Tension

Another day. Another victim.

Wayne Manor, June 27th, 8:03 a.m.

 

“Wakey wakey.”

 

When my eyes opened sluggishly, I felt a hint of a smile on my lips. And then I felt sharp nails scratch my biceps. After drawing a deep breath, I rolled over slowly and faced Selina. Her hair was a mass of puffy curls that covered her pillow and spread to the edges of mine. She had the faintest sunburn on her cheeks and nose and a crease across her cheek from the pillowcase.

 

I cleared my throat harshly before speaking, “I was awake three hours ago. Not my fault you weren’t.”

 

Her lip curled slightly before it returned to a pleasant smile. She shimmied closer to me before wrapping her arms around my neck. When she spoke, I felt her toes tracing the contours of my ankles, “You should have woken me up. Who knows what would have happened.”

 

“You would have yelled at me for waking you up at five in the morning.”

 

Her smile grew to reveal her small, white teeth, “That could have been a possibility.”

 

“More like a probability,” I replied quietly. I glanced over her shoulder to see the alarm clock. Alfred had let me sleep in, an uncustomary practice and a cherished gift during the week, but on Sundays, unless necessary, he would allow me to finally catch up on the sleep I deprived myself during the week.

 

Unfortunately Selina had a different plan. I had been surprised to see her sleeping in bed when I had finally come up from the Cave earlier that morning. Although I had only spent a few hours patrolling in light of the investigation, I had spotted her a number of times on the rooftops in the East End.  Although she had all but given up her criminal ways, it was near impossible to keep a cat from roaming.  I had suspected her of following me but whenever I had backtracked she was gone.

 

As always, Selina had settled in the middle of the bed, with three of the four down pillows claimed as her own and the blankets nestled about her long form. I had managed to get in beside her without disturbing her sleep. On several occasions, I had woken her and met her wrath, but that night I had let her sleep so that I could as well.

 

She yawned and stretched her arms out from under the blankets. “So, what are your plans for the day?”

 

“Sleep,” I grumbled as my lids closed halfway.

 

She grinned, “What do you know, that’s what I was going to do today.”

 

“Great minds...” I replied. When I began to roll over onto my back, she followed so that when I completely reclined, she was laying on top of me. “I am not a mattress.”

 

She shrugged before entwining a fingertip in my chest hair, “I never said you were.”

 

I did my best keeping my expression blank as her fingers teased the flesh along my ribcage, but as tickles turned to pinches, my tolerance flat-lined. In the half-second that it took for me to flip her back onto the bed and pin her down, she barely had a chance to utter my name in protest. And when she tried to, I pressed my lips to hers to silence her.

 

Just as I pulled away, a tone sounded from the bedside table. Then Alfred’s voice came over the phone’s intercom, “Master Bruce?”

 

Selina moaned and rolled out from under me as I replied, “Yes, Alfred?”

 

“I do hate to wake you at such an hour--.”

 

Selina cut him off, “Oh, he’s wide awake.”

 

He paused before continuing, “Sir, Ms. Gordon called, she said for you to call her back as soon as possible, apparently she came across something in her early morning research.”

 

I told him I would call her and he closed the connection after announcing that breakfast would be in thirty minutes. Selina had buried herself under the blankets and faced away from me and towards the far wall. I sighed quietly and then reached over her and grabbed the phone. She muttered something about not being a mattress and I couldn’t help but smile.

 

Barbara answered on the third ring and her voice was quiet and scratchy. I apologized, “I thought you would have been awake.”

 

She groaned and mumbled, “No rest for the weary. Anyway, I was going over the feeds from last night and they’re already spitting out a list of probable suspects. All of them are registered sex offenders with previous histories of domestic violence, substance abuse, the usual rap. I did thorough checks on their suspects but none of them ever went as far as murder.”

 

I sat up straighter in bed and my voice shifted on its own accord. Bat-mode, Selina called it. “They’ve been in town for two days. They have the wrong profile. And the wrong suspects.”

 

“I know,” she replied quietly, “I faxed you the list they have for their APB’s. They’ll probably round up about half of them, pick one with a matching blood type and arrest the poor soul, given he doesn’t have a plausible alibi.”

 

I paused, “I’ll take a look at it.”

 

“Okay, Boss.”

 

I hung up first, again leaning over Selina’s horizontal form, and then reclined beside her. “Plans have changed.”

 

“Not mine,” she said quietly, “At least I get your pillow.”

 

It was difficult to decide whether she was joking or if she was truly mad at me. Instead of the trouble of discerning her mood, I commented, “Have all the pillows you want. I’ll be in the shower using up your hot water.”

 

After kissing the back of her head, I slipped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Just as I turned the shower on, I heard her footsteps on the tile floor behind me. When I turned, she walked passed me, let her nightgown fall to the floor and then stepped into the shower. When I followed her in, I asked, “What happened to sleeping?”

 

When her arms encircled my neck, she replied, “Oh shut up. And hand me the loofah.”

 

^V^

 

Residence of Peter Placido, June 27th, 6:21 p.m.

 

For the first time in far too long, his journal was only half of a page long.

 

Granted it had been a slow day. After jogging, he had tidied up the house and the yard a bit, finished painting the deck and then, once showered and dressed, he had gone into town for a few errands. He had picked up groceries for the next week, picked up his uniforms from the dry cleaners and had then stopped in at Al’s for a haircut. His curly hair tended to get unmanageable unless kept short and neat. With Wednesday being his first day of training at Wayne Enterprises, he was going all out to make a lasting impression.

 

As he sat at the old desk, rereading his journal entry, he barely heard the soft whispers coming from down the hall. Since he had been accepted under his new employment, he had heard nothing but discouragement from her. She was worried about how they would treat him and he could do nothing to console her. And she was absolutely certain that once they found out his “dirty little secret” that they would shun him as countless others had done before.

 

Just as he closed the notebook, he heard her, “You aren’t thinking about her Petie.”

 

He shook his head and closed his eyes tightly. He had gone the entire day without having the W***e’s face flash in his mind. It had been surprising actually, considering it was nearing the Time when he would choose one. But his mother’s pained voice brought images of thick lipstick and arched eyebrows. Of tight shorts and bourbon breath. Seeing the W***e in his mind caused his heart’s tempo to increase and within seconds, he could feel his pulse in the temples of his skull.

 

“Are you now?”

 

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes, I am, mother.”

 

“Good. Are you thinking about what she did?”

 

He nodded to himself, picturing his mother’s bloodied and pale face. A family he once loved being torn to shreds. His father slowly wasting away until his liver and heart failed him one last time.

 

“There are others like her. Other w****s just as evil as she was. They are everywhere, Peter, and they are doing very bad things.”

 

“Bad things,” he repeated in a mumble.

 

“Stop her, Peter, stop her from hurting me again.”

 

“I--,” he began to protest.

 

His mother’s voice thundered in his ears, “Hurt her like she hurt you! Like she hurt me!”

 

He hunched over and covered his head with his arms, “I can’t...”

 

“Yes. You can.”

 

“I-- I can,” he replied.

 

While holding his breath, he waited for her to reply. As his chest grew tight, he took in a lungful of air and decided that she was gone. He sat up slowly and then looked about the near empty den. Nothing but silence. He listened closer and heard the faint rumblings of a lawn mower. Then a car door shutting. A peaceful Sunday afternoon. No, not peaceful. How could anything be peaceful when there were those who lurked in the shadows, waiting for a chance to strike out at innocent victims.

 

^V^

 

Chloe’s, June 27th, 11:58 p.m.

 

The first time Andrea sat next to him, she hadn’t noticed his sly smile. But when she had gone back to the bar for another drink, she noticed and returned one of her own. He had looked over at her briefly and then studied the smooth maple of the bar. Although there were far friendlier and probably more available guys around, she hardly hesitated before saying, “Hi.”

 

He had looked up after a second and returned a quiet, “Hello.”

 

“What are you drinking there?”

 

He glanced at his near empty glass and said, “Light draft.”

 

“Ah, how bout a fill up?”

 

One beer lead to sharing a quiet conversation, more drinks, more talk and before either knew it, more physical contact. He seemed to genuinely be bashful; something Andrea had rarely seen since her high school days many moons ago. Thinking back on those times, he actually reminded her of one of her sophomore year boyfriends, Jay. Same short curly hair and deep hazel eyes, although Jay was hardly bashful, more like boyish. The person whom she sat beside, sharing drinks and stories with was hardly a boy. Well built, his arms thick and strong, leading up to broad shoulders. Although the burly types were never her favorite, this guy’s personality made up for his bulky frame.

 

“So,” he began, “You came alone?”

 

She nodded before sipping her Smirnoff, “Yeah, I really don’t know many people in this area.”

 

“Moved here?”

 

“Yeah, from Metropolis, my sister was selling her apartment because she was moving back home and I always wanted to live in Gotham, so it worked out great.”

 

He sat back on the stool and turned himself so that he could face her better, “Has she moved out already?”

 

“Two weeks ago,” she replied. “How long have you been in Gotham?”

 

“For quite a while now. I grew up in a rural town about forty miles out of the city, but after my mother passed away we moved into town.”

 

Unconsciously, her face grew somber as a sudden flash of pity came over her, “I’m so sorry, about your mom.”

 

He shrugged slowly as he looked down at his hands, “It’s okay. It happened when I was young.”

 

“That’s probably worse. Not having her in your life all those years. I couldn’t even imagine, my mom and I are very close. I don’t know what I would do without her. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

 

He shook his head and finally looked back up to her. Despite his amiable smile and calm features, she could tell he was hurting on the inside. The corners of his eyes wrinkled just so and the emotion behind his golden irises welled. Andrea looked about the semi-crowded bar and suddenly realized such a somber conversation was hardly made comfortable by being held in such a dim setting.

 

Having gone to the bar alone, she had no expectations to leave with anyone. But this wasn’t for casual sex, more like casual friendship. She bit her lip before asking, “Hey, do you want to get out of here, talk some place else? There’s a great all night café a few blocks from here.”

 

His smile widened, “That sounds nice.”

 

At the coat check he helped her into the slight leather jacket she had worn in earlier and even guided her out the door with a light hand on the small of her back. Generally, she never welcomed unwanted physical contact, but his intentions had been nothing but genuine for the duration of their time together.

With the warm night air around them, it was mutually decided that walking would be the most sensible mode to get to the coffee shop. They walked apart, but occasionally his hand would bump into her arm or vice versa.

 

Just as she was about to ask what he did for a living, Andrea felt his strong arms lock around her and shove her hard into a small narrow opening between two office buildings. Having grown up with older male cousins, she had grown accustomed to rough housing and could tell instantly that the man who now pinned her against the brick texture of the wall was not playing around. His broad hand pressed firmly over her mouth, muffling any sound she could emit. His other hand had her wrists pinned behind her. Her only free appendages were legs, but he quickly shifted his stance so that one of his legs pressed hers backwards.

 

As she looked into eyes that had near instantly grown fierce and restless, she heard him whisper, “It shouldn’t be this way. Shouldn’t be this easy.”

 

A car drove by and she did her best to scream for help. The meek sounds that came out of her were pathetic. As her heart pounded deep within her chest, she wondered how someone could change so quickly, how a decent man could switch into a rabid monster.

 

Then her thoughts were suddenly changed as she felt him deliver a solid blow to her side, then again to her midsection. Andrea’s breath came out in a gush and it seemed impossible to take in any air. The unfamiliar wave of lightheadedness came over her and she suddenly felt unable to stand on her feet. As she grew limp, he lifted her up swiftly and pinned her harder into the wall’s exterior.

 

When she finally drew a breath, she realized his hold had loosened slightly. Mad flashes of kneeing him in the groin and taking off in a desperate dash to the street flooded her mind. As she was about to try to wiggle her foot out from under his, she felt a hot shock of pain as something slick and sharp stabbed into her. She gasped from beneath his fingers as he withdrew the blade and stabbed again, this time lower on her side.

 

The third time she felt the white-hot pain, it was just below her sternum. Her breath came in short rasps and to her surprise, his death grip on her lower face vanished as he stared down at her. Although that would have been her only chance to call for help, the words wouldn’t move past the constrictions of her throat.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

She couldn’t respond to such a question, mostly because the pain was unbearable. She could feel the warmth of her blood as it trickled down her side. And a growing tightness in her chest with every breath she managed.

 

“It’s nothing compared to what you did to me. To my mother,” he growled then paused before finishing, “W***e.”

 

She took in a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut as tight as possible, so that when she opened them it would all have been a drunken dream. But when she opened them a moment later as she felt his right hand tugging up the hem of her skirt. In a last attempt to try and understand what had happened, she mumbled, “Why?”

 

His fist dove into the tender flesh of her abdomen aggravating the wound there, “You should know,” his voice was dark and quiet in her ear. She felt his hand slide up to her waist, “And if not, you will.”

 

^V^

 

Franklin Drive Alley, June 28th, 3:55 a.m.

 

“No way, Gordon, absolutely not.”

 

I stood on a fire escape landing three stories up and looked down at the crime scene. Commissioner Gordon had been in a heated debate with SAIC Caffery for the last eight minutes while various officers guarded the scene as the FBI agents had a first look. I had scanned the immediate area before settling on the fire escape, which had been just before the Feds had arrived in their matching dark SUVs.

 

“I’m sorry, he’s not under my control. If he wishes to continue his investigation into the matter, I can’t stop him.”

 

Caffery, dressed in a dark blue suit that looked recently pressed, put his hands on his hips and pushed back his sport coat to reveal his holstered weapon. Showing off. He spoke quieter, but I still had a clear look at his mouth as it moved, “If you can’t stop him, I will.”

 

A half-smile flashed briefly on my face before I resumed my focus on the scene. The alley was no more than a small storage space between the two buildings, both of which housed various retail and small business. Aside from garbage dumpsters and empty cardboard boxes, only small amounts of trash littered the pavement. That and the body of Andrea Watson.

 

A late dog walker had been lead over to the body by the small herd of toy dogs he had been strolling with. As they had passed the alley, he had claimed that the dogs went berserk and wouldn’t leave what was in there alone. Animals and the smell of blood. I had been thirty blocks away, handling an electronic store robbery when the call came over the line. Oracle had been quick to dispatch all pertinent information and said that the FBI cell phones were alive with the news.

 

Upon arriving at the scene, there had been a single patrol car and two officers, who had already begun a preliminary interview with the dog walker. As the Feds had arrived, a second and third carload of officers and detectives had arrived, and one was said to escort the snapping canines home with the aide of the walker. From there, the coroner’s van, complete with attendants, and several reporters had materialized. After all, there was nothing better on the six ‘o clock news than pictures of a dead body.

 

At a quarter of four, Caffery had stepped out of the passenger side of a large black SUV, a grim look on his face while cameras popped off shots of him, and then an appeased sneer of glory once he had stepped pass the crime scene barricade. Despite the hour, looked refreshed and ready for whatever could be thrown at him. Gordon and the other officers that had been working through most of the night, looked as if a slight wind would knock them over.

 

I stepped carefully down the rusted fire escape, being sure not to make my presence heard by any below. When I was on the final landing eight feet above the pavement, I retrieved a digital camera and took a few snap shots of my own. Thanks to the lights set up by the crime scene techs, my flash wasn’t noticed.

 

The meager width of the alley seemed claustrophobic with all of the activity from below. I could only imagine what it must have felt like, being pushed in from the street and attacked in the quiet dark of the night. Where there was no one to reply to any cries for help. For some odd reason, my mind flashed to Crime Alley and how it looked to my eight year old eyes.

 

“Boss, how are things looking?”

 

I shook my head slightly before replying to Oracle, “Caffery and his crew are already taking over the scene. Overheard an argument he had with Gordon about my involvement.”

 

“Ah, that’s too bad, guess you won’t get to be friends with him,” she mocked. I heard her typing in the background and wondered how in the world she was able to put out a hundred and two words per a minute. Before I could ask for information on the newest victim she spoke, “Well, looks like this time our killer picked the wrong girl. Her step-father is Deputy Mayor Charles McGillian. He’s already arranged to speak on Good Morning Gotham News at Six and to hold a press conference later, featuring the FBI profile they have on the suspect. Still uncertain what they plan on doing with the registered sex offenders list.”

 

As I listened, I watched as Caffery pulled up his slacks and squatted next to the victim’s body. He pulled back the covering sheet and stared intently at the savage wounds on her side, ripped skirt and blood shot eyes. I found myself staring as well. “They’ll try to appease the city with a profile, possibly list suspects, but it won’t cover the fact that whoever is doing this is still free.”

 

She agreed quietly and said, “He might be back on track. Killing at the end of the month, trying to resort back to his old pattern in light of his errors recently. Fairly secluded scene, same assault pattern. Maybe he’s, in some sick way, getting his life back in order... Oh, I’ve got Nightwing coming in on the other line. Need anything else?”

 

“No, that should be it for tonight.”

 

I closed the connection and continued to watch the scene as it was catalogued, photographed and cleaned. Once the body was loaded, Caffery’s men had begun to clear the alley in order to return to their vehicles. He, however, had sought out Gordon towards the dumpsters once more, nearly beneath me. I dropped down soundlessly and waited for Caffery to recognize my arrival.

 

As he looked over to speak to Gordon, mouth half opened, his eyes locked onto my face and he involuntarily jerked a step back and swore. Then, after quickly regaining his composure, he pointed a finger in my direction as if blaming me for the death of another young woman, “What the hell are you doing here? This is police business, not a costume party.” His voice was quiet and harsh, and when he stopped talking, the smile I had seen earlier returned to his lips.

 

“Same thing you are doing, Agent Caffery. Solving a murder.” I felt my body tense and had to unclench my fingers from their self-formed fists.

 

“More like tainting a crime scene. How long have you been here?”

 

Although childish, I retorted, “Longer than you.”

 

Gordon stepped between us and said, “It seems damn stupid to be fighting over something so petty... Especially with another dead girl on our heads.”

 

Caffery pointed at himself then Gordon, “Right OUR heads, not yours. Why don’t you busy yourself chasing the Joker or whatever. I’ve got a real crime to solve.” Before he could see the flash of anger that I had let cross my face, he had turned and walked towards the street. I watched as he got into his vehicle and was driven away.

 

I heard my friend sigh quietly and turned to face him. He was wiping his glasses off with the corner of his tie as he stated, “Well, now that he’s left, you should know whose daughter the victim is--,” I cut in and said the Deputy Mayor’s name. He hardly looked surprised and said, “Right as always. This quadruples the pressure to bring this guy in. Although Caffery is known for getting his suspects into custody, I don’t think he’ll find this one to one of his glory cases. And if he does, it’ll be in a rain of bullets, casualties on both sides.”

 

I nodded in agreement before firing a grappling hook to the top of the fire escape that I had descended, “And that’s where I come into play.”

 

By the time I had gotten home, logging in my activities seemed to be the least of my worries. I set the computer to record all news broadcasts on the latest murder and made my way up the stairs after changing into a robe. The Manor was a few degrees warmer and my skin tingled briefly with the change in temperature. With dawn less than an hour away, I wasn’t surprised that Alfred was nowhere to be found.

 

Even he needed to sleep.

 

Moving towards the stairs, I caught the faintest of whiffs of white rice and dark perfume. On the first landing, I heard the first sounds of light jazz as it wafted from the third floor bedroom I had slept in since I was eight years old. When I stood before the open double doors to my quarters, I couldn’t help but smile.

The only illumination came from a few candles that had been lit and placed strategically about the room. Their wax had melted extensively, pooling over onto the tabletops. A saxophone wailed over the small speakers of the radio console on the other side of the room and she moved with the audible bass. On one nightstand, I spotted a white cardboard carry out box of rice and a half empty can of diet cola.

 

Selina was buried beneath the blankets, just as she had been the night before when I had found her. A paperback book had fallen of the edge of the bed and had landed on the carpet. I picked it up and set it beside the near empty container of rice. As I went about blowing out the candles, I heard her roll in the bed and moan slightly. She sat up after a moment and stared at me as I crossed the room, “What time?” her voice asked, muffled and sleep slurred.

 

“Late, go back to sleep.”

 

She yawned as she moved over in the bed and patted the now empty spot on the mattress beside her, “You should take your own advice.”

 

“I rarely do,” I replied before blowing out the last candle flame. The smoke tainted the air of the room but did little to cover Selina’s perfume. As I got under the covers, I felt myself yawning.

 

She shifted closer to me and set her head in the crook of my neck. As her fingers entwined with mine, she asked, “Rough night?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Even though she knew what my reply would be she asked, “Want to talk about it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good, don’t want to hear about it.”

 

“Fine, I don’t want to tell you about it.”

 

“That’s good because--.”

 

I cut her off, “I thought we were sleeping.”

 

“I thought you were being annoying.”

 

I smiled slightly in the cover of darkness and replied, “That was... catty.”

 

Although it was nearly unbearable as she dug her nails into my sides, the look on her face had made it all worthwhile. When her assault finally relented, she rolled away, taking the covers with her and mumbled something about being a few bats short of a belfry.

 

^V^