A/N: I'm sorry for the long wait, but I finally got a chapter out! Thank you all so much for the positive feedback on this story and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Dee's POV

The smell of smoke is what finally rouses me from an hour long, Friday afternoon nap.

Not the alarm I set before I collapsed, not my mother's soft and sonorous voice calling to me from the living room, but the distinct smell of smoke wafting towards me, invading my senses. My eyes shoot open like the smoke punched me in face instead of tickling my nose.

It takes all of 5 seconds for me to jump out of my bed and barrel out of my open door, stumbling slightly on my way out, prepared for the worst. Of course my mind starts to list all the worst case scenarios, like running into the living room only to find our apartment has gone up in flames and my mom is –

Dead and not just sitting on the couch smoking with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

I sigh in both relief and annoyance, glad my concerns were unfounded but irked by the fact that I overreacted. Again. What is this, the 5th time this has happened this month?

"Ma," I groan, sinking down into the chair across from the couch. She raises an eyebrow up at me, feigning innocence.

"What?" she asks in her naturally raspy voice, enhanced by years of chain-smoking. I glare at her, my hazel eyes piercing her bright blue ones. She's not getting off that easy.

"I've asked you before not to smoke inside," I reply sternly, like I'm the parent. "Remember last time?"

She chuckles a bit, some leftover puffs of smoke pouring out of the corners of her mouth and her crow's-feet becoming more prominent. I always tell her that her smoking habit is aging her, but she doesn't bother to listen.

Mom has never cared much about her appearance.

"That was an accident and you know it," she defends herself, the corners of her mouth quirked into an amused smile. "It's not like I go around purposefully setting fire to carpets, Deedee."

My shoulders relax a little bit when her nickname for me comes out of her mouth. Her tone is as smooth as silk, and it's able to melt through my stern exterior quicker than a flame thrower through an ice cube. I can never stay stern for too long when it comes to my mother. I hate that she has that power over me. I hate anyone having that power over me.

"Just do it outside next time, okay?" I sigh, giving up on this argument. It's not even worth it anymore.

She nods eagerly, her dark curls bouncing on her shoulders.

"Scout's honor," she swears, holding up her hand in a joking way. I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head. I'm happy with the promise for now, but I know very well how this is going to go down. She's going to follow through with her promise for a day, maybe two days tops, and then she's going to slip up again and then I'm going to make her promise to do better next time, which she will, and the cycle repeats. It happens every time, no matter what that promise is about, and I know it's a cycle that is going to keep repeating forever and ever.

But I let it slide every single time.

Maybe I just want it to be true bad enough to pretend it is.

"What time is it?" I ask in passing as I walk into the adjoining kitchen.

"Five after five," she calls back to me. I groan as I swing open the fridge door. My shift starts at 6:30, and I still have some English worksheet for homework to get through. When I get back home at 10:30, there's a good chance I'll be too tired to even think about diagraming sentences.

Oh well. That's what homeroom and lunch are for, right?

I grab a bottled water from the fridge and a granola bar from our little pantry, planning on sneaking these into my bag, past my boss and snacking on them before my shift starts. He has a strict 'no food' policy, despite working in the food service industry. Go figure.

I march back into the living room, chuck my drink and snack onto the chair, and grab my boots that lay limp on the floor, pulling them on and zipping them up over the jeans I slept in. I'm sure my boss won't mind me coming in wearing a sweater, jeans, and combat boots. He might, however, mind my rather unkempt appearance, lack of makeup, and the bed-head that I haven't straightened today…

Eh, he can deal. I'm a waitress at a run-down café, not Hooters.

I run my hands through my wavy hair in a pathetic attempt at brushing it, turning to my mom as I do so. She tosses her magazine back onto the table and focuses her attention back onto me.

"My shift ends at 10:30. There's some frozen pizzas in the freezer so you can…"

I trail off, my eyes catching sight of a suspicious residue on the edge of the coffee table. I narrow my eyes at the familiar white substance, red hot anger rising in my chest and filling my lungs. I flit my eyes back up at my mother, who just looks back at me with feigned innocence.

"Mother…" I hiss warningly, trying to keep my temper under control.

"What?" she asks. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at her, trying to stay firm and not let her off so easily this time. I had hoped she stopped. In retrospect, I should have known she didn't. But like all the broken promises before, I always let this slide for some unexplainable reason. It's gotten to the point where I don't even feel disappointment or sadness anymore. Just… annoyance. Annoyance and anger.

"I don't want to see that in this house," I demand sternly. "If you have to do… that, then do it somewhere else. I don't want another pleasant little surprise visit by the cops or your dealer."

She tilts her head, pulling her blue fleece blanket tighter around her shoulders with a small shudder.

"Johnny visited while I was out? Why didn't you tell me?"

I roll my eyes.

"That's not the point," I insist. "The point is, if you're really going to do coke, please don't do it here. Why do you think they took Gra–,"

"Don't go there," Mom warns, pointing a warning finger at me. I can hear the finality in her tone, and I know better than to press the issue any further. I may act as the parent most of the time, but my mom is not afraid to put her foot down and be the mother she's supposed to be. Always at the wrong times, though.

"Fine," I relent. "Just… please. Don't do that here. Please, Ma?"

She cracks a smile, her previously serious demeanor now suddenly washed away, her face drained of all tension. It's like a switch was flipped inside her head.

"I promise, Deedee. Tanya was out of town and I didn't know where else to go. It was a one-time thing, I swear."

Just like it was a one-time thing last month, and the month before that, and the month before that…

I sigh, grabbing my purse off the chair and shoving my granola bar and water into it before hauling it over my shoulder.

"I'll be back before you know it, okay?" I tell her. She just nods at me, laying back down on the couch and pulling the blanket over her body.

"Love you," she calls as I walk to the door. I turn back briefly, returning the warm smile plastered across her face. My mother may have her faults, but when she smiles at me, it's like all those times she let me down throughout the years are just washed down the drain and I eagerly take on the role of the doting daughter, just happy that she's happy.

I'm pathetic, aren't I?

Still, I do what I always do; I give her a little wave, blow a kiss, and smile big.

"Love you too, Ma."

The sun has already been torn down from the sky by the time I step out into the streets, replaced by the glittering moon. It's a full moon tonight. A bit chilly, a little windy, but overall a nice night. I jump off the last stair of the apartment building, pausing for a few seconds to let the cool night breeze wash over me. It's my favorite kind of weather; not cold, but just enough chill to make you shiver. Like the weather near the beginning of horror movies when the dumb blonde protagonist decides to take a walk through a deserted alley in the bad part of town completely unarmed.

I watch way too many TV movies.

Rubbing my arms for warmth, I scuttle along the eerily silent road with the wind pushing back against my body. It's calm tonight. Oddly so. There are no hookers, no pimps, no junkies, not even a random asshat whistling at me from a car. Usually I'm on red alert on a Friday night, my hand buried in my bag and clutching tightly at the pepper spray I always keep on me. But tonight, I feel no need.

Maybe I'll have another encounter with a little birdie tonight.

I snort at the thought. The fact that I even bumped – or more accurately, smacked – into the Robin a few nights ago is still surreal to me. I'd sooner expect Mom to quit drugs and join a quilting circle before I expect to meet Batman and Robin. Sure, you hear stories about their exploits throughout Gotham, but that's exactly what they are; stories. Batman and Robin are heroes, spoken of in song and legend. They're larger than life, not the type of people you'd expect to encounter on the streets. Even with their protective shadows looming over dear old Gotham, you're more likely to be shot dead in the streets than you are to have an encounter with them.

Hell, you're more likely to get your leg bitten off by a rabid kitten than to run into Batman and Robin here in the East End.

I smirk a bit, remembering the shock on Robin's face when I back-talked him. He looked half-way ready to smack me silly. Maybe I should have been a bit more reluctant, but really, what was he gonna do? Kill me? It's Robin. His job is to guard Gotham's innocent citizens, not beat them up. I had no reason to be intimidated.

Now if it was Batman… That's a different stories. From the stories I've heard about him on the street, you do not under any circumstances want to see his glare directed towards you. Much less back-sass him.

But Robin… He's different. Seeing him riled up and flustered was… cute. Fun.

Who knows? I might see him again one day, hopefully under better circumstances.

I find myself smiling to myself as I pass a few more dank buildings on my way to the café, amused by my train of thought and just happy that I have yet to see Lola out and about tonight. Friday is her busiest night, and she always goes to work around the time my shift starts as a way for us to sort of check up on each other. She must have heard the news about yet another body being discovered two days ago and finally decided to stay at home.

Good.

I swear, I'm going to worry myself to death over that girl.

As I speed-walk down the sidewalk just a block from my destination, the back of my hand grazes my bag slightly and comes back… wet. I stare down at the worn old cloth bag curiously. What the hell…?

The damn water bottle. The cap must have not been screwed on all the way.

I groan.

Dammit.

Taking a sharp turn, I stop off at the edge of an alley and leaning against the wall momentarily. I rip my bag off my shoulder and flip it open, muttering angrily to myself. I have my wallet in here. I swear to god and Zeus and every deity there is, if the water seeped through my things, I'm gonna stab –

A strange sound coming from the alley behind me stops my hand right as it wraps around my water bottle.

It sounded like a gagging noise. A weird, wet gagging noise. Faint, but just loud enough to pick up on in the otherwise deafening silence of the night. I falter slightly, my grip on the bottle loosening. I'm not quite alarmed… yet. It could have been an animal or something…

The muffled, pained scream that comes next, however, is enough to alarm me.

My muscles tense up in preparation for attack, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. My mind runs wild, spinning different scenarios of where that noise could have possibly come from. None of them are good.

When you live in the East End, you always have to expect the worst.

I stiffen and lean further into the cold brick, stuffing my hand further down into my purse. I grab ahold of the cool, slippery surface of my pepper spray can, gripping it tightly. Slowly taking it out of my bag, I spin around on my heels to face the alley opening behind me with a shaking hand.

My breath hitches, my eyes widening.

No. Fucking. Way.

The moonlight illuminates the dark, dirty alley, revealing a sparkling pool of dark red blood slithering along the cracked pavement. The smell of iron hits my nose, making me gag in disgust. My eyes travel upwards to the source of the bloody river.

It's a girl.

She can't be much older than I am. She's stripped down to a plain white cotton bra and matching panties, both of which are soiled with mud and spotted with blood. Her eyes are wide open and staring up at the night sky, unseeing. But the thing that my eyes are drawn to the most is the long, deep slash mark that runs across her delicate throat, splitting her open from ear to ear.

I gulp, my hands trembling violently now. I suddenly feel nauseous. The putrid smell of the blood, the sight of the dead body, the fear that courses through my veins – it's all too much, too overwhelming…

My hands aren't shaking anymore.

My entire body is shaking.

Hesitantly, I allow my eyes to rake upwards. There, looming over the body, is a man.

And his dark eyes are focused solely on me.

Slowly, a wide smile spreads across his face.

"You're going to need more than just pepper spray, sweetheart."

A/N: Trust me, I have many plans for this story. ;)