꧁ The Penguin ꧂

Elijah Van Dahl's funeral was held in Gotham Chapel on a rainy morning, two days after his death.
Brooke could not attend. Grace had insisted that the girl did not compromise her poor health just for a ceremony. So, however mad about it, she was locked in her room, staring out the window, waiting.

The family stayed away for a little more than two hours, and as soon as he was back in the house, Oswald rushed to Brooke's bedroom, where he remained until evening.
He was devastated. Twice, in just a few months, he held a dying parent in his arms. Twice his soul had been shaken and shattered into a thousand pieces, some of which were now lost forever, for when a loved one dies, he always carries a part of us with him. With Elijah, Oswald had for the first time found stability as well as love, he had found peace with himself and with the world. Now that peace had been taken away from him, he found himself again on the edge of the abyss and, looking down, the thought of falling did not seem so terrible.

Brooke had never seen a man so broken. She knew what Oswald was feeling at the time, she remembered it well, but she still couldn't compare to him, and she knew she couldn't give him any consolation.
She let him cry in her arms for hours, until there were no tears left for him to shed. She didn't dare to say a word, for she knew that there were no right words to say.

"Grace agreed to let me stay," Oswald sobbed later that afternoon.
They were laying on the bed; he had his head on er shoulder, she had an arm around him.

"Mh?" She murmured, surprised to hear his voice, stunned that his stay had even been questioned.

"Grace agreed to let me stay." He repeated. "She said I can live here with you as your new maid." He explained calmly.

"As our new maid?" Brooke asked him sarcastically, receiving a slight nod in response. "And you're okay with that?" She continued, sitting up to look at him.

"Yeah, I mean...at least she's letting me stay, no?" He muttered, with a helpless shrug of the shoulders.

That is all Brooke needed to hear. She didn't agree with it at all, she knew the nature of Grace and her two little brats, they would have exploited him, mistreated him, humiliated him and insulted him in every way possible, but this time she wouldn't have stood by. Grace had gone too far, she had crossed the line, it had to end.

· ♛ ·

The following day marked the start of a hellish week for both Oswald and Brooke. The first was entrusted with all the chores of the house, the care of the garden, the tasks of cook and chauffeur. The young man began to slog around from morning to evening in a desperate attempt to accomplish all his duties, to which were added the continuous orders of Grace and her children.
Brooke, on the other hand, was obsessed with finding the murder weapon. The woman began a meticulous inspection of every corner of the house in search of poison. She did not stop for a moment: she did not sleep, she did not eat, she categorically refused any contact with the family and she rarely even spoke to Oswald, who was beginning to be seriously worried about her.
In the end, all her research, however foolish it may seem, was not in vain.

· ♛ ·

It was almost ten in the evening now, and Oswald was frantically moving around the kitchen looking for all the ingredients for Grace's Martini. The woman loved that drink, it had to be done perfectly, otherwise Oswald would have seriously lost his fingers.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Brooke had been watching him spin like a top for the last ten minutes when she decided she couldn't take it anymore.

"You seem a little on edge." She stated, as a smirk formed on her lips.

Oswald jumped, then relaxed, realizing who the voice belonged to. He looked up at her; he was surprised to see her there, she had been a ghost for the past few days, and seemed quite tired.

He sighed. "I can't find any cherries. Where are the damn things? I need a cherry for this drink if I want to keep my life." He explained her.

Her expression got darker. Oswald's joke was meant to be sarcastic, but Brooke knew the possibility of his death was not so remote.

"Try the second drawer." She told him, nodding towards a point to her left.

Oswald hurried to open it but, instead of cherries, he found a familiar crystal decanter.

Brooke joined him in a matter of seconds, snatching the container from his hands and receiving a stunned look in response. "Yes." She exclaimed under her breath, looking at the bottle in her hands. But her happiness was soon cut short by a familiar clicking of heels on the floor and a shrill voice that resonated in the hallway.

"Oswald." Grace called, as he hurried at the kitchen table while Brooke hid the decanter behind her back. "My drink?" She asked, looking rather Impatient.

The young man nodded and, with clumsy hands, held out the Martini. "I'm sorry, there's no cherries." He then apologized, forcing a slight smile.

"No cherries?" She asked irritated, then sighed. "The next time I ask for cherries, there better be cherries."

"Yes, Grace." He replied. "Ma'am." He immediately corrected himself. "Of course."

A grimace of pity appeared on the woman's face, before she turned around and left the room in all her pride.

The moment Grace disappeared from view, Oswald looked at his sister in search of explanations for her strange behavior.

Brooke didn't say anything, instead she took a saucer off the shelf and poured some sherry into it. Then she knelt before Grace's beloved Doberman, crouched in a corner, and put it under its nose. The dog immediately began to quench its thirst and a moment later fell on its side, while white foam began to come out of its jaws.

Oswald widened his eyes, understanding.

"She had done it before." Brooke said gravely. "Elijah didn't die because of the alcohol, he died because of the poison in it." She told him, turning to look at him.

Then something happened that the woman had not foreseen: Oswald burst out laughing. It wasn't his usual fresh and cheerful laugh, this was raw and sardonic, the laughter of a madman or a hysteric, a sound so terrible that, for a moment, Brooke looked at him with fear.

To make matters worse, right at that moment, Sasha and Charles decided to make their appearance. Seeing them, Oswald immediately stopped laughing and gave them an icy stare, that of a predator staring at his next prey.

"Hello Brooke, Oswald." The girl greeted them, as she wore a sneer on her lips.

"Mother said to remind you of tomorrow's dinner." Charles said, addressing Oswald. He did not respond, but kept looking at him with murderous eyes.

"What's wrong with him?" Sasha whispered to his brother, giggling.

"Who knows?" He replied. "Mother wants a roast." He then repeated, slowly and louder, as if he was talking to a fool.

"And make it good this time." Added the girl, smirking.

Brooke shook her head, tired of those taunts. "Why don't you try? I'm sure it would be exquisite." She replied with a strongly sarcastic tone.

Sasha glanced at her but was stopped by her brother before she could open her mouth to answer.

"Yes, I will." Oswald announced in a calm voice, responding to the provocation.

Charles nodded, a satisfied smirk on his lips, and left the room, dragging his sister with him.

Brooke let out an exasperated sighed before turning her eyes to Oswald. The man kept staring at the door, his hands were clenched in two fists on the table, so much so that his knuckles had become white, his lips were pulled in a grin. Something had changed in him, a new flame was burning in his eyes, an ancient flame, which the woman believed by now extinct, had instead reignited. The sweet and awkward boy she had met had disappeared. The Penguin was back.