#it's on young goodman brown in case you had any thoughts at all about the validity of this statement

[ominouspositivity-or-else]

actively putting a reference to the "Girl, what were YOU doing at the devil's sacrament last night O_O" into my latest english paper that's due tomorrow afternoon

[alilweirddragon]

You Will Be Found (Amphibia x Oc)

Chapter 1- Anne or Jean? All was quiet in the small town of Wartwood. It was early morning, and Flossie Harveston, an albino axolotl with red hair, sighed as she awaited her mother. Her mother Pebbles, a hard working Newt, was inside one of the shops selling her stock. The young axolotl groaned, leaning over the wagon sides as her snail, Boris, chewed at the grass. All of a sudden, her ears perked up when Wally Ribbiton, the towns local crazy frog, burst out of the bushes screaming. “Monster! Th-there’s a monster in the woods! I seen it! I seen it!” He shrieked. Flossie tilted her head in curiosity. “A monster?” She wondered. After Mayor Toadstool got the hysterical frog to calm down, Wally began to describe its appearance. “It was horrifying! It had a huge head, a weird, stubby bump right in the middle of its face and long spindly limbs!” Everyone gasped, while Flossie’s eyes widened in excitement. “A monster? Maybe I could hunt it! Then I will finally be liked!” She smirked to herself, getting ready to jump off the wagon. “Ehem.” Floss turned to her mother, who gave her a disapproving look. “Oh! Mum! H-how long have you been there?” She chuckled nervously. “Long enough.” Pebbs replied, placing the things she didn’t sell into the wagon. “And YOU, young lady, are not going monster hunting. Leave that to the townsfolk. We’re just here for our monthly visit.” She stated. Flossie huffed in defeat, sitting back down. “Now we best get home. We don’t want that monster to find us. Who knows what it can do.” With that, she ordered Boris forward. The snail let out a coo, before moving forward. Travelling through the woods, the two amphibians were mostly silent. Pebbs hummed to herself, and her daughter hung over the side of the wagon, observing the ground as it rolled by. Bored out of her mind, she almost missed the strange foot-prints in the ground. “Wait mum stop!” Pebbs pulled on the reins. “What is it?! Did we forget something?!” She turned around, only to find the Axolotl child gone. “Flossie? FLOSS?!” She shrieked. Flossie rushed through the woods, following the odd foot-prints. The axolotl paused by a tree, panting for breath. “Geez, I didn’t realise it’d be this far.” She muttered to herself. A loud groan sounded from up ahead. Floss held her breath. Stepping forward cautiously, she peeked out from over a log. A large, gangly creature with spindly arms sat a few feet away. Its back was to her, and all the young axolotl could see was the brown hair tied in a ponytail. She let out a quiet gasp. “The monster!” The “monster” spun around, having heard the axolotl. “Who’s there!?” It yelled. Flossie shrunk behind the log, covering her mouth with her hands. “Flossie, you idiot!” She hissed. Hearing a yelp of pain, she peeked back over the log. The monster was leaning against a tree, holding its leg. Its face was scrunched in pain as it searched the surrounding forest in fear for any sign of life. Flossie’s eyes widened when she noticed the blood covering the monsters hand. Leaning back on the log, Flossie’s brows furrowed. “What do I do? I could just kill it and be a hero. Maybe then the toads will stop bullying me. But…” peeking back over, she looked at the monster one last time. The beast that obviously wasn’t just a monster, but a living, feeling, and hurt creature. Flossie clenched her fists, determination and fear coursing through her. “Alright Flossie, you can do this! Or you could possibly die either one!” Stepping out from behind the log, Flossie, gave a little wave as the creature turned to face her. “Hi! I-i’m-“ She was abruptly cut off, ducking as the beast lifted a stick from the ground and threw it in her direction. “Stay away! You-weird-strange-lizard-thing!” It pointed accusingly at her, backing up. Unfortunately, it tripped over a tree root, falling over as it let out a loud “OOF!” Flossie gasped. “Oh my frog! I’m so sorry for scaring you!” She rushed over, extending a hand. “Here! Let me help you!” She smiled reassuringly. The creature looked up at her, allowing the girl to help her. Flossie grinned as she looked up at the creature now towering over her. “I’m Flossie Harveston! What’s your name?” The monster stared at her warily. “Jean. Jean Goodman.” She replied bluntly. Flossie jumped up and down on the spot. “Are you that monster Wally was talking about?! You…” she put a hand to her chin, seeming to realise something. “…kinda…look like his description, save for the huge head.” There was an awkward silence between the two. Jean glanced at Flossie’s belt. “You’re…not gonna attempt to kill me, are you?” She questioned suspiciously, pointing to the small dagger. The young axolotl shook her head. “Oh no! Of course not! This is just my harvesting dagger!” She stated, pulling the dagger from its sheath and waving it around, much to Jean’s discomfort. “It’s completely harmless!” At that, the amphibian accidentally dropped the knife. It dug into a log, cutting it open as dozens of bugs crawled out. “Ooh! Jackpot!” She squealed, picking up the bugs. Jean glanced down at her in disgust. “Ok…uh, do you know some caves nearby that I can stay in?” Flossie nodded eagerly, trying to hold as many bugs as she could as she pointed in another direction. “A couple of miles that way! Shouldn’t be hard to miss!” She said cheerily. Jean hummed in response, limping away. “Thanks kid.” Flossie watched her go, a look of concern covering her features. “So what happened to your leg?” She asked curiously. Jean stopped, remembering the incident. “Got attacked by this massive bug. Got me in the leg as I ran off. Cowardly, I know.” She muttered. Flossie was concerned. “No, it was a good thing! If it was a Mantis it would’ve eaten you alive! You need to get your wound checked. We don’t want it infected, in case we have to amputate it.” Jean shook her head in confusion. “We?” “Yeah! C’mon, I can take you back home! My mum might be able to help!” She cheered. Grabbing Jean’s hand, she led her through the woods. The tall girl pulled her hand from the axolotl’s grip. “Oh no, I’m not going with you. You’ll probably hand me over to be dissected or something.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared down at the amphibian. The said amphibian looked up at her with innocent, worried eyes. “Why would I hand you over to anyone? I can see you’re no monster. You’re just scared and lost! Here! If it makes you feel any better-“ the axolotl cleared her throat, placing a hand over her heart. “I swear by King Andrias that I will not hand you over to someone who can hurt you! There! Now do you trust me?” She grinned, holding out a hand. Jean hesitated for a moment, before gently taking her hand. “Alright…you better not go back on it.” She muttered, as she allowed Flossie to lead her through the woods towards her wagon. “FLOSSIE! COME BACK THIS INSTANT! FLOSSIE!” Pebbs stopped yelling for a moment, panting for breath. “Frog dangit Flossie-“ “Mum! There’s someone I want you to meet!” Pebbs turned to the voice. Flossie was walking out of the woods, helping a horrible beast over a log. “FLOSSIE! GET AWAY FROM THAT THING!” She screeched, reaching into the back and pulling out a cane. Flossie waved her hands around frantically. “Wait, no! Mum! She’s a friend! And she needs help!” She tried calming her mother down, gesturing to Jean’s leg. Pebbs stared down at the beast, but didn’t lower her cane. Flossie sighed. “Mum, she’s hurt and all alone. I couldn’t leave her out there! She’ll die if we don’t help her.” Pebbs frowned, lowering the cane to her side. “Floss, darl, you’ve only been gone ten minutes. You don’t know it. For all we know Wally could be right! It could be tricking you so it can eat us!” She said sternly, not taking her eyes away from the creature. Jean sighed. “That’s fine. I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll be on my way.” She muttered. She started walking away, as Flossie stared after her. Pebbs felt a pang of guilt as she watched the strange creature walking away. Glancing down at Flossie’s heart-broken expression, she sighed angrily to herself. “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?” She muttered. Jean was almost out of view when she heard a voice call out to her. Looking over her shoulder, she realised it was the Newt. “Do you need a place to stay?” She asked. Jean raised an eyebrow. Flossie was smiling widely, her eyes filled with happiness as she rushed over to Jean. “YOU GET TO COME WITH US! YES YES YES!” She squealed. Dragging poor Jean toward the wagon, the creature had no choice but climb into the wagon, a fair bit away from Pebbs and her cane. Jean held her knees to her chest as Floss jumped in her seat. “This is so exciting! Can I ask questions now? 21 questions! First off, what are you and where did you come from? We’ve never seen anything like you before!” Jean leaned away from the excited Axolotl. “Uh…well, I’m a human, and I’ve come from another world. Don’t know how, just woke up here.” She explained. Pebbs listened to the creature’s story, her face scrunched up in thought. Flossie gasped. “Another world?! Is there magic?!” She squeaked. As Jean was about to reply, the wagon stopped. “Well, we’re here. Welcome to the Harveston’s cabin.” Pebbs stated. The cabin stood in the middle of a small clearing. The amphibians hopped off the wagon, followed by Jean. “You can sleep in the spare room. It has a window and we can put a mattress down if you want.” Pebbs said, heading toward the small house. The human was surprised by the newts sudden change of attitude. It almost frightened her how barely ten minutes ago she wanted to hit her with a cane. Jean was now in the guest room of the Harveston’s home, looking around at her new surroundings. The room was small and mostly bare, with a mattress now taking up one of the corners. A desk sat near the window, while a wardrobe took up the left side of the room. Sighing, she took off her jacket. “Guess this is where I’ll be sleeping from now on.” She muttered. Hearing a knock at the door, she turned to find Flossie holding a book. “Haha, thought I’d give you one of my books to read, might learn about our world a bit better?” She asked shyly, holding out the book. Jean raised a brow, surprised. “Oh…thank you.” She answered, taking the book and reading the title, ‘Land of Amphibia: A Polliwog Guide’. A small smile made its way to her face. “That’s…very considerate of you.” Flossie beamed. “No problem, Jean! Well, goodnight!” She waved, making her way out the door. Watching her go, Jean’s smile never left her face. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a photo. It was of Anne Booncuy, Sasha Waybright and Marcy Wu, her adopted siblings. Smile falling, Jean felt a lump form in her throat. “I’m gonna find you guys, if your ARE here….” She mumbled, sitting down on the mattress. A/N: first chapter? might redo it as i go. i’ll be writing most of the chapters before i eventually post them, so think of this as a preview?

[lfthinkerwrites]

The Curse of King Tut: CASE CLOSED

Title: The Curse of King Tut!

Rating: T

Summary: Edward and Tut have their final showdown and certain truths are revealed.

Previous Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9

AO3 Link

Goodman switched off the monitor and let out a triumphant laugh. Carson leaned down and the pair exchanged a long kiss. "It's over. You did it. I'm so proud of you Victor." She said when they parted. Goodman smiled at her.

Penelope had sat in silence, overcome with guilt over Edward's fate. Now, seeing their display, her sadness was replaced with anger. "You won't get away with this," she hissed at the pair. "Either of you. GCPD will be combing the city for you. You'll never get out without being caught."

Carson looked up at her with disinterest. "What should we do with her Victor? Use her as a bargaining chip?"

"Leave her to me," Goodman answered. "Go to the chamber and collect Riddler's cane. I want to use it as a trophy."

"What about his body?"

"If anything is left, we'll place it in the sarcophagus and display it for all of Gotham to see. A fitting end for him."

Carson nodded and then walked out of the office. Goodman than stood out of his chair, picked up his hook and walked towards Penelope.

Edward had just managed to get himself inside the sarcophagus and shut the lid when the bomb exploded. It was a tight fit, but it offered him just enough protection from the blast. He could feel the force and the sound cramped inside of the ancient coffin. His ears rang from the sound for a long while afterwards, until he finally worked up the nerve to lift the lid and poke his head out. The floor was covered with shrapnel and the scales themselves had been obliterated, leaving only a burning base behind. Edward scanned the room and breathed out a sigh of relief. A second or two later and he'd have been riddled with shrapnel and bleeding out on the floor, if the bomb didn't kill him outright. Edward lifted himself out of the sarcophagus and stepped down, taking care not to step on any of the debris. First thing first, he needed to figure out how to get out of the room. Goodman clearly didn't intend for him to survive this challenge, so he had the element of surprise on his side. He examined the door, but couldn't find any way to open it. He frowned. If Goodman thought he was dead, then he no longer had any incentive to keep Penelope alive. He needed to hurry.

Just as he took a step back the door slid open. Before him stood a woman with dark brown hair, dressed in Egyptian garb similar to Goodman's. Her jaw dropped when she made eye contact with him. "You! How-?"

Edward smirked. "Ms. Leigh Carson, I assume?"

Carson moved to dart back from where she came, but Edward was moved quicker, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into the room. "Now now," he scolded. "Is that any way to greet the man who helped save your life ten years ago?"

Carson's face reddened, before she grabbed onto his coat. "Thank God!" she cried out dramatically. "Victor's gone mad! He was so jealous of your success he swore he'd stop at nothing to destroy you! He threatened me!" She looked up at him, batting her eyelashes at him. "I'm so glad you're here." Edward didn't miss how practiced she seemed. Or the fact that her hand that was holding onto him for dear life was moving towards a pocket on her dress. Edward chuckled.

"My dear," he said. "I'm an amnesiac, not an idiot."

Carson's eyes narrowed, then she pulled a small dagger out of her pocket. Edward unceremoniously threw her to the ground and unscrewed the top of his cane. Just as Carson moved to get up, he pointed the long blade of his sword cane at her throat. Carson dropped her blade and looked up at Edward. She genuinely looked afraid.

"Mine's bigger," he taunted. He inched the blade closer. One more inch and it would pierce her throat. "Now, I'm only going to ask you this once: where are they?"

"I want you to know," Goodman said as he advanced towards Penelope. "That I hold no real personal animosity towards you."

With every step he took, Penelope could feel her own heart hammer in her chest. She struggled again, but the ropes held tight. She glared at Goodman as he stopped right in front of her. "Of course you don't," she bit out. "That's why you kidnapped and are about to kill me."

Goodman roughly grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. "You chose to associate with Riddler," he said. "You should have known what would happen as a result. His darkness would have corrupted you, if it hasn't already." Goodman raised the hook up and Penelope could see the dried blood on the sharp edge. A fresh wave of fear flooded through her and she shut her eyes. She didn't want to die, not like this. "When you see him in the Afterlife, send him my regards."

"You can send them yourself Goodman!"

Penelope's eyes opened and she looked past Goodman to see Edward standing in the doorway, alive and well. She'd never been happier to see the man. "Edward!" she cried out.

"I told you I'd be here," Edward said, entering the room. His gaze hardened as he looked from her to Goodman. "Now, I've completed your 'Final Judgement'. Let. Her. Go."

Goodman let go of Penelope's face and staggered forward. His face had gone white when he saw Edward enter the room. It was the most genuine emotion she'd seen out of the man since she'd been brought here. "You-no! NO!" Goodman roared. "You can't be alive!"

"And yet, here I am," Edward said, taking another step towards Goodman. "Did you really think," he said in a cruel, mocking tone "That your pathetic attempts to steal from my playbook would defeat me?"

Goodman gnashed his teeth. "How dare you," he muttered. "You washed up, narcissistic fool! You will not deny me my revenge!" Goodman lunged forward and slashed his hook at Edward's throat. Edward took a step back and brought his cane up to avoid the attack, but Goodman balled his other hand into a fist and punched him in the face, sending him crashing against the monitor.

"Edward!" Penelope cried out again, this time in fear for his safety.

Edward barely had time to react to the blow before he felt Goodman's hands wrap around his throat. "The Gods have found you unworthy!" he heard Goodman shout. "You will be punished! You will pay for everything you did to me!"

Edward felt his lungs begin to burn from the lack of oxygen. Before his vision went black, he heard Penelope's voice calling out his name desperately. That was all the incentive he needed. He brought his right arm down hard over Goodman's arms. Goodman's grip loosened just enough for Edward to surge forward breaking free of the hold. Edward punched Goodman square in the face. "That's for calling me a has been," he said. He punched Goodman in the stomach before the other man had time to breathe. "That's for trying to kill me!" Once Goodman was bunched over, Edward grabbed his shoulders and brought his knee up, hitting Goodman square in the groin. Goodman collapsed to the floor and didn't try to get up again. "That's," Edward hissed, "For bringing her into the middle of this." Goodman didn't reply, instead groaning in pain. Panting from the exertion and the adrenaline, Edward picked up his cane from where he'd dropped it during the scuffle. He unscrewed the top of it, bring out the blade.

"You weren't like this," Goodman moaned out. "You weren't like this then. How?"

Edward stepped over Goodman. "I was a younger man then," he said. "Less experienced. I treated you and the whole experience like a bit of a lark. I'm older now. I've forgotten more than you could ever hope to accomplish." Edward raised the blade. It would be so easy to put Goodman out of everyone's misery. Given the fate Goodman was facing, it might even be a mercy. "And you've made me very angry." Goodman lay flat on his back, staring straight up at Edward as he stood over him. He offered no resistance. Edward could stab him through the heart...

"Don't!"

Edward turned sharply at the sound. Penelope was watching him, her blue eyes wide. "Edward don't!" she called out again. "He's not worth it!"

Slowly, Edward nodded. "No," he said, walking towards where she sat. "No, he's not." Edward walked behind the chair and using the sword cane, carefully cut Penelope free. "Are you alright Dr. Young?"

She nodded as she stood up. "I'm fine," she said, rubbing the circulation back into her wrists. "What about you?"

Edward had to smile a bit. He'd never complain about her showing concern for him ever again. "I've had capers with Selina that left more bruises."

Penelope shot him an annoyed look. Then went back to rubbing her wrists. Edward frowned when he saw the angry red marks around them. They looked painful. Impulsively, Edward gently took Penelope's wrists into his own hands and began to rub. Penelope let him, too stunned to voice any potential complaint. "I'm alright," he said. "I promise." Penelope looked up at him, her eyes showing an emotion he'd never seen from her before. She opened her mouth to say something, when a groaning caught their attention.

It was Goodman, making an attempt to draw himself up. Edward stepped in front of Penelope. "Stay behind me." Selina should be here by now, along with GCPD. "It's over Goodman," he said. "I've dispatched your partner. You don't stand a chance against me."

"My Ankhesenamun," Goodman moaned out. "You-"

Edward rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't kill her." Not that he wouldn't have been justified, given how much trouble she'd been. And considering what Goodman had threatened to do to Penelope, he really had no room to complain. "I merely left her locked in the room you had me trapped in. She should be just fine."

Goodman tried to get up again, before falling back onto his knees. "This is only the beginning," he said. "I'll be back. I will not stop until my revenge is complete...or until you kill me."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "While I admire your determination, I doubt you'll have the time." Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial of medication he'd found earlier. "This was your only real shot at me. That's why you put so much effort into this."

"What is that?" Penelope asked.

Edward handed the medication bottle to her. "Avastin. A medication taken intravenously, used to treat-"

"Cancer," Penelope finished. "Oh my God." Penelope looked down at Goodman. "You're sick."

Goodman shook his head. "No. I'm dying. I was diagnosed with Glioblastoma two years ago. A year ago, I was pronounced terminal."

"That's about the time you started looking up my old crimes," Edward continued. "You had nothing to lose, so why not try taking me down with you? Was that what you were thinking?"

Goodman nodded. "I meant what I said to Dr. Young in GCPD. You ruined my life. I used to be someone. Now look at what I've been reduced to!"

"You did this to yourself," Edward said sharply. "You could have stayed in comfortable retirement with Leigh Carson until you met your end."

Goodman shook his head. "I would have died completely forgotten, while you lived on in a life you don't deserve." Goodman settled onto the floor. "I probably would have died in Arkham, yes. But I would have died happy." He let out a laugh. "I would have lived on forever as the man who defeated the Riddler." Goodman continued to laugh, until his laughs turned into sobs. For a long time, Edward stood in silence watching him with revulsion and something else Edward couldn't quite identify. He thought that he'd feel satisfaction in finally breaking Goodman, but watching him break down like this made Edward think back to another time and place, where he was on the ground and Batman was staring down at him....What was it? Brain tumor?...I used to be somebody in this town...I was going to show them all and I did....What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his arm. "Edward?" Penelope was looking up at him in concern. "What is it?"

Edward shook his head. If he was about to remember something, it had passed. "Nothing," he said. "Just have a bit of a better understanding of what Batman went through for all those years." He looked down again at Goodman, who was still blubbering on the floor. "I'd like to think I wasn't so pathetic."

Penelope said nothing in response, but judging by the expression on her face, she wasn't quite convinced. Edward stared back at her, neither of them knowing quite what to say to the other. Edward finally broke the ice. "I-"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Edward stifled a curse. "Selina," he drawled. "Glad to see you finally join us."

Selina remained where she was, leaned against the doorway. "Took me a little bit to get through those traps Tut had set up for you." She looked at Goodman with no small amount of disgust. "Seems you had everything under control."

"Of course I did. Is GCPD here?"

"Yeah, I think they're getting SWAT set up. You'd better get out there. I'll wait for you by the car. Here's your hat back by the way" Selina tossed Edward's hat to him, then she gave Penelope a cheeky wave before she left. "Nice seeing you again Doc."

Penelope flushed and Edward had to laugh a bit as he placed his hat back on his head. "Ready to go?"

Penelope nodded. "God yes."

Goodman and Carson had been taken back into custody and were now on route directly to Blackgate. Penelope was being examined by paramedics, Dr. Leland at her side. And Edward was facing down another old nemesis of his. "You're in for it now Nigma," Bullock bellowed. "Just you wait until the Commish gets here! We'll have you back in custody so fast-"

"What do you mean, 'back in custody'?" Penelope interjected, walking away from the paramedics. "Was he detained? On what grounds?"

"He was interfering with official police business doc," Bullock answered. "And I still don't buy for a moment that he didn't know anything about the bomb!"

Edward rolled his eyes. "This is getting tedious Bullock. If you want me in custody so badly, then just take me. We both know I'll be out by morning."

Bullock was about to say something else when Gordon's voice interrupted. "That's enough! Both of you!" Gordon stormed towards them. Penelope quickly moved to speak with him.

"Commissioner, I-"

Gordon held his hand up. "It's alright Dr. Young." He glared at Bullock. "Detective Bullock, finish processing the crime scene. Believe me, we'll be having a very long conversation about this back at headquarters." Bullock looked a bit sheepish at Gordon's scolding and did as he was told. Gordon than turned his attention to Edward. "As for you Nigma..." Edward waited. "Go home," Gordon finally said. "I think you've had a busy enough day."

Edward knew an order when he heard one. He exchanged one last, long look with Penelope before he turned on his heel and walked away from the warehouse. Selina had moved her car to a side street a few hundred feet away and was waiting for him. "Where to now? Home?"

"Not yet," Edward said. "There's a stop I'd like you to make first."

Much to Joan's chagrin, Penelope had refused to be looked at for long by the paramedics. She wanted to go home. Aaron had dropped her off at her apartment not long after Gordon had officially cleared the crime scene. As soon as she was inside, she sank down onto her sofa. She was absolutely physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted by her ordeal. Most of all, she was once again completely bewildered by Edward Nigma. Once again, she owed him her life. Unlike the memorial, which was an impulsive act, he'd knowingly and willingly risked his life for her. On some level, he did care about her. It was a dangerous thought. Penelope sighed and checked her watch. It was two in the morning. She needed to sleep. A knock at the door put any thoughts of that to an end.  Penelope cautiously walked up to her door and peered through the peephole. She caught a glimpse of the last person she expected to see and opened her door. "Edward?"

Edward stood just outside her door and tipped his hat to her. "Dr. Young."

"What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to check up on you."

"You didn't have to do that."

Edward just shrugged. "What sort of gentleman would I be if I didn't?" Edward paused a bit and fidgeted with his cane. He looked almost nervous. "I-" he started. "This isn't easy for me to say. I...realized tonight that you've taken quite a few risks on my behalf over the past few months and that I haven't been as appreciative of that as I should have been. It also occurred to me that your association with me led to you being put in danger unnecessarily. That was never my intention and I promise not to let it happen again."

Penelope just blinked at him, not sure she'd really heard any of what he had said. "Are-are you trying to apologize?"

Edward frowned a bit. "I said it wasn't easy for me to say. But yes. I'm sorry for what happened tonight. And yesterday."

Edward Nigma sincerely apologizing. That was something Penelope never thought she'd hear. "Well, thank you for that Edward. And," she added softly. "Thank you for saving my life."

Then, Penelope did something she had never done before. She smiled at Edward Nigma. It was a small smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. The impact it had on Edward was immediate. He looked almost stunned for a moment, before he smiled back.

"Well," he said in a more jovial tone. "All in a night's work." His face grew serious again. "If you don't want to continue our partnership after this, I wouldn't hold it against you."

Penelope's answer was immediate. "I won't settle for being treated like an informant. And I want to be treated with as much respect as you would with Selina Kyle or any of your other associates. But...I still want to work with you."

Edward smiled again. "Done. Well then," he gave her a sweeping bow. "Adieu, Penelope." Edward straightened up and walked down the hall, leaving Penelope to realize that that was the first time he'd ever referred to her by her first name.

Edward walked back to the car with a slight spring in his step. All that nonsense he'd been through for the past two days, seeing her smile had almost made it worth it. Almost. Selina arched her brow with amusement as he clambered back into the passenger's seat. "I take it your conversation went well?"

"She's still agreeing to be my partner, yes." Selina smirked a bit. "What?"

"Eddie, you're blushing."

Was he? Edward felt his face. It did feel a bit warm. "Must be the cold. You can drop me at my apartment now."

Selina rolled her eyes. "Say please Eddie."

"Sorry. Please."

"An apology? You really are in a good mood," Selina teased. "By the way, I never did get those artifacts Goodman and Carson stole."

Edward's face fell. "Oh. I suppose that means I'll owe you a favor, doesn't it?"

"A favor? You owe me two: one for the trinkets, one for me convincing Ivy to help bust you out."

"Fine, fine." Edward groused. As Selina pulled away, he stole a quick look back at the brownstone, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by Selina. "I know it's not my business Eddie, but just who exactly is she to you?"

"You're right: it's not your business." A small smile came to Edward's face. "I think she's my friend."

Selina dropped him off back at his apartment twenty minutes later. As soon as Edward dropped his laptop on his kitchen table, he was ready to collapse. A few hours sleep, then he'd go back to GCPD and browbeat Gordon to get his cell phone back. Then he could finally get that Vale or Gleason interview scheduled. Edward stopped dead in his tracks when he felt the chill of the early morning air. He knew for a fact that he didn't leave any windows open before he left yesterday. A black shape walking towards him confirmed his suspicions. "It's been a while. How was League business?"

Batman stopped right in front of him and glared down at him. "Edward. We need to talk."

CASE FILE 0026: CASE CLOSED

[radically-kind]

Yes! Defund the Police!

I know it sounds extreme to some. But 99% of abolitionists do not mean the destruction of police or prisons tomorrow morning. They mean something very different, and very reasonable. If you are willing to listen, there is a lot to learn from this movement. This is the kind approach. This is the radical approach.

Listen to the people actively instituting this change. Democracy Now! did a couple of wonderful interviews on June 8th, 2020 with those very folk. Transcript of the conversation with Linda Sarsour & Mychal Denzel Smith on What Meaningful Change Would Look Like, is below. 

Video can be found here: 

https://www.democracynow.org/2020/6/8/bill_de_blasio_nypd_police_funding

Transcript

This is a rush transcript. Copy may not be in its final form.

AMY GOODMAN: This is Democracy Now!, democracynow.org, The Quarantine Report. I’m Amy Goodman. After nearly two weeks of massive demonstrations here in New York City calling for police accountability, Mayor Bill de Blasio has pledged to shift some of New York funding for police and reallocate it to social services. He made the announcement in a press conference on Sunday.

MAYOR BILL DE BLASIO: We will be moving funding from the NYPD to youth initiatives and social services. The details will be worked out in the budget process in the weeks ahead. But I want people to understand that we are committed to shifting resources to ensure that the focus is on our young people.

AMY GOODMAN: The New York City Police Department has an annual budget of about $6 billion. That’s nearly 7% of Mayor de Blasio’s proposed $90 billion budget for 2021. This comes as Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti agreed last week to slash between $100 million to $150 million from proposed funding for police, and members of the Minneapolis City Council have vowed to dismantle the city’s police department.

For more, we’re joined by Linda Sarsour, Palestinian American Muslim organizer; author of We Are Not Here to Be Bystanders; co-founder of Until Freedom, which along with Communities United for Police Reform and Until Freedom has been pressuring New York City’s mayor to institute meaningful change around police accountability; a well-known activist, New Yorker.

Linda, welcome back to Democracy Now! Can you respond to what the mayor announced yesterday? This is like a day or two after he was — activists turned their backs on him, after they booed him when he came out to speak at one of the memorial services for George Floyd that was run by George Floyd’s brother, who lives here in New York.

LINDA SARSOUR: Let’s make sure that the credit goes where it’s due, Amy. The credit is to Communities United for Police Reform, the Justice Committee, the New York Justice League, the Gathering for Justice, Until Freedom, the many groups in New York City who have been doing police reform work for decades, and in the last for years have continued to pressure Mayor Bill de Blasio, who ran on a police reform platform, to actually make transformative change.

On Saturday, Amy, we marched from 110th and Central Park West, which was Frederick Douglass Monument, all the way to Washington Square Park. Over 50,000 people came out with us, and we had a set of demands. And one of the demands was defund the police and reappropriate funding to youth and communities. We also called on him — when the anti-chokehold bill gets to his desk, I don’t want to see him, I don’t want to hear his voice. I want him to put ink to paper and to sign that anti-chokehold bill.

We need his leadership right now. So, he can tell me that he’s going to defund the police or reappropriate funding, but we have to see that. We have to see him implement that. He has lied over and over to Black and Brown communities in New York City. So we want to see the actual tangible things that he’s going to be doing for us.

AMY GOODMAN: And Mayor de Blasio was long considered a progressive mayor. Your thoughts on this and what has happened since? And also, Governor Cuomo’s attacks on him, and his approach to law enforcement, Linda?

LINDA SARSOUR: If Mayor Bill de Blasio is a progressive, Amy, please don’t ever use that term to describe someone like me. Bill de Blasio is not a progressive. He ran as a progressive, but when he became the mayor, the NYPD started running him. I always wondered who was the actual mayor of New York City. Was it the mayor himself, or was it the NYPD?

And so, for me, what we’re looking for from Mayor Bill de Blasio — he only has a little time left right now, and he could really go out here with a legacy of really transforming the New York City budget, of defunding the police department, of actually listening and implementing the visions of Black and Brown communities. We protest, Amy, all the time in New York City, Black-led organizing, Brown people-led organizing. We know how to keep our communities safe. We are trained in deescalation. We are trained in bystander intervention.

And we have seen the brutality of the New York Police Department not just against innocent, unarmed people in our communities, but also against protesters. And in one of the largest democracies in the world, we watched the largest police force — who, you remember, Mayor Bloomberg said that if they were an army, the NYPD, they would be the seventh-largest army in the world. And they have been brutalizing protesters across New York City. The mayor has not asked NYPD to stand down. And we’re tired of it. And I’m looking forward to seeing the New York City Council also hold the mayor accountable and not doing any handshakes with the budget unless we defund the New York Police Department.

AMY GOODMAN: So, Linda Sarsour, this call to defund the police, that is echoing throughout the country, explain exactly what it means. And would you say that it goes along the lines of what the Minneapolis City Council says they’re going to do within the next year, and that is dismantle the police department? Is it to completely cut off the $6 billion to the New York Police Department or reallocate a lot of money?

LINDA SARSOUR: I just want to make it clear that the movement to end police brutality, the movement for the sanctity of Black life, is being led by Black women and Black people, and they have been calling for the abolition of police, many for decades, and some longer than that. So I just want to make it clear that the long-term goal for many in the movement is the abolition of police, is the abolition of prisons.

But when we say “defund the police today,” we do not mean that tomorrow you’re going to wake up and not find a single police officer around. That is not what defunding the police means right now at this moment. What it really means, Amy — and it’s very rational, and it’s very reasonable — is that we need to take cops out of our schools, cops out of addressing mental health crises, cops out of addressing homelessness, and reallocate those resources to services, to adequate housing, to case management, to economic opportunities in our community, to reinstate programs like the Summer Youth Employment Program, to make sure that we have, for example, protective equipment for healthcare workers, making sure that we have clinics and hospitals and access to healthcare for Black and Brown people, for undocumented people in our communities, better buses and better infrastructure and better transportation.

So what we’re saying is, let the cops do what the cops are supposed to do: keep people safe. They are not social workers. They are not mental health professionals. They are not educators. So they are actually engaging in activity that does not match the qualifications nor the criteria of a police officer. That is not what they are trained to do in the police academy, so why are we sending them to address things that have nothing to do with them?

So, what we’re saying is, in New York City, the police department has one of the largest budgets of any agency, in fact maybe the largest of all agencies in New York City. All we’re saying is, decrease their budget, take that money and reappropriate it into youth, seniors, community development, and with a focus on those who have been the most directly impacted, focused on communities of color, poor working-class people.

And when you have this conversation, Amy, with people who do not understand what defund the police is — I have not had one conversation with a white ally or a neighbor in a place like Bay Ridge, which has a lot of pro-law-enforcement people — people say to me, “You make sense. This is absolutely rational. It is absolutely reasonable.”

So we’re not saying, you know, delete the police officers off the face of the Earth tomorrow. But what we’re saying is, reappropriate the funding, and let’s put it back in the services that our community needs, so we can be healthy, we can be safe, and we can be secure, and we can have communities that thrive and not only survive in New York City.

AMY GOODMAN: In a little bit of time, I want to ask you about a man who died in captivity — right? — in the Metropolitan Detention Center, who was pepper-sprayed, Linda. But I first want to go to Mychal Denzel Smith, fellow at Type Media Center, author of Invisible Man, Got the Whole World Watching: A Young Black Man’s Education. His forthcoming book is Stakes Is High: Life After the American Dream.

I wanted to ask you about this whole call to defund the police, Mychal, and also Governor Cuomo’s discussion of what he’s calling the “Say Their Name” bill. This is at the New York state level. He says the next wave of reform will be shift funding from NYPD to youth and social services, reform 50-A, transparency — well, that was what the mayor is calling for. But the governor, in their “Say Their Name” bill, is calling for a number of different demands. And I want to get your sense of what exactly that “Say Their Name” bill means, when he says more transparency, the New York attorney general will be in charge of prosecution of police, there should be no chokeholds, and other issues, Mychal.

MYCHAL DENZEL SMITH: Well, those are things that are on the back end of this issue, right? Like, the defund the police demand is an abolitionist demand, one. We have to understand and to recognize it as such. The shifting of funds from the police department — currently, as you stated, the New York City Police Department’s budget nearly $6 billion, almost $2 billion in Los Angeles, constituting almost 18% of their city budget. It’s similar numbers in Chicago and other large cities. Those are funds that could go toward building the type of institutions and infrastructure for the health and safety of people, like Linda was just saying. You can invest that money in things that people actually need.

I mean, the one thing that’s come of this global pandemic of COVID-19 is an understanding of what constitutes essential, what do we actually need. And police have shown that they are inessential. They not there to do what people imagine them to do. They don’t protect, and they don’t serve, unless you are rich and white. And so, in that instance, if you continue to fund the police at the rates that you do, and you are denying other services those funds, what you set up is an untenable situation in which you always need the police, or “need” the police, because a system of inequality requires that violent enforcer when there are uprisings, as we’ve seen the police enact in the suppression of these uprisings in the past couple weeks.

So, the call for defunding the police really is sort of the first thing, right? It is one of the first demands. It goes along with decriminalization. It goes along with the building of new institutions that are actually community-oriented safety measures, and also getting rid of white supremacists, heteropatriarchal capitalism, taking a shot right at the heart of what that means and how that is undergirding every institution in the United States. Defunding the police is one step toward that. And it’s a crucial step because it gets people to understand that they have prioritized the police in ways that are unhealthy for so many of us, that are dangerous, that threaten our lives.

AMY GOODMAN: Let me ask you about Campaign Zero, efforts at reform. They released an 8 Can’t Wait campaign with eight reforms they claim would reduce police killings by almost three-quarters. Abolitionists are responding with an 8 to Abolition platform. Explain all of that.

MYCHAL DENZEL SMITH: Yeah, so, in the midst of this Campaign Zero, which is an organization of sorts that came out of the Ferguson uprisings and has been at the forefront of activists organizing around police violence, they’ve delivered to us stats on policing and police violence and use of force that have been crucial, and they’ve been uncovering things about police union contracts. And those things are really essential.

But their program, the 8 Can’t Wait, the policy reforms that they issued, and came along with this nice graphic, and it was shared on social media, they’re really milquetoast reforms, right? And what they do is sort of change the rules of engagement for police, right? Like, they say, you know, you have to issue a warning before shooting, or you can’t use chokeholds, or you can’t shoot at a moving vehicle, and these sorts of things. And while those things could do something in terms of the reduction of police violence, by Campaign Zero’s own admission on their website, the 72% number, the reduction of police violence by 72%, would only happen if you go from having zero of these reforms to having all eight at one time. Then you would reduce police violence by 72%. But already across the country, a number of police departments have these reforms in place.

What that means, though, is that you’re not getting at what the actual issue is, and that is the broader issue of policing, as a structure, being meant to and always having been, in its historical roots, a measure of suppression, a measure of violent law enforcement, of white supremacy and capitalism.

And so, the 8 to Abolition response, which has been led by Black feminist abolitionists, it’s to say these are actual forms that are also actionable items right now that you can do, that actually strike at the heart of policing. It reduces points of contact with police so that we don’t have — we remove police from schools. We’re decriminalizing so that we have fewer interactions with police. We’re setting up community-led conflict resolution, so that people don’t call the police for these minor conflicts, such as like noise complaints or parking violations and stuff like that, that could be held — that could be handled if we were talking to one another. These are things that are actionable right now and that you can do to divest from the idea of policing, carceral logic that has seeped into all of our thinking, that the police are somehow a necessity in safety, when they have proven over and over that they’re not.

AMY GOODMAN: In a moment, we’re going to be speaking with Alex Vitale, author of The End of Policing, but I wanted to ask you, Linda, about the 35-year-old African American man in Jamel Floyd — another Mr. Floyd — who died after being pepper-sprayed by guards inside the Metropolitan Detention Center. Floyd had been held at the Brooklyn jail since October 2019. His family said he was asthmatic. On Thursday, protesters gathered outside the MDC to demand justice for Floyd. Inside, prisoners knocked on their walls in solidarity. This is Floyd’s father, James Floyd, speaking at the protest.

JAMES FLOYD: They claim he had a heart attack. They lied. They all lie. The truth will come out! The truth will show!

AMY GOODMAN: Can you tell us, Linda — I mean, you have been marching, from Minneapolis to Louisville, now here in New York. You’ve been involved with this, protesting this case. We just have 30 seconds, but if you can tell us what happened to Jamel Floyd?

LINDA SARSOUR: I have been in touch with the family and working with them. This is a 35-year-old man who was about to be released from prison very soon. MDC is for people who are pretrial or about to be released, so they are not a threat. They are about to go home. He was pepper-sprayed in his cell, where he was not a threat to any other inmate. And so, we are outraged at MDC.

And I want people to remember, as we say, “End police brutality,” as we talk about Black Lives Matter, that also incarcerated Black lives matter. And that means that we fight also the systems of incarceration that also kill our brothers and sisters inside.

So, this case is ongoing. We’re demanding investigations, and we’re demanding the firing of the corrections officers who pepper-sprayed Mr. Floyd. He left behind a wife, a mother, a father, siblings, a 14-year-old daughter, who was actually about to celebrate her 14th birthday with her father upon his release. So it is a very sad case, and it should never have happened. And we need New York City to also focus not only on our brother George Floyd, but also on justice for Jamel Floyd.

AMY GOODMAN: We want to thank you for being with us, Linda Sarsour, co-founder of Until Freedom; Mychal Denzel Smith, author of Invisible Man, Got the Whole World Watching: A Young Black Man’s Education.

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Little Women reviewed by Shloka Ananthanarayanan ‘08 (@shlokes)

This review originally appeared on Shloka’s blog, Pop Culture Scribe.

A year ago, I learned that Greta Gerwig had written and directed an adaptation of Little Women and it would be released on Christmas Day 2019. Since that announcement, this movie is what I have been most looking forward to all year. Little Women is one of my most cherished novels. The 1994 film (also a Christmas Day release) is a highlight of my childhood and I have watched it countless times. I have been in love with the character of Jo March my entire life, and I thought no one would supplant Winona Ryder as Jo in my imagination. But it has now happened, because Saoirse Ronan (and really, Greta Gerwig, who is the true Jo of this movie) has stolen my heart. The following review lists out everything I so deeply loved about this film and as such is brimming with spoilers. Please watch this movie first and read this review later. You deserve to treat yourself to this cinematic feast. However, if you do want a teaser, I highly recommend this Vanity Fair video where Gerwig and some of the cast dissect a scene in the movie. It will immediately tell you everything you need to know about how much love and artistry went into making this film.

1. The casting. Every character in this film has been impeccably cast: shout out to casting directors Kathy Driscoll and Francine Maisler. Yes, Saoirse Ronan as Jo is perfect, with her angular face and wild carefree attitude that is so at odds with the women of her day. But Emma Watson is also the perfect Meg, the beauty of the family who is gentle but strong, tempted by riches but wise enough to know that love is more important. Eliza Scanlen is a wondrous Beth, demonstrating her crippling shyness but also the efforts she takes to acknowledge others' kindnesses and give of herself in myriad ways until she no longer can. And Florence Pugh is a delight as Amy, the most irritating March sister. While it's definitely a hard ask to play 12-year old Amy in the childhood scenes, Pugh does a creditable job, highlighting what a brat Amy can be, but helping us to understand how she fits into this family and how her mind had been molded to think that her only escape from her existence will be to marry well. Then of course there's Laura Dern as the indomitable Marmee, the woman who is tirelessly raising these little women while her husband is off to war and does it with a cheerful composure that masks her own frustration and fatigue. And there's Meryl Streep as the cantankerous Aunt March, a horribly plain-speaking woman who wants the March sisters to do well but has very little hope that they will. We also get the wonderful Jayne Houdyshell as the hardworking Hannah, the Marches' maid who ensures they are fed and clothed and keeps things moving while the girls are off on their adventures. Moving from the women, we have Timothee Chalamet as Laurie, who is charming and always a treat opposite Saoirse Ronan: that casting helps as the two are such great friends in real life and it shows on screen. But he suffers from the opposite problem as Florence Pugh: while he's lovely as young Laurie, the older, more careworn adult is a harder thing to pull off and I'm not sure that he succeeds. For now, Christian Bale from the 1994 film will still be my Laurie. Louis Garrell as Professor Bhaer is also an interesting choice, because he's French, not German, which is a departure from the novel. But given how Gerwig treats that particular plot point (more on that later), it makes sense she wouldn't be too fussed about his nationality. We also have Chris Cooper as Laurie's grandfather, and this movie really amps up what a tender-hearted friend and surrogate father figure he becomes to the March women. Which brings us to the only casting decision that I found bizarre: Bob Odenkirk as Mr. March. To me, Odenkirk will always be Saul Goodman or some sort of comic relief, and I can't take him seriously as the patriarch of the March household. But he is barely in the film, so it doesn't really matter. 

2. The script. This movie captures everything I love about the novel. Every vignette, every line of dialogue, every plot point. They're all in there. But rather than following the straight timeline as the girls grow into women, Gerwig starts with the adult Jo marching into a New York editor's office to sell a sensational story, and then flashes back and forth between childhood and adulthood. This lends novelty to the piece since all the prior film adaptations have never messed with the novel's structure. But it also helps to develop these characters and remind us of what events in their childhood led to the decisions they made as adults. Meg's marriage to John Brooke is so much more compelling when immediately contrasted with her girlish fantasies of high society. Amy's desire for a rich husband is so much more nuanced when you see her as a young girl being taught by Aunt March that she is her family's only hope to rescue them from poverty. And most devastatingly of all, we contrast the first time Beth falls ill from scarlet fever and recovers to the second time when she dies, and it broke my heart. Beth's death is always sad, but told in this fashion, it is utterly devastating. Of note, the book and movies always seemed to focus on Jo's sadness when her favorite sister dies, but in this movie, it was Marmee's reaction that destroyed me. Massive kudos to Gerwig and editor Nick Houy for successfully executing all these time jumps and ensuring the story remains intact. As detailed in the Vanity Fair video, credit is also due to cinematographer Yorick Le Saux, as the childhood scenes are suffused with a "golden glow," which also helps to delineate timelines.

3. The feminism. As faithful as the script is to the novel, Gerwig throws in some curveballs and amps up the feminist manifesto. This is all in keeping with author Louisa May Alcott, a woman who never married and said she preferred to be "a free spinster and paddle her own canoe." Alcott was always my role model and I loved that quote, so nothing delighted me more than when Jo actually says it in this movie when she's trying to convince Meg not to get married. What is so important, however, is that this film doesn't sideline the ambitions of any of the other women and say that Jo is the only one who's living a proper woman's life. When Jo is being petulant and saying Meg shouldn't feel obligated to get married, Meg gently explains to her that, "Just because my dreams are different from yours, it doesn't mean they're unimportant." There are plenty of scenes in the movie where Amy grapples with how marriage is an "economic proposition" and Jo is railing against the unfairness of being a woman and we are reminded repeatedly of how few options these women had to lead independent lives. But the moral of the story is never that everyone should be like Jo and forge ahead with a brilliant literary career and no husband. Instead, the feminist moral is that all women should have the freedom to pursue their own dreams. They should be allowed to dream, and accomplish those dreams, without judgment from society or their own sister. Ultimately, all four sisters have very different fates, but there is never any doubt that they followed their hearts' desire, and that is what makes Little Women such a feminist masterpiece. Of course, the one quibble is Jo's marriage to Professor Bhaer, a twist that Alcott was forced to include to make the novel more commercially viable. I won't spoil what Gerwig does with that ending in this movie, but let's just say that she lends her true auteur's stamp to that particular plot point. Some diehard fans of the book won't like it, but Louisa May Alcott would be proud.

4. The costumes. The Vanity Fair video gave me a primer before the movie but I would have been captivated by these costumes even if I had no inkling of the effort that costume designer, Jacqueline Durran, put into them. Jo is always clad in something a little masculine and comfortable, while the other women are always a little more constrained. In one scene, Jo is walking arm-in-arm with Amy and Meg, and it is so bracing to see her uncorseted with no hoops in her skirt, unencumbered by all that burdensome femininity, embodying the tomboy attitude that made her such a heroine to me as a child. I kept noticing the color palette, with Jo wearing pops of red, Meg usually in something green, Beth in pinks and browns, and Amy in that gorgeous light blue that captured all of her desire to be refined and elegant. Early on in the movie, there is a scene in a Parisian park that genuinely looks like something out of a Monet painting and it quite took my breath away. While the focus is on Amy, Laurie, and Aunt March, I couldn't help gazing at the extras carrying parasols and furbellowed gowns and marvelling at how picturesque everything looked. It was a short scene, but every element was as perfect as if the entire movie was to be shot in that park, and it showcases the art that went into every frame of this film. 

5. The humanity. All of the above elements of the movie work together beautifully to create the world and develop these magnificent characters. As I watched the film, I was incandescently happy, because even though I knew every story element and who these women were, it somehow felt like I was seeing them through fresh eyes. The constant flashbacks meant that my emotions were always seesawing, which encapsulates the human condition; there are always ups and downs and these women go through events that can seem like utmost tragedy, only to recover the next day and have a laugh about it. Gerwig aptly captures the relationships between the sisters and gives all four women their due. She shows how they fight - not like petulant girls, but like proper sisters who want to tear each others' hair out when they have been wronged (paritcularly in the case of Jo and Amy). All of this leads to you feeling a bit emotionally on edge throughout the movie. And then we get to Jo's monologue after Beth's death, a moment when she is feeling unsettled, unsure of what her next steps are going to be, sad and purposeless. She first delivers a speech that is actually from another Alcott novel, Rose in Bloom, but which feels very apt for Jo March. It's a speech that's in the trailer, so you may have already heard it, but it is a screed about how women are full human beings, capable of so much, but are always just told that love is all they're fit for. On its own, it's a powerful speech. But what breaks your heart is what follows. Because Jo now confides to her mother that if Laurie were to propose to her again, she would probably say yes. And when Marmee asks, "Do you love him?" she can only reply, "I want to be loved." And when Marmee wisely declares, "that's not the same thing," Jo declares, "I'm so lonely." It is the most fundamental declaration of the pain of being human. We are capable of so much, and can do so many things, but sometimes the price of pursuing our dreams is that we are so incredibly lonely. It is something I have declared many times, and to see my heroine, my idol, espouse the same sentiment on screen, made me sob buckets. I had to re-read that chapter of the book, and realized that while that exchange does take place in the novel, Gerwig has wisely re-worked it to give it a more fiery intensity and pathos. As far as I'm concerned, she deserves an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for that one scene alone.

So that's Little Women. I went into this movie with insurmountable expectations, and somehow those expectations were blown out of the water. It is told with so much warmth, humor, brilliance, and insight, and it is as close to perfect as any movie could be. It is a cinematic masterpiece that I plan on rewatching multiple times and luxuriating in for decades to come.

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Evil Roots

By Brett Dworski

LIAM OPENED HIS EYES AND JOLTED UPWARD AS IF HE’D BEEN ELECTROCUTED. Bridget, standing beside the king-sized bed, shook him like he was a salad that needed more dressing. Liam winced in pain — Bridget wasn’t helping his shoulder arthritis. He looked at his wife: her grey hair blended with the white concrete wall behind her, and her green nightgown — a massive tank top that covered her naked body — blurred against her pale skin as if he were gazing into a kaleidoscope.

Liam reached to his nightstand for his bifocals. He put them on and glanced at the clock. It was two-thirty in the morning. He faintly saw his reflection behind the numbers on the beaming digital screen: his eyes were baggy — his olive skin appeared more wrinkly than usual — and the white skin tag underneath his grey cowlick protruded. The room was dark, but the glistening white walls provided just enough glow that he could see Bridget. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror.

“Liam, get up,” she said. There was a shrill fear in her voice.

He couldn’t hear her. About a month ago, he started wearing earplugs to bed to eliminate Bridget’s late-night Sex & The City marathons — Liam hates Sarah Jessica Parker. He hates her so much that he always says that “Ferris would’ve been better off screwing Rooney,” whenever Bridget watched her favorite show. The sound of Carrie Bradshaw’s voice alone made Liam want to cut his nuts off.

But not tonight. Tonight, the earplugs had been a success. Liam removed them at once.

“Jesus Christ, Bridget!” Liam snarked. It had been a few weeks since he’d shaved, and he felt the tips of his grey mustache hovering his top lip. “What’s goi—

“Shhh!” Bridget whispered as she placed her hand over Liam’s mouth. “I think there’s someone in the house!”

There it was again — the sound of glass shattering on the hardwood kitchen floor downstairs. The sound that woke Bridget from her dream of dancing with Ricky Martin on Dancing with the Stars. The duo had just finished their routine to Stevie Wonder’s, “Don’t You Worry ‘bout a Thing,” and the crowd was going nuts. The judges awarded them a score of twenty-eight: Tens from Bruno Tonioli and Len Goodman, and an eight from Carrie Anne Inaba — that cunt, Bridget thought.

Liam was wide awake now. He hopped out of bed faster than a landscaper would when the husband of the woman he’s fucking barges home. Liam’s bedhead resembled Albert Einstein, and he would have been naked if it weren’t for his tighty-whities. The hardwood felt like ice on the bottom of his bare feet and his nipples grew erect — Bridget kept the thermostat at sixty-two degrees every night, which Liam hated. He preferred a tepid seventy-one.

But right now, Liam didn’t care if his home felt like a Slavic bathhouse or a freshly chilled morgue. His gaze was fixated on the seven-foot-tall wooden cabinet across the room.

“Call 911,” Liam said.

“Shit. My phone’s in my purse in the kitchen,” Bridget said. I’ll try the house phone.” She snatched the dusty landline from her nightstand and held it up to her ear. “The line’s dead!”

Without responding to his wife, Liam slowly opened the cabinet to diminish any creaking that could attract attention. He threw aside six freshly folded white t-shirts that laid atop a black shoebox. He grabbed the shoebox and threw the lid aside. There it was, all shiny and spiffed, barely a scratch on it: The Colt 1851 Navy Revolver his brother Mason had gifted him for his sixtieth birthday. Liam and Mason were regulars at the Dorchester shooting range during their twenties, but Liam hadn’t shot a gun since. Not even this one — Bridget wouldn’t allow it. Liam kept the loaded revolver stashed in the bedroom cabinet in case of emergencies. He snagged the pistol and crept toward his bedroom door without closing the cabinet. He turned to his wife, but before he could say anything…

Crash!

The sound of more shattered glass sprung to the bedroom. Bridget threw the covers over her torso and wept.

“Stay here. Don’t make a sound,” Liam demanded. He meant business when he pointed his index finger.

Liam opened the bedroom door and slid into the upstairs hallway as Bridget’s sobbing faded into the night. He crept across the hall, tip-toeing on the icy hardwood, terrified that whoever was downstairs would hear the floors creak. His nipples had softened by now, but his feet were still freezing.

Liam didn’t care if his home felt like a Slavic bathhouse or a freshly chilled morgue.

To his left was a twenty-foot wall that friends and family called the “O’Brien timeline.” Photographs of Liam and Bridget and their children — ranging from a teenage Liam working construction in 1968 and Bridget riding the New York subway in 1972 to their son, Jack, graduating from Boston College in 1998 and their daughter, Abigale, starring in a rendition of Fidler on the Roof in 2001 — have been scattered over the white concrete for nearly three decades. The kids were long gone — Jack lives in Cincinnati and Abigale in New York — and their bedrooms, once full of posters and speakers and dirty laundry, were now bare-walled guest rooms the end of the hallway.

Liam held the gun like a trained soldier ready to burst through an insurgent’s front door. He’d never been in a situation like this before, but always envisioned himself looking like Harry Callahan if he ever needed to be. God, he loved Dirty Harry.

Liam approached his son’s former bedroom and quickly glanced inside. He remembered the twelve-by-twelve-foot room as if Jack were still in high school: the Larry Bird and AC/DC posters covering the walls; the blue dresser that held the Sony boom-box that Jack always blasted when Abigale was rehearsing her lines in the room next door; the stack of CDs and DVDs, featuring Back In Black; The Godfather, and a photograph of Jack and Liam after they went bungee jumping during the family trip to Costa Rica in ’94.

Crash! More shattering glass. Clunk! It sounded like the wooden drawers in the kitchen had been jerked open, too. Liam snapped out of his haze and lurked to the stairs, now nearing the end of the massive hallway. The hardwood floors squeaked even louder.

He passed Abigale’s old room and briefly glanced in without stopping, catching shades of the neon pink carpet from the corner of his eye. He remembered his daughter’s olive skin and brown hair — a rarity for Irish Catholics — which came from his genes. He remembered her passion for performance since her middle school role in the Wizard of Oz. He remembered when Abigale told himself and Bridget that she was a lesbian when she was seventeen. And he remembered when she introduced her parents to her girlfriend — now wife — three years later.

Boom!

Something big had hit the floor. It sounded like the seventy-five-pound metal safe Liam kept hidden behind the trashcan underneath the sink. “Who’d ever look there?” he thought when he placed it there two years ago.

Liam snapped out of it, and for real this time. He no longer cared about stealthily approaching his enemy like a ninja. He wanted to catch the sonofabitch in his house.

Liam bolted down the stairs, aware of whoever was in his kitchen would hear his quick, thunderous steps. He raced to the bottom floor and darted past the coat closet and laundry room. He approached the kitchen, where he saw the insurgent from behind. The broad shoulders let Liam know he was dealing with a man, probably bigger than himself. His black turtle neck, black jeans, and black combat boots camouflaged him with the night. He was bent over rummaging through the safe he’d just busted open, Liam assumed.

Liam scanned the kitchen. Glass was shattered everywhere, from the floors to atop the stove to around the dinner table. Every drawer was open, and random papers — likely Bridget’s phone numbers and random bills from over the years — mingled with the broken glass. He aimed the pistol at the invader.

“Turn around, punk!” he demanded.

Now he really felt like Dirty Harry.

The man put his hands in the air and made a one-eighty. His red hair, red beard and ghostly complexion reminded Liam of Ron Howard before he went bald.

“Where is it, Liam?” the man said in a subtle, unsettling tone.

Liam’s face stiffened. He had no idea who this man was or how he knew his name.

“Where’s what?” Liam frustratingly asked. “Who are you?”

“You know what I want, you little shit,” the man said. “Your father stole it from me, and I want it back.”

Liam tightened his grip on the pistol, still squeezing it with both hands.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Liam screamed.

The perp chuckled and grinned like a madman. The smirk reminded Liam of the way Jack Torrence looked when he tried to chop his family to pieces at the Overlook Hotel. Liam noticed the black hole in the man’s mouth: He was missing an incisor.

 “You were always my favorite nephew, Liam,” the perp said. “And I want my goddamn tooth.”

Liam’s jaw dropped to the floor. His legs instantly felt like Jell-O beneath him. He felt sick, like he was going to projectile all over the hardwood. Liam did know this man and he knew what he wanted — it hit him in like a punch to the solar plexus. He was Finn O’Brien, Liam’s uncle who died in 1971. He must have been resurrected in another man’s body, because it didn’t even look like Uncle Finn, whose blonde hair and tan complexion resembled a young Robert Redford. Liam knew it was impossible, and even considered that he may be losing his mind, but he couldn’t ignore what the man had just said. It had to be his uncle.

Liam couldn’t speak. Fear had absorbed his body, and he trembled from hand to toe. The memories all came back to him, like when he passed his children’s old bedrooms. The memories of his Uncle Finn and the tragedy that was his life.

He snagged the pliers and jumped on top of Liam, pressing his knees onto his shoulders and pinning him to floor.

Uncle Finn was the older brother of Liam’s father, Oscar. The two were inseparable from their youth until their mother, Liam’s grandmother, died. Finn and Oscar had gotten heated over her will; she’d left her diamond wedding ring for her grandchildren, but she never said who. Finn wanted the ring for his daughter, Sheila, while Oscar wanted it for Liam’s future bride. What started out as a typical back-and-forth surged into each brother claiming they were the favorite child, ending with Oscar scolding his brother by telling him he should have never been born.

That was the last time Finn and Oscar spoke. A year later, Finn was killed in a vicious car wreck. He’d been drinking late, as usual, and was speeding down Wolf Island Road at 2 a.m. He crashed into a stoplight and burst through the windshield shattering his skull and vertebrae on impact. The autopsy suggested Finn somehow survived the initial blow and lay in the grass beyond the stoplight, paralyzed and brain damaged like a vegetable, for nearly an hour before he perished. Uncle Finn suffered to his last breath, likely hoping a passing driver would see him and call for help. None did.

Liam, who was eighteen at the time, remembered two things from that night: the phone ringing and his mother screaming.

The next day, a guilt-ridden Oscar made the hour-long drive from Dorchester to Mattapoisett to check out the scene of the crash. The street was already clean. No blood on the road, no windshield glass, not even a tire mark to show what had happened. A damaged stoplight was the only evidence. Right as Oscar was about to leave, he noticed a white, pea-sized object on the concrete. It was a tooth — roots still intact and specs of blood on the enamel. Oscar took it home and placed it in a jewelry box — the kind most would find a wedding ring in — and kept it sealed away for decades, only showing Liam and Mason right after the accident. When Oscar died forty years later, Liam took the box and placed it in his father’s casket, so the brothers could lie beside each other forever.

Now, forty-four years after his death, Uncle Finn had returned to claim what was his.

“I knew Oscar took it after my accident — that prick just wanted something to remind himself that he’d won,” Uncle Finn said. “But I want it back!”

“Uncle Finn,” Liam stammered, the gun trembling in his hands. “I d…d…don’t have your tooth. I p…p…put it in Pop’s coffin when he passed, so you two would be toge—"

“Shut up, you rat bastard! The last thing I’d want is to lay beside your old man forever. He knew he was better than me from the day he was born. Your grandparents looked at him like he was the second coming of Jesus, and they looked at me like I was a fucking leprechaun.”

“B…but you two were so close!”

“That’s what your dad and everyone else thought. I put on a show to act all bubbly toward your pops, but truth was, I despised him. I hated every ounce of him. And I even tried to kill him — more than once. Did he ever tell you about the time he almost drowned in the Charles River when he was four? That was me — I held him underwater while we were swimming. He would’ve been a goner if your grandparents hadn’t come back from their stroll on the beach right as his torso fell limp. Told them the undercurrent got him and I saved him. Your old man lost so much oxygen while under, he didn’t remember a fuckin’ thing. Or how about when your dad and I were window washers for the city in ’46, and he fell six flights to the ground? Only broke his leg — lucky sonofabitch. He sued the city for providing a faulty harness, but it was fine before I cut one of the straps.”

Liam couldn’t feel his hands — he couldn’t feel anything — and dropped the pistol. He began to cry. He cried like a little boy who’d gotten lost in a supermarket or who cut his knee while riding his bike. He cried for his father, who’d been deceived his entire life by his best friend.

Uncle Finn stepped toward Liam. The glass and paper crunched beneath his muddy combat boots.

“And now I’m here to get what’s mine.”

Crunch!

“I don’t have it, Uncle Finn!” Liam sobbed.

Crunch!

Uncle Finn pulled a pair of pliers from his back pocket — likely the ones Liam kept in the drawer next to the fridge — and now stood inches from his nephew. “Then I’ll take one of yours!”

Uncle Finn raised his hand and plunged the pliers toward Liam’s mouth. Liam reacted fast and slapped Finn’s hand away, sending the pliers to the floor. Liam reached down for the revolver, but his face met Uncle Finn’s thrusting knee instead, which jolted Liam down on his back. He felt a sharp, throbbing pain in his nose: the bridge was dented and crooked. Blood covered the lower half of his face and gushed down his chin. Uncle Finn kicked the revolver to the other side of the kitchen far from Liam’s reach. He snagged the pliers and jumped on top of Liam, pressing his knees onto his shoulders and pinning him to floor. 

Liam’s weeping turned into a violent scream for help. He tried calling for Bridget, but he couldn’t. His voice was caught in his throat, as if his vocal cords had been ripped out, and the harder he tried to yell, the quieter he became.

“Daddy’s not here to help you, is he Liam?” Uncle Finn said.

He held the pliers in one hand and stretched Liam’s mouth open with the other. Liam fought back — he flailed like a fish on the floor of a rowboat — and dug his fingertips into Uncle Finn’s face, scratching his cheek. Specs of blood and red beard hair crawled into Liam’s fingernails. Uncle Finn smacked Liam’s hand away and regained control. He pinned his knees into Liam’s chest even harder. He raised his arm.

“For your father!” Uncle Finn said.

Uncle Finn drove the pliers past Liam’s lips, grabbed his top incisor and gave it a couple yanks. It wouldn’t give. He tugged again, this time adding a twist. The tooth snapped from Liam’s gums in one piece, roots and all. Blood sprayed at Uncle Finn like he’d popped a Champagne bottle full of it, and Liam’s flailing became a convulsion. Liam maneuvered his tongue to the gaping hole in his mouth and felt the fleshy tissue dangling. It tasted like metal. Then he passed out. Maybe he was in shock or maybe it was from the pain, but his body deflated the way a balloon does when the air is slowly released from the valve.

His mind drifted to the fall of ’67 when he, his father, Mason and Uncle Finn got tickets to Game 6 of the World Series. The Red Sox blistered the St. Louis Cardinals, scoring four runs in the bottom of the seventh and winning 8–4. Liam and Mason went ballistic when Carl Yastrzemski hopped into the stands after the game to sign autographs.

“Finny, take a picture of me and my boys with Yaz,” Liam remembers his father saying. “And make sure you hold the click down long enough — you fucked it up last time, remember?”

Uncle Finn happily took the picture, but Liam’s memory zeroed in on his uncle’s face the second after the snapshot. Finn glared at Oscar — eyes narrow and biting his bottom lip, like he wanted to pounce him. Like he hated him.

Liam opened his eyes. Uncle Finn was still on top of him, and three more of his teeth had been yanked from the front of his mouth. The seeping blood from his nose and mouth formed a pool on his bare chest, and he felt queasy. Uncle Finn gazed into Liam’s eyes and raised his arm again, ready to jam the tweezers into his nephew for a fourth time.

“Okay, Liam, all set,” Uncle Finn said. “Now, check out with Rosie at the front desk. She’ll take care of you.”

Liam’s eyebrows rose in confusion.

“You okay, Liam?” Uncle Finn asked. Liam shut his eyes again. When he opened them, he realized he wasn’t in his kitchen. He wasn’t even at home. He no longer lay on the hardwood floor, but in a reclining blue chair. A bright light beamed overhead, and Uncle Finn stood over him in a blue gown and a surgical mask. “There you are! Sorry, I know the anesthesia can send you into a haze. But it’s much better than not having it when getting a root canal.”

Liam felt his teeth with his tongue: thirty-two for thirty-two. The softness of his dangling gums had been replaced with his tooth.

“I guess so,” Liam mumbled.

He stood up and shook hands with Dr. Huff. The man’s red hair, red beard and ghostly white skin looked all too familiar.

“Thanks, Doc,” Liam said.

“Don’t mention it, Liam. Call me if you have any problems!”

Liam entered the waiting room. Bridget was reading an issue of Cosmopolitan — one with Sarah Jessica Parker on the cover. She stood up.

“You all right?” she asked. “The hygienist said you dozed off for a sec. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Just dizzy.”

Bridget held Liam’s hand and kissed the back of his palm. Her eyes fixated on his nails. “Liam, what happened to your fingers?” she asked.

Liam looked at his hand: His fingernails were covered in dried blood and bristly red hairs. He glanced back toward the treatment room. Dr. Huff was staring at him, grinning like a madman — that same kind of hellish grin that sent shivers down Liam’s spine.

Suddenly, Liam’s head exploded. It’s as if a grenade was placed in his skull and the pin dropped out. Bloody pieces of his brain shot to every corner of the room and all over Bridget, whose screams echoed and racketed throughout the entire high-rise building. Liam’s headless body flopped onto the gray carpet and twitched spastically as the nerves played out their final ballet. Bridget’s violent scream turned into a horrific sob, and she lay on top of her dead husband, blanketing herself over his body, covered in his blood.

 ✶

“LIAM! LIAM! WAKE UP!”

 Liam opened his eyes and jolted upward as if he’d been electrocuted. Bridget was shaking him again.

 “Liam, you were having a nightmare,” she said.

 Liam could barely see, and to make things worse, had slobs of yellow crust at the inside corner of each eye. He put on his bifocals: it was nine-thirty in the morning. He held his hands to his face. His nails were clean. He took a deep breath. He sighed relief.

 “Is today Saturday?” he asked.

 “Yep, so you better get out of bed — your crown appointment with Dr. Huff is at eleven.

Liam looked straight ahead at the television in front of the bed. Carried Bradshaw was venting to her girlfriends about why her relationship with Aiden didn’t work out.

Liam chuckled.

“On second thought, what’s your sister’s dentist … what’s his name … Doctor Steinfeld up to these days?”

[zeroviraluniverse-blog]

Kentucky Wildcats add another loss to a disappointing season - Men's College Basketball Blog

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Kentucky Wildcats add another loss to a disappointing season - Men's College Basketball Blog

11:57 AM ET

Jeff GoodmanESPN Insider

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Joined ESPN as a college basketball Insider in June 2013

Previously wrote for CBSSports.com and FOXSports.com

AUBURN, Ala. — There’s no built-in excuse in Lexington this time.

In 2012-13, the lone season in which John Calipari was left out of the NCAA tournament at Kentucky, lottery pick Nerlens Noel went down because of a torn ACL in mid-February. The Wildcats were hardly a lock to go dancing at the time, but Noel’s season-ending injury was the common refrain among Big Blue Nation for why the team lost five of its last nine games and went to the NIT.

This team is at full strength now that Jarred Vanderbilt returned about a month ago, but the Wildcats are free-falling following Wednesday night’s 10-point loss at Auburn — giving them their first four-game losing streak since Calipari was hired in 2009.

And if not for a gift foul with two seconds left by Vanderbilt, the SEC’s last-place team, it would be five consecutive setbacks. And before Vandy, there was that miracle second half in which Kentucky came back from a 17-point deficit to beat West Virginia in Morgantown.

Now it’s time to start wondering if the Wildcats will make another NIT appearance, because it’s fair to question whether this team can beat anyone on its remaining slate.

“I’ve got one thought. Let’s just try and win the next game, win a game,” Calipari said when asked if he was concerned about missing the NCAA tourney. “I feel like if we win a game, we can get going. I’ve had teams in this kind of mode we’re in, but the league was different.”

John Calipari has looked for ways to reach his young Kentucky team but hasn’t found one yet. John Reed/USA TODAY Sports

The good news for Calipari & Co. is that the bubble is incredibly soft. Want proof? Nebraska, Maryland and Mississippi State are still alive and kicking despite unimpressive résumés.

But this is a Kentucky team that barely beat Vandy twice and lost on the road against Texas A&M, Missouri and South Carolina. Kentucky (17-9 overall) is currently 6-7 in an SEC that might be deep but doesn’t boast much in terms of star power.

Next up is a talented, erratic Alabama team Saturday at home. Then comes Arkansas in Fayetteville — which is no easy task — followed by Missouri and Ole Miss at home before closing out the regular season in Gainesville against Florida.

Calipari always says his team is young, but he has a valid point this season. This group is the least experienced team in the country, but I’m not sure that this same group would fare much better a year from now. The Wildcats still wouldn’t boast a point guard who makes life easier for his teammates, wouldn’t feature any legitimate perimeter shooters beyond Kevin Knox, and they still might not look or play like a team.

“I’ve got a bunch of young kids that at times don’t listen, they don’t trust,” Calipari said. “I told them last night [that] I failed them. I haven’t built enough trust that when I talk to them, they’re going to do what this man says. … But they’ve also failed each other. They don’t play for each other.”

It wasn’t as if Auburn played lights out, either. The Tigers made one of their first 16 shots, wound up shooting 37 percent from the field and made only 8 of 27 shots from beyond the arc; this from a team that shoots 46 percent for the season and 39 percent from deep. Auburn’s top player, leading scorer Bryce Brown, was playing at far less than 100 percent and wasn’t even sure he’d be able to go when he woke up Wednesday morning because of a shoulder injury that kept him out of Saturday’s win at Georgia.

But this Kentucky team is missing something. No, it’s missing more than just one thing. There’s a litany of reasons why the Wildcats have struggled. The Dec. 29 shellacking of rival Louisville seems like an eternity ago, and this team no longer brings an intimidation factor that has been associated with those who have “KENTUCKY” on their jerseys.

The freshman class was still a heralded one that included a handful of McDonald’s All Americans: Knox, Vanderbilt, Nick Richards, PJ Washington and Quade Green.

But those guys — in addition to highly touted recruits Hamidou Diallo, Shai Gilgeous-Alexander and Sacha Killeya-Jones — just lost to a bunch of lunch-pail guys, players such as Brown, who chose Auburn over FIU and Georgia Southern coming out of high school.

“We got the bottom, most underrated guys,” Brown said. “They have the guys rated high, but we’re playing with that chip on our shoulder.”

There’s no chip with these guys in Lexington. Maybe they’re too nice, too soft or too focused on making a brief pit stop before jumping to the next level. Whatever the case, Calipari hasn’t been able to get this group to play with the fire and intensity that has been his trademark over the years.

Yet Calipari has managed to remain even-keeled through this losing skid. It could be because he prepared for the mediocrity after getting a close look at this group in the preseason, or that he understands better than most that March is all anyone truly remembers, anyway.

“I’m old. I’m not fazed by it, not cracking,” he said. “This isn’t about me. This season is not going to change anything about me.”

Calipari’s right. He has proved plenty in his tenure in Lexington. He has a national title and three other Final Four appearances. For anyone who is disenchanted with Cal, might I remind you of the two-year Billy Clyde Gillispie debacle in 2008 and 2009?

The good news: A few of these guys will bolt after this season, and he’ll replace them with a new batch of shiny, young recruits.

But will this team go down as the most disappointing in the Calipari era? It’s certainly headed that way.

[casscutting]

Book Haul

I got all these books for a grand total of $6.50 and one book was purchased for me by a very good friend of mine who also happens to be my critique partner.

Book One: House By Frank Peretti and Ted Dekker

Publication Information: Published in March of 2006 by West Bow Press which is an imprint of Thomas Nelson Publishers

Book Summary: Jack and Stephanie Singleton, a married couple on the verge of a divorce, are driving to a counseling session when they find themselves lost on a deserted road in Alabama. Taking the advice of a highway patrolman, they head down a long dirt road, where they run over spikes, flattening all of their tires and stranding them. Fortunately, they are near an old Victorian house in the backwoods of Alabama, occupied by a family of three and being used as an inn. They check-in and have a strangely mysterious dinner with them, as well as another dating couple, Randy and Leslie. Things begin to go bitter, however. One of the family, Pete, begins staring down Leslie, stating that he wants her as his “wife.” Betty, another one of the family members, keeps hounding Stephanie to get her more ice.

Then, to make matters worse, the lights turn off, and a serial killer named White locks them inside of the House. He throws a soup can down through the chimney with a message scrawled on it. The message states that he has killed God and will murder all seven of them unless they kill one of their own by dawn.

All the people frantically move through the house, but just get trapped in each new room while trying to avoid the man in the mask.

Why I Picked It Up: Like most of the books in this haul I didn’t go in knowing anything about this book but the synopsis seemed intriguing and I like horror-ish thrillers and this seemed like a good one. I have never read anything by either author before so I don’t know how well I’m going to like it but for $0.50 I thought what the hell (that’s the case for most of these books to be honest lol)

Book Two: The Host by Stephenie Meyer

Publication Information:  In May of 2008 by Little, Brown, and Company

Book Summary: Melanie Stryder refuses to fade away. The earth has been invaded by a species that take over the minds of human hosts while leaving their bodies intact. Wanderer, the invading “soul” who has been given Melanie’s body, didn’t expect to find its former tenant refusing to relinquish possession of her mind.

As Melanie fills Wanderer’s thoughts with visions of Jared, a human who still lives in hiding, Wanderer begins to yearn for a man she’s never met. Reluctant allies, Wanderer and Melanie set off to search for the man they both love.

Why I Picked It Up: I know what some of you are thinking “But Cass you hate Twilight, you never miss a chance to remind us about how much you hate sparkly vampires so why would you pick up a Stephenie Meyer book” Well faithful reader of my blog here’s the reason. I saw this movie about a year after it came out and I really enjoyed it. I had no idea that it was based on a book nor that that book was written by Stephenie Meyer. I thought it was a modern take on the wonderfully cult classic movie from 1956 which I love or even another take on the more recent 1998’s The Faculty. So I wanted to read the book on which this movie was based.

Book Three: Hannibal Rising by Thomas Harris

Publication Information:  December 5th 2006 by Delacorte Press

Book Summary: It is the 4th book in a series so I won’t be filling this part out.

Why I Picked It Up: I have a fascination with Hannibal Lecter and I love (MOST) of the movies based on him, not a huge fan of Red Dragon, which happens to be the first book in this series. I want to collect the series and read it but they only had this one book there and it was also a recommendation by the friend I mentioned in the rant above.

Book Four: Misery by Stephen King

Publication Information:  Published in 1987 which is when my copy was printed. By Viking Press which is an imprint of Penguin Random House.

Book Summary: Paul Sheldon. He’s a bestselling novelist who has finally met his biggest fan. Her name is Annie Wilkes and she is more than a rabid reader – she is Paul’s nurse, tending his shattered body after an automobile accident. But she is also his captor, keeping him prisoner in her isolated house.

Why I Picked It Up: Misery was one of my favorite movies growing up, it was the first movie I saw with Kathy Bates and I fell in love with her acting ability. And its Stephen King do I really need to say more?

Book Five: Marley and Me: Life and Love With the World’s Worst Dog by John Grogan

Publication Information: Harper Collins, October 2005

Book Summary: John and Jenny were just beginning their life together. They were young and in love, with a perfect little house and not a care in the world. Then they brought home Marley, a wiggly yellow furball of a puppy. Life would never be the same.

Marley quickly grew into a barreling, ninety-seven-pound steamroller of a Labrador retriever, a dog like no other. He crashed through screen doors, gouged through drywall, flung drool on guests, stole women’s undergarments, and ate nearly everything he could get his mouth around, including couches and fine jewelry. Obedience school did no good—Marley was expelled. Neither did the tranquilizers the veterinarian prescribed for him with the admonishment, “Don’t hesitate to use these.”

And yet Marley’s heart was pure. Just as he joyfully refused any limits on his behavior, his love and loyalty were boundless, too. Marley shared the couple’s joy at their first pregnancy and their heartbreak over the miscarriage. He was there when babies finally arrived and when the screams of a seventeen-year-old stabbing victim pierced the night. Marley shut down a public beach and managed to land a role in a feature-length movie, always winning hearts as he made a mess of things. Through it all, he remained steadfast, a model of devotion, even when his family was at its wit’s end. Unconditional love, they would learn, comes in many forms.

Why I Picked It Up: Because I don’t think I died enough on the inside having seen this movie twice.

Book Six: The Patchwork Girl Of Oz by L. Frank Baum

Publication Information:  The original publication date was in 1913 my copy is from 1989 and was published by Watermill Press

Book Summary: This is the 7th book in the Oz series by L. Frank Baum so again I won’t put a summery hear for that reason

Why I Picked It Up: I LOVE the Wizard of Oz. I have a tattoo of the first 4 bars of Over The Rainbow tattoed around my left wrist. It is a memorial tattoo for my grandmother. She, my mother and I all love the movie and bond over it all the time. When my grandmother passed in 2010 I wanted to have a themed tattoo around the movie. Because I loved the movie so much I’ve always wanted to read the books. Even though I do have a bind up of 1-5 and 6-10 (still need 11-15) I would love to own the individual books as well.

Book Seven: Matilda by Roald Dahl

Publication Information:  Published by Puffin which is an imprint of  Penguin Random House

Book Summary: Matilda is a little girl who is far too good to be true. At age five-and-a-half, she’s knocking off double-digit multiplication problems and blitz-reading Dickens. Even more remarkably, her classmates love her even though she’s a super-nerd and the teacher’s pet. But everything is not perfect in Matilda’s world. For starters, she has two of the most idiotic, self-centered parents who ever lived. Then there’s the large, busty nightmare of a school principal, Mrs. (“The”) Trunchbull, a former hammer-throwing champion who flings children at will and is approximately as sympathetic as a bulldozer. Fortunately for Matilda, she has the inner resources to deal with such annoyances: astonishing intelligence, saintly patience, and an innate predilection for revenge.

She warms up with some practical jokes aimed at her hapless parents, but the true test comes when she rallies in defense of her teacher, the sweet Miss Honey, against the diabolical Trunchbull. There is never any doubt that Matilda will carry the day. Even so, this wonderful story is far from predictable. Roald Dahl, while keeping the plot moving imaginatively, also has an unerring ear for emotional truth. The reader cares about Matilda because, in addition to all her other gifts, she has real feelings.

Why I Picked It Up: I, like most children from the late 80’s onward grew up watching this movie which is where I in love with the story. Like with the host I had no idea this was a book at first and once I found out about it I wanted to read it. When I saw it at the sale I picked it up so I could finally do that.

Book Eight: The Dark Descent

Publication Information:  My copy is from 1987 which is the year it was published by Tor Books which is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers

Book Summary: This highly acclaimed anthology traces the evolution of horror, from Nathaniel Hawthorn and Edgar Allan Poe to Stephen King. Adopted by colleges across the country to be used in literature courses, The Dark Descent showcases some of the finest horror fiction ever written.

Contents:

Pt. 1 – The Color of Evil

The Reach / Stephen King

Evening Primrose / John Collier

The Ash-Tree / M. R. James

The New Mother / Lucy Clifford

There’s a Long, Long Trail A-winding / Russell Kirk

The Call of Cthulhu / H. P. Lovecraft

The Summer People / Shirley Jackson

The Whimper of Whipped Dogs / Harlan Ellison

Young Goodman Brown / Nathaniel Hawthorne

Mr. Justice Harbottle / J. Sheridan Le Fanu

The Crowd / Ray Bradbury

The Autopsy / Michael Shea

John Charrington’s Wedding / E. Nesbit

Sticks / Karl Edward Wagner

Larger Than Oneself / Robert Aickman

Belsen Express / Fritz Leiber

Yours Truly, Jack the Ripper / Robert Bloch

If Damon Comes / Charles L. Grant

Vandy, Vandy / Manly Wade Wellman

Pt. 2 – The Medusa in the Shield

The Swords / Robert Aickman

The Roaches / Thomas M. Disch

Bright Segment / Theodore Sturgeon

Dread / Clive Barker

The Fall of the House of Usher / Edgar Allan Poe

The Monkey / Stephen King

Within the Walls of Tyre / Michael Bishop

The Rats in the Walls / H. P. Lovecraft

Schalken the Painter / J. Sheridan Le Fanu

The Yellow Wallpaper / Charlotte Perkins Gilman

A Rose for Emily / William Faulkner

How Love Came to Professor Guildea / Robert Hichens

Born of Man and Woman / Richard Matheson

My Dear Emily / Joanna Russ

You Can Go Now / Dennis Etchison

The Rocking-Horse Winner / D. H. Lawrence

Three Days / Tanith Lee

Good Country People / Flannery O’Connor

Mackintosh Willy / Ramsey Campbell

The Jolly Corner / Henry James

Pt. 3 – A Fabulous Formless Darkness

Smoke Ghost / Fritz Leiber

Seven American Nights / Gene Wolfe

The Signal-Man / Charles Dickens

Crouch End / Stephen King

Night-Side / Joyce Carol Oates

Seaton’s Aunt / Walter de la Mare

Clara Militch / Ivan Turgenev

The Repairer of Reputations / Robert W. Chambers

The Beckoning Fair One / Oliver Onions

What Was It? / Fitz-James O’Brien

The Beautiful Stranger / Shirley Jackson

The Damned Thing / Ambrose Bierce

Afterward / Edith Wharton

The Willows / Algernon Blackwood

The Asian Shore / Thomas M. Disch

The Hospice / Robert Aickman

A Little Something for Us Tempunauts / Philip K. Dick

Why I Picked It Up: Simple, it looked interesting

Book Fifteen: The Elvenbane. Book one in the Halfblood Chronicles #1 by Andre Norton and Mercedes Lackey

Publication Information: Published in November of 1991 by Tor Books which is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers

Book Summary: The elven lords rule the world with a magical iron hand, secure in their dominion over the animal kingdom—including the original human inhabitants of the planet. If they find cause for worry, and the elven lords are not normally inclined in that manner, it is in respect to the Prophecy. The Prophecy insists that a child born of an elven lord and a human will lead a successful rebellion against their rule. Not surprisingly, the elven lords take extraordinary pains to avoid impregnating their human concubines.

This practice does not arise from any special fear concerning the Prophecy, but rather the memory of a past confrontation between the elven lords and their halfbreed offspring—a battle in which the elven lords found victory, but only by the narrowest of margins. Unknown to the elven lords, however, there is another threat to their tyranny.

Inhabiting the same planet, and possessed of magical skills powerful in their own right, are the race of dragons. It is such a dragon, Alara, who discovers a human woman in labor deep in the desert. Alara assists in the birth of the child and raises it alongside her son Keman. As the year's pass, it becomes clear that the Prophecy of an elvenbane is more fact than fiction as dragons, elven lords, halfbreeds, and talented humans struggle to determine the destiny of the world.

This collaboration between one of the most accomplished authors in the genre and a relative newcomer tot he scene is most successful. Such unions of master and apprentice are a popular trend, but this particular partnership is exceptionally satisfying. Norton is not unfamiliar with dragons, and ELVENBANE demonstrates that she’s not lost her touch.

Why I Picked It Up: I didn’t it was given to me by my friend for which I am very grateful.

So that’s it, those are the books in my haul I hope you enjoyed.

The question of the day: How many of these books have you read before and how did you feel about them?

[lfthinkerwrites]

The Curse of King Tut, pt. 7

Title: The Curse of King Tut!

Rating: T 

Warnings: Canon typical violence and hostage situation in this chapter.

Summary: Dr. Penelope Young has a fateful meeting with Victor Goodman.

Previous Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6

AO3 Link

Edward slammed Gordon's office door behind him as he left, his previous good mood soured by the interrogation he'd received at the hands of Gordon. Bullock's snide commentary didn't help matters. He stalked down the hall towards the bullpen, thinking on what Gordon and his lead detective had said to him. 'Grandstanding...self-absorbed...reckless disregard for the lives of others...' Once they had finished berating him and making sure he'd told them everything he knew about Goodman, they'd shown him the door without so much as a 'thank you' for catching Goodman for them. Some gratitude. The next time there was a murderer running amok in Gotham, Edward vowed, GCPD were on their own. 

Goodman himself was holed up in one of the interrogation rooms down the hall on the opposite side of the bull pen. There was a small crowd of uniformed officers and younger detectives about, no doubt eager to get a look at a bonafide rogue. Edward ignored them when he caught a glimpse of Dr. Young making her way down the hallway towards interrogation. He picked up his pace a bit to catch up to her. "Dr. Young!"

"I have work to do," she said coldly. "Whatever this is Nigma, make it quick."

Edward almost stopped dead in his tracks. She hadn't called him by anything other than his first name since the Barnes case back in September. She really was angry with him. He recovered though and pressed on. "On your way to interview Goodman, I take it? And to think, you were worried about me confronting him."

"I wasn't worried about you," she said, too quickly for it to be true. "I was more concerned about any collateral damage that might take place. One of us has to be."

Edward frowned. All right then, maybe a little flattery would soothe her. "You know, you do deserve some of the credit for Goodman's capture. Your insight was invaluable in my plan."

Dr. Young stopped suddenly and her hands clutched the notebook she was holding tightly. "Is that so?" she said. She turned to look at Edward then and he saw for himself just how angry she was at him. "Are you saying that because you mean it, or because you think it's what I want to hear and that will keep me around for the next time you need something?"

Edward groaned in exasperation. "For God's sake, what do you want from me? An apology? Fine: I'm sorry I was short with you yesterday. There. Are you satisfied?"

"What I want from you," she spoke in a low tone so that any police officers walking by wouldn't hear. "Is an acknowledgement that I'm an actual person! I'm not just something for you to use when it's convenient for you and to completely disregard when it isn't!"

"May I remind you Dr. Young, that you were the one who reached out to me? I didn't just show up out of the blue to con you into something like-"then Edward understood. This wasn't really about him, was it? "This isn't the Asylum," he said, in a calmer tone. "And I'm not the Joker. I don't use and discard people like he does. I would not have confided in you what I have if all I wanted to do was use you."

Dr. Young's face remained almost blank, but Edward thought he could see her hard blue eyes soften, just a bit. "I need to conduct this interview. When I'm done, if you're still here, we can talk more." She turned and continued walking down the hall. Edward sighed and checked his watch. 5:00. If he left now, he could still get an exclusive with Summer Gleason for the 6:00 news. Edward turned and walked back towards the waiting room outside of the bull pen. He could always get on Vicki Vale's slot at 8:00. As he walked into the waiting room, he just barely brushed past a dark-haired woman on her way out. Edward turned sharply and looked at her as she walked out the doors of GCPD. It felt like he'd met her somewhere before. He shrugged and entered the room, taking a seat by the door. He was so preoccupied by his thoughts that he didn't notice the cell phone lying on the floor under the seat next to him. Or that there was a timer on it.

Penelope pushed all thoughts of her conversation with Edward out of her mind as she approached Interrogation Room A. She needed to be objective when interviewing Goodman. She could see Joan just ahead, standing outside of the interrogation room door. She had followed Montoya and Goodman when he'd been brought in. Now she stood by the one-way mirror and looked on his interrogation with sadness. Joan seemed to be taking Goodman's relapse hard, Penelope noted. She'd always seen her empathy for her patients, including the rogues at Arkham, as a strength as a psychiatrist, rather than as a danger. She and Sharp had disagreed strongly on that. Penelope wondered often just how much might have been avoided at that horrid place if she and the rest of the staff had taken their cue from Joan.

"Have you spoken with him?" Penelope asked as she joined her former mentor.

"I tried," Joan answered. "He was non responsive. I barely got him to acknowledge me before Detective Montoya started her interrogation."

Penelope peered into the one-way mirror. Montoya was standing over Goodman, asking him about the robbery and murder at the museum. Goodman started straight ahead, not acknowledging the detective. Penelope took note of his face. A dark bruise had formed from where Edward had apparently struck him with a garbage can lid and he was draped in a blanket. His dark brown eyes stared straight ahead. Penelope knew he wouldn't be able to see her through the mirror, but it seemed to her as if was staring right through her. "Has he asked for a lawyer?"

Joan shook her head. "No. He hasn't answered any questions either."

"Is this consistent with his behavior ten years ago?"

"He was rather withdrawn when he was brought in, yes. It took a few sessions for him to really begin to open up to me. There was one thing about when I spoke to him earlier that stood out to me though: when I came into the room, he cringed. It was almost as if he was ashamed that I saw him."

Penelope furrowed her brow. Shame indicated a consciousness of guilt. Perhaps Goodman wouldn't be going straight to Arkham after all. Penelope tapped her knuckles on the mirror to signal Montoya. The detective walked away from Goodman and opened the door to beckon her inside. "He's all yours Doc. I need to talk to the commissioner, but I'll be right back."

"Thank you," Penelope acknowledged. She turned to Joan before she stepped in. "Do you have any advice?"

"Don't get drawn into any talk about Aten or about you-know-who. And don't pity him. He gets angry when he thinks he's being condescended to."

He wasn't the only one. "All right then. Tell the Commissioner I'll be about half an hour." Penelope then walked into the interrogation room.

Montoya shut the door behind her. For the first time, Penelope found herself face to face with Victor Goodman. The man continued to stare straight ahead. "Hello Victor," she said taking her seat across the table from him. "My name is Dr. Penelope Young. I'll just want to ask you a few questions. Is that all right?"

Penelope always liked to give her subjects at least the illusion of choice. It was to serve as a contrast to how demanding the GCPD officers could be and so far, it had worked. Goodman however, didn't respond to her. She sighed. She'd had her fill of dealing with difficult men for today. "How are you feeling?"

Goodman chuckled a bit, which almost startled her. "That's a loaded question, isn't it Dr. Young?"

Well, he'd acknowledged her. That was a start. "I was told you were injured during your capture, but that you refused medical treatment."

"Oh this?" he gestured to his face. "This is the least of what he's done to me."

He was the last person Penelope wanted to think about right now. "Let's not talk about him now. I'd like to know a bit more about you."

If Goodman was as egotistical as the past case reports and her own observations suggested he was, he wouldn't be able to resist talking himself. Goodman looked at her questioningly. "You weren't in Arkham when I was incarcerated, were you?"

"No," Penelope answered. "I didn't start my internship there until after you had been released. Dr. Leland's told me that you were a model patient."

Goodman's face softened somewhat. "She's a good woman," he said. "I'm sorry that she has to see this."

"She's here because she wants to help you Victor," Penelope said sincerely. "We all do."

Goodman's face darkened. "Now people want to help me. Where have they been for the last eight years?"

Penelope opened her notebook and jotted down a few notes. Victor clearly was bitter about the direction his life had gone, as she suspected. "You were medically cleared Victor. You've been living, by all accounts, a peaceful life."

"A peaceful life," Goodman repeated in a mocking manner. "When I left Arkham, I actually believed that I'd be able to go on with my life. Even if I couldn't get my job at the museum back, that I'd at least still be able to do what I loved." His face crumpled and for a moment, Penelope thought he might cry. "My credentials were revoked. No historical or archaeological society would acknowledge me. My family disowned me, most of my friends wouldn't even speak to me. I couldn't leave this cursed city to start over, or even to travel without the police immediately issuing a warrant for my arrest! I've spent the last eight years of my life cleaning up other people's garbage in parks! And now-" He stopped suddenly. He looked back up at her and he looked like the saddest man she'd ever seen. "Tell me Dr. Young: would you be happy to have such a 'peaceful life'?"

In all of his self-pity, Goodman seemed to have forgotten something very important. "Victor," she said carefully. "I won't deny that you were dealt a bad hand, but you still maimed and murdered people."

"So have other people in this very building," Goodman seethed. "And the Gods did not see fit to punish him. In fact, he's even been rewarded for it."

No acknowledgement of his own crimes. No guilt over what he'd done. And now it came back to Edward. Despite Joan's advice, it seemed that Penelope wouldn't be able to avoid that subject. "You're speaking of Edward Nigma?"

"Yes, The Riddler!" Goodman nearly shouted. He shook his head. "When I heard he was in a coma," he said. "I was happy for the first time since before I was put in Arkham. Then about a year ago, I saw him being interviewed on television. He was saying that he'd lost his memory, that he was a new man. I didn't believe it for a moment. I didn't think anyone else would either. Then I saw an advertisement on television. It was him, trying to sell himself as a 'private investigator.' Then I saw him on the news again, for solving a break in at Wayne Tower. Then I saw him on the news again and again and again..." Goodman grit his teeth. "How many years did he spend terrorizing this city? 15? How many people died as a result of his games? And he gets to be successful? I lost everything and he gets to be happy?"

Penelope remembered what Edward had said all those months ago in Tetch's hideout. "A life I can't remember, a police force counting down the days until I relapse, former colleagues and friends betraying me left and right and the one person I needed the most, is, is...I feel like I'm being haunted by my own ghost, so you tell me Selina, would you kill for a life like that?" Edward was many things, but she didn't think she could say he was happy. He and Goodman had more in common with each other than either man would care to admit. "I can certainly see why you would resent him," she said finally. "If you'd just decided to go to his office one day and shoot him, I don't think there'd be many people in this building who'd shed a tear. But you murdered three people who had nothing to do with what happened ten years ago just to spite him?"

"Bianchi was a made man for Carmine Falcone. Stavros a gun runner. Will Gotham mourn their loss?"

"And Henry Lucas?"

"Who?"

"The security guard at the museum?"

Goodman looked down at his hands. "That was regrettable. But I warned him not to interfere. He didn't listen."

Penelope wrote down more notes. Goodman's obsessed with revenge on Ed-on Nigma to the point of homicide. He shows no empathy and little regard for human life. She was becoming convinced though that Goodman didn't fit the definition of legal insanity.

Outside the interrogation room, Joan Leland watched the conversation between Victor and Penelope with increasing dismay. She's had such high hopes for Victor after his release from Arkham all those years ago. To see him reduced to this was disappointing.

"Dr. Leland!"

She turned to see a young uniformed officer run up to her. "What is it?"

"Nigma and Officer Cash are getting into a fight in the bullpen! You better come check it out!" The young man ran back down the hallway and Joan could begin to hear the sounds of a scuffle.

"Good Lord," she murmured. She followed the officer back towards the bullpen. Penelope Young was now totally alone with Victor Goodman.

"I've thought about killing him," Goodman continued. "Every second of every day since I saw that grotesque commercial of his I've wanted nothing more than to wring his neck. That's not good enough though. I don't just want him dead. I want to humiliate him. I want to shame him. I want to make him suffer everything I have for the past eight years."

Penelope sighed. This was getting nowhere and it was beginning to uncomfortably remind her of Edward back when he was her patient in the asylum. "Victor," she said. " Edward Nigma is not the reason your life fell apart. This obsession won't end well. You shouldn't give him that much power in your life. Look at where you are now."

Goodman smiled a bit at that. "I am," he said. "Precisely where I want to be, Dr. Young."

Penelope rose slightly at that. "What do you mean? You wanted him to catch you?"

Goodman continued to smile. "I was a bit disappointed in his showing when we met yesterday. I thought that committing his old crimes would be enough to bring out the man he used to be. The real him. It seems I needed better bait."

Before Penelope could fully digest what Goodman said, she heard loud voices coming from outside the room. One of them was painfully familiar to her. "Get her away from him right now! She's in danger!"

For one brief, terrible moment, Penelope took her eyes off of Goodman. One moment was all he needed.

Five Minutes Earlier

Edward checked his watch again for the fifth time that minute. 5:30. He leaned back in the stiff plastic chair in a huff. Just how long was this interview going to take? Was probing Goodman's mind that appealing for her? His cell phone buzzed again. He pulled it out of his pocket to find a congratulatory note from Oswald, a request for an exclusive by Vicki Vale and two missed calls from Ellen. Edward put his phone back in his pocket and sighed. Fifteen more minutes, he vowed. Then he was out of here. He wished he brought a book.

"Hey! Nigma!"

Edward looked up and saw a young police officer standing in front of him. He had to be fresh out of the academy with how skittish he was acting around the former rogue. "May I help you?" he asked.

"Y-yeah." The officer pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. "One of the ladies at dispatch said someone called with a message for you."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" His friends, associates and clients had his cell phone number. Who would be calling the police station looking for him? "Did they happen to say who they were?"

"Nah," the cop said. "Just that they think it was a woman. She said-" he squinted a bit at the message. "she said to ask you 'Who is most important to nobody?' and then she hung up."

Edward cocked his head. Was that an attempt at a riddle? He held his hand out. "Let me see that." The cop handed the paper over to him and Edward took a look for himself. 'Who is most important to Nobody?' Edward would usually never indulge the cranks who tried to stump him with their amateur riddles, but he had nothing better to do. "Hmm..Well," he mused more to himself than to the cop. "It's a who, not a what. Now nobody...nobody...Wait, why is it capitalized?" he snapped his fingers. "I've got it! It's a reference to The Odyssey! 'Nobody' was the name Odysseus gave to Polyphemus, just before he blinded him. So then, who was most important to Odysseus? His wife, Pene-" Edward stopped as realization dawned. No. No. No!

Edward practically shoved the hapless young cop out of his way as he jumped out of his chair and sprinted into the bull pen. Selina said it was too easy. It was too easy. He wanted to be brought here. He wanted to get to her-Edward collided with a solid mass and almost fell back. "Get out of my way you moron!" he snapped.

Aaron Cash looked less than impressed. "Where do you think you're going Nigma?"

Edward tried to go around Cash, but the man wouldn't budge. "I have to get to interrogation, he's with her-"

Cash pushed Edward back. A small crowd of officers were beginning to form, watching the scene with interest. "You're not going anywhere near interrogation. You've already been such a huge pain in the ass-"

Edward grit his teeth. He didn't have time for this. He had to get to Goodman. He had to get to her. "Get out of my way Cash or so help me God I'll-"

Cash leaned down, glaring at Edward. "You'll what, Riddle boy?"

Edward deeply regretted not having a cane on him. He could improvise though. He backed up a bit then charged, shoving Cash as hard as he could. The way towards interrogation was clear, but he didn't make it more than three steps before Cash grabbed him around his waist, pulling him back. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't bust you for assaulting a police officer!"

Edward struggled to get out of Cash's grip to no avail. "Let me go! Goodman played us! He's after Dr. Young! Get her away from him right now! She's in danger!"

Cash's grip loosened, but not enough for Edward to break free. "What the Hell are you talking about?"

"What's going on here?" Edward looked and saw Dr. Leland emerging from the hallway where the interrogation rooms were located. She'd be the only person willing to listen to him.

"Nigma's acting freaky Doc. I've got it under control. He thinks Goodman's going try something against Doc Young. Montoya's still in interrogation though."

Dr. Leland's eyes widened in horror. "No, she's not. She went to speak with Commissioner Gordon. Oh my God!" she turned back down the hallway. "She's alone with him!"

That was the final straw. Edward stomped down on Cash's foot with all his might. Cash let out a curse and finally let go. Edward broke free and sprinted out of the bullpen as fast as he could, ignoring the shouts of the other officers and of Dr. Leland. Stupid worthless idiots, how could they leave her alone with him, the man was a mass murderer, did he have to do everything around here-

"Riddler!"

Edward stopped dead in his tracks, the color draining from his face. He was too late. Before him stood Victor Goodman and Dr. Young. He had her pulled against him, his elbow wrapped around her throat. She stood frozen, looking more terrified then Edward ever recalled seeing her. Goodman smiled smugly at him. "I see you received my message."

Behind him, Edward could vaguely hear the sounds of the officers springing into action."Don't move-somebody get the commissioner-freeze-" He heard the distinctive clicks of firearms. He paid little attention to it though. Right now, all that existed for him was the man standing before him and the woman he was manhandling-his partner. Edward took a slow step towards Goodman. "You son of a bitch, I'll kill you if-"

Goodman took a step back, his grip around Dr. Young tightening. "Don't take another step!" Edward froze. "Put your hands up, slowly. None of your tricks."

Dr. Young seemed to come to life then. "Edward! Don't!"

Edward did as Goodman commanded, slowly raising his hands until they were above his head. "There. Satisfied?"

Goodman let out a low laugh. "Not yet. But very soon, I will be. I told you yesterday Riddler. I want to see you completely humiliated. I want all of Gotham to know just what a washed up phony you really are." Goodman glanced down at Dr. Young and Edward's blood boiled. "The smartest man in Gotham and you couldn't protect her from me."

Edward estimated he was about five feet away from Goodman. All he needed was a distraction. For now, he'd have to indulge the mad man. "I have to hand it to you Victor. That really was well played. Even I didn't see that coming. You really can give me a run for my money." Goodman's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Edward wet his lip. "Just between you and me," he said. "Your cunning is wasted on someone like her." Forgive me Dr. Young. "She's just a washed up Arkham doctor who couldn't hack it working with the likes of us." Dr. Young's eyes flashed for a moment, then widened a bit as she realized what he was doing. "She's nothing. I'm the big game Victor. Take me."

Goodman hesitated. Then he laughed. "She's nothing to me," he conceded. "But she is something to you, isn't she? Would you be so willing to hand yourself over if it were Montoya or Dr. Leland? Perhaps now, you'll be more willing to give it your all."

Edward heard Dr. Leland's voice behind him. "Victor please, we can help you. Let her go!"

"Stay out of this Dr. Leland," Goodman growled. "This is between me and him."

"I couldn't agree more," Edward added. "It is between you and me Victor. She wasn't even a doctor ten years ago. I'm the one you really want to kill."

Goodman said nothing. "This is Commissioner Gordon," Edward heard. "Goodman, we're willing to talk. Let Dr. Young go and I promise we can try to work with you."

Goodman looked Edward dead on and he'd never seen anyone look at him with such hatred. "I do want to kill you," he said. "But not before I make you suffer. I think we'll be leaving now."

"You're surrounded by GCPD's finest," Cash said somewhere in the bull pen. "You're not going anywhere with her." For once, Edward hoped Cash was right.

Almost as soon as Cash finished speaking, an explosion rocked GCPD. The sound and the force of the blast sent Edward to the ground. The world suddenly began to move in slow motion. Edward slowly looked up and looked behind him. The waiting room he'd been in just minutes ago was ablaze. Glass covered the floor of the bullpen and Edward could see bodies. Two officers closest to the waiting room lay still, blood pooling underneath them. Others were staggering to their feet, helping the wounded. By the wall between the waiting room and the bull pen, Edward saw Commissioner Gordon laying face down. What just happened? What just happened? Edward remembered with a flash. The woman. He'd seen a woman on her way out of the waiting room. A woman had left the message about Dr. Young. Goodman did have a partner. They'd planned this. Goodman-Penelope!

The world went back to full speed as Edward pulled himself up. Goodman was gone and he'd taken Penelope with him. Edward thought he heard the voices of Dr. Leland and Cash calling out to him, but he ignored them as he took off down the hall. He remembered there was an emergency exit halfway down the hallway between the bull pen and the interrogation rooms. That's where he'd gone. It took him only a moment to rip open the emergency exit door that led to the parking lot. It would take about a minute for Goodman to get into the parking lot, Edward calculated. Longer since he was dragging along a hostage. Edward had plenty of time to catch up to him. He was out in the parking lot now, in the cold Gotham night. In the darkness, he couldn't see anyone. Where was he? Where was she?

Then he heard the distinctive sounds of tires squealing. Edward watched as a car pulled out of the GCPD parking lot at top speed and his heart sank. Of course, Goodman's partner was waiting for him. Of course she had a car.

They were gone. Goodman was gone and he had Penelope.