Post by lizity on Sept 10, 2011 22:42:49 GMT -5
After talking to Bruce she’d left him to his research and gone back up stairs. She’d only been back in the house for a short time but she was already feeling restless again with nothing at her finger tips to do as memories and images crept in around the edges of her mind. She shook them away and went up to the room that she’d moved in to only to find a news paper sitting on her dresser turned up to the obituaries. She picked I up carefully reading down the lines of text till she came to the time and day. It was today, in just an hour actually. She stared at it for a long minute before setting it aside.
She changed her slacks out for jeans and picked up a leather jacket she’d brought in from the stash of clothes she’d picked up from her apartment the night before when she’d been out as Huntress. The police were still watching her place. Waiting for her to come back or to see if she was alive. She had no doubt that they figured she was dead considering the mess that she’d left behind. But that was a problem for later.
Walking back through the house she passed Alfred who said nothing and took the keys for one of the we motorcycles parked along the side of the garage. It took her a minute to find the right one but once she had she was off. She drove back into the city, watching the road and focusing on her driving, only stopping once to pick up a bundle of red roses from a road side stand before heading to the cemetery.
Was it ironic or bad manners to go to the funeral of the man that you’d killed and the man that you’d had a hand in killing? She knew she shouldn’t have been there but she needed to see it. She road slowly down the gravel roads between the lines of headstones. It wasn’t hard to find were they were doing the burial. Cars lined both sides of the area but she didn’t get close, she kept her distance. It wasn’t that far from her parents grave and that was where she stopped, sliding off the bike after putting the kick stand down.
Walking down the row she paused in front of two simple head stones. She couldn’t remember back to who had even arranged everything back then. She knelt, touching the head stone with a light hand before splitting the bunch of roses she’d picked up between the two stones. Her parents and her brother. She missed them, she always had, everyday of her life. Sometimes she tried to think about how her life would have been if they’d never been murdered. Who would Pinto have grown up to be? Would he have been married with kids now? Would she have been? Her mother would have loved a house full of grandchildren. But that wasn’t to be and she leaned over to press a kiss to the top of both stones before walking back to her bike.
Her eyes turned up to watch the funeral in progress across the way. So many people gathered all of them Family no doubt. She could see Maria sobbing into someone’s shoulder. She felt sad for her, losing both her father and brother at the same time. Helena could understand that loss all too well. She’d never meant for it to happen that way. She’d just wanted Sal to pay for what he’d done, not Travis. She could still see his face when she closed her eyes, the shock that had washed over it as the bolt had buried in his chest and her name whispered silent on his lips. She wanted to scream at just the thought of it but she swallowed it down and swung her leg back over the bike and started it up.
She looked back once last time to the funeral, watching the caskets being lowered into the ground then took a deep breath and left the cemetery. She wished that she knew that she could remember all the good times she’d had with Travis but she knew that would never happen. Whenever she thought of him now, all she’d see was his face in those moments before death.
Driving back to the mansion she parked and moved back through the house. Alfred didn’t greet her but he watched her from a distance before turning go tell Bruce she’d returned. She hadn’t even noticed the older man before going to her room to strip out of her clothes and pull on a t-shirt and soft knit pants. She needed to hit something, or many things, she needed to burn off all the energy inside her till she passed out and pray that it all didn’t come rushing into her dreams. She didn’t want to deal with all this but she had to, before it ate her out from the inside.
She went back down to the Bruce’s personal gym, pushing through the doors. She didn’t pause for anything as she walked up to the heavy punching bag and drew back, hitting it with all her strength. Her fist hit with a dull heavy thwack and her knuckles stung with the impact but it didn’t slow her down. Again and again and again, she hit it, breathing harder with every hit. Tears started to run down her face as she worked, mingling with the beads of sweat that started to form on her skin.
Before long the thwacks of her fists turned wet in sound, her unprotected knuckles having busted, leaving red smudges on the blue leather of the bag but even that didn’t slow her down. The pain felt good, it meant that she still felt something, that she was still alive and not laying dead in some alley. It reminded her just how much of the survivor that she was for better or worse.
She changed her slacks out for jeans and picked up a leather jacket she’d brought in from the stash of clothes she’d picked up from her apartment the night before when she’d been out as Huntress. The police were still watching her place. Waiting for her to come back or to see if she was alive. She had no doubt that they figured she was dead considering the mess that she’d left behind. But that was a problem for later.
Walking back through the house she passed Alfred who said nothing and took the keys for one of the we motorcycles parked along the side of the garage. It took her a minute to find the right one but once she had she was off. She drove back into the city, watching the road and focusing on her driving, only stopping once to pick up a bundle of red roses from a road side stand before heading to the cemetery.
Was it ironic or bad manners to go to the funeral of the man that you’d killed and the man that you’d had a hand in killing? She knew she shouldn’t have been there but she needed to see it. She road slowly down the gravel roads between the lines of headstones. It wasn’t hard to find were they were doing the burial. Cars lined both sides of the area but she didn’t get close, she kept her distance. It wasn’t that far from her parents grave and that was where she stopped, sliding off the bike after putting the kick stand down.
Walking down the row she paused in front of two simple head stones. She couldn’t remember back to who had even arranged everything back then. She knelt, touching the head stone with a light hand before splitting the bunch of roses she’d picked up between the two stones. Her parents and her brother. She missed them, she always had, everyday of her life. Sometimes she tried to think about how her life would have been if they’d never been murdered. Who would Pinto have grown up to be? Would he have been married with kids now? Would she have been? Her mother would have loved a house full of grandchildren. But that wasn’t to be and she leaned over to press a kiss to the top of both stones before walking back to her bike.
Her eyes turned up to watch the funeral in progress across the way. So many people gathered all of them Family no doubt. She could see Maria sobbing into someone’s shoulder. She felt sad for her, losing both her father and brother at the same time. Helena could understand that loss all too well. She’d never meant for it to happen that way. She’d just wanted Sal to pay for what he’d done, not Travis. She could still see his face when she closed her eyes, the shock that had washed over it as the bolt had buried in his chest and her name whispered silent on his lips. She wanted to scream at just the thought of it but she swallowed it down and swung her leg back over the bike and started it up.
She looked back once last time to the funeral, watching the caskets being lowered into the ground then took a deep breath and left the cemetery. She wished that she knew that she could remember all the good times she’d had with Travis but she knew that would never happen. Whenever she thought of him now, all she’d see was his face in those moments before death.
Driving back to the mansion she parked and moved back through the house. Alfred didn’t greet her but he watched her from a distance before turning go tell Bruce she’d returned. She hadn’t even noticed the older man before going to her room to strip out of her clothes and pull on a t-shirt and soft knit pants. She needed to hit something, or many things, she needed to burn off all the energy inside her till she passed out and pray that it all didn’t come rushing into her dreams. She didn’t want to deal with all this but she had to, before it ate her out from the inside.
She went back down to the Bruce’s personal gym, pushing through the doors. She didn’t pause for anything as she walked up to the heavy punching bag and drew back, hitting it with all her strength. Her fist hit with a dull heavy thwack and her knuckles stung with the impact but it didn’t slow her down. Again and again and again, she hit it, breathing harder with every hit. Tears started to run down her face as she worked, mingling with the beads of sweat that started to form on her skin.
Before long the thwacks of her fists turned wet in sound, her unprotected knuckles having busted, leaving red smudges on the blue leather of the bag but even that didn’t slow her down. The pain felt good, it meant that she still felt something, that she was still alive and not laying dead in some alley. It reminded her just how much of the survivor that she was for better or worse.