The Universe's Mixer

Jesse felt them, one by one, returning from the death that had been given to them by some stranger. As each one came back to life, he felt his spirits lift. His heart lighten.

Whatever had gone on here for the past few weeks, The City had not meant for it to stay that way. There was some peace in that. It might not be a lot, considering what citizens had been put through, but at least it was there.

He walked the park, cigarette in hand, watching the children play.

It was unfortunate, he thought, that John Coffey had not been a part of this murder mystery. That the world had actually been robbed of the gentle man. He had done a lot of good while he'd been here. And now he was well, and truly dead.

At least, he thought, they would have no memory of their deaths.

He hoped.

Suddenly a new sort of panic started to rise in him.

Jennifer ran into her superior's office, a big excited grin on her face. She'd done it. She'd made a break in her very first case. The thing that had to be, had to be the biggest murder case anybody had ever seen for such a short period of time.

"Sir!" She said, excitedly, readying her folder to show him what she'd found. "I think I've..."

"Your case is closed, Government."

"What do you mean? You haven't caught..."

"It's closed. Do you hear me? Over."

"I don't understand. All those people..."

"All what people? There's nobody dead."

"Nobody... dead..." She frowned and tried to figure out what he was saying. Were they covering this up? Were they just going to bury this and pretend like it had never happened? Why? Why would they do that? "But sir..." She fished out a profile and held it so he could see.

"Alive, Government. As of this morning. All of them are. There's no case."

"Shouldn't we still find who did it?"

"And charge them with what? There's been no crime."

Defeated and deflated, Jennifer dropped her arms to her sides and moped back to her office. Just when she thought she'd gotten somewhere, and everybody was suddenly alive again. She wasn't sure how that was possible, she'd seen the autopsy reports. But she couldn't bring herself to doubt the truth in it either. This place was strange. She'd been told that. She'd seen it for herself.

Jennifer needed a drink.

And she needed to see Simon.

The pale brunette teen could not stop the shaking and it showed. She had been trapped in a youth hostel during the recent murders and she also had to face more than her share of Olaf related flashbacks in the process. But now the young woman known as Violet Baudelaire was trying to reembrace life as she went looking for the junk shop. "But now I can try to unravel my own mystery and the mystery of this place" as she went inside to locate some parts for a current project.

Bruce sprang out of bed, breathing hard. The last thing he remembered was Tim going down. The sight of blood. And then nothing.

Nothing.

He very distinctly remembered the nothing that was there. The not living. Not being alive. It hadn't been a dream, as much as he wanted it to be, and the look on Alfred's face when he encountered his loyal friend at the door of the bedroom told him that he had, in fact, been dead.

Which meant that Tim had been dead too.

Bruce wondered if Tim had remained that way while he, Bruce, had somehow managed to pull a Lazarus and was breathing now as if nothing had gone wrong.

He found himself sprinting toward the boy's room, calling his name as he moved. Hoping that Tim would pop out of somewhere before he could get to the bedroom door.

"Tim!" One final time as he got his hand around the knob and burst in.

One second he was talking to George and trying to comfort her about his own death, and the next he's in his own apartment, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, as alive as he'd ever remembered being.

He could actually feel his own heart beating hard enough that it might have broken out of his chest at any moment.

Through the strangeness of it all, he couldn't help but feel concern for how George might be taking this. She had been worried that he was going to move on, and his sudden disappearance must have looked like just that.

Dexter fumbled on his bedside table without looking at it, finding his phone and dialing George.

He listened to it ring.

Jack woke up just the way he'd gone down.

Laughing.

There was some confusion as to where he was at first, and then he realized he was right where he'd died. In the alley. In a dirty, disgusting, filthy, rat riddled alley. There was humor in it, and of course some sadness. Nobody had moved his body.

Neat.

Jack pulled himself upward and thought about what had just happened. He'd died. He'd really, really and truly died. The only great adventure in life, and he'd done it now. And now he was alive again.

What did this mean?

Oh. This meant chaos. That's what this meant. This meant a revived desire to do horrible things to people all over the city and a need to make sure nobody slept soundly at night. It meant a renewed need to torment Bruce Wayne and the little boys he had sex with. Along with whomever else might have been prancing around in fancy bat-related costumes.

Jack caught his appearance in a broken shard of glass. Black hair cut in a mohawk. Eyeliner. Black suit. It was nice, but he felt something was missing. Something that had always been him. Maybe, just maybe, for a while he'd go back to the purple. The makeup. The green. Just for a little bit, to remind the good citizens of this fair city what they should be afraid of.

Clowns.

And himself of course.

And everything that had anything to do with purple. And smiley faces.

His first task was to break into a store and find himself a lovely dark purple suit. Then break into another one and find himself some whiteface and other makeup. It was quite handy that there was a gentleman's clothing store right next to a costume shop.

His next task was to get home and find those lovely butterfly shaped henchmen he'd acquired himself before his death.

Jack burst in through the front doors of the asylum with a big smile on his face.

"Boys!" He yelled. "Daddy's home!"

Selina rose from the rooftop confused.

The knife, slicing into her body, killing her.

She'd been gone... dead from what she could tell.

And she didn't like it.

And then she was struck with guilt. That she'd died and hadn't kept her promise to herself.

But now was her chance... To find Helena's killer.

She headed to her apartment. She had some thinking and a lot of research to do.

Buffy couldn't hear the unusual rhythm of plucked harps. Or, she was not consciously aware of it, as chords and notes were created similarly to a guitar. Buffy walked down a neighborhood street with white picket fences, quiet homes with lights long turned off, housing pleasant people and their pleasant dreams. She continued to walk to the beat of music, confused. A day old headline of the serial killer fluttered past the slayer and she watched it go.

"I don't know where I've been.
I can't remember what I've seen
since I left, or was between..."

"Should we go outside?
Should we go outside?"

"And Danger! Danger! Draws me near.
I think I've been here.
And Danger! Danger! Draws me near.

"Should we go outside?
Should we go outside?"

Buffy started to run. Up ahead she saw her house. She knew what The City was capable of, bringing in persons from different times. Her mother could be in there and still alive. Dawn could be there. Any of them. The harp music continued and Buffy was still wrapped in The City's song.



ooc: This is what happens when BB listens to too much Joanna Newsom. Her lyrics from "The Spout and the Bean" have been liberally abused here. But please feel free to take the song in a different direction or something. We can Moulin Rouge it. :B If you're confused as to why there's any weird singing at all, blame Doctor Horrible. >.>