Terra Firma

Angel

I'd never told anyone this. ...But.

Ivy was my role model four years ago.

I was constantly told, growing up, that I would never amount to anything. That my place was at home. That the woman's place was at home. Women were not intelligent, according to father. A partnership with a man? Oh no. Unheard of. Unspeakable. Inconceivable! I was to focus on helping my mother with her baby while he went off on very long business trips... one so long, in fact, he would never return.

During the time my mother's sanity diminished and my brother's disability kept us indoors, I would often stay glued to the television, after studying hard in school. Despite the negative stigma TV holds, the Gotham News Network had the opposite effect in my late teen years. It filled me with a strange sense of hope and independence.

Especially on my 17th birthday. The morning Poison Ivy went public.

I'd watched in growing fascination as developments poured in about the once run-of-the-mill secretary turned partner to a sociopathic genius. In just ten small minutes of watching a camera shot of her shooting a pistol, her throwing men across the room with vines while reapplying lipstick lazily, my world was shattered. And new doors were opened.

She'd proven that not every woman needed to be blonde and a double D bra size to end up on TV.

She'd proven that women could get out of the kitchen and make a name for themselves, whether it was revered or feared.

She'd proven that women were not helpless creatures, reduced to being tied to chairs and 'kidnapped'. Some women could look death in the eye. And make it fall in love with them.

She'd proven, quite simply, that women could kick ass.

So I'd flown through school, worked diligently, acquired the best credentials and occasionally took care of my brother. I got a job in the Asylum. An easy task, especially with the people known to be in the basement. You didn't even have to have a doctorate, for God's sake. I proved myself worthy and began working on the Arkham project, piecing sources of information together and finally cracking the puzzle of their pasts. I even got to talk to them a few times. Sure, they were bundled up and behind glass, but still.

She didn't disappoint me. She walked in gracefully, ahead of and untouched by those accompanying her, nose pointed upwards and hair up like she was doing a cover for vogue. I couldn't help but smile as she sat in front of me. Charming, she smiled back.

"Miss Queen."

"Please, please. Call me May."

"You know why you're here?"

She looked up at the ceiling, "Well... I suppose it's because I..." She looked thoughtful for a few moments, as if she wasn't quite sure. Then her sharp green eyes snapped to mine, "You know, you look an awful lot like my best friend... Her name was Rachel Dawes and we did everything together..."

The Joker had been much more complicated to talk to.

They'd halfway dragged him into the chair, spitting angry words to him.

"Stop." I'd commanded, frowning. They all looked at me and I straightened, "This is not a torture session. Leave."

They obeyed and he sat, twitching, "No torture? Awww. And here I was getting excited..."

"You look a little skinny, Jack." I said, trying to strike up conversation.

But he ignored the attempt, shifting and looking around the room.

"She here? You just talk to her? Cause I smell her... Hey! Look at you. With your little pen there. I could show you a magic trick, but uh, I'm kind of... tied up at the moment."

I stared at him. He was the complete opposite of her. Slouching, fumbling, his hair a brown mess upon his head.

"Get it? You get it? Tied up! I'm in a strait jacket! Heh. Heehee. Hahaha!! Hahahahahahahah!"

And he laughed until they led him out.

His laugh gave me nightmares.

Which is why, as I walked Cosette up to her apartment after Jay had instructed me nervously to do so while whipping out his cell phone to call Gordon, I felt the most frightened I had since that day.

"Get it?" She asked now, "Paint your face! Because it's covered in blood! Hahahahahahahahahahaha!"

I shuddered, watching her mouth open wide to let out another gust of insanity. The wind seemed to respond, now roaring back as I reached her building. It was a blessing no one was out this time of night. They would've run anyway, with the chilling sound she was making. That sound that was just like his.

I couldn't take it anymore. I turned, grabbing my best friend's shoulders. She looked at my face and laughed some more.

"Cosette. Cosette! GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!"

She stopped and we stood frozen, the silence heavy and solid. A cold gust of wind came through and I watched her strawberry locks swish with it. Usually she wore a hat on windy days. This meant nothing to us now, raised no suspicions. The extreme part in her bangs was regarded as a fashion statement, nothing more.

But that gust of wind blew her bangs ever so slightly away and I saw her forehead fully in the dim light of the moon for the first time.

A scar, trailing up from the concealed eyebrow, twisting uglyily into the roots of her thick curls, like a horrid path, a twisting dirt road on her face. It kind of took the shape of... a question mark.

She saw the sudden glint of curiosity in my eyes and blinked, suddenly rushing over towards the threshold of building.

"Goodnight, Ange." She said quickly.

That was no ordinary scar. It's twisted nature and jagged edge suggested someone had stitched it up poorly, that she had not the means to seek professional medical help.

Or, perhaps, that she did not want to.

I followed.

"Cosette, wait..."

But she was gone. I could hear her footsteps walking with conviction and the distant ding of an elevator.

I stood at the threshold, staring up at the infamous skyscraper, and down at the ground, where eyewitnesses say a Jeannie Gimble stood, babbling strangely and asking for a screwdriver, then running off into the night.

She'd been wearing "some kind of a headscarf" according to the swat team that had been standing around her. "Covering her head. A brown color. Looked like dried blood."

"They let me go so I'm okay now..."

I blinked, reaching into my purse for my cell phone.

Jay

You think it's tough, don't you?

Sitting there at your computer, breathing in Cheeto dust and drinking up Mountain Dew. You think it's tough, worrying about that physics homework and contemplating whether or not you want to go hang out with your friends on Saturday because you have to work the next morning.

You live out here, you don't think anything's tough.

Especially when your Momma hates you because your Daddy raped her. Especially when all your childhood friends think it's all about getting pills and hitting that bottle. When you get in a gang for awhile because you're afraid of the others around you. When you leave the gang because you're afraid of yourself. When you're confused about who you are, what you are, where you're going. And the gangs turn around and beat you up because they find out you you, yourself, are something different.

And you turn to the bottle to forget.

When the Joker showed up in this town, he made all the gangs scared. I had mad respect for him. And Harvey Dent. In the end, I wanted to be like both of them. I wanted to catch the gangs and make them pay, all while laughing and smiling and thinking the world was just dandy.

I owed all my success to them. Watching the nutty clown on the tubes twisted my sense of humor to the point where I became less afraid, more cheerful, funnier to talk to. The cops liked it. Charisma, they said it was. Kid's got charisma. And Gotham's White Knight gave me a goal, gave me a reason, to catch the people that were practicing what the clown preached.

You want to talk about twisted logic, talk to me.

I stared at the woman lying on the ground, reading the puzzle again. Again. But I couldn't comprehend. All I could think of was Cosette, C.J. My friend. Laughing. Laughing like...

Me and Angel always joked with her that she had no sense of humor.

And now that she'd laughed, both of us didn't want to hear it again.

As much as I loved her, she really creeped me out sometimes.

I no longer felt the empty effects of alcohol as I waited for Gordon. I sat against the alley wall, focusing on the puzzle.

ERURGNUVRUFFQAVZRERZSBNYEVTVRPABJRAX.

What the fuck, man?

You wanna talk about tough? Try solving a puzzle. A puzzle of a psycho. A puzzle of a freak.

A puzzle of yourself.

My cell rang. Thinking it was Gordon, I held it up to my ear quickly.

"Jay here."

"Jay..." Angel's voice sounded.

"Angel, I'm in the middle of trying to solve this... did she get home alright? She scared the shit out of me."

Angel sighed. She hated when Cosette or I cursed.

"What?" I asked, my eyes staring at the pool of red around the woman's hair, "What, what is it?"

"Don't worry. She's fine... but.... I need you to do me a favor..."

"Now isn't the time for favors." I looked down at the scrap of paper in my hand and chuckled.

"It's important. I need you to get me a file from the station..."

"A file? What file is so important?"

Sirens off in the distance, closing in on me. But this time because I was one of them.

"Jeannie Gimble."

"What? Who...? What? Angel, she's been declared dead for three years."

Gordon hopped out of his car. I nodded to him in greeting.

"Exactly." Angel snapped.

"What the..."

"Just get it to me, Jay." She said hurriedly and hung up.

I stared at my phone, shrugging.

"What's new?" Gordon asked, rubbing his rimmed spectacle eyes and ruffling his gray hair tiredly.

"Dead body behind the dumpster. And this town is going fucking nuts."

Gordon surveyed the scene, cringing. He straightened, composing himself.

"I said, 'what's new'?"