The Moonstruck

Maude

The pill rolled down my throat with a painful slowness. The bitter taste of the coating hung slick in the back of my mouth and I took another quick gulp of water and tried to ignore the panic creeping up my spine. I stared into the hollow of the little orange bottle.

That’d been the last one.

There were more, I knew. Always more to come. But I couldn’t help but feel a little twinge whenever I finished off a bottle. My already frazzled nerves didn’t help any.

“Lionus, the Lithium’s run out,” I called, closing up the bottle and tossing it into the trashcan beside the kitchen table. I could hear him in the other room, opening and folding and refolding the newspaper. He liked to scan the papers on Sunday mornings, for his own ads, for ideas, for the funnies; anything, really, to distract from the constant barrage of bad news racing across the pages in black and white.

The past couple of days had been the worst. The little thrill of feasible happiness I’d gotten after receiving the news of my parent’s successful escape had faded to numb despair. It’d been whole days, whole nights and they still hadn’t come for me. Not a sight, not a sound.

No whispers blowing in the heat. They couldn’t have forgotten, I’d reasoned. But did they still care? Did she?

My only argument. The question to my question.

To make matters worse, there’d been a surge of crime, as gruesome and seemingly unprovoked as the larceny and slaughter my parents had pulled off. But with less grace. It’d started with the psychologist, a Dr. Quinzel. Her achievements weren’t numerous or extraordinary. In fact, she’d been virtually unknown at Arkham Asylum before she was granted the privilege of my parents’ cases.

She was found dead, splayed across the old Bat signal, fluorescents blazing at her back and throwing her distorted shadow across the gloom of the night sky. Her face had been cut with his smile and there had been five seven-inch slashes cut into the pale flesh of her chest. Claw marks. Their marks.

The rest were seemingly random victims. All killed in the same fashion. Blunt trauma, slashing, torture. And then, quick horrible death. A few vagabonds. Unlucky strangers. And, the worst, a prostitute.

That’s how I knew it wasn’t them. They would never. She would never and would sure as hell kill him if he ever even toyed with the notion.

Lionus thought differently. But then…he didn’t know. He could never know. He held me in such a high light. It might shatter him if he knew just what I’d been, just what I’d done. It was hard enough for him to deal with my reality, to know who I waited for night after night, to know who I watched for perched at the window, the moon in my eyes…

“Alright Maudie,” he called, pulling me from my thoughts, “I’ll head to the pharmacy later. “

I felt a pang in my chest. Maudie...she called me that…

Damn it all. Everything reminded me of them. And their absence.

The chair beneath me creaked as I rose to wander over to the window. Curling the yellow lace curtains in my palm, I peered out onto the street. The average Sunday scene: dusty and empty.

A few battered cars trundled on down Luna Street and I watched them round the block and disappear. I spotted a weathered, brown skinned bum sleeping on bus stop bend, an obnoxiously excited teen magazine draped across his face to keep the sun from his eyes and I could hear some dogs snarling at each other in the gutters.

I heard the click of high heels on pavement and my heart leapt up into my throat. But its mad fluttering settled when the clacker sauntered into view.

It was Marie, in another one of her outfits. I’d seen her come and go these past few days, in a number of insane fashions. Latex, leather, lace, studs, reds, blacks, whites, polka dots, stripes…I didn’t quite get her fixation but it was a deviation from the norm of Gotham’s grey and I liked it nonetheless.

I watched as she bustled out to her car, her lips fixed in a pout, the sun glinting off of her bug-eyed sunglasses. I wondered if she was leaving that brute husband of hers. They stormed out on each other at all hours of the day and night, but perhaps this time was for good.

She’d paid me a visit not two days after our catastrophic dinner party. Lionus had been at work and I’d been home alone, feeling manic and lonely. She’d given two knocks at the door and then waltzed in, a turquoise wig on her head, thick sunglasses over her eyes, and a new bottle of wine in her purse. The first thing out of her mouth had been an apology and then a sour curse, before she’d collapsed at my kitchen table.

I’d listened quietly as she rallied on. Repeatedly apologizing for the other night, for her brevity, and for her husband’s blunt lack of charm. She chattered about other things though I hadn’t the attention span for her small talk. I kept stealing glances at her eyes, the right one in particular. Even despite her shades I could see the ugly purple bruise. I could only guess it was her husband’s blunt lack of charm rearing its ugly head yet again.

But when I happened to catch of glimpse of Stanley the following afternoon while collecting my mail in the lobby of the complex, I saw that Marie hadn’t taken a hit without giving one; he’d had a lovely black shiner and a swollen lip to match. I’d had to hide my smile with the latest issue of Vogue.

The stuttering cough of an engine brought me back to the dusty street scene. Rubbing my eyes blearily, I turned from the window, not bothering to watch Marie’s little car rattle off to God knows where.

I kept getting lost. In my memories, in my thoughts. I could feel them zipping across the dale of my mind, white and fleeting and wild. Fast, too fast. Never a good sign. It meant I was escalating, swelling like a giant colorful balloon full of frenzy and hot air. Mania was right around the corner, waiting like a witch in the dark, waiting like the moon ready to rise. I just hoped the pills would be there to cushion the blow. To throw a bit of grey at the red.

I wondered if this was what my mother had felt on the brink of her new life. On the edge of madness, of death, of glory. I couldn’t fathom her courage, her incredible trust in the chaos, in him. She’d had nothing left, no one to kiss goodbye, no sanity to cling to. Maybe she’d been crazy all along. Maybe that was what gave her the nerve to just take his blood-splattered hand in her own and just…jump.

That was why I feared my own madness. I wasn’t brave like Bijou. I couldn’t click my heels and shake off the empathy like the Joker. And I had everything to lose. I had Lionus. We’d found each other in the pit of hell and we’d gone looking for a way out, my fingers wrapped around a bottle of pills and his hand wrapped around mine. I could feel the lunacy breathing down my neck, ready to take me. If I’d follow my mother’s lead and simply step into the shadows. Greet madness like an old friend. Then it wouldn’t consume me. Wouldn’t kill me…

“Maude?”

I blinked and I was back. Turning, I found Lionus had finished his morning read and stood at the table. He was frowning at me, the same concern I’d seen the other night infecting his face.

“Maude,” he repeated, “Is everything alright?”

“Sure.” I shrugged one shoulder, an unconvincing gesture, and let the curtains fall back across the window, moving away to reclaim my seat at the table. We stared at one another for a moment more and I forced a cheerful smile; I didn’t want him to worry. He was already on edge. Thinking the Joker and the Catwoman would burst in at any moment. I had to be calm. I wouldn’t scare him off. Not when I needed him most.

He glanced away, satisfied for now with my pretense of perfect normalcy, and eyed the bottle on the table. It was the wine Marie had brought on her visit; a peace offering.

“I suppose we’ll open this later,” he said, smiling and taking the bottle in his inky hands. I nodded and looked on as he placed it in the fridge.

I could see it in the way he moved that there were things to be said, words building behind his lips. He wanted to say something. A warning maybe, another bout of concern. But he was silent. For the sake of keeping peace or simply keeping me placid I didn’t know
“Lionus…” I began, drumming my fingers idly on the nicked surface of the table, “I don’t want to worry about me. I’m really am fine. I know you’re worried about the news and my parents but-"

“Don’t call them that Maude,” he said suddenly, his voice turning with unease, “They’re criminals. They’re murderers!”

“They saved me,” I returned, louder now, “They took care of me. And she loves me.”

He scoffed meanly, shaking his head. “Love Maude? You think those people are capable of
love?”

“I don’t think,” I snarled, feeling my lips curl, “I know.”

“Then where are they?” he spat, opening his arms wide and looking around.

The bitter tears came in the silence that followed. They burned at the corners of my eyes but I forced them back. Lionus noticed. He always noticed.

Sighing, he plunked into the seat beside me. “I’m sorry. That was…uncalled for. I’m just…” he took my hand and I looked at him; all I could see was the Joker.

“I know,” I said, “I know. And I love you, Lionus. Nothing’s going to change that. So you have to trust…me. Trust that everything will be okay. That I’ll be okay. That we’ll have each other.”

He grimaced. “But if they come, they’ll take you away.”

“What makes you so sure?” I chuckled, “I’m not sure what they’ll do. Obviously. But I’m not going anywhere without you.” I gave his hand a squeeze. “And you better not wander off unless you’re taking me with you.”

He smiled then, and the grin was wide enough to reach his eyes; they lit up like Christmas, as if they were brand new. As I they’d never stared into the abyss and seen it staring right back.

“You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse,” he drawled, screwing his face up and giving me his best Brando.

I laughed again and found that the tears had gone from my eyes. I felt…almost better. I could still feel that frantic elation creeping up the back of my neck. But I was a good enough actress; Lionus believed me. Trusted me.

He’d have better luck simply trusting Fate. She’d have a firmer hand.

Perhaps She’d find it in the heart and reason She lacked, in Her massive web of predator and prey, lies and knots of coincidence to guide us into something like safety.

Perhaps.