Somewhere down the hall, the front door slammed shut and an eerie silence filled the house, one so unnaturally still Barbara could hear her heart pounding against her ribcage. Gazing out the misted window, she watched as her dad put the car into reverse before pulling out onto the street and driving off into the quickly fading night.

The house was empty now. No one but her and Pamela remained.

She tore her bloodshot eyes from the window and glanced down at her hand, holding her breath as she listened for even the slightest sound from Pamela. But the silence persisted, only interrupted by the occasional raindrop hitting the side of the house.

It was time.

Barbara started for the door, her movements slow and deliberate as she turned her wheels only a fraction of a rotation. It felt like an eternity before she reached the door. Even longer before she could pry the doorknob open.

Without so much as a groan, the door swung open, and Barbara could finally release the deep breath she had been holding. As she lingered in the doorway, she peered down the empty hallway and froze. Just a few feet ahead was Pamela's door, slightly ajar. Barbara blinked, thinking perhaps the shadows or lack of sleep were playing tricks on her. But no. There was a gap in-between the door and its frame.

Was Pamela awake? Had the sound of her father leaving woken her up? It hadn't before, so why now? Of all times?

Cursing under her breath, Barbara thought about retreating into her room-back into safety and logic. This plan had been ridiculous from the start. How could she not have realized that sooner when she stayed up all night, pondering about what to do?

Because she was an idiot. A gullible idiot who believed Richard when he reassured her she could do this. She could almost hear his soft, gentle voice beside her, telling her that she and her dad would never be safe as long as Pamela was around.

His words had been so soothing, his eyes filled with such sincerity it was hard not to believe him. The way he gazed at her with his eyes of sapphire made her feel like she could do just about anything, including the unthinkable.

She could still recall the prickling sensation when his hand met hers. Although his touch was made of ice, it felt like a bolt of lightning shot through her skin and into her veins. It was a feeling no guy had ever awakened in her.

But now was not the time for that. She needed to focus. Pushing the memory out of her mind, Barbara frowned at the continued silence. She had been here for what? A few minutes? And she hadn't heard a peep from the other room or from anywhere in the house. The hallway had been as quiet as ever.

She didn't know what compelled her to move forward, but Barbara soon found herself slowly rolling towards the adjacent door. With each turn her tires made, she bit down on her lip, awaiting the inevitable squeak of rubber on wood that never came.

Despite the late autumn air chilling her to the bone, beads of sweat trickled down the nape of her neck and along her spine. The room was right across the hall, but getting to the other side took several agonizing minutes. By the time she came to the door, her breathing had become short and labored, as if she had just run a marathon.

With the tips of her fingers, Barbara pushed the door back and peered inside. She hadn't been in this room since Pamela moved in, but she could already imagine what the inside must look like if her room was any indication. Almost immediately, she caught a whiff of a flowery scent as it tickled her nostrils with its sweet, overwhelming aroma.

Holding back a sneeze, Barbara scrunched her nose and continued into the room, keeping her eyes fixated on the bed. Even in the inky darkness, she could make out the edges of its rectangular shape. But as she drew closer, she saw that its surface was flat and the covers perfectly in place.

Terror wrapped its fingers around Barbara's heart, seizing it in its painful grip. She pressed her hand down on the bed, groping around for any sign of Pamela among the bedsheets. But it was as cold as it was empty.

If panic hadn't set in before, then it sure had now. Where the hell was Pamela? She had to be here somewhere. But where? The kitchen? Outside?

Barbara sighed, drawing her hand back to her side. What did it matter anyway? If she was awake, then this plan had already failed. She had failed.

Rolling out into the hallway, Barbara was about to head back into her room when she caught sight of the closed door at the end of the corridor. Her father's room.

No, no way. That was completely gross. Pamela and her dad together... in the same bed... it was enough to make her sick. Yet, a sense of morbid curiosity pushed her forward towards the gleaming white door. If she was going to go through with this, then she had to know. The sealed door beckoned to her from ahead, taunting her as if it knew what dark, forbidden secrets had occurred the previous night.

Trying not to vomit up last night's dinner at the thought, Barbara twisted the doorknob and forced the door open. What little sunlight glistened from the crack in-between the fastened curtains was enough to confirm her worst fear.

Lying flat on her back, Pamela looked like a fresh corpse with her hands clasped together over her stomach and luscious tresses fanned out across the pillow. A soft flush dusted her cheeks and her lips were tinged a slight pink. Her porcelain skin looked as youthful as ever. Even asleep, Pamela was still unbelievably beautiful.

It was hard to imagine this woman was a serial killer. She looked too fragile, too delicate to ever hurt someone. Much less kill them.

Even harder to imagine was that she was an ageless serial killer, one who presumably survived off the sacrifices of men. Barbara remembered once reading about a countess in some faraway land who killed her young servant girls and bathed in their blood, thinking this was the secret to eternal youth. Perhaps Pamela had finally uncovered that secret; a secret men have searched for in elixirs and fountains since the dawn of time.

It was too bad they hadn't looked for it in each other.

This was why she had to do this, Barbara reminded herself. Pamela was a killer. She deserved to die. She wasn't even human, not anymore.

Barbara raised the stake from her lap and held it up above Pamela's ribcage, right where her heart was.

It would be quick. Just one stab and it would all be over.

Although the piece of wood barely weighed five pounds, her hand shook as if it weighed ten times more. Thinking it would slip from her sweaty grasp, Barbara tightened her grip around the stake and started to lower it.

Just one stab. It just took one stab through the heart.

Barbara's gaze flickered to the sleeping woman, thinking her eyelids were going to flutter open at any moment. But Pamela remained completely still. The usual rise and fall of her chest were absent, and it looked like she wasn't even breathing at all.

Steadying her trembling hand, Barbara turned her attention back to the area just left of Pamela's breastbone and pressed down. She didn't so much as flinch as the sharpened tip grazed her exposed skin.

Barbara gritted her teeth. She was nearly there. She just had to push down.

But what if she was wrong? What if Pamela wasn't a killer? What if this was all some giant coincidence, some big misunderstanding?

What if Pamela was, in fact, innocent?

The thought was enough to make Barbara falter. Glancing at the stake in her hand, she pulled it back to her side, nearly throwing it across the room. She had almost killed someone. And for what? Because Bruce, a practical stranger, had told her to? Because he gave her a taste of something she hadn't had in months?

What was wrong with her?

As she stared at the object in her lap, Barbara caressed the sharpened wood, tracing her finger alongside its smoothed-down surface. Such a primeval weapon, and yet, she had nearly killed someone with it. All because of the sweet, irresistible taste of hope.

No. She had been doing this for her dad. To protect him. To save him from an untimely death in the bed he shared with Pamela.

And for all the other missing and murdered men that were unlucky enough to cross paths with Pamela.

Men like Jason Bard.

At the mention of his name, a rush of blinding anger surged through Barbara, one hot enough to snap her out of her trance and snatch the stake right back up. Gripping it with both hands, she was prepared to ram it right through Pamela's heart when the lightbulb suddenly flicked on.

"Sorry to wake you but I forgot my-" James stood frozen in the doorway, his hand hovering above the light switch.

Barbara blinked against the harsh ray of light. The stake, only inches above Pamela, was still clutched in her hands. "Dad, I-"

Pamela's eyes immediately flashed open and took in the sight in front of her. She let out an ear-splitting scream before springing off the bed and running towards James's side. Clinging onto him, she buried her face into his shoulder as her screams subsided into soft whimpers.

"Where the hell did you get this?" James brushed Pamela aside as he stormed forward, wrenching the stake from Barbara's grasp. "Huh? Did you make this? Answer me, damn it!"

"Bru-Bruce Wayne," Barbara sputtered as her dad grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her so hard her glasses almost flew off.

"That's it! I'm calling the police! Maybe they'll know how to actually do their job!" Pamela snarled. No longer crying hysterically, it was as if the mention of Bruce's name had shut off the waterworks just as quickly as they turned on.

"No!" James reached towards her as if to stop her.

Pamela turned to glare at him, already halfway out the door. "What do you mean no? Your daughter just tried to kill me!"

"Because you're a monster!" Barbara spat. "You've killed more men than I can count in the past fifty years! You're the reason why all these men went missing!" Her voice dropped to a hiss. "Including-Including Jason Bard."

Pamela stayed quiet for a fraction of a second before glancing over at James. "You're right. I shouldn't call the police." Her piercing stare locked onto Barbara's burning one. "We need to have her committed to Arkham."

"You absolute bitch!" Barbara lunged forward with her fists raised, not thinking of how gravity would soon take hold of her. But before she could hit the floor, James caught her and pinned her back in the wheelchair.

"Barbara, what is wrong with you?" His fingers dug into her biceps as he restrained her. "What's happened to you? Is it that Richard boy? Has he been giving you drugs?"

"What? No!" Barbara couldn't even believe her dad would ask such a question. Her? On drugs? Did he even know his daughter? "Pamela is the one you should be questioning! Not me! She's the one who isn't even human!"

"She clearly needs help, James." Pamela's voice softened as she took a step closer. "She's disturbed."

"Shut up!" Barbara took a swipe at the woman, one she easily dodged.

"Enough!" James roared, shoving Barbara back against the seat, effectively shutting her up. "Pamela." He angled his head back to look at her. "Call Arkham and tell them we'll be there shortly."

A soft gasp left Barbara's lips as she watched Pamela hurry off. "What? Dad, no!"

"I'm sorry, Barbara. But this is for your own good." He locked the wheelchair in place. Although he wore a grim expression on his face, the tears brimming in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

"No! Dad!" she screamed as he lifted her into his arms. "You can't do this!"

With a grunt, her father hoisted her up and turned towards the door. But Barbara wasn't going to make this so easy for him. No way was she going to Arkham, not without a fight.

Sinking her nails into the doorframe, Barbara held on with all her strength, which to say wasn't much. Yet, she held on for as long as she could before her dad yanked her free, taking pieces of wood with her. She knew it was useless to struggle against his vice-like grip. Without the use of her legs, she could never break free. But she kept trying anyway. That was the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over, thinking it'll change things. Perhaps she really did belong in Arkham.

"You can't do this! You can't listen to her!" she howled, beating her fists against his broad shoulders. "Dad, please! Don't do this!"

James ignored her frantic screams, only holding her tighter as he carried her to the car.