When Sophie heard the explosion, her first thought was «not again». Then she dropped her book and jumped out of bed, just as Nate did, and she ran outside.
If the whiny little idiot had gotten David killed, there would be hell to pay. David was an all-around good guy, and he took way too many risks to protect the sniveling brats Mrs. Valentine paired him with.
The brunette stood by the door and looked around, trying to figure out if the noise had come from David's house or Sabrina's. There were lights in the latest, so she headed that way, but Nate grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back.
«Stay with Shawn», he ordered. «Make sure he does not get out of his room.»
Sophie snatched her arm away and nodded, walking back inside. They were not expected to act blissfully in love right after executions: there was usually a mess to deal with, and Mrs. Valentine had other things on her mind. Nate, being the oldest tenant, was supposed to deal with the bodies and the cleanup. Everyone else was more or less forgotten.
She went to check on Shawn, who was sleeping soundly, then left the room and locked him in. There was no screaming, and she was starting to wonder if both David and Sabrina had been killed.
«Mrs. Valentine?» she called, waving at one of the cameras. «Could we get the Screen to show Shawn's room, so I can go and help Nate out?»
She peeked through the window and, sure enough, the screen at the end of the street turned on, showing the boy's bed. Sophie ran to number four, and slipped in. She heard some low, continuous moaning from the bedroom. David's voice, covered by a litany of comforting words from Nate. She braced herself and walked into the room.
She promptly took a step back.
«Shit», she murmured.
It was a disaster scene. Sabrina's corpse was on the bed, and walls, and everything else. Delores' death had not been pretty, and neither had Haruto's, but both had taken place outside. The splatter didn't look nearly as bad in an open space. And no one had been standing as close as David. He was curled into a ball in a corner of the room, naked, covered in blood and flesh. Nate was trying to get him to move and leave the room, but it was clear that wouldn't be happening. The man was in a whole new world inside his head and would not be coming back for a while. She joined them, and her husband turned to her.
«Help me», he mouthed, grabbing one of David's arms and pulling him up.
Sophie did, and they managed to drag the other captive outside, where they sat him on the plastic grass. She went back inside to grab a fleece blanket from the sofa, and came back to wrap him in it. He was rocking back and forth, silently now, save for his chattering teeth.
Nate wiped his own forehead with a bloody hand. He looked quizzically at her - because she was not with Shawn and only Shawn mattered - so she pointed the screen, and he relaxed a bit. He took her hand and started writing in her palm, in quick strokes of the thumb. Two years of this being your only unmonitored method of communication would make you fluent in reading the letters on your skin.
«K-E-E-P D-A-V-I-D Q-U-I-E-T O-R S-H-E L-L K-I-L-L H-I-M T-O-O», he spelled.
Then he walked back into Sabrina's house and closed the door.
Sophie crouched next to David and wiped his face with a corner of the blanket. Some of the blood was his. His face and torso were cut all over - shrapnel wounds - and she hoped the damage to his face wouldn't make him damaged goods. A male lead had to be handsome. None of the cuts looked that deep, but she did not want to know what the shrapnel had been. She pushed him and pulled him and coaxed him into his own house, then pushed him under the shower and tried to clean the mess.
###
«It's Thursday», Victor said.
Oswald took a deep breath, as he would need the patience of a saint, and looked to the heavens.
«Is it?» he replied in his best uninterested voice.
«It is!» Miriam confirmed, lining pearls on a string.
She had been provided with a box of three-thousands pearl finish two millimeter beads, and three bucketfuls of larger beads - faceted crystal beads, pearls, fake gemstones, animal themed beads - and an unlimited supply of thread. She loved them. Oswald kept finding them everywhere (including in his food), but he liked that better than bloody feathers. And it made the girl happy.
«I know it is. What of it?»
«Nothing happened yet.»
Oswald huffed.
«I swear, Victor, you're the least patient man I have ever met.»
###
«I want you to know, Arnold, that it was a pleasure working with you», Butch said, removing the keys from the ignition. «I mean, you did a fine job. And you seem like a nice guy, if a bit on the silent side.»
Flass looked at him and tried to free himself from his seatbelt. Butch detached it.
«You know, I'd like to apologize», he continued. «I always thought you were kind of a douchebag, what with the drug deals and general crookedness. I thought I'd met gangsters with more integrity than you did. What can I say? We work on separate sides of the fence - usually - and I shouldn't have listened to rumors. I should have gotten to know you a little better.»
He opened the door and got out of the van, dragging Arnold in front of the wheel, attaching the other seatbelt.
«Not that I'll have the opportunity now, of course», the mobster commented, «but it's a crying shame.»
The cop banged his feet against the floor and shook his head. Butch closed the door, took a few step back, and shot him in the face. Then he shot the van twice, to make it all more convincing. Then he opened the door again, untied Arnold, got his arm out from under the seatbelt, and put a gun into his hand.
It would do.
###
Raiding a mental institution with masks and automatic guns was ill advised. Raiding an institution for the criminally insane was exponentially worse.
By the time the three armed men opened Barbara's cell door, one of them had been stabbed, the screaming and wailing of the inmates had been going on for ten minutes, and the blonde had stopped counting the gunshots. The injured man just leaned against the door frame, panting. One of his accomplices just looked back to the corridor, a clear «what kind of nut house have I walked in?» expression on his face, that turned to «oh, right» very quickly. The third one pointed his Uzi at Barbara.
«Come with us.»
She was a heiress, a killer, and a (slightly fallen for grace) member of the high society, yet she knew there was only one question to ask.
«What has Jim done this time?»
There was a pause. The kidnappers snapped out of their confusion quickly, however, and she was grabbed by the elbow and pulled outside.
«I'll follow, I'll follow» she said when her arm was twisted. «No need to be brutal.»
There was less grabbing and twisting after that, but mostly because the guards had rallied and tried to stop her abductor's progression. They were gunned down, and that was the end of it. Then she was hurried outside, the limping, bleeding thug closing the march.
«You're not afraid?», he asked between pants, looking both in pain and nonplussed, as they made their way to the grids.
«Me? Nooo», she replied. «I'm a frequent flier. This is my fourth hostage situation? Fifth? I lost track.»
The man gaped. She extended her arm so he could lean on her, seeing how he was growing pale with blood loss. And then he was shot in the throat, and went down gurgling. She looked down at her blood-splattered uniform and hissed. It was on her face, too. It took a moment for the penny to drop in. Shooting situation. She dropped to the ground and waited for the shooting to stop, watching as her two remaining kidnappers fell.
Now, not only did she wear an ugly, itchy, bloodstained asylum uniform, she was also covered in grime.
A hand helped her up.
«Hurry», the man said. «There might be others, I'll get you to safety.»
She turned and found herself face to face with Butch Gilzean.
«Oh, hey! It's been a while!» she greeted him. «How are you doing?»
She remembered him well, mostly from that home invasion that had given her PTSD. But she didn't hold a grudge. Now that she had participated in a home invasion of her own, she realized he had been an absolute joke. He had not even stabbed her once.
He blinked.
«Uh. Now is, uh, not the time. Please, run», he told her, pushing her through the gates.
They ran past a van with shattered windows, and found a car waiting for them. Barbara entered it without protest, and hid on the backseat, under a grey blanket, as Gilzean ordered her to. The man took the wheel and sped away as fast as the car could go.
«I'm confused», Barbara asked from under her blanket. «Is this an abduction or a rescue? Not that I mind either way.»
«Rescue.»
«Alright. Who am I being rescued from, then?»
«Lady, would you mind being silent while I try to save both our lives? Please?»
She rolled her eyes and waited until he started driving at a normal pace again, which took several minutes.
«Can I talk now?» she asked.
«No?»
«Is it safe?»
The criminal sighed.
«I guess is it. You can come out.»
She dropped the blanket, sat up, and leaned forward, propping her chin on the driver's seat shoulder.
«From whom am I being saved?»
«Iiiiiiit's kind of a long story.»
«I'm a great listener.»
«Does the name 'Flass' ring a bell?»
«The narcotics cop James arrested for murder, and who got out a few weeks later?»
«I see you're well informed. Makes the story a lot less long, I suppose. He had a chip on his shoulder.»
«And it was big as a boulder?»
«What?»
«Sincerely, does anyone have a musical culture anymore?»
Gilzean forgot to look at the road for a second, turning to her in confusion.
«I'm sorry, what?»
He nearly took out a pedestrian and had to swerve.
«Just forget it», Barbara sighed. «So. I don't suppose Jim sent you.»
«Uh, ah, not to be rude or anything, but would you mind waiting for my boss to explain it all? I'm just hired muscle and, in case you didn't notice, I'm driving.»
«No need to get testy, I'm just curious.»
«You know, I remembered you a lot more silent.»
«Yes, and I remember when you couldn't stop talking. People change! Surprise!»
He didn't answer that, and pretended to focus on the road. She moved back and looked out the window for a few minutes, then leaned forward again, putting her chin on the left shoulder of the driver's seat.
«You know, I have», she announced.
«I'm sorry but could you start making sense?»
«When you held me hostage in my apartment. You asked me a question.»
«I-I… Christ, miss, have you ever been told there's something off with you? No offense.»
«None taken. And yes, as it turns out. By my mother, every time she said something to me, for a start. Then by the very nice people at Arkham.»
«Right. What was your point?»
«You asked me if I had ever 'been' with a criminal. And I have. And I did find it a turn-on», she explained, wrapping an arm around him and pushing her hand between the buttons of his shirt.
Her fingers met more scar tissue than they did skin. Gilzean tried to jump away.
The car went spinning.
###
«Jim will find me», Leslie said as the torturer prepared his instruments. «He will.»
There was a cling as a scalpel was dropped on a metal tray, and the man chuckled.
«Not to burst your bubble, lady, but the guy doesn't have a stellar track record. Is he gonna find you like when he found that Kean gal? 'Cause I hear she's having a field day in Arkham Asylum.»
That elicited a burst of laughter from the four armed men who had brought Lee in. They had grabbed her from the GCPD's parking lot, pulling her into a van parked next to her car before she could even understand what was going on. She had taken a few blows when she had tried to escape: hard enough to for her nose to bleed but not to break, and for her legs to bruise. Nothing serious, and nothing in comparison of what the torturer had planned for her. And explained. In excruciating detail.
She squirmed on her seat, but the restraints were tight, both around her body and her wrists.
«You know, the Ogre had a reputation. All those girls he abducted. The press said a loooot of things about that guy», the butcher taunted, scratching her cheek with a dagger.
«I'm sure they did», Leslie replied in a collected tone, trying not to show fear.
The thug slapped her. Her nose started bleeding again.
«Jim will find me», she said again.
Or someone. There were security cameras in that parking lot. Someone was bound to notice something. Her car was still there, too.
Still, she was terrified, and she could hear Barbara's voice, straight from that «therapy session», telling her everything she had not wanted to know about Jason Lennon, and his tools, and everything he had done. And how he had hit her when she had told him Jim would find her.
«I mean, he eventually did», Barbara had told her later that night, when she had regained consciousness after that murder attempt. «But, really, he was a bit late. It was my second date with Jason, you know? I'd brought him home the night before, and he told me he would have killed me back then if I had not been me.»
Not a stellar track record.
Don't ever think that.
«Now, let's clear a misconception», the torturer said, waving pliers. «Gordon is too late. Even if he arrives now, he will be too late. I like to get little details like that out of the way quickly.»
To make his point, he took her hand, and a distal phalanx. She did not hear her own scream, but her throat tasted like blood. The man poured acid in a bucket, then waited for her to calm down. When she did, her screams turning into sobs and keening, he dropped the amputated finger tip into the acid.
And it would always be too late. There would be no going back, no hope for reattachment, and everything would be different from that moment on.
She heard herself screaming again.
«Shall we continue?» the criminal asked, trading the pliers for a scalpel.
The doors slammed open and everyone started shouting. It was all very fast, especially in Leslie's state, faint with blood loss and hyperventilating. In a second or so, her kidnappers were dead, being on the wrong side of assault riffles.
A man limped to her.
«Oh, that's disgraceful», he said, inspecting her hand. «What kind of monster would do this? Victor! Tend to that wound, will you?»
Leslie raised her head, trying to slow her breathing. She did not succeed, nor did she manage to get a word out. Just sobs. Another man joined them, and examined her injury, then went to gather supplies from the medical cabinet a few steps away.
«I'm so sorry we arrived so late, Miss Thompkins. But you're safe now. You're safe. We'll get you out of here», the first man said.
Cobblepot, she thought. Oswald Cobblepot. Then Victor came back with a syringe and offered an injection of painkillers. The name and dosage sounded about right. She did not think much after that.
###