by Susan Lee
Once outside, the entire conversation was pushed away by the cold night air. Her adrenaline kicked in, heightening her senses. She could smell the greasy smoke from the diner mixing with the exhaust from the passing cars. A whiff of cheap cologne wafted towards her from an overly trendy hipster crossing the street in front of her. She ignored the growing scent of trash and neglect as she chose her adventure for the evening.
It was going to be a good night, she thought as she decided on the furthest, darkest, emptiest alleyway. Might be THE night. She hoped it was. She had been doing this for weeks since she left her job and she didn't want to admit she was getting tired of waiting. She needed her Batman to show up. For so many reasons.
Mickey felt at home as she vanished into the darkness. Her eyes adjusted quickly, probably because she spent most of her nights in the dark.
The alley was fairly clean, as far as alleys go. Not a lot of trash, which was good.
That meant she might not have to shower tonight when she got home. Her skin was starting to get raw from nightly scrubbings as her prowlings usually ended up somewhere filthy and disgusting as she tried to entice her hero. No rats. That was another plus. The last alley had been overrun with the disgusting little buggers.
Shit. A homeless guy. She hadn't expected that. She hadn't seen anyone on her nightly journeys. This might mess things up. She liked this alley. She didn't want to have to make another choice. Huh. Choices. What had V cki said? We all make our own choices and we live with those choices.
Maybe she had been making the wrong choices, a seductive clown-in-her-head voice whispered to her. Maybe being the victim wouldn't bring her hero to her. Maybe a little villainy was needed to get his attention. Nothing horrible, really. Just a little something to make him notice her.
Mickey peered under the tarp the homeless man had set up. His possessions were quite neatly lined up and orderly. He had apparently been there for some time. He himself also appeared fairly orderly. He was clean and didn't smell too bad. He was sort of clean-shaven. She leaned in closer as he snored. Breath smelled okay, too.
Mickey wasn't sure how the knife got into her hand, or even where it came from. Just a little bit, she told herself. Nothing serious. Just enough to get him to notice me. Just enough. Just a little.
• • • • • • • • • • •
Mickey's shower ran red that night.
SIX
The news exploded with the death of Ben Christopher, the homeless vet who was just getting back on his feet after several tours in Iraq. The photos of him revealed a kind, sweet face, the kind that women immediately fall in love with. The kind of face that makes the news anchors light up because the know they have the audience's sympathy. The kind of face a hero would fight for.
Mickey gobbled it up. He'd have to know who she was now. He'd have to come out and find her, fight her, defeat her, then maybe fall in love with her dark side, hoping to save her. Villains and heroes had been playing that game for centuries. Their love story would be no different.
The big-haired female newscaster interrupted Mickey's mental meanderings. "There were no witnesses to this tragic crime. Police have very little evidence since the murder took place in an alleyway. Ben had been working at a nearby diner, putting his life back together. He was almost ready to move into an actual apartment, which diner owner, Michael Lee, had arranged for him."
The shot cut to an elderly man, who Mickey had seen working the grill at the diner. "Ben was an inspiration to us all," he said softly, his wrinkled eyes filled with tears. "He worked hard and we were hoping he'd be able to get his life back. Now, I guess he never will."
What a great story, Mickey thought, swigging a shot of whiskey, despite the fact that it was only ten in the morning.
She wasn't working so she didn't think time mattered anymore. This was what she needed. Something powerful, something he wouldn't be able to ignore.
But then her heart stopped as her television was filled with the visage of V cki. "He was the sweetest guy," V cki almost sobbed. "He was kind. He had seen a lot of horror in his life. I was hoping to give him something better."
Shit. V cki. V cki not only knew him, it sounded like there was something more going on there. Would she remember Mickey? Would she put two and two together?
Mickey decided she couldn't possibly. The alleyway was a decent walk from the diner. No one had seen her leave that night. There had been that huge group of guys who came in just as she left. V cki would have been too busy to notice where she had gone. Or would she have been? Doubt made her uncomfortable.
"The police are asking for the public's help. There is very little information at this point, so if anyone has any information, please call the hotline shown here."
That lessened her fear a little bit. They must not have much to go on if they're posting a hotline. She wasn't sure how these things worked but a hotline seemed a bit desperate.
She ran over the events in her mind, but they seemed blurry, like something that had happened in a dream. She remembered finding his little tarp-house. She remembered smelling his breath. She remembered thinking about choices. Then she was home and slept like a baby.
She thought she had showered, but she couldn't remember what she had done with her clothes. That poked at her a bit.
Pushing those concerns aside, she decided she would have remembered seeing anyone and so she decided everything was all right. She turned down the volume, leaving the news on for entertainment. She wanted to know if anything more happened.
As the day moved on, the news simply repeated the same information over and over again. Nothing new, no developments.
Mickey decided that's how it would stay. A homeless vet. Big story for today but it would probably be forgotten tomorrow as some lunatic with an assault rifle shot up a school or another pedophile was exposed at a local child care. News was nothing if not reliably consistent.
But V cki nagged at her. What if she knew something without realizing it? Would she mention the moody, odd woman who had been at the diner for the past few nights? Would she connect the dots? She would have think on that a bit more.
In the meantime, she had to make plans for the night. If she got his attention last night, she had to do something tonight to draw him out. She didn't want the world to know that she was the one responsible, but she wanted him to know. She just had to figure out how.
What would Selina Kyle do? crossed her mind. But was she a villain now? Or was she a victim? Things were getting confusing. She couldn't distinguish which at this point. Another shot of whiskey didn't help to clear things up.
The hours passed slowly as Mickey watched the sun track across the sky. She could feel the night calling to her.
Tonight, she dressed deliberately, something she had never done before. She chose a dark t-shirt, dark jeans, sturdy boots. She tucked her shaggy hair behind her ears, securing it with a hairband. Wouldn't do to have hair hanging out and dropping off at the wrong moment.
She checked the news one last time, satisfied that the status quo was being maintained, and then she was off.
• • • • • • • • • • •
Instead of alleyways, Mickey took to rooftops, figuring it was a good place to watch from.
The city was beautiful from up there. She had never noticed that before. The lights flashed and flickered. Down there was life, she thought, in most places. Up here, there was quiet. Muffled sounds of traffic and movement. Tonight, she wanted quiet. Tonight, she wanted nothing to do with life.
The shadows taunted her, showing her shapes and figures that almost looked like what she wanted. But they turned out to be nothing more than gargoyles or birds or stupid shit like that. The figure she wanted refused to appear.
Hours dragged by as she waited. Her nerves became more frayed as the inky sky started to turn a pale blue. He wasn't going to show up. He wasn't going to find her. He wasn't going to try to stop her. That was disappointing.
She let the darkne
ss creep a little deeper into her soul as she weighed what she would have to do to get his attention. If the death of a war vet didn't do it, what would?
She made her way down as the sun began to show its face.
There was so much more she had to do.
• • • • • • • • • • •
Mickey woke in the late afternoon, sore from her nocturnal parkour and from sitting on the cold roof all night.
She grabbed a coffee cup off the nightstand, grimacing at the cold ruins left in the bottom of it. She laced it with some Jameson's, which happened to be sitting there as well, to stave off a possible chill from her adventures, she justified to herself. Herself was not buying it.
She was shaken by the lack of hero. She was shaken because her sanity was trying to sneak back in. The voice that had been guiding her had suddenly become quiet and the questions were beginning from the other voice. The one she had been avoiding. The one she had hoped would remain silent.
The questions where the ones anyone would ask. Why? How? What now? Turn yourself in. Stop this stupidity before someone else gets hurt. There is no hero. And, yes, you have become the villain.
Her head hurt. Her soul hurt. She was confused, conflicted, exhausted. The peaceful sleep she had that one night had escaped her last night. She was back to haunted dreams and frightening visions.
She eventually pulled on some sweatpants, throwing a shirt over her tank top, and shuffled into the living room, aiming for the kitchen and maybe some hot coffee.
Patty was sitting on her sofa. For a moment, Mickey panicked. Patty knew. Oh, my god, she must know.
Why else would she be here? She had to know something. What was she going to do about this? And maybe somewhere deep down, her fear was laced with relief.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Mickey demanded, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "How did you get in here?"
Patty dangled the spare key she had. "Desperate times, desperate measures," she answered simply.
The two friends faced each other, waiting for one to blink. Over the past few weeks, Mickey had mastered the cold blank stare, so she won the contest. What made Patty look away was the emptiness she saw in Mickey's eyes.
Patty tracked Mickey as she moved into the kitchen. There, Mickey found a fresh pot of coffee ready and waiting. She was touched and pissed off at the same time. Grudgingly, she poured a cup, hoping it would help her get herself together enough to bluff her way through whatever Patty had in mind. She wished she had brought the whiskey with her.
Mickey came back into the living room, her passive mask firmly in place. "Shouldn't an intervention have more than one intervener?" Mickey sort of joked as she plopped into an armchair. Her eyes roamed the room, searching for any evidence of her nightly meanderings. Nothing caught her eye.
"I was just hoping I wouldn't discover you rotting in your bathtub, drowning in your own blood," Patty replied just as harshly. "Finding you almost dead once is enough for me."
That briefly brought Mickey back to reality. It had been Patty who had saved her. It had been Patty who had kept her alive while waiting on the ambulance.
It had been Patty who held her hand for hours on end as Mickey struggled to come back to life. Mickey could find nothing to say so she stared into her cup for answers. None were forthcoming.
"I don't know what happened," Patty began softly, seeing her friend trying to control her trembling hands. "I don't know what brought you to this or why you refuse to answer my calls. I don't know what happened between you and Rick. He doesn't even know."
Patty waited a moment to see if Mickey would say anything, but silence was her only answer. "I can't make you get help. I can't make you tell me what's going on. I can't even make you talk to me. All I can do is tell you and show you that I love you, that I am your friend, no matter what you do, or, in this case, what you don't do. I will always be here. I will always hold your hand. I will always be your friend, no matter what."
Patty's calm demeanor and clear eyes rattled Mickey even more. She wanted to confess everything, tell her friend everything. She wanted to clear her conscience and take responsibility for what she had done. She wanted to let go of the voices and the clowns and everything else, and just have someone tell her it was going to be okay. She wanted to tell Patty to tell Rick she wanted to be with him. She wanted to tell Patty that she desperately wanted her to hold her hand as she went to the police and just let go.
But she was beyond that now. She knew she had crossed a line with Ben. She knew there was no going back.
"Patty," Mickey began, not certain where she was going to go with this, "you're right. You can't make me do anything."
Mickey calmly sipped her coffee as she chose her words carefully. "I don't need my hand held. I don't need you to baby-sit me. I don't need anything from you. Not anymore."
She saw the virtual knife carve into Patty's soul, almost reveled in the pain she was causing. This would drive Patty away, she was certain of that. No one would hang around after that. She wanted to make sure Patty stayed away, so she could protect herself and so she could protect Patty.
Despite being out of control, Mickey didn't want any of her misdoings to cast on to Patty. She needed to force the distance to protect her friend, because Mickey knew, deep inside, this was only beginning.
Mickey stood up, purposefully taking the key from Patty. She towered over her friend, pulling together all of her power and energy, hoping she could scare Patty enough to make her go. Instead, Patty stood, toe to toe, marshaling all of her power as well.
"You can push me away, Mick," Patty stated calmly. "You can strong-arm me, you can take away the key, you can take away your friendship. But despite all of that, I'll still be here. I'll still be your friend. And I'll still hope that you will let yourself not be dead. Because no matter what, I will always be your friend. No matter how fucked up you are."
Then Patty did something Mickey did not expect. Patty did not try to hug her. Patty did not touch her. Patty simply turned and left.
Mickey stared at the door as it closed after her friend, rattled to her core. The sanity that was slipping made one last grab for hope as Mickey felt tears spring to her eyes. Go after her, the sane voice cried out. Tell her everything. She will make it right!
But she was too far gone to listen.
• • • • • • • • • • •
Mickey was right. A mass shooting in a state with loose gun laws overshadowed Ben's death. Oh, sure, they mentioned him, but right before a commercial and only to remind people to call the hotline. From headline to less than a minute of news in less than twenty-four hours. God bless America.
Mickey paced her apartment, trying to figure out her next move. Patty's visit had shaken her badly. She was determined to continue her quest, but sneaky voices started questioning that plan.
To drown out that noise, she turned on some aggressive alt-rock music, something to pace to. And bought a new bottle of whiskey to add to the music.
She kept seeing V cki's face in her mind's eye. The one thing that could really fuck things up for her was if that woman tied her into Ben's death. Until she knew more, she couldn't rest.
Choices, V cki had said. We made choices.
Mickey made a choice as the night closed in.
• • • • • • • • • • •
There were no police stationed at the diner that Mickey could see from her vantage point across the street. She scanned carefully up and down, making sure no one lurked in cars or hovered in nearby doorways. As far as she could tell, the police had done their job and gone home.
Still, she waited, happy that the darkness was her friend tonight and hid her well.
After a half hour, Mickey decided it was safe to get a bit closer. She pulled up her hood to cover her face as she slipped across the empty road. Her eyes darted around, once again checking for police. Nothing.
She stopped just outside the diner, far enough out of sight so she
could peek in but not be seen.
As usual at this time of night, the place was almost empty. A lone man sat at the counter, a bus driver, as evidenced by his uniform. Michael, the owner, could be glimpsed walking back and forth through the window into the kitchen. But it was V cki that Mickey was looking for.
She wasn't disappointed. Within a few minutes, the woman appeared behind the counter, looking worse for wear. Her hair was disheveled, even though she had stabbed a pair of chopsticks into the back trying to control it. She did have a new name tag, replacing the missing "i", but it hung askew on her apron. She wore no make-up tonight because her tears had kept washing it away. This aged her a few years more, and not in a good way.
For a moment, Mickey felt empathy for this poor woman. She was only trying to do the right thing, help someone get his life together. And now she had lost that someone. And Mickey was responsible for that.
Coldly pushing that thought away, Mickey reminded herself that she needed to find out what this woman knew. She had to figure out what the best way to gain this knowledge was. Face to face? Catch her off guard outside? Sneak up on her in the parking lot and....? Mickey wasn't sure how to end that sentence.
Mickey ducked just in time as the waitress' eyes wandered out to the street. She might have caught a movement but attributed it to the shadows of the night. Mickey decided stealth was the best option and moved around to the back of the diner, ready to wait as long as it took to get the waitress alone.
She didn't have to wait long. After about twenty minutes, the waitress came out the back door carrying a bag of trash. She tossed the bag in the container but didn't go right back inside.
Mickey watched her lose her composure, a sob breaking through her lips and filling the night air. Just one single sob. Then Vicki pulled it back in, smoothing her apron with a trembling hand, preparing to go back inside.
