Wren and Selina have claws (laminette) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-05-07 23:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | catwoman |
Who: Wren
What: Narrative: Getting released and finding Alex's message
Where: Jail → Caesars
When: This evening
Warnings/Rating: None
Being released on bail was anticlimactic.
She hadn’t seen MK or Iris since that talk in the jail’s common area, and Wren assumed they’d been let go. The assumption was confirmed by her lawyer, who felt they had a strong case given the paternity results. A strong case for a plea agreement, but not for custody, and Wren wondered if a female lawyer would have understood that wasn’t enough. Or maybe the man, older and in a sharp suit, a client, one that liked marks that lasted for days after, just couldn’t understand because he had no children of his own. Regardless, she felt nothing as she stood before the judge and plead not guilty.
She had no personal property, and so the bail was absurdly high. She nearly cleared out her savings for it, and she realized she was right back where she’d started two years before. A suite, and a job, and nothing else. Well, no, there was a child protection order, and the fact that she couldn’t go within a hundred yards of her son. A hundred yards. She had to ask the lawyer how far away that was. A football field, he’d told her, and she hadn’t asked any more questions after that.
She knew Luke was in the middle of a battle for temporary custody, she knew that it looked like he was going to win, and she knew he had disavowed any involvement with her. She’d known that would happen but, when it flashed on the television in the common room, it still stung like daggers and salt on a wound. Her lawyer informed her that the best case scenario was custody for Luke - full custody - and a dissolution of the protection order. More likely, there would be a supervised visitation schedule for her, and she hadn’t been expecting that and couldn’t let herself focus on it for too long.
So, yes, being released on bail was anticlimactic, and what was there to go home to, really?
Alice had left, she knew. MK was, if the news was right, living at the Wynn. She hadn’t heard from Brielle, had no idea where her cousin was or what she was doing. It had been a quiet stay in the prison and, now that it was over, she returned to her quiet home.
Business, at least, was good. Her face had been plastered on television screens, her profession discussed by people on corners, and the DNA testing had given her the sympathy vote from most of Las Vegas. It meant that clients were coming out of the woodwork, and she scheduled appointments from morning until late into the evening - and not just for the money. Being in that suite, with all the quiet, with everything that mattered out of her reach, she couldn’t stand it. So she would work, she decided, until she was too tired to think. Then she would sleep, and she would do it all over again.
She couldn’t contact Luke, she knew; it was too dangerous. Though she wasn’t sure how long she could really hold out. But she would try, at least that’s what she promised as she let herself into the suite. It was a mess, thanks to a search warrant, and there was no Alice to ensure the place had been set right again. Gus’ toys were everywhere, and she just collapsed onto the couch and didn’t straighten anything. Why bother? Petti swatted at her head, and she hugged the protesting cat, and she stayed there late into the night.
When she finally roused, it was to check the journals and her voicemails, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She confirmed appointments first, and then she heard the .mp3 that had been left for her on her journal.
She listened twice, and she was shaking by the second round. She knew it was Alexander, because she knew his voice. She remembered it like he was right next to her ear, whispering into it. It was a voice she would never forget, not so long as she lived. And it was just too much right then, too much to deal with, to handle. She saved the audio file, and she wove her way through the wreckage in the apartment. It was easy to find a bottle, something to lose herself in, and why not? It would keep her from picking up the phone and calling Luke, which she couldn’t do. And maybe she’d let Selina go home. She’d never consciously done that before, and maybe the bruises and scars from Selina’s last visit to Gotham should have served as a deterrent, but Wren really didn’t care very much, not right then.
She turned off the lights, cloaking the suite in empty darkness, and she took the bottle to her room. Tomorrow, she decided, would be soon enough to figure out how to pick herself up; how to go back to being alone, after getting used to having Luke and Gus nearby. Tonight, she just didn’t have the strength to face that truth, that reality, that Hell.