Watched

The night is cold for August. No clouds obscure the stars; no clouds can, because the stars are already obliterated by the city lights that never go out. This city is one of many that never sleeps. Not that it matters. What city sleeps these days, anyway? What person can sleep in these difficult times? Haunted by the threat of nuclear war, silently fuming because a promise was not kept. It was to be the War to End All Wars. Instead, it will simply be World War II.

A victim of this foul era is on her way home. She is young. She is vulnerable. In the very back of her mind, cowering behind some long lost memories, are thoughts of these masked vigilantes. These super-men. These all-American heroes. Subconsciously she wonders where they've gone, when once - in her father's childhood, perhaps - they promised to protect them all from another war. The bubbling resentment all children grow up with these days simmers within her. She does not trust the masks. She trusts only herself. Her father certainly isn't trustworthy.

With a shake of the head, as though trying to displace a troublesome fly, the girl tries to branch away from this train of thought. There is nothing to be afraid of, of course. Nuclear war within the week? Those morons at Nova are just stirring up trouble again. She doesn't put her faith in tawdry newspapers. She puts her trust in what she sees.

The thought has barely crossed her mind when a shadow flickers up ahead. She blinks, and squints forward into the darkness. She shivers - not out of fear, for that is ever-present and easy to ignore - but because a chill breeze has lifted her shirt. She pulls it down, sorry she hadn't worn a jacket. She stares at the pool of light where the shadow, so briefly, wavered. The streetlight illuminating the sidewalk flickers and dies.

Her footsteps falter. She stops.

Many grotesque and terrifying prospects present themselves to her. A rapist. A serial killer. A gang. A rabies-infected cat.

She takes another step forward, feeling her heel scrape the wet concrete. She continues on her way home. The sick fantasies playing themselves out in her mind begin to fade.

"You."

She jumps, and turns to face the narrow alley she'd been about to pass. Her heart rate quickens painfully, and she suddenly finds it hard to breathe.

"You went somewhere. Took a long time. Where?"

A man in an overcoat - a man hardly taller than she, and yet somehow towering over her - steps halfway into the light. His wide-brimmed hat would have hidden his face, anyway. His voice is deep, gravely, toneless. She doesn't need to see his face to know who she's encountered.

"R - ... Rorschach?" she whispers. Her feeble voice carries well in the still of the night.

"Names unimportant. You went somewhere. Where?"

"I - I went to a movie ... a movie with a friend -" Her brain scrambles to create a believable lie. Her spine begins to tingle unpleasantly.

"Lies. Followed. Couldn't enter behind you. Loud. Public. Crowded. An event? What did you do there?" He hasn't moved. His hands are in his pockets. He seems at his ease.

She quivers, afraid of his easy manner.

"I ... okay, well ... I - shouldn't have been - I mean, I turn eighteen next month - college party -"

"Stop. Don't lie. I know your kind. Teenagers. Unappreciative. Rebellious. Disregarding the dangers. You. You were almost murdered."

"What? I - that isn't - you can't - nobody touched me!"

"He would have. A man. Had knife. I took care of him. Why? Why would he want to hurt you? Who are you?"

"I'm ... I'm just a kid ... I don't understand -"

"Fraternizing with Comedian. Why?"

"Wha - who? The Comedian? How in the hell would I know hi -?"

"Saw. You spoke with him. Extensively. Why?"

"I ... I don't ... look, I met him ... months ago ... said he'd ... I don't know, he just ..." She struggled, finding her memories oddly blank and unyielding. "He said he ... he wanted to talk to me. About ... you know ... his business."

"Crime-fighter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I ... well ... y'see ... I ... I do martial arts. Every day ... almost every day ... since I was four. I'm ... I'm quite good, I guess ... I was in a competition when he saw me. He said he was impressed. Said he'd contact me somehow about it. After a while, I thought he'd forgotten ... I couldn't ... couldn't blame him ... who am I, to the Comedian?" she muttered bitterly. "But he found me, recently. Said he was busy, but we should talk ... he told me to meet him at Monkeys. I wondered ... you know, it's not a very high-class place ... but then again, what place is anymore?" She laughed nervously, once, a harsh 'Ha!'

"You talked?"

She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. "Er ... yeah. Sort of. For a while, it was about my martial arts skills ... asked me where I went to learn, if I was a quick learner ... stuff that I expected. I was excited ... stupid, I know, because I know I have next to zero chance of really ever fighting crime ... I got more comfortable. More open. He bought me a drink, since I was too afraid to ... being seventeen, still, I mean ... and that drink turned into two ... I asked him to quit buying me drinks, and he did. I let my suspicions drop."

Rorschach was watching her, without any movement other than the steady rise and fall of his chest. She couldn't tell whether or not her story moved him at all. He might have been asleep.

"But ... his questions ... they started drifting off topic. Asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said no. Asked me if I was ever really interested in guys, or ... you know. I told him I'd never had time for one. Told him I thought they were sort of overrated, but I certainly never thought about ... er ... switching sides."

A chill ran down her spine, and stayed there. It had nothing to do with the cold.

"He ... I thought that it was by accident, obviously. He was looking around at the people, and when he turned, his arm sort of ... stretched out toward me. His hand stopped on mine. When he turned back, I'd figured he'd move it, but he didn't. He just kept it there. On my hand. And when I looked up at him, he was ... smiling, sort of. Like he knew something that was going on in my head. I was ... scared. Because I think he did know."

"You let him."

She frowned, stung. "I didn't ... well ... I guess I must have known, in the back of my mind. But all I could think about was ... well ... being a hero. Getting to fight for the greater good, like he did. I was willing to do almost anything to have a mask of my own. To hide my own face, for a while." As she said it, she realized it ... and she stopped short.

"Willing to sleep with Comedian?"

She stepped back, almost without noticing she was doing it. "I never said I'd do that!"

"Willing. Almost anything."

"Yeah ... well ... I didn't say that," she said stubbornly. The chill in her spine intensified. "Anyway," she went on. "We talked some more. His questions were about my life again. What sports I played, fights I'd gotten into, stuff like that. Asked me about being bullied as a kid. I told him I was the bully, nine times out of ten. I'm not proud. I told him that. He shook his head. 'Nice to see a girl who can take care of 'erself,' he said to me. I wondered about the Silk Spektre. I didn't say anything.

"While we talked ... he never went off topic again ... but ..." she hesitated. "His ... I just ... I noticed, after an hour or so ... his hand was further up my arm. Almost up under my sleeve. And his thumb was moving ... back and forth ... and ... I told myself to grin and bear it. For my future."

"Let him touch you? Bad. Very, very bad. Why?"

"I told you!" she said, her voice rising in panic and an anger she half-imagined. "I wanted to be a hero! I wanted to get out there, to see the action, to help protect people like my friends, and my family, my mother -"

She stopped, but the way Rorschach nodded once to himself told her she'd said too much.

"Story. Go on."

She exhaled shakily, and continued, "I couldn't see his other hand anymore. I felt it, though. On my leg, under the table. Squeezing, a little. Not too hard ... but hard enough to get the message across. He had stopped talking a while ago. I was staring up at the stage, trying to listen to the music ... it was so loud, so harsh ... but it didn't drown out his voice ..."

Her mind wanders ... she no longer sees Rorschach standing in the shadows before her. She no longer hears the brutal silence of the street. Instead, she sees the sweaty, angry faces of the band, and hears their blaring music.

"... listening to me, sweetheart?"

"Huh?" she said stupidly, looking down at him. Blinding, coloured lights blotted out his image somewhat. "I ... er ... sorry. This band is sort of hard to ignore."

He laughed. "I know what you mean. This shit trying to be music isn't good for concentrating on a conversation, is it?"

Both of his hands moved further into forbidden territory, and he moved closer to the table to compensate.

"Er ... no ... I mean, yeah ... hard to concentrate on talking. Yeah."

"Well, what d'you say we move somewhere a little more quiet? More private?"

She hesitated. She wanted badly to don a mask and, maybe, a cape. She still harboured her childhood dreams of being a superhero, and had an adult-sized ambition to do it. But she was shivering, and his touch made her inexplicably terrified.

"Well ... I don't know. I mean, we were getting along fine with our talk before, weren't we? And they're actually playing slower songs ... getting later ... I think they may be done soon ..."

"Ah, come on," he said, rolling his eyes. "I can't hear myself think." His chair slid along the table until he was sitting next to her. He took his hand from her arm, and put it on her face. "And I get the feeling you know exactly what I'm thinking, sweetheart."

"I ... don't know what you're talking about ..."

He laughed softly. "Don't be naive, honey. You know what I want. I know you're willing to do it, if it gets you a little further along in life ... you know you'll like it ..."

He was too close. She could feel his hot breath, stinking of alcohol, on her neck. His lips were next to hers ... she could feel his smile ...

"You hit him."

She snapped back to the present with an unpleasant jolt. She blinked the coloured lights from her eyes, and stared at the man before her. He still had not moved.

She shivered once more. "Yes. I think ... I might have been lucky. There were so many people ... he couldn't follow ... I expected him to chase me, but ... but ..." she faltered. "But you," she breathed. "You stopped him."

"Yes. Assault. Very bad."

Suddenly, he was slipping backward into the shadows. His foot falls made almost no sound. He was halfway down the block when the shock that had been holding her legs in place faded. She stumbled after him, but already he was too far away for her to follow him in the dark.

"Wait!" she called, hearing her voice echo off of the dank brick walls. "Wait, please!"

But it was no use. Almost immediately after breaking into a run, she skidded to a halt, staring down the street, trying to see through the shadow.

She didn't know what to do. She felt something odd rise up inside her, eliminating the chill the thought of the Comedian had brought on. It burst forth before she could stop it.

"Rorscach!" she cried into the night. "Thank you!"