I had just thrown the duffle bag on my bed and returned downstairs where I sat at the kitchen table like I use to when I was a kid. Father always insisted on taking our meals in the dining room, but he was never around during the day so I would eat at the smaller table with Melinda. The new maid put a heaping plate of spaghetti in front of me and although my stomach rumbled, I couldn't bring myself to eat it. While I was contemplating, an entirely bald man dressed in an all-black suit sat on the stool next to mine.
"Miss Falcone, your father has asked me to protect you now that you're back in Gotham," he spoke softly.
I looked at the man; Father must have told him. I had been in rehab for only a month, but Father couldn't let anyone know a Falcone had problems. "Carla. Who are you?" I asked.
I had heard of him. He enjoyed killing from what I heard; he even kept score. "Is it true you cut yourself?"
Without a word, he took of his jacket and unbuttoned the top of his shirt exposing a chest full of scars that looked like tally marks. I wasn't sure how far they extended on his body, but the entirety of the skin I saw was covered. "Your turn."
He knew, but I doubt Father had told him; the shame of a suicidal daughter. I rolled up my sleeves to show him where the razor had kissed my wrists. Victor made a move to touch them, but pulled back at the last moment.
"Why would you do this?" he implored. "It is not your time to be released."
Tears welled up in my eyes; this was the first time I had talked about it to someone other than a doctor. It was the first time I had talked to someone who understood death. "How do you know when my time is?" I paused. "Can you do it for me?"
He vacated his seat to gather me into his arms. "You have my word, that when it is your time to be released, I will give it to you."
I let him hold me and his strange manner is the only thing that kept me from balling my eyes out.