Ch. 2

He had been watching her for three weeks and two days.

When he first found her, she had been focused on crossing the street, eyes to either side of her but not behind. She was an ordinary young woman at first glance, though strangely attired -- in streets like these she didn't stand out too much.

Apart from the mask, that is.

The black material on her face barely covered her eyes, but to Rorschach, it was a mask nonetheless. Intrigued, he had followed her that night, though he felt cheated when all she did was walk fifteen blocks at a brisk pace before turning towards a house. Watching her retreating form he briefly contemplated following her, knowing quite well that if he did he would more than likely sate his curiosity. Instead he shrugged; if she was a mask, he would be sure to cross paths with her again. If not, then it was just another foolish young woman in the city and not worth his time.

He found her the next night, and the night after that.

She had two different routes that she would take on alternating days. To any random observer she looked like someone going for a walk, but to Rorschach she was all too obvious. She was patrolling, though doing an infuriatingly poor job of it. She shrank away from the darkness as if terrified that she would get sucked in and suddenly find herself entangled in the putrid affairs of the city's uglies. Rorschach gave a short, bitter laugh in his head. Correct sentiment, poor reaction. Turning from the ills of the city wasn't going to save her -- in order to stave off the filth she had to fight back, show it that it couldn't win. He would have been surprised if she lasted a week in this place. Keeping this deadline in his mind he followed her, allowing this morbid curiosity, this strange desire to see her swallowed up into this wretched sea of blood and sin. Then he would wash his hands of her.

A week later, she was still patrolling and Rorschach felt the whispers of mild annoyance tugging at him. He didn't like the way she walked. He didn't like the way she was working -- if you could call it working. Women didn't go out to pretend they were masks -- it was a man's job, afterall. Women didn't like the outside world, like the men did, though they liked to believe they did. No, this was ridiculous. Her attire, what she was doing, ridiculous. Her walk, especially ridiculous. He hated it. He hated the way she walked. Her attire was modest though close-fitting. The dark color helped her blend into the darkness, except for when she walked: her hips swayed with each step and sometimes they were all he could see, going back and forth with each forward movement. He would note the subtle fold of fabric across each ...part... of her hips, moving with her body to accomodate her steps and god he hated the way she walked. Just her hips, moving, just hips, no head movement, no turning to see, see behind her; oblivious to him, to everything. He was sure she was oblivious to the way she walked too, though inside he wondered if she knew he was there behind her, knew he was watching and was doing this on purpose. She must know he hated this -- her walk of all things but everything about this.

Why this? Rorschach had heard of other masks -- saw them once even, a young man who called himself Ozymandias, another who took Nite Owl's mantle. He saw them both at the same time. They were far away and conversing. Rorschach assumed they were forming an alliance, probably new Nite Owl's idea. Briefly he considered following them, let himself known, possibly join them. He dismissed the idea; maybe if one or the other but two? Too much hassle. He didn't like interacting with too many people at once. Even so, he respected them. They were masks too, brothers in arms. Men. Men went to war -- defended their country and women. Women didn't fight. They gave up too easily without men to protect them and provide for them. Women just didn't have the capacity for these things that came so easily to men.

The woman he had been following was now pausing at an alley, peering inside then quickly resuming her duties. Duties of what? As far as Rorschach could see, all she did was make the uglies nervous. But only temporary. As soon as she was gone they would resume their drinking and fornicating. Maybe she was waiting to join them. The whore.

A feeling curled upwards from inside him and he probed it tentatively. Guilt. No matter, Rorschach called them as he saw them. If he asked her she would confirm his suspicion. No need -- seeing the way she walked he knew he was right. Rorschach was always right about these things. Getting steadily more annoyed he continued to follow her. If he could speak to her he would demand to know why she was doing this. But Rorschach did not speak to whores. Disgusted, he began to turn away, desiring not even to see her fall to her eventual place in life. She stopped again, and peered into another alley. He saw movement from the shadows that wasn't her and she had spotted it too. She stood tense as if ready to fight, then recoiled as if stung as a prostitute emerged with a half-dressed man, both reeking of sin. The prostitute laughed, though something in her posture betrayed fear, especially when she looked back and saw Rorschach.

The mask-woman followed the whore's eyes and seemed surprised to find him there. Rorschach stood for a moment, strangely hypnotized, before he slipped into the shadows. When he was hidden enough he watched her again, and when he knew she was no longer looking for him he continued to follow her, though this time he was more careful.

She had been more cautious after that, taking care to look behind her in an almost religious routine. This sort of paranoia amused Rorschach and he would sometimes let her see him then quickly slip away, enjoying her skittish reaction and how nervous he seemed to make her. Sometimes he would follow her for long stretches in plain sight, a rolling sea of mirth bubbling up inside him as he watched her squirm. She would look back, see him, continue on and look back again only to see him still there. She would walk faster, change her route even, sometimes not show up a night, but he would always be there. Sometimes she would stop and wait for him as if for him to catch up, but he would slip into the shadows again and she would wait for a long time before resuming her walk. Rorschach never came too close, barely within shouting distance, even. He liked this new game and would play it for hours before she would get to that point where he would stop following her, three blocks away from what appeared to be her home. One night he watched her leave with exasperation, wondering what went on in the mind of a woman who, afraid of her stalker, ran so obviously to a home he could easily break into.

Did she realize how careless she was?

Did it matter? She was a woman and women by nature, were careless creatures. He wouldn't be surprised if she appeared one day, not in costume but in a dress too tight and too short to be appealing to anybody but the less decorous. She would appear in this attire meant to sell and find him. There she would beseech him to stop following her, she would give him anything if just to make him go away. She would get on her knees and look up at him, eyes dull and full of greed and lust and fear and she would expect him to use her like all the other men, because she allowed it. He would look down at her and she would wait for him to speak and he would let the silence build up, dense enough to choke her to tears of shame as the intent of her own spoken words sank into her cold flesh. Then he would turn away. She would know then that she wasn't even worth speaking to. Even animals were spoken to.

Rorschach vowed again that night to let the whore fall to her own doom. Yet, the next night he followed her, her routine as much as his now.

This night he realized he had been following her for three weeks. Two days. Same woman, patrolling the same way, though now she would turn back and regard him with such complacency that he grit his teeth in his annoyance. Even the sight of him, which initially had brought so much fear, had become so familiar that she hardly bat an eye in his direction. He wanted to shout at her, but women did not have common sense and what use would his words be to her? She would only continue on in her aggravating way of thinking and to hell with any logic or reason he could try to impart to her.

Even now, Rorschach could see the shadows creeping up and knew what was approaching but he didn't bother to warn her -- she could only find out for herself soon enough if she would open her eyes and truly see instead of just looking.

Four men approached her, the close proximity of their bodies creating a wall. Rorschach was too far away to hear what the first one said, but the second one said something that sounded like a proposition.

She was fast -- very fast. And strong. Even Rorschach was surprised. Only two seconds had passed since the man had uttered those words that had educed such a strong response from her and already he was sure she could handle her own against them. He was more concerned about the fifth one in the back she had failed to see -- the one behind her to the right, hiding in the shadows and watching for the opportunity to spring. Rorschach wouldn't have that. She had just finished off the fourth thug when she turned, a look of surprise on her face as he leaped past her and into the alley. Her eyes opened even wider as a man's body was thrown out of the same alley, only to land a few feet away from her. What had been a man a few moments before was now badly broken and obviously unconscious now. Rorschach emerged from the alley almost as simultaneously as when the body hit the ground. The woman regarded him with a new interest.

He was distracted by two things: the way she was smiling -- why was she smiling at him? -- and how remarkably young she looked. He stopped in his tracks, suddenly feeling cold as he realized she couldn't have been more than sixteen. She was just a girl -- a very young girl.

"You're a crime fighter too?" she asked him, voice surprisingly warm.

Rorschach struggled to respond but could not find words to give her. And it wasn't because he thought she was a whore -- no, she couldn't possibly -- she wasn't. She obviously wasn't. Nevertheless his mouth had lost connection to his mind and when he probed his brain all he could find were dark swirls of abstract thought and nothing else. Even his vision blurred for a moment and for a few odd seconds all he could see was more swirls, same as the ones that had invaded his mind, but in bright color.

Rorschach felt slapped back into his body when the girl started to laugh. For a moment he thought she was laughing at him, then he sensed the relief in the laughter and cocked his head at her.

"I saw you following me, all this time," she said, shaking her head. "I just thought... Well, now I see why -- I wish you could have said something; you were starting to make me nervous."

Why? She knew why?

He stared and felt like an idiot. No, Rorschach was never an idiot. He bristled, not liking how uncomfortable she was making him, and even now she was coming closer, that aggravating walk, with her big eyes and big... scarves.

"Didn't expect to see a woman out fighting," he said, straightening up and pulling a fraction of an inch away from her. If it was too obvious, she would notice.

She stared at him intently as if she didn't hear him, but finally, she shrugged.

"What better way to pass the time?" she asked, giving him an odd sideways stare that unsettled him.

Rorschach subconsciously took a step forward, then checked himself, took another step back. He took another step, then another -- soon he had turned himself around and started walking away.

"Hey!" the girl called after him, sounding frustrated. Good. "Where are you going?"

He didn't respond. He walked into the shadows, only turning when he knew for sure she couldn't see him anymore. She looked in his direction for a long moment before turning and walking home.

Rorschach watched her leave. Three weeks and two days.

Tomorrow would be the third.

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To be continued...