by Susan Lee
She couldn't admit she was afraid to look in on him, so she drank as she let him scream. She tried to play with the mask as she sat, but the bandages on her hands made it difficult. She was twisting and turning the mask to see how it looked in the light. It wasn't until she dropped it that she realized he could hear her.
"Hello?" he called out cautiously. "Who's there?"
Mickey froze. She wasn't ready. She really, really wasn't ready. She was a little drunk and really not ready. Her hands still throbbed and she had just gotten the bleeding stopped.
"Hello?" he tried again, a little louder this time. "Can you help me? Where am I?"
Crap, she thought blearily. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. She hadn't prepared herself properly. What the fuck was she going to do?
"Hey!" This time he was louder and she could hear him trying to get to his feet. The shackles, however, weren't long enough to allow this. She could hear him pulling on his restraints, which only made her more anxious. "Hey! I know you're out there! What the fuck is going on?! Answer me!" The sounds of his struggles grew louder.
Slowly, with a very weird sense of calm, Mickey reached out and grabbed the mask from the floor. Very carefully, she put it in place, making sure it sat perfectly. She had pulled her hair back, though some of it had escaped while she had sat on the floor, waiting. She got her feet under her, no mean feat considering how much whiskey she had consumed.
As He continued to bellow (she could no longer think of him as "Rick", only as "He" or "Him"), she took very deliberate steps to the door. She pulled on a pair of black gloves that had somehow found their way into her pocket. Those covered her battered hands.
The sudden silence from the other side made her think He could hear her. She stopped at the door, resting one hand on it, as though she could feel His energy through it.
"Hello?" he said softly, carefully. "Are you there?"
"Yes," she answered just as softly. Silence.
"Who are you?"
Hm. How to answer? Her brain wasn't sober enough to go for clever and she didn't want to be honest. She hadn't given herself a villain name yet. Hm. Maybe he could come up with one. So, how to answer?
"Hey. Are you there?"
She knelt down, putting her masked eyes level with the opening in the door, then she carefully pushed it up. She could see him now, crouched on the bed, his hands tangled in the shackles, his hair standing on end, his clothes disheveled.
For a moment, she wondered what she had ever seen in him. Then she reminded herself that this was not the ideal circumstance for someone to remain handsome and dashing. Even Bruce Wayne got mussed up now and again.
She saw as his eyes caught her through the opening. He tugged and twisted around again, trying to get a better look. "I can see you, ya know," he challenged. She just keep looking, not saying anything. "Show some balls, whoever you are. Show me your face. Talk to me. Why am I here? What are you doing?"
The fear in his voice reached inside of her but it was stopped cold. She wouldn't let it reach her in the right place. She needed to maintain control. If she let it get into all the soft places, she would never be able to do this. And she had to do this.
Mickey closed the little hinged door, listening to him scream and curse some more as she did so. She wasn't ready yet. And, she decided, neither was he. So they would wait.
And wait, she did. Days.
Rick screamed himself past hoarse and back again. He cursed, he threatened, he even begged once or twice. She admired that he didn't beg much or too terribly pathetically. Said "please" more than anything. She listened to him pull and yank and batter and battle the bed and his restraints, to no avail.
The internet had given her good advice on how to attach things to walls securely, and BDSM sites were good for information on restraining people effectively, yet safely. He was going nowhere.
Mickey brought his food in when he was asleep. She left him bedpans to do his business in, also removing them when he was asleep. She knew he wasn't faking because she was putting pills into his food to keep him calm and make sure he eventually passed out. Even if he wasn't asleep, he could do no harm to her because she had done her homework to make sure they were both safe.
The outside world took notice of her adventures. The people in her office had all been taken to the hospital and deemed healthy. Except Patty. She had made sure she did it on a day that Patty wouldn't be there. She could do that much to protect her friend.
The police didn't seem to have any evidence yet to follow up on, so she felt fairly safe. She knew they would eventually put everything together and figure out it all led to her. For now, however, she was determined to stay focused.
She did well until a local news show interviewed Patty. Patty, with her kind eyes and even kinder heart. Patty, who would stop the world to help a friend.
"I really am worried about what happened to Rick," Patty said to the news reporter, keeping her emotions in check. "He's a really sweet guy and has just been through a really tough time with his brother. I hope he's okay and I hope the police can find him."
"Is there anything you want to say to the person who has him?" the reporter asked. Patty nodded, taking a deep breath before looking directly into Mickey's eyes.
"Please," Patty said softly, "please don't hurt him. Rick is a good man. He has a family. He has friends. And we all want him back, safe and sound. So please don't hurt him. He's a good friend and..."
The remote went through the TV before Patty could finish.
• • • • • • • • • • •
Mickey dressed carefully on day six. She thoroughly shed in the only working sink for the first time she could remember. She had lost track during the planning. But today, she wanted to be perfectly clean.
She slicked her short hair back, neatly, perfect. She didn't remember cutting it, but it was now short and choppy. She even put on some make-up, making her eyes dark and smoky to help hide them more under the mask. She didn't put on any jewelry as she knew that would help him identify her as Mickey. She wanted to stay anonymous, if possible.
A sleek turtleneck, snug leggings and a pair of motorcycle boots completed her outfit. Simple was best, she thought. So she let her "costume" just be simple. Fewer things to identify her. Fewer things to hold on to. Maybe later, at some point in the future, Rick could help her refine her look. After all, Batman would know how to put a look together.
Last but not least, she secured her mask into place. She had padded the places that rubbed uncomfortably so that now the piece sat easily. She had begun to like the way it looked, the way it hid her emotions, disguised her features.
She hoped it was enough when she stood outside the door once again, planning to go inside. He had learned not to yell and demand when he heard her outside the door, because she never answered him back. But now, she had had a few days to figure out what she was going to say.
She had to admit she was a little disappointed that he had not yet revealed his secret, that he had kept his superhero-ness hidden. She had thought he would have let it out sooner in order to escape. But if he truly was Batman, maybe he couldn't do anything without his utility belt and his toys.
Still, she hesitated a moment longer before keying the door open. She heard him shift as the door swung inside. She knew she would be framed beautifully, something she had also planned for - be perfect when he saw her for the first time.
Rick's eyes were wide, a mix of fear and anger and anticipation. He was on his knees on the bed, as far as he was able to move. She chose to ignore how chafed and raw his wrists were from the restraints, as she chose to ignore the smattering of blood on the sheets.
She stood as he took her in from head to foot, frowning as he tried to see past the mask. There was no sign of recognition and, for that, she was relieved.
"Who are you?" he asked after waiting for her to speak. "What the hell is going on here?"
Mickey took a step inside, careful to maintain a safe distance.
She looked him over carefully for the first time since she had brought him here.
She knew she would have to tend to him when he was asleep tonight. Maybe a bit more of a sleeping pill so he would stay asleep while she treated his wounds.
She didn't want to admit that she had practiced changing her voice, but she had. She worked on dropping the pitch a bit deeper, speaking more slowly and evenly, so that he wouldn't recognize her. Not quite Christian Bale/Batman gravely voice style, but enough that maybe he wouldn't figure out it was her.
"Don't worry," Mickey assured him. "I will take care of you."
Instead of panicking, Rick seemed remarkably calm, now that he had a face to talk to. "And exactly who are you and why are you taking care of me?"
"I have some things to find out about you," she answered just as calmly. Isn't that nice?, she kept thinking, we're both very calm.
"What things?"
"We'll get to that," she assured him. "Eventually. How are you feeling?"
He stared at her briefly before bursting into a mean, callous, incredulous laugh that actually sent a chill down her spine. "Me? Feeling? Oh, I'm just fucking fine and dandy. How are you?"
Mickey took another step closer. She noticed him lean towards her, still studying her carefully. His blue eyes were on fire with fury. That excited her a bit. "Are you hungry?"
"I could use some In N Out," he quipped.
"I'll see what I can do."
They studied one another, as good chess players might, trying to figure how who moves next. Or prey and predator.
"What do you want with me?" Rick finally asked.
"I want to help you," Mickey found herself answering.
"Help me what?"
"Find your true self."
"My... what?" he repeated, frowning. She took a step away and he leaned harder, trying to get closer to her. "Is that all you're going to say? You want to help me find my true self? Is this some kind of cult thing? You're gonna give me a personality test and make me paint my place that weird blue?"
"We'll get there," she promised. "To your true self. Just wait."
With that, she turned and walked out, blocking out his demands for more. She shook as she shut the door, hoping he didn't see that.
• • • • • • • • • • •
Mickey felt that she had to give Rick something special so she sneaked out for a late night grab of food, figuring it would be a good way to avoid being seen by too many people.
She automatically went to her favorite In N Out burger place, not thinking too much about it. She ordered herself a double double and fries and a shake, as well as ordering Rick something "animal style", even though she didn't really know what that meant. She gathered up ketchup packets and other necessities and headed out to her car.
That's when she ran into Patty. Quite literally. Didn't notice her as Mickey juggled all the things in her hands and almost dropped her bags when they collided.
"Oh, god," Patty apologized, "I didn't see... Mickey?"
Mickey wanted to run but there was nowhere to go. "Patty."
"Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you forever. You heard about Rick, right?"
"Rick, yeah, right," Mickey managed to stammer back.
"He's been missing more than a week now."
"I know."
Patty waited for Mickey to say more, but Mickey could think of nothing to say.
"Are you okay?" Patty asked, noticing Mickey's discomfort.
"I gotta go," Mickey blurted out, trying to get around her former friend. "Sorry." But Patty wouldn't budge.
"No, you don't," Patty insisted, grabbing Mickey's arm before she could get away. "I know you left your apartment. And I know you destroyed it before you took off. Your phone is disconnected. I have no idea where you're living. Do you have a place? Are you on the streets? Do you need help?"
Mickey couldn't look Patty in the eye because she knew if she did, she would spew everything to her. And she wasn't ready to do that yet. She knew she would eventually, but not right now.
"I'm fine," Mickey tried to assure Patty. "I'm just dealing with some stuff right now."
"Have you seen Jerry lately?"
"Nah, don't really need to," Mickey said a little too quickly. "Just... there's some stuff... and that's about all."
"Where are you living?"
"Um...." Mickey couldn't figure out how to answer that. In my lair? With Rick as my guest? She couldn't even say "hostage" to herself.
"I'm settling into a new place. Not quite ready to have anyone over yet."
Patty still hadn't let go of Mickey's arm.
"Mick," she almost demanded, "I'm worried about you. I'm scared for you. Please, let's talk. Come over to my place. Or we can just go get coffee. Or eat here. Just tell me what's going on, cuz I can see you're in trouble."
Mickey weighed her options. Admit everything and give up. Tell her where Rick was and then vanish into the night. Drive herself into the center divider.
Instead, she actually said, "I've found Bruce Wayne." She waited, having no idea why she said it or what Patty would say.
Patty stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing.
"I'm helping him," Mickey explained slowly, sounding logical and calm to her own ears, but probably not sounding either to Patty.
"Helping him do what?" Patty finally responded, almost afraid to ask.
"Find himself," Mickey said again with conviction. "I have to go. He's probably hungry."
For a moment, Mickey debated about bringing Patty along. After all, even villains needed sidekicks. Joker had Harley Quinn, she could have Patty. Hmmmm, interesting.
At the last second, she decided she had more work to do with Rick/Bruce before she increased her workforce.
Without a word, Mickey turned and almost ran away from Patty, jumping into the car, driving away before Patty could stop her.
TEN
Mickey found herself standing over Rick, watching him in the last moments of slumber before she woke him. Running into Patty had shaken her and made her decide it was time to get things moving. What things, she wasn't sure, but, you know, things.
She shook him awake, taking in his struggle as he realized she had tethered him more tightly to the headboard and bound his feet to the footboard.
"What the hell?" he muttered, coming out of sleep and severely restrained. Then he noticed the masked figure towering over him. "What are you doing?"
Mickey no longer tried to disguise her voice. She didn't really have to. With all the late nights, the whiskey and the screaming in her sleep, her voice had dropped significantly and developed its own growl.
"I want to help you, Bruce," she explained. She tried to speak to him the way Jerry had spoken to her in the early days of her recovery. "Help you admit who you are."
He frowned, struggling harder against the restraints as he realized the crazy he was facing. "My name is Rick, not Bruce."
"I know that's your new alias," she explained softly. "But I need you to go back to being who you were. And I'm going to help."
That's when she showed him the knife. And the bag of lemons.
At first, it didn't make sense to him. She could see that on his face. It didn't matter. It made sense to her. She had read about this in a novel somewhere. Small cuts, lemon juice, exquisite pain. Not too much damage needed to be inflicted. She had liked that.
Now he understood, she saw. Now he knew what she was going to do. Now he would admit it, disclose his real identity to her. He wouldn't let her hurt him. Because Batman rarely let anyone hurt him, unless you subscribed to Christopher Nolan's theories in his Batman film. But she knew this would work. Because why else would she do this?
The first cut wasn't deep. She observed him flinch but resolve not to make any sound. She admired that. She knew he was strong. She was going to see how strong.
She used the same knife to cut open a lemon. She poked it in several spots to make it flow more easily. She watc
hed his beautiful blue eyes as she positioned the citrus over the small cut and squeezed.
She admired that he didn't scream, though the sounds he made were hard to listen to. Especially when she used the razor-sharp knife to open another half dozen small cuts down his arm. And...squeeze. He did manage a few well-chosen curse words through clenched teeth. Again, admiration.
Mickey carefully put the knife and lemony weapon down on the far side of the room before she leaned over and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Just say it. Just tell me who you are and we can end this."
Anger replaced confusion on his face. "Rick," he spat at her. "Rick Crowley. I am a website programmer. I am Rick."
Mickey was disappointed. She had hoped he would be reasonable. See past what she had to do in order to get him to embrace his true self. Apparently, this was going to be harder than she thought.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered softly as she again picked up the knife and its citrus companion. "But we have more work to do."
She finally stopped when the sheets were scarlet he could no longer scream.
• • • • • • • • • • •
More days. More blood. More screams.
Mickey became immune to his pleas and his cries about day two. She ran out of empty areas of skin around day four. She ran out of ideas around day six.
She stood over him on day seven, after he had lost consciousness. The cuts had gotten deeper, the pain more intense. She contemplated letting him go. He still hadn't figured out that it was her.
She wondered briefly if it would help things if he knew it was her. Would he open up, reveal himself to her? Or would it drive him further away? After all, she had done some serious damage this week.
He moaned in pain, beyond words, even in his sleep. The sound cut deep through to her soul. It finally penetrated her veneer of protection.
She found herself on her knees next to his bed, taking his hand gently in hers. She found the places between the cuts to softly stroke him, offer him some kind of comfort.
