Who: Rorschach (and, by a near miss, Sam) What: Starting over from nothing Where: Hamartia 505 When: Saturday night, after ten o'clock or so Warnings: I'm really depressed, guys
The electric razor hummed, its sound reverberating off the walls of the bathroom. Rorschach stared into his own reflection, blue eyes dull and lifeless, as he coasted the razor over his scalp in line after line. Stripe upon stripe of thick, dark hair fell to his feet, a veritable forest growing around him as his own head grew naked and barren. As he snipped off the last tuft of hair from the nape of his neck, he turned off the razor, setting it down in the sink.
Now, for the first time in a long while, he could see the ridges that he felt whenever he ran his fingers through his hair. Old battle wounds, stripes and circles, from blow after blow, surrounded his head like a crown of thorns. They complimented the way his nose was crooked and bumpy, broken several times and healed poorly. The white scars that broke his left eyebrow into pieces seemed to match the rough knuckle-marks on his jaw.
As he left the bathroom, Rorschach felt his mind consumed by another memory that wasn't his own. Grinding the knuckles of his left hand into his temple, he clenched his jaw, waiting for it to pass. He understood. He knew what this meant. God was sending him a sign, and he was listening.
For too long, Rorschach had let himself be distracted. As he entered his bedroom, he cast a glance down the hall to Sam's room, gaze falling on the floor soon after. She was a distraction, that was all. Her, Corbinian, his job, the development of "Mike" - it was all a trip away from the true path, the path of rightness that he should be following. At first, he found it difficult to believe that he of all people had been seduced so easily. But weakness was the constant in mankind - we were all fallible and easily manipulated. It took conviction to leave all of this behind.
As he pulled on his newly laundered clothes, the only clothes he would wear from now on, Rorschach looked down at the blank sheet of paper and pencil on his desk. He had to leave her something. Just as he had done for Father Holloway, he had to write for Sam. But what to say? After stepping into his thick boots and lacing them up tightly, he sat at his desk, picked up the pencil, and began to write.
Sam,
We are but flawed creatures made in our Lord's image. We go about our daily lives, rotting, and most are content to do so. I have spent nine years fighting to protect what justice exists in this world, and have found myself straying from the path. But tonight, God has given me a sign. I must obey His wishes and return to the work that I started.
I will pray for you, just as I hope that you will pray for Rorschach.
By the time he had finished the short note, his hand was shaking. This was just weakness, that's all. He had grown dependent on this life, these luxuries, and it was wrong. He had to go through with this. Laying down the pencil, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the rosary. A part of him wanted to keep it, but he knew that it would be best served elsewhere. Pressing a kiss to one of the beads, he laid the rosary out on the note, its beads encircling "Sam" perfectly. At the end of his desk, the communicator from Oracle sat with its never-used companion. He collected them both in his palm, wrapping them in another piece of paper and scrawling his pictorial signature on the makeshift package.
Standing up from the desk, he reached for his face, stretching it over his head. It was just washed, clean and new once again. This was a new start, embarking on the path he should have stuck to from the beginning. His fedora settled on his head, brim drawn low to shade the black and white patterns of his face. Already, he felt more like himself. Leaving his desk behind, he opened the door of Hamartia 505, letting it close behind him. Hearing the door shut, hearing that finality, was a gift. It meant that this chapter of his life had been written, and could be closed. Mike Caulfield, like Warren Keller, was dead.
Now, there was only Rorschach. He was the sole survivor.