Chapter Text
It started on the staircase. When my life finally started going somewhere. But this new path, this direction was different. Each step of the winding staircase was covered in filth. Dust, dirt, and even blood on occasion. I didn't know why, and I didn't care to ask. I had worked enough for these old family names to know that you didn't question any oddity you encountered. You simply did the job and went home.
The pay was good, enough. I was fed, my pets were fed, and every once in a while I could save up for a plane ticket to get out of this damned city. That was the goal. To eventually leave Gotham for good, strip all relation of this city off of me.
Each day was the same. I did whatever I had to do in my personal life when I had the time to do it. The rest of the day was spent on rotation. Each house I cleaned grander than the last. I started at 6, and managed three houses daily. The last was the easiest: The Wayne Residence. It was a tower now. Not like it was back in the day, or so I'm told. And I only cleaned the residential floors.
It was my favorite. No one spoke to me, no one looked at me. In fact there was hardly anyone there when I worked. On occasion I'd see the old man that hired me. He was kind, but quiet. It was my only moment of peace throughout the workday. Sometimes he offered me fresh berries.
I never saw Mr. Wayne, not directly. He was as reclusive as the news had described whenever he made the rare public appearance. But sometimes, near the end of the day, I'd see him trudging up the monstrous flight of stairs. He never once said a word to me. This wasn't unusual.
My employers rarely spoke to me, and I tried to keep it that way. Whether through my appearance or my overall demeanor, I managed to make myself practically invisible. This was the best way to survive in an industry such as this and in a city such as this. And if you were lucky, you stayed invisible. I had no such luck.
One main rule to staying invisible in this industry was to stick to a routine you established with your employer. That's where I fucked up.
The sun was quickly setting over Gotham that afternoon, and being a single woman living alone with only my two rabbits, I understood the urgency of traveling home before dark. My work wasn't completed I knew this. But in my fear of the night, I left the massive staircase dusty and unfinished. And in my naivety, I told myself I would go back in the morning, breaking the routine.
"Oh dear, you're here early!" Fuck. It was the housekeeper, and I was certain she would be mentioning this to the old man. I smiled briefly as she let me in the doors.
"I just wanted to work on the staircase more," I lied. "I ran out of right polish for the rails yesterday." It was the best lie I could come up with. She seemed to buy it.
"Alright dear, just be quiet. Master Wayne isn't awake yet," she whispered the last part.
I knew I had to be quick. It was 5 am already, and I had to be at my first house at 6. Pulling out my cleaners and polishes, I went to work. Each step sent creaks echoing through the silent halls. I winced at the thought of being discovered on the steps, but carried on with my work faster than I had ever before. I reached the bottom step in record time, prepared to bolt out the door as soon as possible. But as I was gathering my supplies, I heard a new echo of slamming doors reverberating through the house. I froze listening to the footsteps that followed after. They were heavy and uneven without a discernible rhythm. It wasn't Dory, the housekeeper. I made notice to the way she walked before. She was markedly light and almost tiptoed throughout the residence. This was different. It didn't sound right.
My eyes darted around me, suddenly unfamiliar with the closest exits. And in my moment of hesitation, the footsteps were drawing closer. Shit shit shit. I couldn't leave the way I came. I had already broken routine, I couldn't allow myself to do it again. Whomever these footsteps belonged to could not see me here. Not this early.
And so, in my panic, the closet seemed to me the most rational solution to my problem.
It was small, but large enough to fit a person, and close enough that I could hear where the mysterious footsteps were heading to.
The stairs creaked once again under the heavy footsteps, and I allowed myself to breathe once again. I waited only a few moments before daring to venture out of my hiding place.
I can only assume that out some kind of divine intervention the closet door did not creak like every other thing in this godforsaken tower did. Gathering my things once more, I tiptoed ever so carefully towards the door. But my eyes caught on the stairs now speckled with droplets of blood.
My body froze as I examined the scene before me. This wasn't there before. I had to remind myself. And as my eyes followed the crimson stains, droplets began turning into puddles. This wasn't entirely unheard of in the industry I worked in, but I had not encountered this much blood in a house in years.
I stared as the blood slid from one step to the next, unsure of what to do next. My brain was telling me to leave. Whoever just walked up those stairs didn't yet know I was here. No one would notice if I slipped out. But I thought about the housekeeper. What if she saw the bloodied stairs? She'd know I was there and refused to clean it. I couldn't afford losing this job.
This had to be quick, but thorough. And this was going to make me late for my next house. Fuck. I slipped on my gloves and went to work. I was going to have to run to my next job.
The blood was everywhere. I couldn't imagine what kind of wound had caused this, and I didn't want to. I just wanted to leave. But I was getting sloppy. The tip of my knee touched a drop of the blood on the edge of the staircase, and I knew there was no time to change or remove the stain. I was just going to have to take my time with this and do it right.
It was 5:45 before I got to the bottom of the steps again, cleaning up the last few droplets I could find. That is until I saw the floor, equally as speckled in red.
"No no no no," I cried out getting on my hands and knees to scrub up the stains, but before I could start, the sound of footsteps again interrupted me. My eyes darted to the source to find it at the top of the stairs. His clothes were dark without any trace of blood on them. And his eyes were wide gazing into my own and looking just as surprised as I was. I remained on the floor waiting for him to speak first. But he didn't.
"I'm almost done," I started but that didn't appear to alleviate any confusion on his part.
"Who are you?" His voice was soft but deep, and quieter than I had expected.
“I- I’m the maid.” I didn’t know what else to say or do. His eyes scanned my body up and down from the top of the stares. I felt as though I was under a microscope. It was like he was trying to figure out if I was lying.
“Since when?”
“Three months ago. June.” I wondered how he didn’t know this.
“Why are you here so early?”
“The stairs,” I started. His eyes darted to the remaining blood, still smeared over the floor. “I mean, I didn’t finish the stairs…last night. I just finished.” The silence between us was heavy, palpable as his eyes seemed to look through me.
“Just hurry up and finish,” Mr. Wayne muttered as he turned away.
“Yes sir.” He stopped for a moment, but didn’t say another word before walking out of sight. I waited a minute longer for another reappearance, but he never came back. So I finished my job at the bottom of the stairs, and prayed I wouldn’t be too late for the next.