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A Gotham Tale: Harvey Bullock	By : Driftwood Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 4464 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chatham Manor
The sky beyond the bedroom window had begun to lighten heralding the start of another day. For Molly Lansing this meant little, she had given up counting the days, months and years she simply existed now. Aging to her was a thing of the past her wisdom grew her tastes and hunger changed as often as the seasons. But if she looked in the mirror she would see the young Molly Lansing not the haggard, dry brittle skin and bone two hundred plus year old woman that she truly was…except in her eyes, her eyes gave away her age, Elizabeth had told her that the very first night they had slept together.
Elizabeth stirred next to her, pushing against her warm naked body and Molly pulled her in close. She had hated herself for taking such pleasure in Mr LaVey’s assault on her. In the end Elizabeth had wanted it, she had even held him in place as she orgasmed on his impossible cock, Mr LaVey was like that though, you recoiled at the sound of him, the touch of him more so but then you found yourself welcoming him, opening for him and letting him in.
“What time is it?” Elizabeth murmured.
“Too early to be awake.” Molly replied and with a wiggle of Elizabeth’s bum against her sex she drifted off once more leaving Molly alone with her thoughts.
West Wycombe, England
Molly Lansing walked slowly through the dank tunnels, she had a place to go but it seemed such a chore getting there and twice she had headed off in the opposite direction, ‘bored of it all’ came to her mind more and more as her time amongst her fellow members continued.
Outside the caves she was still a house maid serving under William who had in the early months taught her how to read and write. Her farmer accent as he had called it was now a thing of the past a more upper class tone and vocabulary spouted from her lips every time she spoke, her voice carried weight and power she never knew she had before but that had come from the catacombs deep within the ground, down there Molly Lansing had become Miss Lansing.
Francis Dashwood had shown her the library, hidden behind his little room where Miss Lansing had been born through the initiation of sex. He claimed to have known the writing within all the books along three walls. Miss Lansing had begun to read them and knew Francis knew nothing of what these books truly held. It was as if they were written for her, she found meaning where others could only see runes or wood carvings.
“There you are!” a Voice called out from behind her. Miss Lansing turned and saw Francis Dashwood trudging down the tunnel towards her, he had gained weight over the last year or so, his hair was thinning and his face was a permanent red. “Mister Franklin is waiting your arrival.”
Miss Lansing sighed, she pulled her cloak about hersel, she saw the disappointment in Francis’ eyes as she covered her exposed breasts. “Your friends bore me Francis,”
“It’s Abbot when we are here sister,” Francis said through gritted teeth, the meek and mild Molly Lansing was almost a thing of the past, much to Francis’ disappointment “If I had the opportunity to send you on your way I would, but” Francis rested his pudgy hands on Miss Lansing’s shoulders stopping her from turning around and making her look directly at him, “Mister Franklin’s friend has requested to see you himself.”
Miss Lansing tried not to wince but failed, Francis gave her a weak smile understanding her troublesome thoughts when it came to the man they had been introduced to as Mister LaVey. “I don’t like him,” the words came out in her Cornish lilt, Miss Lansing’s face usually so pale now darkened as her cheeks bloomed with colour and she broke her gaze with Francis, “There is something about him, something not right?”
“William is there, and I will be too,” Francis said as he started to gently but forcefully lead her back the way he had come, “One of us will not leave your side, and Benjamin has told me in confidence that Mister LaVey is nothing more than a Explorer,”
Miss Lansing stopped walking, “And what would an Explorer want with me?”
“Perhaps to whisk you away on a fantastical journey in search of Shangri-La!” Francis said merrily and moved Miss Lansing along once more.
Benjamin Franklin was a lot like Francis Dashwood, over weight and balding and filled with a lot of self-importance, something that would be loathsome in many men but both Benjamin and Francis had warm hearts and an ear for listening to others. “Good, Good.” Benjamin said sitting up straight as Francis entered the room with their errant guest.
Brother Arthur Potter had aged worse than Francis. He had spent six months in India and had returned half the man he had been. Dysentery had ravaged his body, he had slept with unclean women and his body had paid the price. Brother Potter was only good for serving drinks and shouting obscenities at the young women who were brought to the knights. “What kept you?” he asked angrily, he turned his back on Miss Lansing before she could reply.
“Brother Potter let us be polite in the company of women.” Benjamin said and stood up, bowing slightly towards Miss Lansing, “Sister Lansing I have heard much about you.”
Molly Lansing would have curtsied and said ‘why thank you kind sir’ but within the catacombs only Miss Lansing walked, so her reply had been a curt nod of her head in the fat man’s direction. She saw the man’s smile falter, his eyes flicking to Francis as Brother Potter guffawed over a goblet of wine. “Sister Lansing is mistress to no one Benjamin; don’t expect her to curtsey to your pandering.”
Brother William Whitehead stepped in then, “What my drunken Brother is trying to say is that Sister Lansing is an equal within this order do not expect her to treat you any differently Brother Franklin.”
Benjamin nodded and an uncertain smile faltered on his lips. “I hope we have not taken you away from anything important?”
Miss Lansing went to reply but Brother Potter spoke out, his words slurring as they so often did nowadays, “Probably been busy, whipping one of her little slaves or maybe being sodomised by a horse eh Sister Lansing?”
“Enough you drunk buffoon!” When Mister LaVey spoke the air in the room turned chill, it was only four words but it had brought deathly silence to the small gathering. His voice was deep enough that each man and woman could feel their bones ache with each word spoken. Brother Potter lost all of his fire and slouched in his chair making himself as small as possible.
“Yes let us not ruin this evening with arguments and slurs,” Benjamin joined in his voice loud with authority yet his face was pale with fright.
“Miss Lansing, may I talk to you while the brothers here discuss matters that would no doubt make me want to kill myself.” Mister LaVey stepped forward, his huge bulk hardly contained within the room, for such a big man his steps were light, his white cane making a dull thump each time it landed on the rug.
Miss Lansing found herself smiling at the man’s words, one moment he had chilled her to her very core, the next his words were light and warm. Her distrust in the man never wavered though there was more to this man than he was showing at the moment. “I can accompany you if you wish?” Brother Whitehead added taking a step closer to Miss Lansing.
Outside of the Catacombs Molly Lansing and William Whitehead were sometimes lovers, she had kept his bed warm more times than any girl he had brought to his home. Neither said the word love but it was there hidden away. “No that’s quite alright,” Miss Lansing found herself saying and led Mister LaVey out of the room.
Within the catacombs Miss Lansing found that she had to walk slightly ahead of Mr LaVey his sheer bulk reduced any chance of walking side by side, “So were you intrigued to see a female member of the order of the Knights of West Wycombe Mister LaVey?”
Mr LaVey gave a throaty chuckle, “Benjamin had told me about this order, from what I have seen it is the folly of a man bored with the daily grind that his tedious life puts him through. I wondered why someone such as you Molly Lansing would still be here.”
Miss Lansing disliked the man knowing her name and speaking it as if he had said it a hundred times before, “Francis saved me when I thought all was lost Mister LaVey. William Whitehead has been a good master to me when I am not here.”
“And when you are here?”
“When I am here…” the words lingered on her tongue before she spoke them, she lifted a torch from one wall and turned south heading deeper into the cave system, “I can continue to discover myself, the true me as Francis would say.”
“So you stayed for two years discovering yourself and what have you found?”
Miss Lansing stopped and turned around, the torch she carried threw Mr LaVey’s face into stark relief, “That I am more than this place,” she turned again and continued on her way. “Are you Benjamin Franklin’s servant?”
Mr LaVey let out a laugh at this, “No Molly I am not his servant he is a means to end for my mission.” The tunnel opened up and they both came to a stop by a small running stream, again Mr LaVey laughed shaking his head and tapping his cane on the ground. “I take it this is what Brother Dashwood calls the River Styx?”
Miss Lansing found herself a little embarrassed at the man’s laugh, she had come to believe in a lot of what Francis had told her she had even called this little stream the River Styx many times it seemed so foolish now. “He has a flair for over statement, and he wonders why our parliament is in such disarray.”
“You speak intelligently Molly Lansing, why do you act the cretin around your Brothers?” Mr LaVey asked and Miss Lansing spun around, her hand flying out and delivering a stinging slap to the man’s face that hardly moved with the force that would have sent any normal man reeling backwards. “There you are Miss Lansing, nice to finally meet you.”
Her body shook with anger with the words and with utter terror from the slap she had doled out on the man. Miss Lansing was certain that she would be struck down dead or snapped in half like a twig, but instead the man had simply smiled and greeted her. “Who are you?”
Miss Lansing’s mind exploded images flited across her vision unnatural landscapes, barren lands, fire and smoke. And creatures the likes she had never seen before writhing in agony, warring, fucking and dying faster than a blink of an eye. Miss Lansing stumbled backwards her hands flying to her face as she cried out, her feet splashing through the stream the torch falling to the floor as she too crumpled to her knees.
Through it all Mr LaVey had remained stock still, his meaty hands pressed firmly down on the top of his cane watching Miss Lansing react to a vision of the world beneath this one, the world he had been born into. Miss Lansing lay gasping for breath, deep sobs wracking her body, “I am beyond your comprehension Miss Lansing, but you will come to know me and what I am truly about.”
Miss Lansing looked up, her black hair matted to her face, subconjunctival hemorrage turning the whites of her eyes blood red, tears streamed down her face and her mouth quivered. “Why are you here?”
Mr LaVey stepped forward, with one stride he cleared the stream and dropped to one knee before Miss Lansing, he reached out and tucked one hand under Miss Lansing’s chin, “You brought me here Miss Lansing, you called to me and I answered. Now show me why you have brought me here.”
The inner sanctum was the last cave within the winding catacombs, not many made it this far only those that Francis deemed worthy, here they would meet the other brothers and give themselves willingly to them all. But it was also where the sacrifices were made, sacrifices that Miss Lansing had been fascinated with then ultimately lost all interest in when she discovered that like everything else they were a folly, a fantasy for the bored and wealthy.
Miss Lansing had led the way, unknowingly she had brought them here, a part of her always wanted to be here the moment she entered the catacombs it called to her, it had happened the first night, but back then she had no idea what it was. When Francis had found her earlier that evening she knew deep down that her feet were slowly bringing her here, to the room beyond the inner sanctum, to the great mystery.
They both now stood in the inner sanctum, the stone floor splattered pink with dried blood, numerous animals had been slaughtered here to appease the true gods as Francis had called them, what blood was not splashed across the floor was drunk or daubed on the flesh of the nubile girls and men that would become sexual fodder to them all. “The follies of men,” Mr LaVey noted as his eyes cast over the floor and walls. “Is this all?”
Miss Lansing had found the room after much searching, her heart pulled her to one wall that seemed to have no entrance, time and time again she came to the same spot and found nothing until one night when she had dropped to her knee’s in desperation and began digging with her fingers at the cold ground did she find the switch.
It was nothing more than a small hole, big enough for a finger right near the floor, Miss Lansing had pushed her index finger all the way in, no fear or trepidation held her back. Her finger found smooth stone, cold to the touch with a bit of pressure the stone had moved and with a deep rumbling the wall had slid open.
Miss Lansing now opened the hidden door, standing up as the wall rumbled and rolled away, something deep inside told her that what lived her was part of Mr LaVey somehow, he had come here knowing he would find it and find Miss Lansing too. She now took the torch from Mr LaVey and as she walked the short corridor she lit candles as she moved. The small room slowly became brighter as she lit the candles that adorned the walls. When the last candle was lit Miss Lansing stepped back and admired the stone tablet that sat on a marble dais in the rooms centre.
Chatham Manor,
Elizabeth found walking difficult that afternoon, her hips ached and her sex burned from being used by Mister LaVey. She had known that he was no man, a monster perhaps but now she knew the truth. Mister LaVey was unearthly, a demon given human flesh to disguise the twisted heart that lay beneath. As they fucked he had shown her his world, a desolate waste land, feast had given way to famine, what had passed as peace had given way to war. Earth was the new home Mister LaVey and his kind now needed and the six were the key.
Mister LaVey had used her most of the night, invading her sex, invading her anus, her mouth covering her inside and out in his fluid, she had cried for him to stop at first, but by the end she had begged him to continue. ‘I feel empty.” Elizabeth thought to herself, what she had spent her life achieving meant nothing in the great scheme, lovers, pets, schools they had given her life meaning all that was now gone. Elizabeth was One and she was to serve as she was always meant to.
The Mannequin was sat on the stone steps that led up to the manor door, his head leaned back eyes closed drinking in the sunlight. “I thought you would go up in flames in daylight.” Elizabeth said seeing the man.
The Mannequin laughed, “that’s vampires, I am something more,” He sighed and opened his eyes as he sat up straight, he half turned to look up at the woman. “So Lansing tells me you are to be the new One,” Elizabeth’s stomach tightened, who else knew this, did William know, surely not. “Do not fret about it, she told me in confidence only four of us know, for now anyway.” The Mannequin pulled himself up, his legs bending unnaturally as his arms pushed up, his yellow suit more garish in the daylight. “Cannot wait to see the look in his eyes when he realises his times up.”
Elizabeth knew by the time William discovered what was happening it would be too late, his body would be host for something not of this earth and Elizabeth’s role as One would be confirmed all on the same night. “What has Miss Lansing told you about Harvey Bullock?”
The Mannequin smiled as he did his face rippled like water, his tanned, sallow cheeks paled and filled out, and his stomach expanded stretching the fabric of the shirt within seconds Harvey Bullock stood before her. “I am a buffoon, overweight and unaware that I have untapped powers.”
“What else?” Elizabeth pushed.
The smile dropped and the man nodded his head slowly, the face and body was Harvey Bullock but the voice was dry and ancient. “He scares Mister LaVey, he’s more powerful than Vandergilt’s daughter. But he needs Bullock tapped and working.”
And there was the answer, Miss Lansing and Mister LaVey had a back-up plan. The six here in Gotham was not as strong as they thought perhaps, under Vandergilt that was certainly true. Bullock was their back up plan, a surprise one but he had turned up when they needed him the most. Elizabeth had to prove that the new One was strong enough. “What would happen if he died?”
Harvey Bullock stared grimly at Elizabeth, “You are treading dangerous ground,”
“This group is strong enough, they do not need him.” Elizabeth’s teeth were clenched tight as she spoke, she had become One and already she was being discarded.
“You want to piss off two immortals just to prove a point?” The Mannequin asked, Elizabeth stood silently, “You are about to have a new member they will need training, they will need time and time is something Mister LaVey no longer has. Harvey Bullock is the way forward and you can be on the same ship.”
“I want him dead,” Elizabeth said point blankly, the mannequin shook his head but Elizabeth held up her hand stop him from saying anything further. “He is a threat to the group, a group you are here to protect. If all goes well tonight there will be no need of him.”
“I am offering you a way out of a foolish mistake,” Harvey Bullock dissolved and her father now stood before her, “You want him dead after the summoning, when you have proven yourself, fine I will do it. But what you are asking now is madness,” Her father leaned forward, “And it stinks of desperation.”
“With no Harvey Mister LaVey needs us, I want him dead. William and Harvey’s corpses will show Mister LaVey that he has chosen wisely.”
Her father’s shoulders sagged and he shook his head, “When Mister LaVey finds out you ordered Bullock dead, no matter where you run to, no matter where you hide, what he did to you last night will seem romantic.”
Elizabeth offered a grim smile, “By the time Mister LaVey discovers Harvey is dead he will be thanking me and offering me a place at his side.”
Elizabeth pushed passed her long dead father, the man shaking his head as she went. “Girl you have no idea what you have started.”

Rosa’s Apartment,
Harvey collapsed onto the bed he had once shared with Rosa. The wooden slats creaked and the ancient springs within the threadbare mattress twanged and bit into Harvey’s back. He was glad to be home, to be somewhere that he could understand. Joshua Allen had bombarded Harvey with too much information, secret cults, ancient artefacts all of it was too much to take in in one evening.
Joshua had the bit between the teeth he wanted to go after Warren Vandergilt right then and there, but Harvey had pulled him up, made the man stop and take stock of their situation. More than anything Harvey needed to sleep. With some effort he pulled his mobile phone from his trouser pocket, the screen illuminated, he had no missed calls, not even a text. Harvey tried to think back to when he lasted contacted his contact at the FBI with regards Rosa it had been just before Laura Beth turned up.
Harvey frowned and pushed himself upright he felt no guilt in calling about her. So much of his time had been spent chasing her, chasing his money and now that his mind was elsewhere none of it seemed to matter. “She’s gone, she is not coming back.” Harvey said in a whisper, the words were right, he said them again louder this time and once more with absolute certainty in each word spoken.
He dragged himself off the bed, the mattress pinging with appreciation for the removal of the bulk that made up Harvey Bullock. His eyes stung and he wiped at them with the back of his hand, they had never been right since the chemical fire. He reached the old dresser and pulled the lowest drawer open; an unopened bottle of Scotch rolled free clunking against the wooden drawer.
Harvey took it by the neck and walked the few steps to the settee. The Scotch had set him back close to two hundred dollars and he had brought it after the showdown with Carmine Falcone at the strip club. His first act as free man was to blow a wedge of money on a bottle of booze that he now refused to open. His thumb gently stroked the twist cap of the bottle as he remembered the last time he had seen Rosa, she was crying as the train pulled off, she had reached up and gave an uncertain wave as the train picked up speed.
“Who were you working for Rosa, Carmine or some other hood?” Harvey asked the bottle, its response never came. For a moment he was on the train platform again, saying goodbye to Rosa, only now he was seeing the goodbye through clear eyes, Rosa was not crying, he had made that up. When the train pulled out there was never a wave goodbye, just a look. What were her eyes telling him in that look, that she had hope of seeing him again or was it relief at finally getting away from him? He had somehow romanticised their departing, made it into something beautiful and worth clinging to. He had wasted all this time searching for her. Rosa did not want to be found by Bullock.
Harvey’s hand closed around the cap, he swallowed hard already tasting the smooth burn that the liquid would deliver as it passed over his tongue and down his throat. How could he have been so stupid as to believe she had feelings for him, his grip tightened all it would take was a quick twist of his wrist and the seal would be broken. He paused, his grip lessening “Why don’t I drink?” he asked the room.
“To stay strong,” The voice was ancient and made Harvey fly from the settee, his legs hardly carrying him as he spun around the scotch landing with a thump unbroken on the carpet. A man stood near the window, his suit a sour yellow his features obscured by shadows in the unlit room, “Isn’t that right Detective Bullock,”
Harvey watched the man, one hand reaching into his yellow jacket. Harvey instinctively went for the gun on his waist even though he knew he had discarded it on the bedroom floor. A scratching sound filled the room and suddenly the man’s face illuminated as he held a match to a cigarette clasped between his lips.
“Who the hell are you?” Harvey asked, his muscles bunching up ready for a fight.
The man inhaled deeply then removed the cigarette before blowing out a long plume of smoke, “A good question, many have asked it and do you know how many have had an answer,” the mannequin pushed the lit cigarette down on a table extinguishing it as it crushed beneath his fingers. “None!” he moved quickly catching Harvey by surprise he moved over the settee not wasting time walking around it and had his hand around Harvey’s throat in seconds.
Harvey delivered a slug to the man’s guts lifting him from his feet but the grip around his neck did not loosen. He swung again harder this time, the breath fighting to get into his lungs as his fist connected, “I am your pall bearer Detective Bullock,” the man’s breath reeked of death and decay, his features moving with unnatural fluidity as he spoke, “time to end your dimmed vision and wasted life on this…” Harvey’s forehead connected squarely with the freak who stumbled backwards relinquishing his hold on Harvey’s throat.
Harvey had no choice but to move forward the man was between him and the bedroom door, he charged forward his shoulder connecting with air as the man slipped to one side, Harvey stumbled forward the bedroom door wide open, his gun within sight. He felt his wrist clamp in a vice, his shoulder pulling and twisting him around, his feet going from under him as he was lifted into the air and thrown backwards crashing against the settee and falling on his backside.
The Mannequin waved one long finger in front of his face, the cop put up a good fight though he would have been disappointed if the man had wept for mercy. He still could not understand why Mr LaVey was so sure that this slob was the one required. Elizabeth was right in wanting the man’s death but so soon was a bad idea. “Let us not make this difficult Detective,” He would rather be elsewhere than in this stinking apartment with a fat cop. He would take no delight in this killing, Mister LaVey would flay him for it, but that was a formality compared to what he would do to Elizabeth if the summoning did not go according to plan.
“I’m going to rip you limb from limb,” Harvey spat out, the way the man stood motionless, goading him to stand up and continue fighting, it made his blood boil. Harvey’s shoulder hurt and his wrist was numb, that was not a good sign, but he still had his other hand, his knee’s and his head whatever it took to send this freak to the floor.
The Mannequin had been fighting for millennia there was nothing he could not counter anything he could not turn back onto his opponent. When Harvey led with his right foot, his left shoulder swinging back, the mannequin felt disappointed in the man’s attempt to clothesline him, atleast it would bring him in close.
Harvey put all his power into the haymaker, he shouted out as he swung his fist round. The man ducked and was behind Harvey before he could finish shouting. A hand was on his shoulder and the other hand dug into his hairline. ‘Fucking Taser!’ Harvey thought as his body jolted with electricity.
Somehow Harvey was still in Rosa’s apartment but he was also within all the other apartments, a hundred conversations were happening at once the voices nothing more than a loud babble that made Harvey scream. His eyes worked hard to focus on the multitude of rooms and people he was seeing at the same time all over lapping yet somehow remaining separate. The tingling in his scalp had worked its way throughout his very being right to his core it made him feel sick and euphoric all at once.
Harvey’s heart sped up the beating beyond anything normal, his lungs fought for air that was no longer in the room. He gave a cough and watched a fine mist of blood spray from his mouth, he gave a blink, then another the edges of his vision blurring before his eyelids closed for the last time and he dropped like a stone to the floor.
“Adios Detective I hope your afterlife gives you more than this life ever did.” The mannequin delivered the words in a sad tone, a life ending with no real purpose was always a disappointment. Harvey Bullock lay at his feet a crumpled mass of flesh in unwashed clothing, he gave the lump a firm kick, the sound muted and the mass hardly moving.
The Mannequin lit a second cigarette as he stood there he sniffed and worked the muscles in his neck, his nose felt unusually large, Harvey had delivered a good head-butt. He reached up with his free hand and touched it, wincing as he did so. He rarely felt pain, everyone else around him were usually the ones in pain.
The mannequin nodded, happy with his quick work and stepped over the lifeless body, he was so lost in his thoughts of pain and loss that he failed to notice the bottle of scotch that his Crocodile skinned left shoe came down on. The Mannequin took a stumbling step left catching him unawares and brought him crashing down on to one knee.
The arm that closed around his throat was impossibly strong and caught him by surprise that he gave an odd squeal of surprise, the sound squeezed out of him as the hand around his neck tightened its hold. “You’re under arrest freak show,” Harvey growled through gritted teeth his muscles tightening cutting of the man’s oxygen supply.
When Harvey’s eyes had opened up he was face down on the dirty carpet, only he could see beyond the carpet, he could see each tiny thread and below that the wooden floor, black mould spreading across the old timber. Beneath that he could see pipes, could see the ceiling light of the apartment below. There was an elderly couple sat watching television, neither of them speaking but he could hear them now. The old man was planning a getaway with his wife, while the wife was planning on telling him she wanted a divorce after fifty years of marriage.
That was not the only conversation Harvey could hear, a multitude of sounds flooded his brain making it feel swollen and painful, his eyes watered with the pain. He felt the man step over him, a darker shadow that for a moment blocked out the street light from outside. Harvey felt his strength return, his body welled with electricity as his hands planted on the carpet and pushed him upright.
The man stumbled as Harvey found his feet, he watched him totter to one side, the yellow jacket billowing as he fell to one knee a curse uttering from his lips before Harvey’s right hand closed around his neck from behind.
The Mannequin gasped for breath, his own mind reeling with the sudden attack, the man was dead he had stood over him watching the lifeless shell cooling, yet all of a sudden he was on his knee’s the dead man’s hand crushing his throat. The Mannequin dropped his hand from his throat and instead whipped the arm back, his elbow connecting with Bullock’s side, once, twice on the third he felt the grip on his neck loosen.
The Mannequin transformed as the grip loosened, his neck muscles shrinking, his frame becoming thin and frail and before Bullock could reassert his grip The Mannequin slipped free and rolled over getting some distance as he did the body metamorphosed once more gaining bulk as the man found his feet and stood up. “A wise man knows when he should stay dead,” The Mannequin spat out before realising that Bullock was rushing him.
Harvey piled into the man, he felt the agreeable lift of the man’s body leaving the floor an added weight to Harvey’s should and back as the man became a part of him for a moment, Harvey stopped abruptly and slammed the man down onto his back.
Harvey’s body was on fire, his body seemed to carry an unimaginable voltage through it, and everything he touched clicked with static electricity. He punched the man in the face a dull thump with a painful click of static electricity. Harvey rained the blows down on the man’s face left and right fists flying and with each punch his body jolted with a charge that spurred him on.
His last punch connected and Harvey bellowed out a roar, every hair on his body stood on end, his cock was a swollen mass as was every muscle in his body. His body discharged a wave of energy that made the air shimmer as it bloomed out from him.
The man beneath him crumpled in on himself as if someone had suddenly sucked all the air out of him, his face compacted crushing in on its self, black blood seeping for a moment before that was obliterated in the wave.
The furniture around Harvey shifted lifting visibly and pushing away from him at the same time, the kitchen lights turned on, incredibly bright for a second before exploding in a shower of sparks and glass.
Harvey collapsed forward his hands instinctively shooting out in front of him catching him as he fell, his fingers digging in to what remained of the man’s face. Harvey coughed once then twice the next time his stomach retched and a long stream of burning bile gushed forth. He drew in lungful’s of air trying to calm his hammering heart.
Harvey sat up on his knee’s blooded hands to his skull as the voices continued to talk within. He closed his eyes tightly and focused on his breathing, slowly the voices lost volume as if someone had reached out and lowered them. “What the hell did you do to me you asshole?” Harvey whispered his throat dry and sore.
Thoughts flashed through Harvey’s brain, snap shots that burst to life on the inside of his eyelids. Harvey knew they were not his thoughts, not his memories but he could control them if he focused his attention on them. It was like his dream at Gotham Police headquarters where he roamed Laura Beth Vandergilt’s apartment only to be stopped by a very real and sudden apparition. He was seeing beyond Rosa’s apartment, he was in the streets of Gotham passing by the people on the street, if he stopped he could see every detail in their faces, when he really focused he could see beneath their faces.
Harvey opened his eyes with an audible gasp he found his feet and pushed himself up off the compressed corpse. “What the fuck have you done to me?” Harvey spun his head light his vision blooming with black flowers he was going to be sick again. He stumbled a few steps then dropped to his knee’s retching violently.
Harvey remained still letting his breathing return to normal, he fought the urge to get up and grab a drink, he blocked out the noises that he could hear now, the whole apartment block was in a blackout and Harvey had the good sense to know that he may have been the cause of it. Whatever the killer had done when he had grabbed Harvey’s head it had somehow kick started something deep within.
Harvey looked over his shoulder one blood spattered crocodile shoe was all he could see of the corpse, “Who sent you?” He asked out loud. Harvey wondered if it were possible, if he could focus and not throw up could he take that step…he closed his eyes and left his body.
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A Gotham Tale: Harvey Bullock