
«I just made fresh coffee», her fellow captive added, her tone getting more urgent.
Sabrina forced herself to smile and nod, then followed her «neighbor» into the house.
###
Fish couldn't move, nor could she open her eyes. It was not that she was restrained, nor paralyzed, but she felt like she had slept a thousand years. Her limbs did not quite react to her will. She was in pain - a detail to be ignored - and her thoughts were muddled and slow - a severe problem she had to shake herself out of. Move. She tried, but her muscles barely twitched. So she berated herself, and taunted herself, and sat up in one quick, sharp move. Her entire body screamed in pain, as if it had been torn to pieces, and she passed out.
###