Hybristophilia

Hybristophilia - a paraphilia in which someone is aroused by wrongdoing

The skies over Gotham opened up to release a downpour like you hadn't seen in ages. Huge raindrops plummeted down from the thick clouds overhead and splattered onto the pavement, thousands of them. You watched them come down from the window of your sixth-floor apartment, wondering if it was going to let up any time soon. The rhythmic tapping on the metal fire escape and against the glass window was beginning to lull you into a state of drowsy contentment as tires splashed in the puddles forming beneath evening traffic.

But you had somewhere to be. If you didn't make it to the bank to deposit that check today, your landlord might just make good on his threat to kick you out. The warm embrace of your blankets and mug of hot tea will still be here when you get back, likely even more gratifying after being out in this weather. Plus, it was already getting dark with the heavy cloud cover. You found a pair of warm socks to pull onto your feet before slipping them into your boots and buttoning up your coat, the fabric laying snug against you. On your way to the door, you grabbed your umbrella, unsure of when you'd last used it and hoping it would hold up.

When you opened the front door down on the first floor, the earthy smell of rain met your nose. Even here in the city it held on to that soothing scent. You inhaled deeply and stepped out beneath the awning to open your umbrella. Of course, it still had the same holes in it. A little one on the edge that gathered drips and one where the staff met the canopy, letting cool water run down the handle and onto your fingers. But you didn't mind too much, it was kind of nice. Out into the torrent you went, keeping a swift pace down the street toward the bank five blocks away. You had fifteen minutes until it closed.

Your boots thankfully kept your feet dry through the almost half inch of standing water that had accumulated on the sidewalk. The rain was falling just as hard as when it started over an hour ago, drenching the city and everything in it with no sign of stopping. Your neighborhood always looked different when it rained. Your surroundings were darkened and covered with a thin layer of reflective water, mirroring the red, yellow, and green of traffic lights on the saturated asphalt. People looked different too, bundled in jackets and carrying umbrellas, desperately trying to stay dry beneath their portable shelters. It was almost like walking around in a different world.

You reached Gotham National Bank just as the water from your umbrella's handle was beginning to drip down your sleeve. Leaving it against the column of the building, you opened the door and hurried inside. Your boots squeaked a little on the tile floor as you walked past the rows of desks to the teller's station. You remember when he robbed this bank. You were here. You were paying your rent just like you are now. Then shots and yelling rang in your ears and next thing you knew, a clown put and grenade in your hand, guided your thumb over the lever, and pulled the pin. It took almost ten minutes of you clutching that grenade after he left until the bomb squad arrived to safely diffuse it. You'd seen his face. When he confronted the bank manager and took of his mask. For over a week the image of a wash of white with dark black around his eyes and a smear of red lips curling up from the corners of his mouth wouldn't leave your mind. You hadn't even realized they were scars until you saw him on the news. Then that was all you thought about.

Some might call it a morbid fascination. Or a fixation. But you had to meet him again. Anyone else would probably have felt just the opposite, but your mind didn't work that way. Instead of backing away, you were drawn in. What would he do if you walked up to him? Would he remember you? Would he hurt you, maybe even kill you? Or would he brush you aside like a little pest? You were relentlessly compelled to know. You'd watched the footage of him that was displayed almost constantly on Gotham Tonight with wide eyes and a knot in your stomach. He was everywhere. Then he was gone. The night of his arrest at the Pruitt building three months ago, he managed to free himself from custody once again and no one has heard from him since. Of course, rumors were not in short supply. You'd heard everything from that he'd been spotted hiding out in the Narrows to that he was with Batman and they'd been conspiring against Gotham together the whole time. Some rumors are certainly more plausible than others.