Fic: Every Contact Leaves Its Trace - Chapter One - Part Two
EVERY CONTACT LEAVES ITS TRACE
Disclaimers: Usual disclaimers stand. Doesn't belong to me, really.
Fandom: The Dark Knight, Nolanverse. Bruce Wayne&OC (sort of, gender bender)
Summary: One vigilante, one accomplice, one killer, and one city trying to get better; a man of despair, a woman of many faces, a child of vengeance, and a city more like a necropolis; in other words-a hell of a lot of problems. Succintly put; welcome to Gotham.
Beta-read by Moonstruck Kitten
The Chapter One - Part Two:
The two days after Harvey Dent's speech at the press conference passed in no less than a frenzy. The whole word was going crazy over that painted, very hostile psychopath and she had started to get really worried. So far she hadn't really dwelled on the Joker, she hadn't thought she needed to. She had other priorities, but things were quickly getting out of control. And he seemed to bevery determined to learn Batman's true identity. Could this back fire on her? Assuming that Fox hadn't yet told his boss (and she had to for Batman had yet to make an appearance to her) there was no one else who knew what she knew. Still, even that was too much.
In retrospect she knew she should have left Gotham as soon as she saw Harvey Dent's face plastered on the TVs. It would have been the most sensible thing to do. She should have gone back into hiding and found another job somewhere else, and forgot all about it. It wouldn't have been easy, leaving behind all her hard work with empty hands, but then again it wouldn't have been life threatening. Despite what she believed, money couldn't buy everything (like a life.)
Yes, it would have been the most sensible thing to but unfortunately there could be a lot of thing said about her but sensibility had never been one of those things.
"Gotham Gazette," a receptionist declared with a chirped tone. "This is Melinda speaking. How may I direct your call?"
So she had called. She had mulled over it, again, again, and again; regarded it as one of the most stupid plans that had been ever thought of by all humanity, but she had called anyway. "I'd like to speak with Mr. Engels, please."
"Who is calling?"
"I am…" she halted for a second, brief hesitation crept into her nonchalant tone. "I am in possession of information that will interest him."
"I am sorry," Melinda said with a voice that sounding not sorry at all. "I can't direct anonymous calls to Mr. Engels."
"How very ordinary for someone who calls himself an investigative reporter, wouldn't you agree?" She gave out a throaty laugh. "I know who Batman is."
Melinda sighed heavily. "Do you know how many people have called us since this morning, all claiming they know who Batman is?"
"Quite a lot, I presume."
"Precisely."
"Look, Melinda. If you hang up on me, I'll call Gotham Times, if they do the same thing, I will call another news source until I find someone who will listen to me. Then, my dear, you will be known as the girl who lost the biggest break-through in our decade for the rest of your life. It's your call."
The receptionist stayed silent for a while then said, "I'll check if Mr. Engels is available."
She nodded, smiling at the phone, "Smart girl."
It took just few hours to sit in front of Engels, sipping a very old Chardonnay. She took another sip from her glass and set it on the table with a thud. "Well, that was lovely-" She licked the residue of the wine on her lips with the tip of her tongue and followed Engels's stare toward her lips. "Quite lovely," she repeated. "But I'd really like to state all of our terms right now."
"Always a lawyer, aren't you?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "I prefer to take that as a compliment, Mr. Engels."
He barked out a laugh. "No love for the job, huh?"
Cameron shrugged. "It was my father's dream."
"Ah-"Engels said, then cleared his throat. "Well then, are you going to tell me who he is?"
She shook her head again. "I am afraid I can't do that. But as a proof of my good will, I might be willing to stretch the terms of payment a little bit. Half payment in advance in a Swiss bank account, and the rest after the show."
Now his flirtatious attitude was gone, and Engels seemed like as a sharp businessman. "Nay-No down payment, and no Swiss accounts. We'll pay after the show, if your intel is good. I'm already taking quite a risk just putting you on air."
"No," she objected tersely. "How can I trust that you will honor your word?"
"How can I trust that what you claim to know is true and that you are not someone who is just after a 'fifteen-minutes' fame." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Well, instincts. Mine are telling me that you're good-not quite what you seem, but a girl's gotta have her secrets. Now, tell me, what are yours telling you?"
With one finger, she twirled a lock of hair around, and sniffed. "Please, it wouldn't be just fifteen minutes." Then she noticed it. That was it; a lot of her personality was creeping into Cameron's. It was high time to finish this, send Cameron into a graveyard, find some remote place in which no one had even heard of Gotham City and start anew.
"Excuse me?"
"When I appear on TV, it wouldn't be just fifteen minutes." Her lips pulled into a soft grimace as her face puckered as if she had eaten something rotten. "My fa-my father taught me that sometimes in order to reach our goals we have to make sacrifices. He could be very proud now." She stood up, and went to close deal. She offered her hand. "All right, Mr. Engels. I've decided to trust you. I believe you'll honor your word." If they lived in a perfect world, that could have been enough. But they weren't. And even though they had been, they still wouldn't be perfect people. So she held his hand tight in her grasp. "But if you won't…"she looked directly into his eyes. "Then I'll go to 'Times and tell them quite entertaining stories about you. And I guarantee you that unlike this time they won't be all true." Her gaze fell down, toward their tangled hands and fixed on the gold band around his finger. "You are married, Mr. Engels, aren't you?"
And yes, he was married, married to money, she had searched. Engels nodded his head, fixing her a dirty glare and she lifted her head, broke their tangled hands, and smiled.
She looked good. A dark chocolate, high waist pencil skirt, a cream colored, silken blouse, a pair of good imitation Jimmy Choos-soon that would be changing-to match the blouse… She looked classy, alluring, attractive. Her gaze caught her reflection on the small monitor. Yes, it definitely wouldn't just be fifteen minutes; she looked really good on TV.
She watched her reflection as the assistant started to count down from five. Lifting his head up from his notes, Engels measured her with heavy eyes. Five, four... "Ok, are you up for this? I'll have callers. Things might get bumpy." Three...
..Two... She gave him a tense smile. "It's a little too late for that, I believe." One…On air...
"All right-" he barked out, more to her than Gotham, "-Gotham, we are back. And, look, we have already a call."
A crispy voice boomed into studio. "I wanna know how much they're gonna pay you to say who Batman really is."
Ah…first call already… "That's not why I'm doing this," she answered directly to camera, with the most sincere look she could perform.
Engels interrupted the caller and took a second. "Caller, you are on air."
"Harvey Dent didn't want us to give in to this maniac-you think you know better than him?"
She wanted to sigh but held her posture indifferently. Then Engels played dirty. "You know, guy's got a point." She snapped her head back to him, suppressing the urge to narrow her eyes. "Harvey Dent didn't want Batman to give in. Is this the right thing to do?"
She gave him another tense smile, and tried to look heavy hearted and pained. "If we could talk to him now, he might feel differently-"
"And we wish him a speedy recovery. God knows we need him now more than ever," he interrupted her flatly as she momentarily entertained herself with very vivid, very colorful images what to do with him once this was over. "We have another call."
The voice of an old, greasy, woman filled the studio. "Ms. Reese, what's more valuable: one life, or a hundred?"
Taken aback, she straightened and grinned a little to the cameras. "I guess…that depends…whose life are we talking about?"
"Let's assume it's yours. Is it worth more than the lives of several hundreds of others?"
Her gaze skipped toward Engels, she sounded playful when asking, "Is this a trick question?"
"No," the woman answered flatly. "Is it worth more?"
She shook her head seriously this time. "Of course not."
"I'm so glad you feel that way," she said, sighing loudly. "Because I've got a bomb in a one of the city's hospitals. It's going off in sixty minutes unless someone kills you."
She looked around. "Is this some sort of joke?
A high pitched laugh burst into the studio. "Joke's on you."
"Who is this?" Engels asked finally, getting out of his stupor.
"Just a concerned citizen-"Her voice dropped into a very familiar pitch. "-and a regular guy." She could recognize that voice from everywhere, so could everyone in Gotham nowadays. "I had a dream, Ms. Reese. Of a world without Batman. Mob ground out a little profit and the police tried to shut them down, one block a time-and it was so…boring." She felt herself getting tense and that knowing look on her face was turning to worry.
"I've had a change of heart. I don't want Ms. Reese spoiling everything, but why should I have all fun? Let's give someone else a chance-"
Jesus, she thought.
"If Cameron Reese isn't dead in sixty minutes, then I'll blow up a hospital," he paused just for a millisecond, "Of course, you could always kill yourself, but that would be noble. And you are a lawyer."
Then, God, she thought again.
She had never been much of a God person, Cathleen had it seen that too, among other things, but still she couldn't simply think past those two words. As a con artist, she was accustomed to being disliked and she knew for a fact that more than one person would be really happy to get their hands on her but this…this was different. People were going to take his words seriously. She just knew it. And who wouldn't? He was many things, but a liar he wasn't.
Not for the first time since she had come to Gotham, she asked herself how she could have gotten into this mess. Unfortunately, she had no one other but herself to blame. She had brought this on herself. With her pride and greed she had brought this on herself.
What could she do now? What could be done? Think! She ordered herself, think!
Run. That was expectedly her first reaction. But to where?
No.
Analyze the situation, find some back up.
That was the problem; she was a solo runner, not a team player, partners meant only trouble.
Who could help her now? Police…it was better to close your eyes and ask for a miracle; and probably more effective. No, the Police couldn't help her. Joker was going to play with them like a cat with a mouse. And that was what she was, a mouse…a stupid pitiful mouse. Truthfully there was only one person who could help, who would dare to help her against the Joker. The man she had planned to steal from, the man she had blackmailed, the man she had tried to expose to the public just a few seconds ago. For all she knew, Bruce Wayne might just send a fruit basket to Joker when she was finished.
Her eyes started to burn and she shook her head, get a grip, get a grip. She wasn't going to sit there, in self pity, awaiting her death in front of all those people. It was only then, pulling herself out of shock, worry, and momentary self-pity, that she saw that everything around her was in chaos.
A small studio with a handful number of crew, was now full of people, still pouring in from other studios in the building. She stood up and walked towards Engels.
"You need to get the hell out of here…" He took her elbow, and started to drag her toward exit. She pulled her arm out of his grip.
His assistant came toward her, running. "Ms. Reese. It's for you. The Commissioner..."
She took a deep breath and braced herself. "Ca-Cameron Reese." She tried to sound even but her voice faltered. Get it together, don't freak out.
"This is Commissioner Gordon. Stay put and do not go anywhere, I'll come to get you."
"No. A lot of people are around here. And they keep coming," she talked fast, looking around. "I'm getting out."
"No. Stay put. We've already sealed doors."
"Is this your phone?"
"Yes…"
"I'll call you later." With a flick of her wrist, the phone was closed.
Her face set she started to walk with a decisive pace. "Where are you going?" Engels called after her.
"Out."
The phone rang but she didn't answer. Coming out in a large corridor, she ran along the wall. The corridor was in uproar much like the studio, people running in every direction. She wondered how many of them had friends, family, acquaintances that were in hospitals and thought how much they would be panicked right now, enough to try Joker's proposal. She kept her head down, running.
The pencil skirt didn't let her run fast though, her legs couldn't get apart with the tight hem around her knees; she cursed under her breath. God, she really hated skirts going down under her thighs.
The phone rang again. "Yes," she barked out.
"Where are you?"
"Second floor, the left corridor. Where are you?"
"Stay put. We're coming for you."
She threw herself into the restroom on her left, and locked the door behind her. "I entered the restroom. The hall's really crowded. Can't you run them off?"
"Don't-have time," the Commissioner's voice came out haltingly and she could hear voices in the background.
"Second floor, left corridor, women's restroom. I'm waiting."
She didn't wait, of course. The windows were looking out of the back side of the building but the heightened second floor wasn't a good place to jump from if you didn't have a death wish. Swearing loudly to the idiot that had drawn the plans, she slammed the window closed.
She sighed…then heard voices outside the restroom, and threw herself one of the toilets. Then, she waited. Of course.
When Gordon found her she was crouched on top of the toilet, her knees touching her breasts, arms encircling them, and her Jimmy Choo's were dangling from her fingers. She knew she looked pitiful, and she didn't care.
"There you are-"Commissioner pulled her to her feet. "Hurry up. We need to get going."
She nodded and started to pull on her shoes.
Commissioner shook his head and pulled her toward the exit. "No, lose the heels."
She nodded again and let him lead her through the building. She was spent. The adrenaline which had kicked back in minutes ago was quickly fleeing. She needed to do something, get herself out the building, out of this mess, out of Gotham; preferably in one piece. If only she could have reached her stash and retrieved the emergency kit. Inside it were only things she needed to run away. But the way was literally full of roadblocks, like it was a fucking computer game. Jesus, she had screwed up big this time.
They built a wall of bodies around her as they dragged her out of the building. The first thing she felt was wind, floating through her hair. Second she noticed the crowd, yelling, screaming, trying to approach her. Then a round of rifle fire silenced all other sounds. She turned toward the sound on reflex, and saw a man, a man that in other times, she could have thought nice, and he was trying to shoot her. A police officer jumped on him before he could get off the second round and Gordon pulled her tighter to his side. He opened the back door of the van and pushed her inside.
"He tried to shoot me," she stated the obvious for reasons she couldn't fathom at the moment.
"Well, maybe Batman can save you," the Commissioner answered ironically and it wasn't lost on her.
She knew he was going to try his chances before the message arrived to the Commissioner. She thought the Commissioner knew it too, but he regarded the message as a bad omen anyway. "Son, I'm going to have to ask for your weapon." the Commisoner said, reaching for the gun, but the officer pointed it at her face. She looked at barrel blankly, wanting to scream at the fool across from her to stop dawdling and jump the guy already.
She was short on luck today, though. "Why, because I've got a wife in the hospital?" his voice sounded at the border of breakdown, his grip on the metal shaking.
"Yes-"
Her gaze flicked toward outside, judging her chances. The lights were red, she could jump out-then lights turned green. Cursing her luck mentally, she straightened her back, readying her body to leap upon the man, but Gordon beat her to it, finally making his move for the gun and as she watched the fighting men out of the corner of her eyes she saw a car, a massive SUV approaching them at top speed.
Oh, Fucking Jesus!
That's how am I going to die?
A crash, the impact threw her to the ground.
A few seconds later, pinned under the Commissioner she realized he was asking her something. "Are you all right?" she registered it the second time.
She stared blankly at him but he seemed to take it as affirmative because he opened the door, pulled himself and the patrol man out with him. Alone, she poked out her head out of the corner of the door and started to get things into perspective. In a millisecond another second car had come in between them.
She got out and looked at the second car. A very expensive looking, silver sports car now totaled. She turned left slowly, and barely a few feet away from her, crouching beside his car, she sawhim.
All of the sounds around her gone silent as his gaze found hers across of the hundreds of people. Stuck for an unnamable time, unable to turn her gaze away, unable to even move an inch, she just looked back at him.
Disclaimers: Usual disclaimers stand. Doesn't belong to me, really.
Fandom: The Dark Knight, Nolanverse. Bruce Wayne&OC (sort of, gender bender)
Summary: One vigilante, one accomplice, one killer, and one city trying to get better; a man of despair, a woman of many faces, a child of vengeance, and a city more like a necropolis; in other words-a hell of a lot of problems. Succintly put; welcome to Gotham.
Beta-read by Moonstruck Kitten
The Chapter One - Part Two:
The two days after Harvey Dent's speech at the press conference passed in no less than a frenzy. The whole word was going crazy over that painted, very hostile psychopath and she had started to get really worried. So far she hadn't really dwelled on the Joker, she hadn't thought she needed to. She had other priorities, but things were quickly getting out of control. And he seemed to bevery determined to learn Batman's true identity. Could this back fire on her? Assuming that Fox hadn't yet told his boss (and she had to for Batman had yet to make an appearance to her) there was no one else who knew what she knew. Still, even that was too much.
In retrospect she knew she should have left Gotham as soon as she saw Harvey Dent's face plastered on the TVs. It would have been the most sensible thing to do. She should have gone back into hiding and found another job somewhere else, and forgot all about it. It wouldn't have been easy, leaving behind all her hard work with empty hands, but then again it wouldn't have been life threatening. Despite what she believed, money couldn't buy everything (like a life.)
Yes, it would have been the most sensible thing to but unfortunately there could be a lot of thing said about her but sensibility had never been one of those things.
"Gotham Gazette," a receptionist declared with a chirped tone. "This is Melinda speaking. How may I direct your call?"
So she had called. She had mulled over it, again, again, and again; regarded it as one of the most stupid plans that had been ever thought of by all humanity, but she had called anyway. "I'd like to speak with Mr. Engels, please."
"Who is calling?"
"I am…" she halted for a second, brief hesitation crept into her nonchalant tone. "I am in possession of information that will interest him."
"I am sorry," Melinda said with a voice that sounding not sorry at all. "I can't direct anonymous calls to Mr. Engels."
"How very ordinary for someone who calls himself an investigative reporter, wouldn't you agree?" She gave out a throaty laugh. "I know who Batman is."
Melinda sighed heavily. "Do you know how many people have called us since this morning, all claiming they know who Batman is?"
"Quite a lot, I presume."
"Precisely."
"Look, Melinda. If you hang up on me, I'll call Gotham Times, if they do the same thing, I will call another news source until I find someone who will listen to me. Then, my dear, you will be known as the girl who lost the biggest break-through in our decade for the rest of your life. It's your call."
The receptionist stayed silent for a while then said, "I'll check if Mr. Engels is available."
She nodded, smiling at the phone, "Smart girl."
It took just few hours to sit in front of Engels, sipping a very old Chardonnay. She took another sip from her glass and set it on the table with a thud. "Well, that was lovely-" She licked the residue of the wine on her lips with the tip of her tongue and followed Engels's stare toward her lips. "Quite lovely," she repeated. "But I'd really like to state all of our terms right now."
"Always a lawyer, aren't you?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "I prefer to take that as a compliment, Mr. Engels."
He barked out a laugh. "No love for the job, huh?"
Cameron shrugged. "It was my father's dream."
"Ah-"Engels said, then cleared his throat. "Well then, are you going to tell me who he is?"
She shook her head again. "I am afraid I can't do that. But as a proof of my good will, I might be willing to stretch the terms of payment a little bit. Half payment in advance in a Swiss bank account, and the rest after the show."
Now his flirtatious attitude was gone, and Engels seemed like as a sharp businessman. "Nay-No down payment, and no Swiss accounts. We'll pay after the show, if your intel is good. I'm already taking quite a risk just putting you on air."
"No," she objected tersely. "How can I trust that you will honor your word?"
"How can I trust that what you claim to know is true and that you are not someone who is just after a 'fifteen-minutes' fame." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Well, instincts. Mine are telling me that you're good-not quite what you seem, but a girl's gotta have her secrets. Now, tell me, what are yours telling you?"
With one finger, she twirled a lock of hair around, and sniffed. "Please, it wouldn't be just fifteen minutes." Then she noticed it. That was it; a lot of her personality was creeping into Cameron's. It was high time to finish this, send Cameron into a graveyard, find some remote place in which no one had even heard of Gotham City and start anew.
"Excuse me?"
"When I appear on TV, it wouldn't be just fifteen minutes." Her lips pulled into a soft grimace as her face puckered as if she had eaten something rotten. "My fa-my father taught me that sometimes in order to reach our goals we have to make sacrifices. He could be very proud now." She stood up, and went to close deal. She offered her hand. "All right, Mr. Engels. I've decided to trust you. I believe you'll honor your word." If they lived in a perfect world, that could have been enough. But they weren't. And even though they had been, they still wouldn't be perfect people. So she held his hand tight in her grasp. "But if you won't…"she looked directly into his eyes. "Then I'll go to 'Times and tell them quite entertaining stories about you. And I guarantee you that unlike this time they won't be all true." Her gaze fell down, toward their tangled hands and fixed on the gold band around his finger. "You are married, Mr. Engels, aren't you?"
And yes, he was married, married to money, she had searched. Engels nodded his head, fixing her a dirty glare and she lifted her head, broke their tangled hands, and smiled.
She looked good. A dark chocolate, high waist pencil skirt, a cream colored, silken blouse, a pair of good imitation Jimmy Choos-soon that would be changing-to match the blouse… She looked classy, alluring, attractive. Her gaze caught her reflection on the small monitor. Yes, it definitely wouldn't just be fifteen minutes; she looked really good on TV.
She watched her reflection as the assistant started to count down from five. Lifting his head up from his notes, Engels measured her with heavy eyes. Five, four... "Ok, are you up for this? I'll have callers. Things might get bumpy." Three...
..Two... She gave him a tense smile. "It's a little too late for that, I believe." One…On air...
"All right-" he barked out, more to her than Gotham, "-Gotham, we are back. And, look, we have already a call."
A crispy voice boomed into studio. "I wanna know how much they're gonna pay you to say who Batman really is."
Ah…first call already… "That's not why I'm doing this," she answered directly to camera, with the most sincere look she could perform.
Engels interrupted the caller and took a second. "Caller, you are on air."
"Harvey Dent didn't want us to give in to this maniac-you think you know better than him?"
She wanted to sigh but held her posture indifferently. Then Engels played dirty. "You know, guy's got a point." She snapped her head back to him, suppressing the urge to narrow her eyes. "Harvey Dent didn't want Batman to give in. Is this the right thing to do?"
She gave him another tense smile, and tried to look heavy hearted and pained. "If we could talk to him now, he might feel differently-"
"And we wish him a speedy recovery. God knows we need him now more than ever," he interrupted her flatly as she momentarily entertained herself with very vivid, very colorful images what to do with him once this was over. "We have another call."
The voice of an old, greasy, woman filled the studio. "Ms. Reese, what's more valuable: one life, or a hundred?"
Taken aback, she straightened and grinned a little to the cameras. "I guess…that depends…whose life are we talking about?"
"Let's assume it's yours. Is it worth more than the lives of several hundreds of others?"
Her gaze skipped toward Engels, she sounded playful when asking, "Is this a trick question?"
"No," the woman answered flatly. "Is it worth more?"
She shook her head seriously this time. "Of course not."
"I'm so glad you feel that way," she said, sighing loudly. "Because I've got a bomb in a one of the city's hospitals. It's going off in sixty minutes unless someone kills you."
She looked around. "Is this some sort of joke?
A high pitched laugh burst into the studio. "Joke's on you."
"Who is this?" Engels asked finally, getting out of his stupor.
"Just a concerned citizen-"Her voice dropped into a very familiar pitch. "-and a regular guy." She could recognize that voice from everywhere, so could everyone in Gotham nowadays. "I had a dream, Ms. Reese. Of a world without Batman. Mob ground out a little profit and the police tried to shut them down, one block a time-and it was so…boring." She felt herself getting tense and that knowing look on her face was turning to worry.
"I've had a change of heart. I don't want Ms. Reese spoiling everything, but why should I have all fun? Let's give someone else a chance-"
Jesus, she thought.
"If Cameron Reese isn't dead in sixty minutes, then I'll blow up a hospital," he paused just for a millisecond, "Of course, you could always kill yourself, but that would be noble. And you are a lawyer."
Then, God, she thought again.
She had never been much of a God person, Cathleen had it seen that too, among other things, but still she couldn't simply think past those two words. As a con artist, she was accustomed to being disliked and she knew for a fact that more than one person would be really happy to get their hands on her but this…this was different. People were going to take his words seriously. She just knew it. And who wouldn't? He was many things, but a liar he wasn't.
Not for the first time since she had come to Gotham, she asked herself how she could have gotten into this mess. Unfortunately, she had no one other but herself to blame. She had brought this on herself. With her pride and greed she had brought this on herself.
What could she do now? What could be done? Think! She ordered herself, think!
Run. That was expectedly her first reaction. But to where?
No.
Analyze the situation, find some back up.
That was the problem; she was a solo runner, not a team player, partners meant only trouble.
Who could help her now? Police…it was better to close your eyes and ask for a miracle; and probably more effective. No, the Police couldn't help her. Joker was going to play with them like a cat with a mouse. And that was what she was, a mouse…a stupid pitiful mouse. Truthfully there was only one person who could help, who would dare to help her against the Joker. The man she had planned to steal from, the man she had blackmailed, the man she had tried to expose to the public just a few seconds ago. For all she knew, Bruce Wayne might just send a fruit basket to Joker when she was finished.
Her eyes started to burn and she shook her head, get a grip, get a grip. She wasn't going to sit there, in self pity, awaiting her death in front of all those people. It was only then, pulling herself out of shock, worry, and momentary self-pity, that she saw that everything around her was in chaos.
A small studio with a handful number of crew, was now full of people, still pouring in from other studios in the building. She stood up and walked towards Engels.
"You need to get the hell out of here…" He took her elbow, and started to drag her toward exit. She pulled her arm out of his grip.
His assistant came toward her, running. "Ms. Reese. It's for you. The Commissioner..."
She took a deep breath and braced herself. "Ca-Cameron Reese." She tried to sound even but her voice faltered. Get it together, don't freak out.
"This is Commissioner Gordon. Stay put and do not go anywhere, I'll come to get you."
"No. A lot of people are around here. And they keep coming," she talked fast, looking around. "I'm getting out."
"No. Stay put. We've already sealed doors."
"Is this your phone?"
"Yes…"
"I'll call you later." With a flick of her wrist, the phone was closed.
Her face set she started to walk with a decisive pace. "Where are you going?" Engels called after her.
"Out."
The phone rang but she didn't answer. Coming out in a large corridor, she ran along the wall. The corridor was in uproar much like the studio, people running in every direction. She wondered how many of them had friends, family, acquaintances that were in hospitals and thought how much they would be panicked right now, enough to try Joker's proposal. She kept her head down, running.
The pencil skirt didn't let her run fast though, her legs couldn't get apart with the tight hem around her knees; she cursed under her breath. God, she really hated skirts going down under her thighs.
The phone rang again. "Yes," she barked out.
"Where are you?"
"Second floor, the left corridor. Where are you?"
"Stay put. We're coming for you."
She threw herself into the restroom on her left, and locked the door behind her. "I entered the restroom. The hall's really crowded. Can't you run them off?"
"Don't-have time," the Commissioner's voice came out haltingly and she could hear voices in the background.
"Second floor, left corridor, women's restroom. I'm waiting."
She didn't wait, of course. The windows were looking out of the back side of the building but the heightened second floor wasn't a good place to jump from if you didn't have a death wish. Swearing loudly to the idiot that had drawn the plans, she slammed the window closed.
She sighed…then heard voices outside the restroom, and threw herself one of the toilets. Then, she waited. Of course.
When Gordon found her she was crouched on top of the toilet, her knees touching her breasts, arms encircling them, and her Jimmy Choo's were dangling from her fingers. She knew she looked pitiful, and she didn't care.
"There you are-"Commissioner pulled her to her feet. "Hurry up. We need to get going."
She nodded and started to pull on her shoes.
Commissioner shook his head and pulled her toward the exit. "No, lose the heels."
She nodded again and let him lead her through the building. She was spent. The adrenaline which had kicked back in minutes ago was quickly fleeing. She needed to do something, get herself out the building, out of this mess, out of Gotham; preferably in one piece. If only she could have reached her stash and retrieved the emergency kit. Inside it were only things she needed to run away. But the way was literally full of roadblocks, like it was a fucking computer game. Jesus, she had screwed up big this time.
They built a wall of bodies around her as they dragged her out of the building. The first thing she felt was wind, floating through her hair. Second she noticed the crowd, yelling, screaming, trying to approach her. Then a round of rifle fire silenced all other sounds. She turned toward the sound on reflex, and saw a man, a man that in other times, she could have thought nice, and he was trying to shoot her. A police officer jumped on him before he could get off the second round and Gordon pulled her tighter to his side. He opened the back door of the van and pushed her inside.
"He tried to shoot me," she stated the obvious for reasons she couldn't fathom at the moment.
"Well, maybe Batman can save you," the Commissioner answered ironically and it wasn't lost on her.
She knew he was going to try his chances before the message arrived to the Commissioner. She thought the Commissioner knew it too, but he regarded the message as a bad omen anyway. "Son, I'm going to have to ask for your weapon." the Commisoner said, reaching for the gun, but the officer pointed it at her face. She looked at barrel blankly, wanting to scream at the fool across from her to stop dawdling and jump the guy already.
She was short on luck today, though. "Why, because I've got a wife in the hospital?" his voice sounded at the border of breakdown, his grip on the metal shaking.
"Yes-"
Her gaze flicked toward outside, judging her chances. The lights were red, she could jump out-then lights turned green. Cursing her luck mentally, she straightened her back, readying her body to leap upon the man, but Gordon beat her to it, finally making his move for the gun and as she watched the fighting men out of the corner of her eyes she saw a car, a massive SUV approaching them at top speed.
Oh, Fucking Jesus!
That's how am I going to die?
A crash, the impact threw her to the ground.
A few seconds later, pinned under the Commissioner she realized he was asking her something. "Are you all right?" she registered it the second time.
She stared blankly at him but he seemed to take it as affirmative because he opened the door, pulled himself and the patrol man out with him. Alone, she poked out her head out of the corner of the door and started to get things into perspective. In a millisecond another second car had come in between them.
She got out and looked at the second car. A very expensive looking, silver sports car now totaled. She turned left slowly, and barely a few feet away from her, crouching beside his car, she sawhim.
All of the sounds around her gone silent as his gaze found hers across of the hundreds of people. Stuck for an unnamable time, unable to turn her gaze away, unable to even move an inch, she just looked back at him.