Birds of a Feather (Oswald Cobblepot)

You're Suppose to be Dead

   Oswald climbs the stairs of the apartment complex. He glances at the door of his own apartment. He and his mother ended their last conversation on a rather sour note, with him telling her off in a truly Shakespearean fashion.

He climbs the extra flight to the next floor up and knocks on Trixie's door. No response, she doesn't know he's alive, so she can't be avoiding him. She must be out. He gets his pocketknife and uses it to jimmy the lock on the door. The door clicks and slides open, revealing her apartment. He stumbles in, closing the door behind him. The room is almost as it was before he left, save a new set of white curtains covering the windows.

Oswald continues into her bedroom, which consists of a neatly made double bed and a small vanity. He crosses to her closet, pushing open the door. The closet is lined with her clothes, and her scent washes over him. He grabs an immediately recognizable piece off of its hanger. The green dress she’d worn when they’d first met. He holds it up and smells it, it smells just like her. He carries it out to her bedroom where he collapses onto her bed, clutching her dress. He closes his eyes and imagines them together in this very bed, lying together in each other’s embrace, their only concern in that very moment to enjoy each other’s company.

Someone begins unlocking the door, and Oswald shoves the dress into his shirt and walks out into the living room to meet her. He’ll catch her by surprise, and when she least expects it, he’ll stab her with his pocketknife. It’ll be glorious, the blade entering her soft flesh…

He stands off to the side, where she won’t immediately see. Drawing his knife, he lies in wait as the door slowly swings open.

“That was some great work today,” she comments, as a second pair of footsteps accompanies her.

Oswald gasps, and scurries behind her curtains, his bum foot dragging behind him. He hadn’t expected her to have company. Who was this mysterious stranger she’s brought into her home?

“I just don’t understand why Detective Gordon is so wary of you. You’ve more than proven your loyalty to the GCPD,” a man’s voice whiny, punctual voice replies, “I would actually think that you two would make excellent allies. Your morals are very similar.”

She’s working for the police? Did Fish put her up to this? Is this of her own doing? Or has she been working with the police from the beginning?

“I know he does, and that’s the problem. If I was in his shoes I’d be wary of me too. Someone seemingly working for both sides is bound to not have their loyalties completely in check.”

So she’s having some sort of quarrel with James Gordon. Good, although now that she’s working for the GCPD he’ll need to keep a close eye on the both of them. If they started to work together it would be disastrous for him.

“Hang on a second...,” Trixie walks up to the man, arching her chin up and she...kisses him? There’s a quiet whisper between them as their faces connect, most likely sharing intimate words or dirty thoughts. Through the curtains, Oswald makes out the outline of the man. He’s much taller than him, with a sharp suit. He scowls, she’s replaced him? Who knew she could work so fast. He tilts his head and she touches it with her hand, it’s absolutely disgusting. He impatiently rubs the handle of his knife, she’ll pay, and her little boyfriend too.

   “There’s someone hiding behind the curtain. They’re probably after me, so I want you to leave the apartment as fast as you can and head home,” I instruct Ed, whispering into his ear.

Ed instinctively shifts his eyes toward the curtain but I grab his head and move it back, “Don’t look now. Just leave. They probably thinks we’re holding some kind of abnormally long kiss, any longer and they’ll get suspicious.”

He slowly nods, and places his hand on my shoulder, “Take care Natalie. Let no harm come to you,” Ed walks out, carefully closing the door behind him.

I sit down on the couch, trying to act casual. What should I do about the person hiding behind the curtain? Who is this person anyway? I’ve turned my back to them, but they still haven’t attacked. Is this perhaps a spy sent by Fish? By Essen? By Amanda?

I decide to give them an opportunity to leave, or at least find a better hiding spot than behind those curtains where their shoes stick out from the bottom. Keeping one hand on my knife, I open the door to my room and close it behind me.

I’m only in my room a couple of seconds when shuffling comes from the other side of the door. It sounds like someone is limping, like they have an injury. Either this intruder has a bum leg, or is just really clumsy.

More shuffling, what is this guy doing? I get away from the door, just in case they’re going to try to attack me from there. But just then, there’s the screeching of a record needle, and the soft spinning of vinyl as a song with a haunting piano melody begins. There’s a soft knocking at my door, and I draw my knife, brandishing it in front of me.

“Honey, I’m home,” Oswald’s chilling, sarcastic voice announces.

I freeze in place. No, it can’t be, he’s dead, Fish had him offed, it’s mob policy. He survived a bullet in the head and a trip down the river? Or maybe they killed him in a nontraditional way and he survived that. Either way, he’s my problem now.

The handle slowly begins to turn, and I stash my knife away. There isn’t enough time to run to the fire escape, and from what I’ve learned, Oswald isn’t someone you can outrun. He’s someone you deal with in the moment, hopefully as quickly as possible.

The door swings open, and a raggedy, pale Oswald stands in the doorway with a sinister smirk. He raises his arms, clad in an ugly light blue sweater and yellow polo, “Well, long time no see.”

“You’re alive.”

He chuckles, looking toward the floor, hands in his pockets, “I have my ways,” he looks up at me, “why aren’t you happy? I’m alive, I’m back.”

He slumps toward me, and I instinctively step back. He stops, frowning and gritting his nasty teeth, “I know you’re the one who snitched. You work, not just for the government, but for the GCPD,” he starts waddling closer, and backed against the wall, I have no where to run.

“Who was your little friend just then, hmm? Is he your real lover, your little beau?” he draws out his pocketknife, flipping open the blade and waving it in front of me as he leers mere inches away from me, “What would you do if I found out where he lives? If one day you’d come to his home and find him lying on the ground, throat slit?”

“I wouldn’t let you,” I snarl.

“Oh? You won’t?” he challenges, hanging the knife at the nape of my neck.

I arch my neck as he lifts it up with his blade. He smells of beer and musty sewer water, and I bite my lip, trying my best to not gag. With his knife-wielding hand resting on my shoulder, he leans in and licks my neck, his tongue tracing the side of my neck. I shudder, clutching the wall with both hands.

“If you want your secrets to be kept private, and you and your boyfriend safe,” he takes me into his arms, and I get the full brunt of his stench, “you’ll do exactly as I say.”

“...a bath,” I cough.

He looks down at me, “What?”

“You need...a bath,” I gag.

He smirks, and kisses me on the forehead, “So I do. How about you give me one then?”

 Author's Note:

Song on the record Oswald plays: "Midnight, the Stars, and You" by Al Bowlly: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rb9t9kPRAH8