Commissioner Gordon could pride himself upon having the stomach to deal with gore. He'd seen countless horror films in his lifetime, and even witnessed a few homicides himself (if one was to subsist in Gotham, they had to have a will of iron and a tolerance to match). But upon seeing the sightless, staring eyes of the small woman, her face marred almost to complete unfamiliarity, he had to admit that his insides squirmed. The Joker had thoroughly mutilated what he guessed had once been a living, breathing being – but beneath all the blood and severed flesh, he couldn't be sure what exactly the rotting mound of tissue was.
"Talk to me, McClellan." He heaved a sigh as he received a Styrofoam cup full of coffee, three hours cold. It would do, he supposed, what with his lids growing heavier by the minute.
"It's nothing we haven't seen before, Commissioner," admitted the younger man beside him, shrugging almost nonchalantly. "Young one. We just got here so we're uh, looking for an identification of some kind. Forensics is going through her wallet."
"It's one of His, isn't it?" Gordon stepped forward through the underbrush, hearing the weeds snap beneath his feet as he dodged a tall, unsuspecting figure. The shorter, slighter man, despite his recently claimed status, seemed to still go unnoticed amongst the company. "That's why you called me down here."
"Of course, sir. We're deliberating the possibility that perhaps this was the work of a less able hand but – it was definitely one of his goons," McClellan almost smirked impishly – almost. If the scene had not been so gruesome, he would have allowed the gesture to pass. "And anyway, Commissioner…we'd never disturb you unless it was of utmost importance."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Gordon knelt beside the mangled body, settling his forearm against one knee.
He wouldn't admit to it verbally but…he was beginning to really indulge in the little perks of being the Commissioner of the Police Department; it even had a pretentious ring to it, far from fitting Gordon's gaunt features and weary conversation, as he saw his most impressive feature to be his full-figured moustache.
A moment of silence followed as Gordon caught sight of something familiar in the face. Or rather, what was supposed to be a face. It had been rather difficult to really look it over in the darkness and with the corpse facing away from where he stood against the glare of the floodlights, but now that he could better inspect the body, he could see familiar aspects behind the decaying strips of blue-gray skin. Yes, he'd seen her before…but where?
"McClellan, bring me the I.D. file, pronto." He didn't even look away, merely kept his attention focused on the cadaver. He considered the fact, fleetingly, that it had been out of the desperation to keep himself attentive on something, but as McClellan returned with the thin manila folder which contained the case file, he dismissed the thought. He'd have to keep himself awake long enough to figure out where he'd seen the girl before.
"Have you even looked through her wallet yet?" He asked, setting the cup of stagnant, cold coffee down beside him in the dirt. He hoped it would fall, just so he wouldn't have to endure drinking it.
"No sir. It was on its way to forensics."
"Good, get me some gloves. I'm gonna have a look right now."
McClellan fished through his pocket for a pair of unsoiled inspection gloves and handed them over to his superior officer. Gordon grunted as a pathetic means of satisfaction, perhaps gratitude, and slipped his fingers into the warm latex, letting the hems snap against his wrists.
"Let's see what our Jane Doe here was really like, huh?" Gordon snatched the wallet out of the bag. He clicked his tongue idly, sifting through the worn leather for a driver's license. "I think the Joker may have dropped his standards a little for hiring. What do you think?"
Gordon gestured to the wallet, fully intact and unharmed by the scuffle that had taken the girl's life, and McClellan shrugged. "Perhaps he wiped most of them out when he took down the mobs."
"I'm thinking you're right," Gordon sighed and at last pulled out what looked to be a driver's license, but had turned out to be another copy of a name tag. He paused, and his breath caught in his throat.
When the moment of truth was delayed by the sudden loss of cognition of behalf of the older man, McClellan cleared his throat, trying to break the trance. "Sir, is there uh…something to report?"
"Yeah, I'd say so," Gordon turned over the card, showing it to the detective with an expression of surprise shocking his dormant features to life. "Our Jane Doe here is Chelsea Grant…the nurse that had been taking care of the bastard when he was at Gotham General."
Both men returned their attention toward the body once again, but only one looked on in silent recognition.
Author's Note: Here's your ending! You've been waiting for it for months. Here it is. This is what I had envisioned happening to Chelsea after she chose her path. Well, that I think is it for the SAHS story. Chelsea's dead and gone, which is realistic right? However, I'm trying out a new writing style - perhaps to bring a little life and a little less pomp to my stories.
Well, thanks to everyone who supported me back in August with this story. I really do apologize for all the false leads that was only to lead her in the end, and so perhaps it would have been best if I'd just ended it like this in the first place and moved on. All I can say is, I'm entirely finished with Chelsea Grant's story and ready to move on to another one. I hope I can write another interesting story for all of you to read, and I'm thinking up a new plot as we speak. I'm not entirely sure what right now but...I'm going to try and make it as interesting as SAHS.