"All the writers keep writing what they write,
Somewhere another pretty vein just dies.
I've got the scars from tomorrow and I wish you could see,
That you're the antidote to everything except for me.
A constellation of tears on your lashes.
Burn everything you love,
Then burn the ashes.
In the end everything collides—
My childhood spat back the monster that you see."
"My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark" –Fallout Boy
Chapter Fifteen:
Margot was already having a bad day when she arrived early to work one Thursday morning. Final exams were coming up, and she had several final projects and a senior presentation to do. She was using several aspects of the Wayne Manor grounds in one of her landscaping projects, and she'd brought along her markers and her draft paper to draw up a few sketches, which was why she found herself arriving at work at five-thirty instead of seven.
It didn't help that her backpack had broken just as she'd come off of the bridge into Bristol County, and she'd had to go back for her case of markers that had fallen out, only to realize that half of them had scattered out onto the pavement. She'd spent a good fifteen minutes dashing out between cars and trying to collect them again. Fortunately, there wasn't much traffic on that road at five in the morning.
Naturally, then, when she caught sight of the figure prowling around the grounds, she confronted him.
The man was about Alfred's build and height, and Margot almost mistook him for the butler, except he walked differently, aimlessly almost, and he had a furtive air about him that she didn't like.
"Who are you?" she demanded as she came nearer, holding her backpack closed, trying to keep everything inside. "What are you doing here?"
He turned to regard her curiously, a smile warming his friendly features as he watched her approach. "Easy there, luv. I'm a friend of Alfie's," he explained in a gruff brogue. Looking her over, he jerked his chin at her and asked with amusement, "And who might you be? The guard dog?"
"The gardener," she retorted, letting her fury calm a bit, but still remaining on guard. "And how do you know Alfred?"
"We served together back in the day," he explained. "Special Air Service."
"Soldier then, are you?"
"Something like that," he replied with a chuckle. Looking her over, he added, "You look like you've seen a bit of combat yourself."
"Some," she admitted.
"Is that how you got that little hobble of yours then?" he asked, pointing at her knee.
For some reason, she didn't like him asking about her injury. Usually she didn't care, but this time, it seemed like it was less about curiosity, like he was sizing her up or something. "Limp or not, I could still crush your larynx like a soda can."
The man laughed, unperturbed by her threat. "You've got gumption. I like that."
Margot stared at him long and hard. She didn't have patience for a man who could laugh before six in the morning. Not today. "I've got a lot more than gumption, Mr…"
"Reggie," he said. "Call me 'Reggie'." The man regarded her with amusement, hardly deterred by her wariness. He eyed her backpack curiously. "Having a bad day, are we?" he inquired, raising his eyebrows sympathetically.
Margot tried to remain aloof, but the reminder of everything that had gone wrong that morning suddenly welled up again and she couldn't keep herself from sighing heavily. "Yes. God, yes." She glanced up at the sky and added with a groan, "And it's not even daylight yet."
Reggie chuckled. "Hand it over," he said, holding his hand out for her backpack. "I think I can help you with that broken pack of yours."
She reluctantly handed the backpack over to him.
"Where's the toolshed?"
She showed him the way and watched as he sat down and examined her backpack for a few moments. He picked up a set of pliers and went to work, closing the slider until it caught the teeth again. He gave it a few experimental tugs before handing it back to Margot.
"There. Easy as spit."
"Thanks," Margot replied.
"Not a problem." He sighed and stood. "Sorry if I startled you."
"Sorry for threatening you."
Reggie laughed and shook his head. "I've heard worse." He gave her another once over, still shaking his head in amusement as he left. "I'll see you around, girlie."
Margot was on her way to the kitchen to wash up a bit when she heard voices through a door that had been cracked open. She wouldn't have stopped to eavesdrop, but she thought she heard her name. Curious, she paused and listened from nearby, recognizing Reggie's voice, and Alfred's.
"'Margot', is it?" asked Reggie. "Tough little bird, isn't she? She practically attacked me this morning."
Alfred chuckled softly. "You don't know the half of it, mate. Some advice? Stay away from her."
"Why? You aren't…?" the man trailed off suggestively.
"What?" came the sharp inquiry in response.
Reggie hesitated, then murmured in a quieter voice, "You know. Having it off with her. You aren't…are you?"
"No!" protested Alfred with a scoff.
"Why the hell not?" the man asked incredulously. "Hell, Alfie, she'd turn you into a bloody pretzel."
"What makes you think I'd ever want to be a pretzel, Reg?"
"Who doesn't want to be a bloody pretzel?" laughed Reggie.
"I'm telling you, Reggie, you stay away from her," Alfred warned the other man, his voice becoming more serious.
"Sir, yes sir," he barked back sarcastically.
Margot smiled a little as she made her way down the corridor. It wasn't that she needed Alfred to defend her honor—she could do that well enough on her own. But the fact that he would… Well, she almost liked it.
Margot was home, sketching landscape plans by the light of her small lamp, watching the lightning flash through the window. Another storm rolling over the city, the third in as many days. The grounds at Wayne Manor had good drainage, but she worried that at this rate, she might have to drain the pond before it flooded into the surrounding landscaping.
Her phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts, causing her to streak her marker across the page.
"Damn it," she cursed softly, fumbling for her phone. "Hello?"
"Margot!" gasped a voice on the other end of the line. "Margot, h-he's hurt!"
"Bruce!" she exclaimed in alarm, feeling her body go cold. She forced herself to be calm, to speak steadily and clearly. "Slow down. What's wrong?"
"It's Alfred! He's been stabbed. I-I called for an ambulance—"
She didn't need to hear any more. "I'll meet you at the hospital."