Willing Victim

A/N: You know the drill... we're all thieves.


Darcy looked down at her watch with an annoyed sigh. Nearly 1am. She was already beginning to feel the chills and nervousness that accompanied a crash when she heard Jonathan’s shoes crunching against the ground as he walked back to the car. She looked up and watched him as he approached the car. He was wiping his face and hands on a handkerchief, shaking his head. When he opened the driver’s side door and got in, he was wearing an odd expression that let Darcy know that she shouldn’t say anything. They rode through the streets of Gotham in silence. He drove her small, black Honda with the same precision one might use to perform an autopsy. No jerky stops as he pressed the clutch or changed gears. He always used the blinker and drove fast, but not erratically. Darcy smiled, you could tell a lot about a person by the way they drove a car. He came to a stoplight about a block from her house and stopped, turning to her. “Do you want to go home?”

“Uhm…well… I just assumed that I’d stay with you.”

“What on Earth would make you assume that?” he snarled coldly and turned back to the wheel. “As you wish.” He drove on towards the bridge and didn’t say any more. Darcy stared at him in disbelief, rolling his words over and over in her head. His moods seemed so changeable. One minute he was kissing her and saying how much he wanted her. And the next he could be cold as ice. It was weird. And she was mildly disturbed by the fact that she’d nearly been killed in that alley and he said nothing. And almost seemed angry with her for being attacked.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked as they came to a stop in the alley beside his building.

“Why would you think that?” He didn’t stop to look at her, but got out of the car quickly and made long strides to the door and began unlocking it.

She took to the stairs behind him, “Well, because you haven’t said a word to me since we left the club except for when you asked me if I wanted to go home.”

“I never get angry. Disappointed perhaps.” He pushed the door open with his shoulder and held it open for her. She came through and noticed as she walked past him that his hair was wet.

“You’re disappointed? Why? You didn’t really expect me to kill that kid, did you?” She narrowed her eyes, studying his expression.

“I expected you to defend yourself.”

“I did. Dear God, I nearly beat the man to death.” He didn’t say anything more, but walked into another room and she could hear him rummaging through cabinets. “And even if he did deserve worse, my conscience would never let me.”

He walked back into the room, a full syringe in the palm of his hand. “Someday your conscience might kill you, Darcy. Do you really think that Gotham would have missed him? He probably left you and went on to some other, more defenseless, creature. How does your conscience feel about that?”

“I’m not the executioner. I leave that to---”

“To whom? The police?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Have you noticed how incompetent the Gotham City Police Department is? You of all people should know. For God’s sake Darcy, they rely on a mentally disturbed guy dressed up like a giant bat to do their work for them. All those lunatics that escaped last summer, have they apprehended any of them?”

“Well--”

“No. They haven’t. At least not the most dangerous ones. And what about your precious Erik? Do they have any leads in finding his killer?”

Darcy turned away from him, knowing that he was right. Lieutenant Gordon had called her in last week to explain that they were so sorry, but had little hope of ever finding the masked burglars that had attacked the Halloween party. “That’s not the point. The point is… I’m a good person… and I could never allow myself to take another life.” She said this quietly, as if secretly trying to convince herself of the fact.

Jonathan laughed again, a cold laughter that chilled to the marrow of her bones. “What is good, anyway? Here in Gotham, the lines are drawn so pale, it’s impossible to define. The so-called good guys wear ridiculous costumes to chase down the so-called bad guys who are also hiding behind costumes, masks, and makeup.”

“The Batman is good because he tries to help people, not hurt them.” Darcy tensed her expression, trying to stand firm on her argument. “That’s what defines them.”

“Oh grow up, Darcy! The Batman didn’t help you very well, did he? If you want to find the real killer of your precious Erik, you need not look further than that freak.”

“You don’t know anything about it---” She rounded on Jonathan and narrowed her eyes, taking an offensive step towards him.

“I know plenty, my love. I was there. I saw it. I seem to remember that he had two choices-- save Erik or catch the perpetrator. He could have saved Erik if he’d just let the guy go, but no… he couldn’t do that. He wanted to be the big hero. Save the innocent and catch the bad guy. He was thinking through it so carefully, you could almost hear the wheels turning.” Jonathan looked at her with a crazed expression and came towards her, backing her up with each step. “If he saved Erik, but not the killer, the papers would say, ‘Bat-man outsmarted by supervillain.’ But if he caught the killer and let Erik die, they would have said, ‘Bat-man sacrifices innocent to catch perpetrator.’ He couldn’t decide which was worse, so he ultimately decided not to choose. He hesitated, just as you did tonight and came up empty-handed. His pride killed your lover, Darcy. And we all know that pride is one of the seven deadly sins. He killed your Erik as sure as if he’d shot him.”

He’d backed Darcy up against the wall with his tirade and her resolve had started to fail. Big tears started to well up in the corners of her eyes and tumble down her cheeks. “Why are you torturing me like this?”

“I’m not the one torturing you, love. You do it to yourself by ignoring the truth.”

“I never ignore the truth.”

“Of course you do. Depending on superheroes and morality to save you from the horrors of human existence. When the cold, hard truth is… we’re all alone.”

“Is that what you think? That we’re alone. That no one loves us.”

“I believe in one basic truth Darcy. Someone hurts me, I hurt them back. And you would do well to believe it too.”

“Who hurt you so bad to make you feel this way?”

“Oh please… spare me the psychiatric evaluation. People have been hurting me my whole life and when I finally came to the realization that they were really just afraid or jealous, I used it to hurt them back. You just took it like a pathetic punching bag. Making yourself a great, black hole that everyone could pour all of their hurt and sorrow into. Take your so-called friends. I’ll tell you another cold, hard truth-- they don’t love you either. They love what you can do for them. You are an incredibly talented and gifted woman, Darcy. They can never be what you are, so they hang on to your coattails and hope you drag them along. As soon as you take them as far as they can go, they’ll abandon you.”

“Mya isn’t like that.”

“Mya is the worst of them. She can’t bear to live a life of her own, so she lives vicariously through you.”

“So no one loves me and I should just accept it and become full of hatred?” she asked tearfully, finally slipping past him and sinking to the couch.

He followed her and sat down beside her, taking her hand in both of his. “No… you don’t have to be alone. I love you, Darcy. I will never deceive you or hurt you. Never expect anything in return for my love. I just don’t want you to be a pathetic weakling like most of the wretched creatures that inhabit our world. And it is OUR world, Darcy.” He smiled strangely and rested his forehead against hers. “We can have it all.”

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

Darcy tossed and turned, pressing her eyes closed in an attempt to sleep. She rolled over on her side, staring at the green numbers of the digital clock beside the bed. She could hear Jonathan breathing beside her, slow and evenly. Usually a sound like that would have been very relaxing, but she just couldn’t seem to quiet her mind. She must have been building a tolerance for the “medicine” she’d been taking for a little over a month, as it didn’t put her to sleep like it used to. But fortunately, it did still deaden her depression.

His words rolled over and over in her mind. He had apologized for being so harsh and held her tightly, asking for forgiveness. She’d told him that it was alright, that they’d both had a stressful night, but she couldn’t help but wonder what would make him say those things? Maybe he was right. Maybe there was no good versus evil anymore. Just people killing people. If she’d killed that boy outside The Oubliette, would it have made any difference at all? Would she have spared another woman from being attacked? Probably not. She’d kill him, cut off his head, and another would grow in its place. And the things he’d said about the night of Erik’s death… they sounded crazy on the surface, but deep down she knew he was right. The Batman had hesitated. He had tried to catch them both. It was his hand that did the dropping. And Jonathan said he’d been there… seen the whole thing. But she didn’t remember seeing him. Surely she would have remembered seeing him there. Jonathan didn’t have a face that one was likely to forget. But maybe it was just the after-effects of whatever the fuck that was he’d sprayed in her face earlier. Maybe it only sounded crazy because she felt so crazy… so out of control. When she’d been kicking the shit out of that pathetic animal tonight… it felt good. Like she’d never be sad or abused ever again. She felt powerful, so much moreso than she had on the stage.

But still, there was something about the man lying beside her that was out of place. She was sure that they’d met before. She turned over slightly and laid her arm across his chest, feeling it rise and fall, trying to make sure that he was in fact asleep. She sat up on her elbow and looked down at him. He laid on his back, one arm stretched over his head, the other across his stomach. His face was turned away from her, but she could see his profile. He looked completely different while he slept. Kind of like how lions always look so cute while they’re asleep, but when they’re awake, they chew your face off. His long eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as he dreamt. Every now and then he would take a deep breath and sigh or brush a stray curl from his forehead. “What are you hiding?” she whispered, leaning down and kissing the crest of his cheekbone. He stirred a little, groaning softly and turning over on his side, away from her. “Always keeping me at arm’s length.”

She sat up slowly, trying not to shake the bed as she crawled out. She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the light. The stark whiteness of the walls made her squint as the neon lamp overhead fluttered on. She ran her fingers over the tiles, looking for some small flaw, but just like everything else… there was nothing. Some kind of dangerous curiosity came over her and she found herself opening drawers and cabinets, examining every little thing. Toothbrush, nail clippers, what looked like a small case for contact lenses, hairbrush, razor and blades-- nothing untoward. She pulled back the shower curtain and expected to find a disgusting soap scum ring like every other man had, but no. It was freakishly clean. A neat organizer hung over the showerhead with a bottle of shampoo, soap, and a washcloth-- all still wet from his shower. The only strange thing being a small reddish-brown dot on the white tile. “Hmm… that’s odd…” She stepped back and bumped into the door, which bounced on its hinges and she dropped down on her knees, as if to hide from the noise. “Sssshhh…” she told herself, standing up and exiting the bathroom slowly. The noise obviously hadn’t disturbed Jonathan, as he still laid in the bed, unmoving.

Darcy tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind her, relieved that she didn’t have to be so quiet now. She moved through the apartment, examining his things thoroughly. The bookshelves were lined with heavy, leather-bound books on every subject. A large cabinet on one side of the living room had been closed every time she’d been there. Maybe that’s where the TV is, she thought, trying the knob and opening it easily. There was no TV, but a stereo and lots of CDs strewn around it. She picked up one of the jewel cases and saw that it was one of the Belladonna’s Kiss indie albums. Darcy smiled, glad that he did show some interest in her life. She replaced the CD, careful to leave nothing out of place. Before closing the cabinet, something shiny caught her eye and she reached out for it. A large key ring with several keys hanging off of it had been pushed into the back of this cabinet. She held the keys close to her eyes, examining each one, but they were unmarked. “Where do these go?” She looked around, making sure she was still alone before sprinting to the door.

The door opened on to the narrow staircase that they had been going up and down for weeks. She closed the door behind her and made her way down the stairs to the next landing. A small door with a tiny squarish window opened into another long corridor. It was so dark that she couldn’t see two feet in front of herself. She felt along the wall, looking for a lightswitch and finding none. She stepped slowly, feeling her way down the corridor. A scent of advanced age wafted through her nostrils. Burning leaves and disinfectant burned her eyes. She felt her hand brush by a doorknob and she stopped, twisting it. “Damnit… locked.” She touched around the knob looking for a keyhole. When she found it, she kept her fingertip against it as she tried each key until finally she heard the click of the lock and the heavy door opened. She coughed at the unnatural, putrid smell that smacked her in the face as she stepped inside. It smelled distinctly of human waste in here and she wanted to get out as soon as possible. She backed up to leave and stumbled against the wall behind her, hitting the lightswitch.

When the lights came on, she could see that it was some type of hospital room. A creaky iron bed stood against one wall, chained to the floor. The sheets were crumpled in a pile in the center of the mattress and there was no pillow. Attached to the frame were two sets of leather restraints that dangled heavily against the floor. An old IV stand laid on its side on the floor. “Where the hell am I?” she said aloud to herself. She backed out of the room, not bothering to put out the lights and continued down the corridor, only finding more rooms practically identical to the first.

At the other end of the corridor was another set of doors that led into an elevator. Darcy looked over her shoulder again, not sure if she wanted to do this, but curiosity was getting the best of her. She stepped into the elevator and the doors closed, but it didn’t move. “Oh great… I’m stuck.” She tried to breathe calmly, as she thought her way out of this. She saw the keyhole out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe that will open the doors.” She tried key after key until one finally fit, but the doors didn’t open. Instead the elevator began to move downwards. The dim light in the elevator flickered menacingly as she moved deeper and deeper into the building. It finally stopped, the doors opening into another darkened room. She could feel concrete under her feet instead of the cold tiles of the other corridor. She ran her hand over the walls until she found another light. When she flicked it on, the sight was startling.

The room looked like a medical examination room. A huge light hung from an arm that allowed it to be moved back and forth. Unlike the other rooms, this one was clean, everything painstakingly polished. A large examination table stood in the center with more of those leather restraints attached, but this time, not only were there cuffs at either end, but also two wide straps, meant to restrain the body as well. A large file cabinet stood at one end. Darcy walked over to it, tugging on the top drawer and to her surprise, it opened without the use of one of those keys. She pulled out a stack of files and examined their covers. “Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. Oh my God… this must be the same building. But why on Earth would Jonathan want to live here?” The words died on her lips and her subconscious mind hitched. She blocked it and went on looking through the files. “Stewart, Maxwell… admitted June 2001... admitting resident, Dr. Jonathan Crane…serial murderer and rapist… diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder… sociopathic tendencies… began regiment of 150 cc #542 on 7/6/01... Increased dosage 8/12/01... Deceased 10/ 23/ 01... Cause of death unknown… ” She tossed the file aside and opened the next. Each one admitted by Dr. Crane, each one deceased before they’d been there a year. The more she read, the more disturbed she became. “They all died. Why did they all die?”

She dropped the files and went to the cabinets that lined the walls. She opened one and saw that the shelves were full of glass vials, all labeled with numbers and dates. She examined them carefully, pulling one down and noticing that written on the tiny paper label were the initials D.S.. “What’s D.S?” she whispered, then dropped the vial as the realization began to come crashing down on her like the shards of glass. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she closed the cabinet and began to walk over to the desk on the other side of the room. She could see a crumpled bit of cloth lying on the desk. Her breathing became labored as she went towards it, knowing she didn’t really want to see whatever it was.

She picked up the burlap hood and stared at it in disbelief. The eyeholes looked to have been ripped into the cloth rather than cut. The mouth a distorted, stitched up grin. She sank to the floor, clutching the mask to her chest as she let the truth wash over her in a wave of uncontrollable tears. “It can’t be true…” she whispered, hiding her face in the folds of the burlap mask. “It just can’t be true…”

“What the fuck are you doing in here, Darcy?”