Status: work in progress, suddenly on a batman kick
Night Is Gotham
Chapter 5
“Hey, wake up” a gentle nudge of my shoulder pulled me out of sleep. I was thankful for the awakening; I didn’t want to keep reliving that nightmare. I slowly propped myself up on my arm and rubbed my eyes. I looked to my right to see Mark standing next to the couch smiling at me. I gave him a confused look,
“What are you doing here?” I asked groggily. I looked to the digital clock on the cable box.
6:30 pm
I bolted up off the couch, almost falling back over from dizziness. Mark grabbed my arm to steady me. I just looked at him before pushing past him and darting into the kitchen.
I forgot I had everything ready to go for dinner, which made me relax a considerable amount. I leaned against the counter still trying to wake up.
“Were you having a nightmare? You kept tossing and turning. I would have let you sleep but you looked like you wanted to wake up” Mark said hands in his pockets leaning against the counter. He looked a bit disheveled; his crisp white shirt was untucked on one side and a little wrinkly and his tie was loose.
“I’m fine just, nothing,” I said turning away from him and trying to make busy work out of the dishes I had already prepared.
“You look a mess though, there’s a hand steamer in the closet upstairs next to the bathroom. Feel free to use it” I said moving the spoon in the pasta dish from one side to the other, I just wanted to distract myself from Mark. I was embarrassed that he had seen me tossing and turning in my sleep, I probably let out a whimper or two. I was reliving the night my mother had died; it had been a reoccurring nightmare a lot lately.
The nightmare came and went in chunks. I would have years without remembering and then for about a month I would have the same nightmare over and over again. It was the same scene every time too. Me, in the car, waking up from what must have been me being knocked out from the car flipping. I still don’t remember much about that night, vague memories but nothing vivid or descript. Except for the laugh, the shrill cackle that rang through the night and the smile. The wide grin that seemed far too big to belong to a real person, probably over exaggerated in my dreams. I still don’t even remember how we got there, how we ended up in a car that was upside down.
“Why are you here?” I asked Mark, turning around from my pasta bowl to face him. He just looked at me slightly shocked,
“Your father didn’t tell you that I was coming for dinner?” He looked almost embarrassed at my question, like he had just walked in on me and didn’t exactly know what to do next.
“He did, but he’s not even home. Why are you here?” I asked again, this time growing impatient. There was something odd and different about his most recent visits. Before he would come late at night when my father was home and they would shut the door of the office and be locked in for hours. On the weekends he would come early and him and my father would leave for the day and return sometime in the early hours of the next morning. Marks visits were becoming more frequent recently and he stopped by at hours he knew my father wouldn’t be home.
“I finished at work early today and just thought I’d come by and see… Why do you have a bruise on your jaw?” he asked me walking over for a closer look. I turned my head to the side so that the bruise wasn’t facing him. He reached a hand out to grab my chin but I swatted it away.
“I’m fine, but you really should clean up Bruce will be home any second” I said and turned back to my meal. I heard Mark go up the stairs and the closet door open.
I grabbed silverware and set up the dining table, bring over the bowls and plates that I held my dinner creations. I had pulled some inspiration from the cookbooks we had lying around the house as well as flipping through some Food Network shows on the TV for some special tips. I was actually quite proud of the meal I had made, seeing as I hadn’t cooked anything other than a basic meatloaf recipe in 12 years.
Bruce kept odd hours so I usually ate by myself most nights and didn’t really see the need to make an elaborate meal for just myself. Once in a while I would make something slightly impressive for my father and I, but only for his birthday or for some business promotion.
I was about to call Mark down when a thought struck me. How did he even get in, if I was asleep and no one else was home?
“What are you doing here?” I asked groggily. I looked to the digital clock on the cable box.
6:30 pm
I bolted up off the couch, almost falling back over from dizziness. Mark grabbed my arm to steady me. I just looked at him before pushing past him and darting into the kitchen.
I forgot I had everything ready to go for dinner, which made me relax a considerable amount. I leaned against the counter still trying to wake up.
“Were you having a nightmare? You kept tossing and turning. I would have let you sleep but you looked like you wanted to wake up” Mark said hands in his pockets leaning against the counter. He looked a bit disheveled; his crisp white shirt was untucked on one side and a little wrinkly and his tie was loose.
“I’m fine just, nothing,” I said turning away from him and trying to make busy work out of the dishes I had already prepared.
“You look a mess though, there’s a hand steamer in the closet upstairs next to the bathroom. Feel free to use it” I said moving the spoon in the pasta dish from one side to the other, I just wanted to distract myself from Mark. I was embarrassed that he had seen me tossing and turning in my sleep, I probably let out a whimper or two. I was reliving the night my mother had died; it had been a reoccurring nightmare a lot lately.
The nightmare came and went in chunks. I would have years without remembering and then for about a month I would have the same nightmare over and over again. It was the same scene every time too. Me, in the car, waking up from what must have been me being knocked out from the car flipping. I still don’t remember much about that night, vague memories but nothing vivid or descript. Except for the laugh, the shrill cackle that rang through the night and the smile. The wide grin that seemed far too big to belong to a real person, probably over exaggerated in my dreams. I still don’t even remember how we got there, how we ended up in a car that was upside down.
“Why are you here?” I asked Mark, turning around from my pasta bowl to face him. He just looked at me slightly shocked,
“Your father didn’t tell you that I was coming for dinner?” He looked almost embarrassed at my question, like he had just walked in on me and didn’t exactly know what to do next.
“He did, but he’s not even home. Why are you here?” I asked again, this time growing impatient. There was something odd and different about his most recent visits. Before he would come late at night when my father was home and they would shut the door of the office and be locked in for hours. On the weekends he would come early and him and my father would leave for the day and return sometime in the early hours of the next morning. Marks visits were becoming more frequent recently and he stopped by at hours he knew my father wouldn’t be home.
“I finished at work early today and just thought I’d come by and see… Why do you have a bruise on your jaw?” he asked me walking over for a closer look. I turned my head to the side so that the bruise wasn’t facing him. He reached a hand out to grab my chin but I swatted it away.
“I’m fine, but you really should clean up Bruce will be home any second” I said and turned back to my meal. I heard Mark go up the stairs and the closet door open.
I grabbed silverware and set up the dining table, bring over the bowls and plates that I held my dinner creations. I had pulled some inspiration from the cookbooks we had lying around the house as well as flipping through some Food Network shows on the TV for some special tips. I was actually quite proud of the meal I had made, seeing as I hadn’t cooked anything other than a basic meatloaf recipe in 12 years.
Bruce kept odd hours so I usually ate by myself most nights and didn’t really see the need to make an elaborate meal for just myself. Once in a while I would make something slightly impressive for my father and I, but only for his birthday or for some business promotion.
I was about to call Mark down when a thought struck me. How did he even get in, if I was asleep and no one else was home?
♠ ♠ ♠
comment:subscribejust wanted to establish a little bit of a relationship between Mark and Evelyn.
Little bits of Evelyn's past will be revealed over the next few chapters as well.