Perhaps she had been cooped up in the city too long.
Shaking her head one final time, Catwoman peeled off her costume. Selina’s clothes, left overnight in the backpack, were cold and damp. She was shivering by the time she crept out of the toolshed. Many of the convent windows were lit; nuns were notorious early risers, but they had prayer on their mind and weren’t likely to look out the curtains as a lone woman marched through the drizzle and climbed over the gate at the end of the driveway.
Selina was wet to the skin and as mean-tempered as any rooster by the time she got to the Riverwyck station. She boarded the first train to Gotham City with a herd of bleary-eyed commuters who ignored her as a stream ignores a boulder sitting in its bed. The train was wonderfully warm. The air thickened with humidity and echoed with snores. Selina kicked off her shoes, drew her op-art knees up under the capacious neon-green sweater, and studied the life cycle of condensation droplets on the steamy windows.
Rose was safe, not sane or sound, but safe. Eddie Lobb wouldn’t hurt her again. It seemed to Selina that Rose D’Onofreo should wander out of her thoughts the same way the movement of the train made the droplets migrate to the bottom of the window. But Rose stuck in the middle of Selina’s thoughts. She wasn’t satisfied knowing that Eddie Lobb couldn’t reach her.
“He did it with cats,” she murmured to the rhythm of the steel wheels. “He did that to her with cats. That’s wrong. Wrong. I’m gonna get him. Eddie Lobb. I’m gonna find him . . .”