Chapter 11

Present Day

According to the posters in front of the Gotham Opera, the show playing is titled: Bluebeard's Castle. While Ozzy is definitely familiar with the show (pulling his usual stunt of getting up and singing along during the male solos), he seldom ever explains the storyline to me, insisting, that I should simply enjoy the show, regardless of its plot. But, how can I understand what's going on? These operas are never in English.

During the show, I chuckle when Ozzy sings along with the male lead, much to the displeasure of the others seated around us. He takes notice of this, turning around and smiling at me. The momentary solo ends, and Ozzy returns to his seat, but this time he wraps his arm around mine. I turn to him, as I feel a warmth grow in my chest. I can't believe it, I think I still love him. But, as I look at his pudgy figure, balding head, and remembering the foul smell of cigarettes whenever his breath draws near, I also realize that he has lost his physical appeal to me. His life of crime and decadence has aged him far beyond his years, making him appear at least twenty years older than he actually is. Yet I allow him to cling to me further, feeling his tuxedo brush up against my shoulder.

"Well, I have to say, that was a wonderful play." I admit as we exit the theatre.

Our arms still linked, Ozzy lifts up my hand and kisses it, "Only the best for you, my darling."

The Iceberg Lounge is nearly empty when we return, with only a few remaining waiters around cleaning up the tables. Ozzy leads me back to his office, but he doesn't put me back in the imported jail cell. Instead, he leads me into the side room in his office, which turns out to be a small living quarters with the main attraction being a plush velvet double bed...with another woman already waiting on it,

"Boss, you're back." the woman greets in a almost sickeningly sweet voice. She gets up and starts walking toward us, her heels clacking as she lowers her glasses, "Who's the friend?"

"Candy, I won't be needing you tonight." Ozzy tells her, opening the door for her.

"Oh, c'mon boss, you know I'm always up for a...threesome." she places her hand on my chin, but I push it away,

"Sorry, but you're not my type." I tell her coldly.

She takes a slow, sultry stroll around me, examining me, "...Tracey was right. We do look alike, except for the...well, you know." she completes her circle, giving her own breasts a light push, "Boss, don't tell me you're out-sourcing me to this cheap thing."

"Goodnight Candy." he grumbles, pushing her out the door.

"Boss, boss...I, I can do it for half-price, just for you baby...boss?" she's cut off as the door is shut behind her.

"I'm assuming the fact that we look alike is no coincidence, am I correct?" I ask him, putting my hands on my hips.

"A plaything, my relationship with her was that of a simple transaction, but I have no need for her now." he removes his tuxedo jacket and gives a malicious grin, "Now, I have you."

Wait, what? Oh no, no no no, this is not happening.

"Ozzy, you really want to...after only one night? Don't you think we're going a bit too fast?"

He grabs the back of my neck, and I half expect him to start strangling me, "My dear, anything is possible when love is involved."

He pulls me into a kiss, and I instinctually know to bend my head at just the right angle to avoid his nose. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he leads me to the bed. We collapse down onto it, and Ozzy reaches over as we kiss to draw the curtains around the bed, concealing us from view.

Several years ago

Oswald and I return to his apartment from another day of getting rejected by various criminal organizations,

"Ugh, I'm gonna put you down now, okay?" I ask Oswald, who's sporting a black eye and possibly a twisted ankle.

He nods, and I place him onto his bed in his room, which is cluttered with various books, as well as detailed sketches of birds hanging from the walls.

"Get hurt like that again, and you're gonna end up with a permanent limp." I warn him, sitting in the chair by his bedside.

He chuckles, "Hey, could you get me that book over there? The really small one labelled Sonnets." he points to a stack of well-loved books in the corner.

I reach over and sift through the books until I find the one he's describing, and hand it to him. He cracks it open a easily finds his desired page. He reads aloud,

"Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;

My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?

And for that riches where is my deserving?

The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,

And so my patent back again is swerving.

Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,

Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,

Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,

In sleep a king, but waking no such matter."

"What's that?" I ask, leaning forward to see the yellowed, worn out pages.

"Shakespeare. Sonnet eighty seven." he explains, "You reminded me of this poem."

"Farewell? I'm not leaving right away."

He shrugs, recoiling back in pain at the movement of his shoulders, "Well...you certainly seem to be in a hurry to leave, you're always welcomed here."

I smile, "That's very kind of you, but like I said, I don't want to burden you."

He pauses, putting the book back down, and staring up at the ceiling, "If it were up to me...you'd stay here forever."

What? Did he seriously just say that? I've only known this guy for how long?

"Uhm...okay. So, who have we not tried selling our souls to?" I ask, changing the subject as I take out a small list we'd written down of all of our possible employers.

"Did we try the Maronis yet?"

"Uhm...yeah. That's where you hit your head." I remind him.

He nods, "Oh yeah. What about Rupert Thorne?"

I check the list, "...yep, isn't that where they called you Pen-...uhm, you're nickname?"

He snarls, "Those brutes aren't worth our time."

"You looked like you wanted to kill them."

"I did."

I pause for a moment. Would he be capable of killing someone? From his tone of voice, he certainly isn't joking, he wanted those guys dead. While most of the time he's very innocent-looking, almost infantile, just under that is something much more dangerous. But then again, what do you expect from a man trying to pursue a career as a professional criminal?

"You know what? Screw the gangs." I declare, "I think we can make a name for ourselves."

"How so?" he asks.

I shrug, "How else? We steal something of value, and sell it to the highest bidder."

He continues to stare up at the ceiling, "...you know what? That might actually work."

I get up, "Well, I have to make that phone call. Your mother said the payphone's just a couple blocks away, right?"

"Yeah, between fourth and Grundy."

I nod, but as I walk toward the door, I look back and see Oswald's expression, that of a yearning puppy dog, his pale hands clutching the ends of his bedsheets, "Please...stay."

I give a melancholy smile, and something inside me wants to run up to him, to hug him and tell him everything's going to be alright. But while I know I can't make that promise, I can make this one,

"Don't worry, I'll be right back."

I walk out of the room, letting it naturally shut behind me. I cross the small apartment to the door when I'm suddenly interrupted,

"Trixie, is it? Can I talk to you?" it's Oswald's mother, standing by the door to her room.

I turn around, "Of course, Mrs. Cobblepot."

She gestures for me to sit on their antiquated couch as she pours us some tea, "Our family use to be very wealthy, you know." she sets down the teapot, "The Cobblepot name use to be something to fear, until the Waynes reduced us to nothing." her voice turns bitter at the mention of the Waynes.

Where is she going with this?

She picks up her tea cup and takes a polite sip, "As much as I've tried, I can't protect Oswald anymore. Maybe I never have."

"What do you mean?" Is she referring to me?

"I've given him the best upbringing I could with our measly funds, but I could never fully shield him from the filth out in those streets. You've seen the boy's injuries, he can't defend himself." she sighs, staring into her tea, "What I'm trying to say is, I'm not going to around for much longer and Oswald, he needs someone to look after him."

This woman is out of her mind, "Madam, with all due respect, I've only known Oswald a couple of days-"

"And that's a lot more than anyone else has ever given him." she interrupts. She then pauses, as if she regrets saying that. She stiffens her shoulders, standing firmly straight, "To be honest, you would definitely not be my first choice. If we were still in power the last thing I'd have my son do is marry a savage woman. But my son is...quite taken by you, and considering he hardly interacts with others as it is, you're not the worse person he could end up with."

I want to slap her right now. The last time I was referred to as a "savage" was when some police officers raided my apartment building when I was a child. He was old too, it always comes from old people, product of a different time I guess. Still, I wanna slap her.

"Well...that was very...insightful." I tell her, my voice edging on sarcastic, "Now if you'll excuse me I need to make a phone call."

She looks genuinely shocked as I get up from the couch and forcefully stride to the door, containing my anger. And I was sort of starting to like her too.

"Oh dear...was it something I said?" she asks in vain as I shut the door behind me.