Perfect Dark pt 9(PG-13)
Jessica Waters hunched her coat up against her body, trying her hardest to ward off the cool wind.
Her stupid little windbreaker did nothing to actually break much of anything!
She was feeling particularly vulnerable dressed in her "uniform" of thigh-length boots, and leopard skin dress.
And Mr. Dayland had been in a particular rush that night to undress her, do their business, and get her out of there before his wife came back.
It hadn't bothered her too much, rushing and the thought of getting caught just turned her on.
Sighing, she hurried along between each dismal patch of street light that lined the sidewalk outside of Gotham Park Towers'.
It was the ridiculous stretch of darkened sidewalk all too common around Gotham that almost made her laugh.
She didn't though, she was too scared.
Only a few more feet. she thought, spotting her car, not less than six feet away.
Smiling weakly, she walked around to the driver's side and began to unlock and open her door.
Feeling a presence behind her, she turned her head and checked the empty street behind her.
Immeadiately she felt a cold hand grasp her neck and force her onto the cool plush-lined seats of her Honda.
Turning around she screamed at the sight of two sickly green eyes.
A leering smile painted onto a chalk white face, framed by mishappen hair.
Frozen with fear she felt him begin to hike her dress up to her chest.
She begin to scream as he entered her, and simultaneously drew a knife across her neck.
Dragging it against her soft flesh, he begin to apply pressure, until finally it broke.
She gagged, blood pouring out of her body across the ground.
He began to press his face into it, drinking it as if he'd been in a dessert hell for the past year.
Pushing himself into her even harder, he surrendered to her dying body.
Commishner Gordon, ran a hand through his stark white hair, watching as forensics specialists began to clean up the aftermath of what had been a horrific discovery.
A prostitue found, throat punctured, drained of quite a significant amount of blood, and finally raped.
Her eyes stared ahead at the sky, up to the brillant fire in the heavens.
Bloodshot, and cold.
Harvey stood beside him, graying temples, 5 'o clock shadow on full strong.
"Whaddya think Commish? I really got nothin' on this one."
"If I told you what I think Harvey, you wouldn't have the stomach for it." the Commishner said solemnly.
"Hey, where's the freak, takin' a day off or sometin'?"
"He's somewhere, maybe even here right now, he and the boy, waiting for us to leave so the real investigation can begin." the Commishner said turning around, "Alright clear out, we wanna get out of hear before Summer can have a chance to show her face."
"What about the body?"
"Nothin' we can do for her, tell Gene to take it to have an autopsy, find out everything we can,.." his voice trailing off into thought.
"Ai'ight Commish." Harvey said placing a reasuring hand onto his old friend's shoulder.
Slowly, one by one, they pulled off. Lighting an invisible trail down the street, the Calvary off to ride again.
Bruce sat on the side of the bed, back to Selina's sleeping frame.
Turning to face her, he traced her curves and folds with tired eyes.
He'd thought something about somehing when he'd found her with A.J.
But that had all been erased in the false ectasy she provided.
His mind becomming fully consumed in what was to come, worrying about the cold silence that always followed, and wishing for a chance to truly hold her in his arms and tell her what he really thought, but never could.
Sometimes being inside of her almost made it feel like happiness was within reach.
Other's it felt like all they had to offer each other were tears, and blood.
Memories of happiness forgotten.
He smiled at her naked body, like the day she was born.
She never slept under the covers when they were done, always preferring to lay in her full glory, for his hungry eyes to ponder, and conceive.
Pulling on his pants, he proceeded to give her a kiss on the cheek but decided against it, not fully comfortable with the idea.
Gathering the covers around him, he crept silently to the oaken doors that provided an invisible force field, separating it from the rest of the house.
Turning the knobs, he ducked into the hallway, and silently closed the doors behind him.
Walking calmly down the hallway, he found A.J.'s room.
A long time had passed since his floor lay strewn with various toys and books which he delighted in throwing onto the floor as soon as Alfred had managed to put them in their proper place again.
Bruce smiled weakly.
Now A.J.'s room was kept in perfect order, his perfectionism shining through.
Books lined in alphabetical order on the shelves, clothes folded in thirds inside of his drawers.
Him laying on his back, hands at his sides, tightened into fists.
He never sweated in his sleep, face perfectly dry, even on the hottest summer night.
Always bare-chested, even in the dead of winter, when Jack Frost beat an angry fist against the aging house.
Now fall was just beginning to set in, the wind beginning to warn at Jack's coming.
Bruce watched with emotionless eyes as A.J.'s chest swelled, and fell with each breath.
He was proud of A.J. in the sense that he kept flawless grades easily, only slacking when he became bored, and then only to an A-, how athletically skilled he was at his young age.
He even surpassed Dick in some abilities.
He felt small arms close around his stomach, turning to see Selina's calm face, dressed in his nightshirt.
"You couldn't possibly be angry with me, and you know you can't" she teased leading him out of A.J.'s bedroom for a chat in the hall.
"I thought we agreed you wouldn't be Catwoman anymore." he said coldly, their passion lost for good.
She let go of his hand and turned away, "It's not fair, you know it isn't, you run out there every night, chasing God knows who, and for what?
"What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon? And the day after that, and the next thirty years?"-- F. Scott Fitzgerald
"Maybe we need a war...it may be the last of the tonics."-- Norman Mailer, 1966
'Why of the sheep do you not learn peace?'
'Because I don't want you to shear my fleece.'-- An Answer To The Parson, William Blake