Willing Victim

Chapter 1

In a town like Gotham City, Halloween is a way of life, not merely a child’s holiday. Just crossing the street is enough to fill the heart of the innocent with dread. Heroes and villains alike wear costumes and jump out of darkened alleys. No one could just be a guy in a suit wielding a gun anymore. But like the condemned man who rides to the gallows complaining of a crick in his neck, the citizens of Gotham use the holiday as a colossal joke. Laughing at your own fears is sometimes the only way to cope. And thus the annual Halloween bash was born. Started by Wayne Enterprises in the late 1980s as a fund-raiser, it had become the social event of the season and anybody who is anybody makes it a point to attend in their spooky finery.

“I feel ridiculous,” Rachel Dawes complained, leaning on Bruce Wayne’s arm for support as she adjusted her shoe. “I thought we had agreed to come as Dorothy and The Scarecrow. I look stupid dressed as Dorothy all by myself.”

“I told you, I didn’t have time to get a costume, Rachel,” he grumbled, tired of having this same conversation for the fifth time that night. “And I’d rather not dress like a scarecrow, thanks.”

“Well you could have done better than that.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared up at the plastic axe sticking out of the top of his head. “At least some fake blood or something.”

“This is a thousand dollar suit, Rachel. I was hardly going to pour Karo syrup over it.” Her eyes roll back in an expression of distaste as she starts off towards the elevator. “Besides, would you rather I’d worn the other?” He raises his eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitches in restrained laughter. By the time they reached the top floor, both were laughing heartily.

The couple was greeted with a barrage of flashbulbs as they walked into the party, already in full swing. The completely glassed in room had been painstakingly decorated with spider webs and grotesque chandeliers that hung heavily over the dinner tables. Waiters whiz past with trays of black champagne. The long buffet tables are adorned with dishes of all descriptions, made to look like an autopsy. A carved pumpkin served as the centerpiece for each table, setting their eerie shadows that dance and flicker against the walls. Most amusing are the aging yuppies trying desperately to dance and keep up with the pounding industrial backbeats of the goth band that plays in an ominous cacophony over the conversation.

“Wow. This… this is different,” Rachel smirked and stared disgustedly at her black champagne.

“I’ve never come to this thing before. But Alfred said I should make an appearance. Do you want to leave?”

“No, it’s fine. Just not what I would expect from Wayne Enterprises.”

“It IS for charity, Rachel. I thought you of all people would appreciate that.” Bruce shot a sarcastic smile and downed his glass of champagne.

“I do. But I was envisioning something more… sophisticated at three-hundred bucks a head.” Her thoughts were cut short as a mob of Bruce Wayne groupies surrounded them.

“So glad you could make it tonight, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce put on his “Billionaire Playboy” persona and turned around, his fake toothy smile in place. “Of course I made it. It is, after all, my party.” Rachel shook her head and wandered off towards the bandstand. She hated it when he acted like this. Even though she knew it was all pretend, it still made her feel like a charity case friend. Even though they had agreed to ignore their feelings for each other, it made her jealous to think of all those old biddies over there introducing their desperate debutante daughters to him. She could almost see the meat hooks they were dying to imbed in his blue-blooded back.

The hardened beats of the song ended and a small girl took the stage. Her skin was alabaster white and stood out behind deep blue eyes, sunken in black liner. Her black hair was chopped haphazardly around her face and stood up in different directions all over. The black leather, buckled corset threatened to push her ample breast completely into the open and the light caught a small black tattoo tucked just over the curve of them. As soon as she opened her mouth and began to sing, it seemed that the entire room turned to look at her. Her voice, clear and sad, evoked an atmosphere of sex, despair, and darkness. Rachel stared up into the girl’s eyes and moved closer. People that would never so much as crack a smile began to sway with the haunting melody. Every deep down emotion that Rachel kept in a secret and hidden place within threatened to break free. She could feel her eyes burn with tears and her mouth became a desert. “Bruce,” she whispered almost inaudibly, but it sounded to her like a thousand voices screaming all at once. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she shook her head trying to break free. She stumbled backwards and found herself caught by Bruce, mere inches from where she began.

“Are you alright?” he asked, steering her away from the crowd.

“I’m fine. It’s just…” She put her hand to her forehead, wiping the tiny beads of sweat that had gathered on her brow. “It’s so hot in here.”

“No kidding. I suppose it’s because there are so many people all gathered in one place. Do we need to go?”

Rachel smiled. Good old Bruce. He really was that kid she had known so long ago. Desperate to please her. She mentally kicked herself for criticizing him earlier. “I think I’ll be okay. But maybe we should get some food. I shouldn’t drink this---” she observed the drink in her hand, “whatever it is on an empty stomach.”

As the song ended, Darcy Sylvan dropped the microphone with an unceremonious thump. “I can’t believe you talked us into this, Erik.”

The tall guitar player turned as she spoke to him. “Talked you into what? A gig is a gig. And Wayne pays better than the Shadow Lounge.” Erik walked over to Darcy and put his arm affectionately around her waist. “Besides, play your cards right, maybe you’ll go home with a billionaire too.” He nodded to the brood of future desperate housewives that were flocking around Bruce Wayne.

“No thank you. I have no interest in being part of that soul-sucking fascist machine.” She tightened her grip on Erik and arched up to kiss his chin. “I’m much happier here.” He smiled and kissed her ardently on the mouth. When she noticed that they were being watched, she pulled away, laughing. “Let’s get a drink before we scandalize anyone.”

They made their way across the room, nodding and smiling as people showered compliments on them. “I didn’t even know I liked spooky music.” They stood, almost paralyzed, by the disgusting display of caviar, unable to move for the endless stream of country club rejects.

“Very interesting music,” a voice from behind Darcy spoke softly. She turned, fake smile at the ready, and nearly choked on her words.

“Mr. Wayne. Thank you.” She smiled, the blush rising in her cheeks. “I take it that this crowd doesn’t see much darkwave.”

“No it doesn’t. Didn’t you see them dancing?” They both laughed and she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye to see that Erik had been ushered towards the stage by their sound technician.

“At least they were trying. I’m Darcy Sylvan, by the way.”

“I’m--”

“I know who you are, Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce.”

“As you wish. But thank you for hiring us. We usually scuttle along the underbelly of the city.” A corner of her mouth inched up in a sarcastic smirk. “If you couldn’t tell, we’re not used to it--” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at the axe sticking out of his head. She looked confused for a minute and then began to laugh.

“Are you alright?” He chuckled, watching her double over.

“Yes. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“What?”

“Your uh--- costume?”

“OH! This!” He laughed and pointed to the axe. “It was kind of last minute.”

“Don’t you think he could have done better?” Rachel stepped up beside him and took his arm possessively. “We were supposed to be Dorothy and the Scarecrow.”

“Yes, shame on you!” She punched Bruce’s arm playfully and looked to Rachel. “Hello, I’m Darcy Sylvan.” She offered her hand to Rachel.

“Rachel Dawes.” The girls shook hands politely. “Your voice is almost… intoxicating.”

“Well thanks. That is a compliment right?”

“Most definitely.” Rachel smiled and pulled Bruce along. “Bruce, you have to meet Senator Matthews. He came all this way to talk to you. Excuse us, Miss Sylvan.”

“Bye-bye now,” Darcy waved and grinned sarcastically as they walked away.

Erik walked up, grabbing her from behind. “Done flirting, are we?”

“I was not flirting.”

“Mmmhmm… sure you weren’t. I told you. You could be the future Mrs. Wayne.”

“Oh I think there’s someone already in the running, love.” She turned and embraced Erik. “And I happen to love you.”

“But all this could be yours.” He laughed and did a “Vanna White” gesture around the room.

“Come on… we have to start the next set, silly.” She giggled and pulled him by the hand. “He is cute, though. I could settle for being his booty call anyway.”

******************************************

The night was nearing its close when the first of them politely excused themselves from their tables and began to gather near the balcony. Each one dressed in all-black tuxedoes with jeweled masquerade masks covering their faces. It’s interesting how small details get lost when you’re having fun. No one had noticed the men, dressed almost identically, that had imbedded themselves within the crowd of the party. Each one had kept up his mysterious persona all night, flirting and charmingly relieving several of the ladies of their diamond necklaces and earrings-- never being noticed. That is, until one, much taller, more regal, and nearly invisible, stepped onto the bandstand and took the rose from his lapel. The shrouded men took this as their cue and positioned themselves strategically before pulling their smooth, shiny silver guns from their jackets. Still no one stirred from their champagne and martinis until the man on the stage kissed the rose lightly and threw it like an expert dart player, piercing the heart of an unsuspecting Senator Matthews. Instantly the crowd stopped, speechless for a moment and then erupted into chaos.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” He shouted over Mrs. Matthews’s wailing. She desperately tried to cover and stay the blossoming red wound over her husband’s breast. “A Happy Halloween to you all!” He laughed, gravelly and sinister, “Those who do not wish to share the Senator’s fate, open your pocketbooks to the less-fortunate.” Several people towards the back turned in an attempt to flee the room until they were stopped by the deafening thud of the large oaken doors being slammed shut. “Don’t leave now… the party’s just begun.”

Rachel’s eyes got wider as she watched the scene unfold around them. Bruce took her arm, pulling her from the crowd and averting her eyes from the near-dead Senator. “Bruce… oh my god…”

“Ssshh… this way,” he whispered, leading her to the corner of the room. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“But the Senator…”

“There’s nothing that can be done for the Senator now. “

“Bruce! We can’t just let him die!”

Losing patience with her, Bruce stopped behind the bandstand, out of view of their attackers. “He’s already dead, Rachel,” he whispered fiercely. “But the rest of these people aren’t. So would you just shut up before we’re the ones on the ground bleeding.” The curtain behind the band extended down the entire length of the room and they hurried along it until they came to a small door to the staircase. Bruce shoved Rachel through it and ducked inside.

Since Wayne Manor burned down nearly a year ago, Bruce and Alfred had turned a floor of Wayne Tower into temporary quarters for them both. Luckily, the applied science lab made a sufficient Batcave while the new one was being constructed. Bruce had hoped that he‘d be able to use it just for storage, but it seemed that the crime waves in Gotham had only gotten worse since the previous summer‘s triumph. “What do we do now?” Rachel asked, frantically trying to keep up with Bruce as he pulled her down the flight of stairs.

“When we get to the 30th floor, go into the penthouse and call Gordon. Tell Alfred to meet me in the science lab downstairs.” Rachel nodded and stood motionless in shock in front of the back door to the penthouse floor. “Hurry!” he shouted, snapping her back to reality. Turning to leave her, he sprinted down the corridor to the service elevator that would take him at top speed to the lab.

******************************************

The masked men were working efficiently, emptying the purses and wallets of the privileged citizens of Gotham City with speed and ease. After the Senator’s example, no one dared put up a fight when it was their turn to hand over the goods. The supposed leader stood motionless and smiling on the stage, looking down at his henchmen’s progress. Darcy stood still beside him, afraid to move, despite Erik’s whispered pleas to come to him. She caught a glimpse of the madman out of the corner of her eye and was sure that she saw his blue eye wink in her direction. He held the same silvery gun that the rest did, only he didn’t raise it once. So smug and certain of his plan that he had no need to show off. Though she wished she could turn it off, the butterflies in her stomach raced at the thought of this man’s power. A fluttering that radiated from the pit of her belly and sent shockwaves lower. As she looked at his partially obscured face, she was sure that she knew him. He caught her staring and turned on her. “And what of you, Miss Sylvan? Anything to offer?” He walked over to her, standing so close that she could smell him. A mixture of soap and shampoo with a slight medicinal, almost antiseptic scent that lurked beneath the spicy sweetness. She pushed a choppy layer of hair behind her ear, exposing the one diamond stud that sat way up in the shell of her ear. She made a move to take it out, but he waved her hand away. Leaning in close, his thin fingers moved gently, his fingertips brushing the side of her cheek as he worked, removing the stud from her ear and punching the post through his lapel.

“Take your hands off of her,” a calm, gruff voice sounded from someplace overhead. The crowd gasped audibly and the leader grabbed Darcy from behind, roughly pressing her body to him, his free hand holding the gun to her chin.

“Show yourself,” he growled, looking around franticly.

“Let her go.” Batman swung down from the scaffolding, landing in front of them. “You’ll never get out of here.”

“Are you really as dumb as you look, Bat-freak? Don’t you think I’ve calculated every detail of my plan? Come any closer and I will spray her pretty little brains all over these nice people.” Darcy whimpered and tried to shift out of his grasp, but he held her too tightly.

“Oh yes, it takes a brilliant mind to threaten an unarmed girl and hide behind a mask.”

“You take off yours, I’ll take off mine.” In a swift movement, the man threw Darcy at Batman and swung around, pummeling the glass walls with bullets and laughing as they shattered. Chaos erupted and people began screaming and pushing towards the doors. Batman slid Darcy to the floor where she crawled away, clawing at the floor and calling out for help. He looked up to see the masked leader go for escape through the broken glass and lunged towards him, using his body to knock the smaller man down. They rolled over and over on the floor, both fighting for dominance over the other. The masked psychopath laughed maniacally, trying desperately to shove the gun into the face of the Dark Knight. “Are you motherfucking invincible now, Bat-freak!?”

“Are you?” And with that, he punched the gun slightly, causing it to bash against the bridge of his adversary’s nose. “You seem to bleed like any other.” Just when he thought he’d pinned his opponent, the masked foe managed to get off a cheap shot-- connecting his bony fist with the weak spot in the suit at the Batman’s throat, making him stumble backwards. With a dexterous backward tumble, the villain made it to the broken window and the convenient rope that hung there loosely. Batman charged for him again, taking out the wire-gun and aiming to catch him, but the masked man had better ideas. “You have a choice, Bat-freak…me…” Before anyone knew what was going on, he had kicked Erik hard in the belly, sending him backwards and out the window. “Or one of your precious fans…” Laughing, he threw the mask aside and slid down the rope, waving to Erik as he fell. Batman and Darcy ran to the window, the latter screaming and crying for her lover. She sighed in relief as she saw that Erik had managed to grab the ledge and dangled below them.

“Help me, please,” Erik whimpered, his fingers starting to slip.

“I’m coming, just hold on,” Batman replied. By this time the crowd had gathered around the ledge, watching. Anchoring himself with a cable from his belt, Batman leaned down, offering his hand to the other man. “Take my hand.”

“I can’t… I’ll fall.”

“Just trust me,” he replied calmly.

“Please, Erik. Just do what he says,” Darcy pleaded.

Holding on tight, Erik swung his left hand up, taking the Batman’s hand. The Dark Knight growled in his exertion to pull the other man up. At first, he didn’t move, but after a moment started to rise slowly towards the window. “Almost there, Erik,” he groaned. One last pull should do it and then he slipped. Darcy saw it in slow motion as Erik’s hand slipped from the Batman’s grasp and he fell, screaming to the pavement below.

********************************************

Darcy Sylvan stood alone in the graveyard a week after her lover, and best friend, had been murdered during the Gotham Halloween Bash. Erik had no family to speak of, and few friends other than their band mates-- so the funeral was simple. Just graveside with a grand total of seven people in attendance. Wayne Enterprises had paid for most of it. Even sent a huge flower arrangement with a sympathy card from Bruce Wayne. It had been over for hours, but still Darcy sat in the wet grass in front of the fresh grave. A simple stone monument that read: Erik Drago, 1975- 2005 stood at the head of the mound of dirt. Darcy laughed through the tears that rolled down her face at the tragic irony of it all. After all he’d done for her, all that was left of his life amounted to a tiny marble gravestone and a few unfinished songs.

Erik had found Darcy sleeping on the sidewalk outside of his apartment when she was only eighteen. She hadn’t begun to live until the day she met him. Her life had been one long string of disasters from the beginning. Her mother died when she was so young that she couldn’t remember what she looked like. Her father had tried to love Darcy after that, but he could see so much of his dead wife in her face, that over the years, his love turned to resentment, then to hate, and finally, indifference. By the time she was 12, she’d been passed from one relative to the next and eventually ended up in an overcrowded foster home where the “mother” called you to breakfast with lit cigarette butts and the “father” liked you as long as you kept your mouth shut about his late-night visits. Darcy had taken it as long as she could, but finally one night, she couldn’t keep quiet anymore and she cried out when he nearly ripped her in two, raping her for the first time. She went right on screaming until the whole house was awake. But instead of taking her side, her foster mom had jerked her up by the hair and thrown her out into the rain, her few clothes not far behind. She lived on the street for years, learning where to hide, where to keep warm and how. As hard as it was to believe, the Narrows was safer for sewer rats like her. She could stay just under the radar and go by unnoticed.

She had taken to sleeping in the small, decrepit parking garage next to Arkham Mental Asylum and that was where she met Erik. His apartment was over a tiny Chinese apothecary shop on the other side of the hospital. He parked in the garage so his car wouldn’t get stolen. He saw Darcy sitting quietly, leaned against a pillar, her arms pulled inside her shirt to keep warm. Something about the tragic innocence in her eyes and her graceful movements touched him. He had offered her help and kindness-- something no other man had ever done before. That night she slept on his couch, a few weeks later, in his bed. He’d taught her to sing, how to live, how to trust, and most importantly, how to love. And now he was gone.

Darcy dissolved into a new wave of sobs that shook her body. “What will I do now, Erik? I’ve never been very good at living without you. And the truth is, I don’t want to try. I keep thinking about that night and when that man held that gun to my throat and all I could think about was, ‘Dear God, don’t let me die because I can’t live without Erik.’ I wanted to live so badly----” Her voice cracked and broke with new tears, “But now… now I wish I was dead.” Giving over to her sorrow, she laid down on the fresh dirt, digging her fingers into it, hoping and praying that the air pockets would give way and the Earth would swallow her up. She laid there in the rain for a long time, but no reprieve of death came. “Erik…” she whispered, “there’s nothing else to live for.”

“There’s always something to live for,” a quiet voice spoke from somewhere above her. “Vengeance, for example.”

Darcy stared up at the dark figure standing over her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and peered through the sheets of rain. “Who are you?”

“Just a friend. Come on. You’ll catch cold if you stay out here much longer. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” He kneeled down beside her and tipped her chin up to look at him. His eyes were the first thing that struck her. So blue they were almost transparent, but they stared right through her. They were so cold, as if something sinister lurked behind them, but also a keen awareness. “Your life is not over, Darcy.”

“How did you know my name?”

“It is unimportant. What is important is that you come with me now, before you catch your death.” Something about the way he said ‘death’ made Darcy’s blood run both hot and cold. “I can take the pain away.” His generous mouth twisted into a smile and he offered his hand to her. And for reasons unbeknownst to her at the time, she took it.