Inhalt

Chapter One:

“Midterms. Isn’t it bad enough we have to go through finals?” I complained to Clara, my best friend.

“It’s a halfway point to make sure we’re ready for finals. And to make sure we don’t pass or fail based on one test.” She said. Ever the optimist. She could find something nice to say about cancer. It’s an answer to decreasing natural selection and over population. I mimicked in my best calm, rational Clara voice.

“I’m just complaining. You know, gripe gripe, gabber gabber. It’s one of America’s youths’ favorite pass time. I hate tests.” I motioned in her direction, “You try, Perfect Polly.”

She rolled her amazingly green eyes. “I’m not perfect, I complain all the time.”

“You’re right, you’re not perfect.” I nodded gravely. “Didn’t you get a 97 on your Spanish test last month? I wouldn’t even bother getting up in the morning.”

“You got a 99.” I was a little surprised to find a hint of bitterness in her words. I opened my mouth to tell her that I was just good with languages, and that she blew me out of the water in math, when she continued. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I have to pick up a dress from the dry cleaners.”

That quickly, my stomach knotted up, like someone had reached down my throat and twisted my insides. “Y-yeah. See you then.”

She was already mid-turn, but she paused, hearing the tremor in my voice. “You’ll do great; you’ve been practicing for months.”

Practicing can only get you so far. I nodded and gave her what I hope looked like a confident smile. She gave me one last glance before turning for the student parking lot. I stood there for a moment longer, and then turned to go in the opposite direction. I didn’t bother hurrying, I’d already missed the bus, and I needed to pick up my uniform from the locker room.

I stuffed my hands in the pockets of my well-worn jeans. They’re too long for me, because I’m a little on the short side. Okay, a lot, but it comes in handy in gymnastics. The less of you there is, the easier it is to flip yourself through the air.

The long, lavish hallways of Gotham Academy were deserted. Nobody likes to stick around after class, especially on a Friday, and if you do, it’s because you need homework help. In which case you’re in a classroom, not skulking around the halls.

I grabbed my long sleeved, black leotard out of my blue and green gym locker. The material was simple, not like the extravagant colors that most of the girls prefer.

A ring fell from my backpack, the clang echoed in the silent room. It rolled across the floor into a bathroom stall; I scurried after it just as the door to the locker room opened.

“Don’t be a loser, Jessica. You said you needed the money.” Amber Dvorski. I winced, and jumped up on the toilet so my feet wouldn’t be seen. The last thing I need is the Queen of Evil to see me hiding in a stall.

“I know, it’s just... I’ve never done anything like this before.” Jessica Lang said. Never done anything like what before? Hang out with Amber? Because that I can believe. Amber’s the perfect example of how the other- richer- half live, and Jessica’s here on scholarship. But why would Amber pay Jessica to hang out with her? She’s got plenty of popular cronies to choose from.

“It’ll be easy. Just pick up the... product, drive it across town, and drop it off with a couple of my Daddy’s guys.” Product? Daddy’s Guys? In another city, I probably wouldn’t have given that two thoughts. But this is Gotham.

When Jessica didn’t say anything, Amber continued. “Pick up’s at the docks at midnight, then you’ll drive it to this address, just like we talked about.” Through the crack in the stall, I could just make out Amber handing Jessica a slip of paper.

A few seconds later, the door slammed behind them, leaving me alone in the quiet locker room again. I hopped down from my perch and grabbed my overstuffed bag.

Nothing about that conversation makes any kind of sense. Jessica may not be a billionaire, but she’s no criminal and has no reason to hang around those shady docks.... Except, she didn’t say no, did she?

Amber and her friends rule Gotham Academy, and that allows them a certain control over the students, but isn’t this taking it too far? Is Jessica really so desperate for acceptance that she’d risk her life? And what was that bit about money? If Amber needed something done, and she was willing to dip into Daddy’s money, surely she could get someone better than a sixteen year old girl.

My mind ran through possibilities non-stop on the way the hospital. I fiddled nervously with the hem on my shirt, as the guy next to me talked loudly on his phone. The subway is packed. Making me feel like one sardine in a small can. Trapped. The walls closing in.

“You gonna be sick or something?” The guy next to me stopped yelling into his phone long enough to eye me suspiciously.

I gave him a shaky smile. “I’m fine.” Then I return to looking out the window. The tunnels are dark, and I can’t see my surroundings. A man behind me bumps into a woman, she falls into the next person, like dominos.

Sardines.

I breathe a sigh of relief as the doors whoosh open and I’m set free. Gotham General Hospital is just a block or two from my stop. The cool November air bit at my exposed skin. The sounds of the city are deafening, people yelling, cars honking. The everyday Gotham noise you barely notice when you’ve lived here your whole life.

The nurse at the front desk, Sandy, recognized me and waved me towards the ICU without checking my credentials. I nodded my thanks, grateful I didn’t have to dig around for my I.D.

The ICU smells like cleaner. It’s overwhelming how sterile it is there. People sit at bedsides of patients I can’t see through the gauze and casts. In other parts of the hospital, the doctors are all smiles. Here, they’re filled with grim determination, their eyes filled with the patients they couldn’t save.

I shut the door to room twenty-four behind me, dropping my backpack to the ground, and walking over to the bed. A woman in her late twenties lies in the bed. Her beautiful chocolate her looks dull under the florescent lights, her skin is the sickly pale color of someone who hasn’t seen the sun in years.

“Hey, Sis.” I know she’s not going to answer, probably never will again, no matter what Dad says. But it helps. Just getting the words out there. “The fall gymnastics competition’s this weekend. Mom said she’d be there. So did Dad, but you know how he is. Work, work, work.”

I debate telling her about what I overheard in the locker room, but decide against it. I have some suspicions that I’m not sure I want to say out loud yet. I sink into the uncomfortable chair next to Anna’s bed, and let my mind wander.

A product that needed to be picked up and dropped off in the middle of the night. Something important enough that Amber’s willing to pay Jessica a lot of money. Sure, the well-off don’t think of money the way the rest of us do, but still. It has to be a hefty sum to get Jessica, an extremely smart girl, to brave the docks at midnight.

But, why is Amber hiring anyone to pick up something from the docks? Surely, she can get her designer pumps delivered to her doorstep. And why Jessica? Someone Amber sees as below her social standing, and therefore, not worthy of breathing her air.

Is it illegal? That would explain a lot of the secrecy, and why Amber wouldn’t want to ask one of her minions, someone that could be linked back to her. Why would Amber Dvorski need to turn to crime, though? Her father’s extremely wealthy. Is it some kind of rebellious teen thing? Thrill seeking? If she’s looking for a rush, wouldn’t she want to pick it up herself?

I feel like I’m trying to solve an equation with a million unknown variables. I get that feeling a lot, especially in math class.

What if it is illegal? Should I call the police? On one hand, I could prevent something bad from going down. On the other, if I get involved, and it turns out I’ve blown everything out of proportion... and not for the first time, either, I could end up doing more harm than good.

I glanced at my sister, looking at all the scars on her body, remembering how she got them.

The world was collapsing. My world was collapsing in a cloud of smoke and destruction.

“Anna! We’ve got...to get out of here.” I said in between wheezing breaths and coughing out the smoke in my lungs. I could only make out the outline of her figure through the thick smoke and falling debris.

“I think the exit’s that way!” She said, motioning to our left. A great rumble came from above us, a huge patch of ceiling coming down on us. I felt something collide with my back, pushing me out of the way of the wreckage. I later realized it was Anna’s hands, pushing me out of the way.

I regained my footing, my legs trembling as I jumped over fallen walls to where I had last seen my sister. There was a terrible pain in my ankle, but I ignored it. I started frantically throwing rocks off the pile, hoping to uncover her.

She has to be there. She has to be okay.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me away from the debris pile. I struggled, but the grip was like iron.

“Please!” I yelled. Turning back to see who was trying to pull me away. The bat on his chest was the first thing I saw. The next was his dirt streaked cape and suit. Both were ripped in places.

Batman.

“My sister’s in there.”

“I’ve got her.” A voice said from behind me, but the ankle chose that moment to give from underneath me. When I would have slumped onto the ground, Batman caught me and slung me over his shoulder, running from the wreckage with me in tow.

I lifted up my head to see who the voice belonged to.

Her suit reminded me of Batman’s, only feminine. Her flame red hair shown neon amongst all the grey debris, smoke, and dust.

Batgirl. Batgirl saved my sister.

I glanced at the clock, my eyes widening when I realized it was seven. A couple hours past when Mom expected me home. I grabbed my stuff, said goodbye to Anna, rushed through the hospital and out into Gotham.

The streets are dimly lit, and the wind picked up as soon as I stepped out. The subway ride is slightly less unnerving, because my mind keeps going over and over the facts, and all the conclusions I’ve come to.

I thumped my head slightly against the glass. What in the hell am I supposed to do?

The news is on in the subway station, and it catches my attention.

“- arrest of Angus Allen, reported to have links to the Riley crime family. The police Commissioner has confirmed that Batman played an essential part in the apprehension-”

Batman. What would Batman do?

My lips turned up a little at the sides.

He certainly wouldn’t sit around twiddling his thumbs.

Chapter Two:

“Mom! I’m home!” I called out through the spacious Gotham City Apartment complex. Mom decorated the place with Anna’s help a few years back. Mom’s a painter and Anna worked in computer animation, our apartment is very colorful.

The furniture is all very modern, style instead of comfort. The maid keeps the rooms spotless at all times, which makes it feel unlived in. Like it’s vacant instead of home to three people.

My room is the only exception. I keep it locked at all times, so Mom can’t “surprise” me by redecorating, and the maid can’t get in and clean. I like the disorder of my room, it feels homey and lived in. The color pallet of my wallpaper, carpet, and bedspread is left over from my obsession with princesses and pink.

What am I going to do?

I can’t call the police. At least not until I know for sure what’s going on. Jessica and I only know each other in passing, but she’s a good person. There’s a chance she’s just in over her head, and I can talk her out of doing anything stupid.

But, what if I show up there and I can’t talk her out of it? What if there are other people around? Criminal people. Criminal people that will know who I am, and that I know something. Maybe enough to make me a liability.

So, just showing up as Nell Burnett is a big no.

What would Batman do?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I kicked the side of my desk. What does it matter what Batman, Batgirl, or Robin would do in this instance? They don’t have to worry about a bunch of thugs showing up to kill them during math class! Their secret identities are safe behind their masks-

An unexpected smile spread across my face. That’s it.

I ruffled around in my drawers until I found an old purple shirt, nylon tights, and my conquistador costume from a few Halloweens ago. Then, I grabbed a pair of scissors, and my black, long sleeved leotard from my backpack.

“What are you up to, Honey?” Mom asked from behind me.

“Jesus!” I flinched. “M-mom, you scared me.” I looked down at the pile of clothes I have on my desk. “Can I borrow your sewing machine?”

_____

Three hours later, I looked at myself in the full length mirror. My long blonde hair is pulled back in a high pony. A plain black domino mask, from my Halloween costume, covers my eyes. I cut a bat out of the purple shirt and sewed it onto the chest of my black leotard, which I’m wearing over the nylon tights. I attached a cape to the back of the suit that goes halfway down my back, it’s purple on the inside and black on the outside.

“This is so cool.”

I stopped admiring myself long enough to check the time. Eleven fifteen. Mom’s asleep. Time for Batgirl, at least for the night, to spring into action.

I slipped my cellphone in a pocket on the inside of the suit. On the way past my dresser, I grabbed some clothes to change into, just in case, and slipped them into a small bag. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I stubbed my toe on the dresser. Cursing under my breath, I grabbed a pair of black ankle boots from my closet.

The night had turned frigid, and I shuddered against the cold. When I get back I need to sow in some kind of thermal liner, for next-

Woa, there. There isn’t going to be a next time, I argued with myself.

While I was putting this suit together, I had plenty of time to think over my plan. I’ll arrive at the docks a little before midnight, in the hopes that I can talk Jessica into just going home. If she refuses, and I’m sure that what is going on is illegal or might get someone hurt, I call the police. No acts of vigilantism from this sixteen year old. I may have extensive martial arts knowledge, but I’m not a superhero.

The docks smell like rotten fish and sea air. There are boats of all sizes and purposes lined up in the marina, all of their lights are out due to the late hour. The dock itself is cluttered with discarded boxes and crates still holding cargo.

A teenager with pixie cut brown hair, wearing baggy black clothes, is talking with a couple burly guys next to a small crate about the size of a large backpack. Looks like I’m too late to stop Jessica from going through with whatever this is.

I tiptoed slightly closer. The men she’s talking to are huge, with bulging muscles that could crush me with minimal effort. And I don’t like the way one of them is eying her. God, Jessica, what have you gotten yourself into?

I’m just a yard away from them, hiding behind a crate. Time to call the police. This is too shady to be harmless. I reach for my cellphone, but my hand stops cold.

“Let go of me!” Jess screams. My head snaps up. One of the men had grabbed Jessica. She continued screaming at the top of her lungs.

My stomach dropped to the floor, and I felt my legs start to shake. What do I do? Oh, god, this isn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t part of the plan! Nobody is supposed to get hurt.

Can I fight them off?

“Help! Someone, please, help me!” I glanced down at the bat logo on my chest.

I have to help her, because, for the night, I’m a hero.

I’m Batgirl.

“Boys. Boys. Didn’t your mothers ever tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” I said, raising my voice to be heard over Jess’s screams, and stepping out from behind the crate.

Where the hell had that come from? I’m never witty in front of strangers, let alone hard criminals that are probably going to try to kill me.

“Who’s that?” The one holding Jessica asked stupidly.

“It’s a bat! Let’s get outta here.” The other said, glancing around wildly, probably looking for my back-up.

I’m flattered. He thinks I’m smart enough to bring back-up.

“It’s Batgirl.” The first man- who I will now refer to as Creeper- sneered, and took a step towards me, releasing Jessica. “That’s hot.”

The second man grabbed Creeper’s shoulder, holding him back. “We’re getting outta here before her Daddy shows up.” From the look on Creeper’s face, I can tell he’s not going anywhere. Using that fact that they both had let their guard down to argue with the other, I struck.

Leaping into the air, I kicked the second man in the chest with all my might. The air left his lungs in a short whoosh, he collapsed to the ground gasping and trying to catch his breath.

A sharp blow to the head sends me sprawling. I throw out my hands and cartwheel to avoid falling on my face. I spin around to face Creeper. The back of my head throbs sharply, and I blink to clear my vision.

Rookie movie, Burnett. Never take your eyes off your opponent, even when you’re taking down his friend.

Creeper picked up a crowbar that was lying on an open crate. Fear paralyzed me for a moment. He made a move for me, and I dove to the side to avoid getting my skull bashed in. He was on me in a second, throwing blow after blow. I didn’t try deflecting them, the sheer force would probably break my bones, so I dodged left and right, looking for an opening.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jessica standing to the side, watching us with wide-eyed wonder.

“Run! Get out of here!” I yelled at her. She stayed for a moment longer, before stumbling off into the night.

Will she call the police? Not that they would respond quickly enough to help me...

“Ugh!” I grunted as Creeper’s fist collided with my sternum. I rolled away from the hit, saving myself from some of the force. But not all. I’m definitely going to have bruises.

Lurching to the side, I grab the handle of a heavy metal bucket lying discarded by a crate. I plant my feet firmly on the uneven wooden planks and, using all my bodyweight, I swing the bucket at his head. He ducks, but not quickly enough. The metal makes a sickening thud as it clips his forehead. Creeper sways slightly before his eyes roll back in his head and he falls to the ground.

I rest a hand on a light pole, leaning into it, and trying to catch my breath. From behind me I hear the click of someone turning off the safety on a semi-automatic. My body stiffens, and I turn around slowly.

The second man has gotten up from where I knocked him over. He points the gun directly at my chest. A loud roaring sounds in my ears. I should run. I should fight.

I should do something.

But, I can’t. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

He smiles. “Sorry about this, Batgirl, but the money’s too good. Good enough to risk killing a Bat.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

“Now, we can’t have that.” A voice sounds out.

A streak of black coming from nowhere, and before I know it, the man’s gun goes flying. The gun lands next to the piece of metal that knocked it from its owner’s hands.

A Batarang.

We both stare at it for a moment, before he looks up and meets my eyes. I can’t help it. I give him a big ol’ grin.

“What was it you were saying about my Daddy showing up?” I do a back handspring towards him, picking up the crowbar, the one his buddy dropped, mid flip.

Okay, I’m showing off a little. Sue me.

His eyes are wide with fear, and they’re fixed behind me. He goes to shove me out of the way, but I make my move first. Gripping the crowbar with two hands, I drive it up and into the man’s jaw. He drops like a sack of potatoes.

I don’t turn around. Part of me is scared to. Who am I going to see? Batman? Robin? Batgirl? Unlikely, since she hasn’t been spotted in over a year, and the voice sounded too deep to be female.

“Aren’t you a little old to play dress-up, Miss?” I grit my teeth. His insult gives me the push I need to turn around and face him.

“Well, you know how it is these days. They’ll let any loser parading around in a mask call themselves a hero.” The man standing in front of me was in all black, except for a blue design on his shoulders. He wore no cape, has a mask similar to mine, and eye length, messy, black hair.

Nightwing.

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Nice moves, for a civilian.” Nice backhanded compliment. “Where do you study?” I almost missed the calculating undertone his voice carried.

“No comment.” Like I’m really going to tell him that? It’d practically give away my secret identity. Kairi Tanaga runs a small, private dojo behind a fish stall in Chinatown for series students. Still don’t know why she accepted me.

The Bat-Signal appeared in the sky. Nightwing’s attention flickered to it, and then back to me. “Listen, kid. Let me give you some friendly advice. Go home, put your costume in the trash, and enjoy living a long, happy life.”

I nodded, silently fuming at his condescending tone. If the news is to be believed, Nightwing was the original Robin. Which, means he started crime fighting when he was what? Ten? And I’m the kid?

He turns away from me, mounting a motorcycle I hadn’t even noticed till that moment. He revs the engine, and glances back at me, still standing there like an idiot. “Take my advice. Because if he finds you out on these streets again, you’re going to get more than friendly advice. Got it?”

No need to elaborate on who he is.

Without waiting for me to respond, he rides off into the night. No doubt to perform some heroic deed of selflessness.

What an ass.

Chapter Three:

I grab the backpack from behind a crate, where I’d stuffed it before beginning the fight with the second man.

Should I change back into my normal clothes? I don’t want to, because one I put back on my jeans and t-shirt, I’m just Nell Burnett, again. I know I said only one night, but how can I give this up? The amazing adrenaline rush. The feeling of invincibility, of being in control. That I’m doing the right thing.

The streets surrounding the docks are deserted, even from drug dealers, who were probably scared away by the Bat-Signal. I’m trying hard not to drag my feet and hang my head in shame. My first night out, and I had to be saved by a real hero.

I wanted to do something. I wanted to drop down to the ground and kick his legs out. As he lost balance, I would shoot up, and knock the gun from his hand. I know that move. I’ve practiced it a thousand times with Kairi. Why couldn’t I do it? I just stood there!

Like a victim.

I walk by Manufacturing Jewelers & Designers, just a couple blocks from Wayne Station. I hear glass breaking and a loud alarm sounding. I turn back. A couple of goons with bats are robbing the jewelry store. I glance down the bat symbol on my chest, and then up at the matching one in the sky.

Well, if the rest of the family’s busy...

I run through the unlocked door. They’re both wearing black ski masks, but while one is large like the men at the docks, the other is thin. He looks like he’s my age.

I’ll take out the runt first, since he’s closest to me. He spins around at that moment, his eyes widen behind the mask. I punch him where I think his nose is, using just enough force to break it, but not permanently hurt him. He let out a surprised gasp of pain, drops his bat, and, holding his nose, stumbled backwards. I kick the side of his knee, sending him crashing to the ground.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I said. Ok, so he’s probably older than me, but I don’t want my enemies knowing my age. One, it’ll get them one step closer to finding out my real identity. Two, who’s going to take a sixteen year old crime fight seriously? At least the Robins have had Batman by their side to take over in the intimidation department.

I slipped a pair of handcuffs out of my bag. Another relic from Halloweens past. They’re just sturdy plastic, but they’ll hold the boy until I can deal with his partner. I put them on his right wrist and attach the other cuff to the bottom of a heavy cabinet.

“You picked the wrong robbing to mess with, Bat.” Without turning towards the voice, I scramble out of the way. A sharp blow lands on my shoulder, and vibrates through my body. Still better than a second hit to the head.

Flipping myself over a glass case filled with precocious diamonds, I said. “Maybe you picked the wrong Bat to mess with.”

I picked up a large shard of glass from the floor. The large man jumps up and over the counter with the ease of someone with some kind of training, but not martial arts. He’s not fluid enough in his movements, it’s very choppy and aggressive. Football player turned street fighter?

As soon as his body is on my side of the counter, I slash him with the glass, creating a deep cut on his bicep. I would have gone for his leg, to make it harder to run away, if my eyesight weren’t still fuzzy from the blow to the head during the last fight. It’s supposed to distract him more than anything else.

His attention flickers for the barest moment. But, it’s all I need. I rush forward, driving my knee forcefully into his gut. He grunts, and I dance out of his range, just a second to slowly. His punch misses my jaw- thank god- but hits me squarely on my collarbone.

A sharp cry leaves my lips. My shoulder feels like it’s on fire, but I don’t think the bone’s broken.

Guess we’re about to find out.

The guy is wearing a smug smile, as he moves towards me. His arms raised and ready to do some more damage, like the kneeing he just took was nothing.

I’m gonna enjoy this.

Shoving off from the wall behind me, I drop kick the man directly in his sternum. My shoulder and collarbone scream at the sudden movement. Before he can recover, I lay into his stomach with a dozen quick jabs. He swings his bat at me, it’s a clumsy, disorganized move. I duck out of the way with relative ease. I step to his side, grabbing his elbow and wrenching it up. Before he can so much as gasp in pain, I put my hand on the back of his head, driving it down into the counter.

He slumps down to the floor, unconscious. I grab him by the hands and drag his lax form to his struggling partner. Spotting a coil of jewelry wire, I swiped it and tied dumb and dumber to each other.

I can’t help but feel little smug, even if this victory does nothing to change that fact that I mess up my first fight. Take that Nightwing! Bet the store owner will be happy I didn’t take your friendly advice.

I turn my attention to the skinny, conscious boy. “Next time you get the bright idea to rob a bank? Reevaluate. You’re just lucky I caught you instead of Batman.” A shiver ran down his body. The fear in his eyes- what I could see of them- made him look even younger. I hear sirens in the not so far distance. Time to go.

When I would have turned away, he speaks. “I-I needed the m-money.”

“So do a lot of good, honest, hardworking people, and they work for what they have. You may need the money bad. But, what good will it do you if you’re in prison or dead. Get a job.” I said, making my voice as hard as I can. He bobs his head vigorously. “That’s just some friendly advice, but if I catch you again, I won’t be so friendly. Got it?” I echo Nightwing’s earlier words to me. The boy nods again.

The sound of brakes squealing comes from outside. Looks like the police have arrived. Crap.

I exit the jewelry store and a pudgy cop and his muscular female partner are waiting for me. She looks incredulous, he seems more pissed off than awestricken. He bites into a powdered doughnut he’s holding, grumbling something about “bats multiplying like rabbits”.

“Detectives.” I nodded to them. I sprint away from them, vaulting myself onto a fire escape.

“Hey! Get back here!” The male cop yells after me. “Damn, bats. Think they own this town and don’t have to obey the law.”

“Bullocks, they do own this town.” His partner said. Swinging myself from bar to bar, I’m on the roof in seconds.

I really should head home, it’s almost dawn, and Mom could find me missing at any moment. So, two options. One, wait up here until the cops are gone, and then take the subway home. Or...

Smiling to myself, I back up to the edge of the roof. I run across the uneven tile, springing into the air and onto the next rooftop. And the next. Again. And Again.

_____

A few doors down from our apartment, there’s a small utility closet. The perfect place for a quick, incognito change. The smell of chemicals assault my nose as I pull on my clothes and stuff the Batgirl suit in the backpack.

Tiptoeing down the hall, I fish a spare key out of the pocket of my jeans. The click of the door unlocking sounds like an elephant stampede and I wince. It’s only four twenty-two, according to my watch. That’s early, even for Mom, who like to get up at the crack of dawn, so she can paint the sunrise.

I shut the door behind me. “Sweetie?” I froze at my mom’s words. Of course, this would be the morning she decided to get up an hour early.

Turning around slowing, I said. “Oh, hey, Mom. You’re up early.” My mind is racing, trying to find an answer to the question I know she’s about to ask me.

Her blonde hair, exactly like mine, is tied up in a messy bun with real chopsticks keeping it in place. Her glasses are slightly askew over her big, bright green eyes. She has a heart shaped face, with a button nose. People tell me I look just like her.

She frowns, creating a crease between her eyebrows. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.” Oh, god, give me a good excuse. “B-but I woke up, so I went for a walk.”

Her brows furrow even more. “At four in the morning? We live in a pretty safe neighborhood, but really, Nell, this is still Gotham.”

I stop her before she can start on a rampage. “I didn’t go outside. I just walked around the apartment complex.” She looked a little less angry, so I continued. “I needed to clear my head after visiting Anna today.”

All worry and irritation left her face in an instant. “I understand, and I’m sorry I snapped at you.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but instead she turned on her heel and headed into her art room, shutting the door softly behind her.

I entered my room and flopped down on my bed. Part of me feels bad about using Anna to get out of hot water. Even if I know if she were here, she’d tell me to use her.

I smile weakly. Anna would have loved all of this. The only reason I got into gymnastics and martial arts was because I wanted to be more like her. A familiar ache fills my heart.

Anna would have made a great Batgirl.

Chapter Four:

Mom roused me from bed what seemed like minutes after I’d fallen asleep. I stumbled into my bathroom and stared in horror at my reflection.

God, I look like death warmed up. There are huge dark circles under my eyes, my skin is unnaturally pale, and my hair hangs limp and tangled around my face. First order of business: a shower.

The hot water feels heavenly on my skin, in most places. I’m careful of the places I took damage. The hit on the back of my head throbs slightly, but my vision has cleared up from last night. There’s a huge black and blue bruise on my stomach from the robber’s punch. It hurts, but the ribs are intact and that’s all that matters. I can’t see the bruise on my shoulder, where I got smacked with a bat. However, I’m sure it’s something to behold. And lastly, but definitely not least, the punch to my collarbone. It’s got a bruise as well, just as bad as the stomach, but it’s the pain that really floors me.

I’ll just have to avoid moving. And breathing. And thinking about that particular area too much.

As I’m drying off, Mom calls out to me from the other side of the door. “Honey, Simon’s on the phone!”

I wince. “Mom, I turned off the shower ten minutes ago. You don’t have to shout.” I wrapped the towel around myself and reach out the door for the phone.

“Hey, Si.”

“Hey, Nell.” He echoes. “We still on for this afternoon?” Crap. Our movie marathon. I checked the time. Ten fourteen. Still plenty of time to get over to his place. He read my silence correctly, like he always does. “You forgot, right?” “I’m a crappy best friend. You need a new one.”

“Yeah, maybe I should put out an ad in the paper.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Until then, wanna come over anyway?”

“See you in a few.” Simon and I have been best friends ever since kindergarten. His parents decided to hire a slew of tutors and homeschool him after the accident in second grade. Sometimes I think I’m his only contact with the outside world.

We’re closer than conjoined twins.

I grabbed a leotard and shoved it in my backpack, along with a couple movies, just in case we vote out all the ones the Blackstone’s personal shopper picked out. “I’m heading over to Simon’s, Mom. We’ll just go to the competition together.”

“Have fun, Sweetie. See you tonight.” She said from the kitchen.

I’m planning on taking the subway to the edge of town, and then calling a cab to take me the rest of the way to Blackstone Manor. But, when I step outside my apartment, I see a black town car waiting for me. Shrugging my shoulders, I get in the car before the driver can come open the door for me. Which earns me a disapproving look.

We take the R, Kane Memorial Bridge to Crest Hill. Crest Hill is the ritziest of the ritzy communities in Gotham. Blackstone manor is next to Wayne, Drake, and the Davenport manor. I really love it out here, it’s so quiet and peaceful. The scenery is something you’d see in an expensive painting, all wine vineyards, apple orchards, and beautiful forests.

We pull up to Blackstone manor. No matter how many times I see it, it still manages to take my breath away. It gives the impression of a winery. It’s made of tan colored sand stones, and has a bright green roof. The main entrance has three arches, under a terrace, that lead to three front doors. There are a couple of high window, on the roof, that I know attach to the attic. To get to the attic from inside the house, you have to take the “secret staircase” behind a bookshelf.

I don’t think it really counts as a secret if every Blackstone, since the mansion was built, has known about it.

Snatching up my bag, I jump out of the car before it comes to a complete stop. Something I’m sure Jeeves will love. I don’t bother to knock, I’m expected.

The inside of the mansion is very 1800’s. Even the new furniture is designed to look ancient, which makes the electronic stuff stick out like a sore thumb, at least in my opinion. But, for the most part, it’s a very polish and sophisticated look. One I’m sure the Blackstone’s paid thousands in personal decorator fees for.

I run up the grand staircase, Simon’s room is on the second floor. I don’t take time to admire the million dollar paintings along the way, as Mom and Anna would have. Simon sleeps in a room at the end of a very long hallway with at least twenty doors along it. I’ve been hanging out here since I was five, and I still only know what’s in half of the rooms in this place.

“Whatcha doin’?” I said, as I opened his door.

“Just a waitin’.” Simon answers from behind his desk. His shaggy brown hair falls carelessly into his large rimmed glasses. The round glasses magnify Simon’s blue eyes, making them look comically big.

Simon’s room is completely decked out with computers and different kinds of tech. His bed spread and wall paper is green and blue, his favorite colors. It’s one of the only places in the house that’s not professionally decorated. Simon handpicked everything in this room.

Simon wheels around the desk towards me. His wheelchair isn’t one of those electric ones, he prefers to use his arms. I think he likes the exercise, though he’s never said anything to me.

Simon’s been paralyzed from the waist down ever since second grade, when a maniac shot up our school. Hitting Simon in the spine.

I forced a smile on my face, trying not to think about it. “So, what are we watching today?”

“Glad you asked.” He grins from ear to ear. “You won’t believe what I found today.” He pulls up a video link on his computer and hits play.

It’s surveillance video of a girl fighting a couple of guys in a jewelry store. Why would- My eyes widen in realization.

It’s Batgirl.

It’s me.

“It’s all over the news, not to mention the internet. Knew you wouldn’t see it, you’re so tech challenged. Can you believe it? A new Batgirl!” The rest of his words sound like roaring in my ears.

God. I can’t believe this. What if someone recognizes me? I take a closer look at Ba- myself on the screen. Yeah, scratch that. I don’t even recognize myself. The me on the screen drops kicks the burly man.

Hell, yeah! That was awesome.

But, back to the matter at hand. Even if they don’t see me when they look at Batgirl. What about my moves? What if a trainer sees this?

“This girl’s moves are legit.” Simon said. I glance at him. He seems completely engrossed in the video, no trace of suspicion in his gaze. I relax a little. Simon goes to every single one of my competitions and lots of my martial arts practices. If he doesn’t recognize me, no one will.

Something occurs to me. “I guess. She’s a little sloppy. Needs to guard her left side better.” I can’t talk up Batgirl to anyone around me. I have to be neutral. If I show an opinion, people will associate that opinion with Batgirl. I don’t want anyone to put Batgirl and I in the same thought.

I continue. “You know, this has really got me in the mood for an action marathon. You game?”

_____

I leave Simon with my mom in the stadium V.I.P box. Wave them goodbye, and head down to the locker rooms to change into my leotard. The other girls stand around chattering, but I don’t engage. I’ve got too much on my mind.

Before long, I’m stepping out onto the mat to do my routine. I love the feel of my muscles stretching to their limit, of my heart races, and my feet pounding the floor as I land. My bruises hurt as I move, but the pain is manageable, and I don’t let it interfere with my performance.

A couple of my moves are echoes from the ones I used last night. I can’t help but smile at the difference that context makes. From deadly to decorative.

Afterwards, I towel myself off and head to meet Mom and Simon.

“Great job, Baby!” My mom yells over the noise of the crowd.

“Yeah, you were amazing.” Simon said. But, he’s not looking at me. He’s staring off into space, this strange look on his face. It’s almost...guarded.

“Let’s get out of here, I hate crowds.” Mom said. “Simon, would you like to have dinner with us?”

“Uh- no. Dad’s coming home tonight, we’re all eating together.” Since when does Simon pass up a chance to leave the manor. I try to catch his eye, but he’s still not looking at me. “Thanks for the invite, Mrs. B. See you guys later.” He moves through the crowd without looking back.

Mom, ever unobservant, walks off with me in tow. “We really need to have him over more, such a lovely boy.”

“Yeah.” I agreed half-heartedly. A horrifying thought occurs to me.

He knows.

Chapter Five:

I was unusually quiet during the drive. If Mom noticed, she didn’t let on. I asked her to drop me off in Chinatown. Kairi’s going to be pissed that I missed yesterday. No need to make her homicidal by missing today too.

“You sure you want to work out? You did just compete.” Mom asked.

“Yeah, may as well. I’m all wound up anyway.”

The market place was teeming with customers, even at eight in the evening. Sellers yelled at passersby, advertising their products. They ignored me, like they always do. I wonder if they can sense I’m not here to buy anything. Maybe they just recognize my face, having seen me at Kiari’s shop before.

Kiari’s cart is closed up for the night, but the smell of fresh fish is still overwhelming to my nose. I walked through the door to the back room, and down a long white hallway that opened up to reveal a small pond, complete with fish, ducks, and flowers. Just beyond that is Kiari’s dojo. It’s just a single room with tan walls and matching mats, but the swords, staffs, and other Japanese antiques hanging from those walls give it an authentic feel.

A couple of students in white robes are sparing on one side of the room. I don’t recognize them, and their slow and somewhat poorly executed moves give them away as newbies. Kairi is sitting with her legs tucked under her, her calculating eyes watch the students’ fight with predator like focus.

I shrug the bag off my shoulder, and retrieve my own Karategi. I put it on over my leotard. Turning my back on the other students, I approach an old misshapen dummy. I start out slow, with a few different, well-practiced combinations, to warm myself up.

As a light layer of sweat covers my body, I add in more complex moves, sometimes moving away from the dummy, using my imagination to anticipate all the different moves my opponent could through my way, and counteracting them.

It’s not as good as having a real partner, but half of the work is drilling new moves into your psyche. Practicing them and practicing them until they become second nature like breathing. You just react and act.

As I practice, I let my mind wander. I think about Simon. He’s my best friend in the whole world. How can I keep this secret from him? Is it really a secret anymore? I could just be paranoid. Before now, I never had a secret to keep from him. Am I just assuming he knows, because he’s always been privy to my thoughts? Is it guilt? Probably. How could he know? Even if he thought my moves at the gymnastic competition were similar to the ones he saw Batgirl do on that surveillance video, how would he make that impossible connection? It’s gotta be the guilt messing with my head.

The guilt is like a virus slowly infecting every cell in my body, until I feel crappy all over. If Simon started fighting crime, I know I’d be the first person he’d tell. It’s not like he’d tell anyone. I could trust him to keep it a secret.

Tell him, or keep quiet.

If I come clean, I’ll probably feel better. Besides, I’m dying to tell someone. This is too huge to keep to myself. But, on the downside, if he knows, no way he’ll sit idly back. Simon would want to help anyway he could. I can’t get him involved in this. I probably shouldn’t be involved in this! I can’t put him in, or let him put himself, in danger.

If I keep my mouth shut, and Simon finds out? He’d never forgive me for keeping him in the dark. I’m supposed to be the one person who doesn’t handle him with “cripple gloves”, as he says. Even if he doesn’t figure it out, I can’t imagine being the Nelly he knows around him, while I’m keeping this secret.

Either way, this could be the end of our friendship.

“You can’t fight your outer and inner demons at the same time.” Kairi’s English is perfect, with only the slightest accent to hint at her Japanese origins. She’s about thirty with shoulder length black hair and a lean athletic body.

“I don’t have inner demons.” I said a little too quickly. I turn towards her as her eyebrows rise. I spin back to land a forceful kick on the dummy. “Not any that I want to talk about, anyway.”

She nodded, clearly understanding. “Your balance is off. Here,” She demonstrated the correct form for a move I’d been working on for half an hour. I put all thoughts of Simon out of my mind, and focused on the task at hand. If I’m going to do this whole superhero thing, I have to be perfect. I can’t let my guard down.

_____

The subway was mostly deserted, and I made it home a little after midnight. I walked by my parents’ room. The door is slightly ajar, and I can see my mom asleep alone in their bed. Dad must be still at the lab.

It took me over an hour, but I finally perfected the newest move in my toolbox. I feel a huge sense of accomplishment, even if I’ll have to practice it for weeks before I’ve truly mastered it. Still, I’m lucky to have a Mom that’s so understanding of my nighttime dojo runs. Most wouldn’t allow it, especially in a city like Gotham.

She used to be much tougher on curfew rules, before Anna’s coma. I could only practice for a few hours after school and on the weekends. And I couldn’t go out after dark. Wouldn’t that have put a cramp in my crime fighting?

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Thank god I remembered to put it on silent. Mom hasn’t slept well since the accident, and the last thing I want it disturb what little shuteye she gets.

“Hello?” I answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Hey, Nell, it’s Simon.”

I paused; surprised he was calling so late. “Oh, what’s up?”

“I wanted to apologize for earlier. I wasn’t feeling well, stomach ache.” You’d think that would make me feel better, right? Well, it would, if I didn’t know he was lying.

“No problem, but isn’t it a little-” a quick look at my watch, “- er, a little early for this?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” The boy who could snooze the zombie apocalypse, is having trouble sleeping? I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. Something is definitely up with Si. “Besides, I forgot to ask you about the Martha Wayne Foundation luncheon tomorrow. It’s at the Wayne manor, should be pretty pretentious, but there’ll be food.”

“Food! What should I wear?” I joked, hoping my inner doubt didn’t come through. Is this really such a good idea? Simon invites me to these charity things all the time, but we’re at a weird place in our friendship.

On the other hand, these things are usually magnets for people up to no good. A whole bunch of moneybags sitting practically unprotected? It’s a recipe for super villain disaster. Which is exactly why it’d be a good idea to have a Batgirl hanging around.

“Something fancy.” I can hear him smiling through the phone. “The town car’ll pick you up at about eleven. See you there.”

I went to bed dreaming of tuxedos and jewelry robbers.

_____

I woke up a little later than I had planned on, and had to rush to get ready in time. I grabbed a simple blue dress with a form fitting top and a flared skirt that goes three quarters of the way down my thighs. I threw this on with a pair of nude wedges, Grandma’s pearls, and some dark pink lipstick.

It’s the kind of get up that Anna, fashion forward girl that she was, would’ve worn, not me. But it’s very appropriate for a charity luncheon; no one goes as themselves for these things.

“Where are you going all dressed up?” My mom asked from the kitchen, as I walked by. She’s washing light green paint off her hands, and she’s wearing a pair of old and stained overalls.

“The Martha Wayne Foundation Charity Luncheon.” Isn’t that a mouthful? “Simon invited me.”

“Hmm, that was nice of him.” She said rather distractedly.

“Yeah. Nice. See you tonight, Mom.” She nodded, still looking at her hands, which had been spotless for a few minutes now, but she continued to scrub. Something’s bothering her. I filed that away under Possible Problems for Future Nelly to Solve.

Just like Simon said, the car is waiting for me when I exit the build at precisely eleven. I still feel a bit silly riding in such an inconspicuous car, but I’m trying to get over it. The Blackstone’s just aren’t the type of family that’ll pick me up in a real person car. I snorted trying to picture Mrs. Blackstone, a former supermodel, wearing sweats and driving a minivan.

I’ve never been to Wayne Manor before. I see it from afar on my way to Simon’s all the time, but the Wayne charity events are usually held in other, equally grand, locations. As far as I know, the Wayne Manor is only used by three people: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, his son, and Alfred Pennyworth, his butler, all of whom I’ve met at charity events, and the rest of the vast Estate goes untouched. Seems like a waste of beautiful real estate if ask me, but what do I know? I’m not rich.

Wayne Manor is shaped like a W, with over three stories of medieval like architecture and statues. The stones that make up the mansion are a beige color that reminds me of Blackstone Manor. Though they give me completely different feelings, one full of life and color, the other empty and a little sad, they were both built within a decade of each other.

The luncheon is being held on the front lawn. Large, white canopies have been constructed to cover the extravagant seating arrangements and keep out the heat. The driver pulls around the circular driveway and lets me out right next the check in area.

A woman with long blond hair, dressed in black dress pants and a pressed white shirt that all the staff are wearing, motions me over to her. She’s the only staff member I can see that’s smiling, and it makes her look a little manic.

“What’s ya name?” Her accent is pronounced and not at all refined like everyone else’s. It makes me like her, just a little bit.

“Nelly Burnett, Simon Blackstone’s guest.” I said.

She doesn’t check her sheet to see if I’m on it. “Say, are those real?” She pointed to the pearls around my neck.

“Uh, yeah.” I said. I’m getting uncomfortable with the way she’s staring at them. Like a man who hasn’t had anything to drink in days looking at a glass of water.

Her grin gets impossibly bigger, “Go on in, Hon.”

Shrugging off the weird encounter, I clutched my large, red purse closer to my body, put on my bureaucratic smile, and went to look for Simon. The purse, like my outfit, isn’t my usual style, but it’s the only thing I have that’s fashionable enough to take to a charity function and that’s big enough to shove my Batgirl suit in.

I spotted him near the refreshments table, trying to reach for the cups, which were placed too far away from the edge for him. I grabbed one and handed it to him, before anyone noticed. One of the main reasons Simon hates these things is because of the pity he gets from everyone attending. He’s not an invalid.

He gives me a half smile and pours himself some of a bright colored drink. This is the kind of thing that the help usually does for people at formal functions. But most of them are all too familiar with Simon’s temper, and how he likes to do things for himself.

“You’re late,” He muttered into his drink. Part of me was hoping that I would show up here, and all the awkwardness of last night would have disappeared like it had never happened. But, apparently, whatever’s eating Simon isn’t going to blow over so quickly.

“Traffic on the bridge.” We lapsed into a very uncomfortable silence. I debated asking him if he needed help removing the stick from up his ass, but decided against it. I’ve never shied away from confrontation before. Then again, things are different now. Now I have something to hide, something to lose.

A string quartet starts to play a couple yards from us, and people move onto the dance floor, passing the time until lunch is served. The music is beautiful and whimsical; I start to sway along with it.

I zero in on someone in the crowd, and risk a glance at Simon to see if he’s seen him. The angry tint in his eyes tells me he has.

With ear length black hair, crystal blue eyes, and a strong jaw line, Damian Wayne is every bit as handsome as his father, Bruce. He’s about average height, still much taller than me, with a lean athletic body, that I can’t help but admire. We’ve met at previous charity events, and he’s not bad conversation. Still, there’s an air of arrogance about him that keeps me from completely liking me.

Simon hates him.

No, that’s not right. Simon loathes him.

“Ms. Burnett. Simon.” He nodded at both of us.

He’s in a tuxedo, like he usually is, but the suit compliments his physique so well I have trouble formulating a proper response to his greeting.

“Hey, Damian.” I’ve told him a million times to call me Nelly, but I suspect he chooses not to just to get on Simon’s nerves. However that works.

Men. I’ll never understand.

“Care to dance?” I try not to show my surprise. It’s not that Damian never dances with me personally; it’s that he never dances with anyone at these events. I didn’t think he knew how.

How many girls can say they’ve danced with Damian Wayne, heir to the Wayne fortune? Still, I really don’t want to make things between Simon and me worse than they already are.

“Thanks, but-”

Simon cuts in before I can say no. “You should go. I have to talk to my dad anyway.” With that he wheels away, without a backwards glance at me.

I turn to Damian, who looks just as shocked as me at Simon’s sudden exit. “Trouble in paradise?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Let’s just dance, Wayne.” I grumbled, not wanting to talk about Simon with Damian. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he does the same with my waist.

We move to the rhythm of the music, before long, I start to enjoy myself. Damian is a surprisingly good dancer for someone who never does. I let go of all my worries for a brief moment, and just enjoy snuggling up close the most beautiful boy in Gotham.

Not that I’d ever tell him I think that. His ego is big enough as is.

I hear a scream from behind me, over towards the band. Damian froze, staring over my shoulder at something. I can only describe the expression on his face as pure fury. It threw me off, making me pause for a few seconds before turning around to get a look at what all the commotion was about.

A man with green, matted hair and a purple suit was tapping to the microphone on stage, as he held Bruce Wayne in a death grip. In the audience, no one moved, no one dared to breathe.

“Testing. Testing! Hellooo, money bags.” He glanced down at the man in his grip. “I hope you don’t mind, Brucey, I just let myself in. My invite must have gotten lost the mail.” He let out a sickening laugh that was as cold as it was inhuman.

The Joker.

Chapter Six:

“Hurry now, my rich little ducklings, into the back.” The Joker laughed as he pushed people into an old van that said Joe’s Jokes on the side, while Harley- who I realized was the creepy woman who let me in- pointed a gun at us. The first two into the van are Bruce Wayne and then Simon Stag, the CEO of Stag industries.

“Are you mad?! Do you know who I am?” Stag shouted from inside the van. I resisted rolling my eyes, there’s nothing funny about this situation.

My suit is in my purse, but with Damien still holding on to me, and with all these people watching, how am I supposed to put it on? Even if I could, am I ready to take on the Joker? This guy beats Batman on occasion. He’s a super villain, not so thug hanging around the docks, or a second rate jewelry thief. Not to mention the fact that Kiari hasn’t taught me to dodge bullets.

He could kill me.

“Who’ll be my next ducky? Hmmm? How about the girl the young Mr. Wayne is clinging to, she must be worth a hefty sum.” The Joker walks towards Damien and me, I’m not really registering that he’s talking about me. It all becomes frighteningly clear to me when his hand encloses around my wrist. His fingers feel like ice, too cold to belong to someone human.

“Joker.” Damien growls. There’s something in his voice that stops me cold in my tracks. His eyes are filled with internal conflict. Over what? Risk his neck saving me, or say quiet.

Please don’t try anything, Damien, I chant over and over in my head. The Joker is not someone you fool around with, and I don’t want him, even if he is a bit of an arrogant ass, to get hurt.

“Ah, a young lad protecting the honor of his bonnie lass.” The Joker says. In the blink of an eye, he pulls out a strange looking gun from his pocket. The barrel is much larger than any gun I’ve ever seen.

I feel like I’m going to be sick. This is it isn’t it? The Joker’s going to kill me in front of all these people. And there’s nothing I can do to stop him, not with all these witnesses watching that could potentially get hurt.

He raises the gun, and I think about how I never told Simon. When the police go through my things, they’ll no doubt find my Batgirl suit, and then everyone will know. But, he won’t have heard it from me. And that’ll hurt him. A lot.

At the last moment, the gun angled away from me and towards Damien. I heard someone scream, and then a flash of red streaked in front of my eyes.

Damien flew backwards, crashing into a table with a sickening crunch. His body sprawled out and he didn’t move. I shook off the Joker and ran to him.

I expected blood, but there is none. Just a huge bruise forming on his face where there should’ve been a gaping hole. His pulse is slow, but strong. I think he’s just unconscious.

I glance back at Joker’s gun, and I see a red boxing glove hanging limply from its barrel. A wave of relief hits me, and I’m unprepared for the hand that wraps itself around my neck, choking me, and dragging me away from Damien, and towards the van.

“How darling, young love. Don’t worry, Sweet Cheeks. I’m sure your boyfriend will pay a fortune to get you back.” He leans down and whispers in my ear, “And, if he doesn’t, I’ll still get to have my fun.” He thrusts me in the back of the van, causing the back of my head to smack against the metal frame. My vision blurs, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

The Joker throws in one more person, a woman with dark brown hair. I recognize her as Dana Winters, the widow of Jack Drake, owner of a mansion close to Simon’s; she comes to many of these social gatherings, since her husband’s death. I’ve always thought that she just comes to spend time with the people Mr. Drake spent time with, to feel a connection to him, since these aren’t her friends and she doesn’t come from wealth.

She screams at the others to help us, but they remain frozen, their feet rooted to the ground. Their eyes are wide and unmoving for the most part, but every couple of seconds someone will glance around, like they’re trying to ask their friends what they should do without communicating verbally. My last glimpse of Damien is him lying unmoving on the ground, and then the Joker slams the back door.

The five of us are instantly enveloped by darkness. The car smells old laundry and saw dust; it clogs my nose making me sneeze. The van starts, and peels away from the party, flinging us all around like rag dolls. I land on someone, a guy; I realize when I hear him grunt. But I’m way too terrified at this point to feel an embarrassment. I right myself and move off of him.

Dana is sobbing a little to my left, after a hesitation, I reach for her hand, and am surprised that I find it. I give it a hard squeeze. We’re not friends. Until right now, we lived in separate worlds, but she needs comfort and it feels good to give her some, even if I can’t do it for myself.

“What are we going to do?” She mumbles shakily. “What if no one pays the ransom? It’s just me now that Jack... and Tim’s out of the country.” It takes me moment to realize that she’s talking about Tim Drake, her stepson.

The man I landed on speaks up, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” His tone softens considerably. “But if it does, Damien will make sure we’re all taken care of.”

“That’s very kind, Bruce.” Dana says. I get the feeling she wants to say more, but Simon Stag enters the competition.

“I can more than afford any ransom the Joker wants.” I can’t believe we’re talking about money at a time like this. Rich people, I’ll never understand.

But, of course, that’s not really fair. I don’t have to worry about my parents scraping together the money. I know Mr. and Mrs. Blackstone would do it in a heartbeat. But, it’s not going to come to that.

As soon as the car stops, I’m going to make my brake for it, get to a safe place where I can change, and then Batgirl is going to make an appearance. I don’t know what made up my mind to face the Joker, maybe it was what he did to Damien, or seeing how upset Dana is, or maybe it was Bruce’s kind offer. Whatever it was, I knew I couldn’t sit this one out.

A hero is defined by how they act when no one is looking. I could sit this one out and nobody would know. But, while I might not be a hero, Batgirl is. And Batgirl is going to save the day.

The van stops and I wait for the door to open. Harley reaches in and pulls out a wailing Dana. Now’s my chance. I roll around Dana and out of the van. I run for the edge of the nearest building; Joe’s Joke Shoppe. A couple of bullets fire at me; I twist and turn midair, turning my straight-line sprint into a zigzag.

The keep running until I get to the back of the building. They’ve taken us to downtown Gotham. The brick building around are covered in graffiti and in disarray. I can hear people shouting and car horns blaring a couple blocks away, but back here, in the factory district, it’s deserted. The smell of smoke from a smoldering trashcan invades my nose as I hoist myself up onto the fire escape. I launch myself from level to level, not daring to look down and see if I’m being followed, and blocking out all noise.

It’s just me and the climb.

I’m at the top of the building in a matter of seconds and I flatten myself down and listen. If they’ve followed me to the roof, there’s no way I can change into Batgirl, and I’m toast.

I hear Harley down below. “Blondie! Come out; come out, wherever you are!” I hold my breath.

Then Joker shouts from the front of the building, where I last saw the other hostages. “Leave the lover girl, Harl. We’ve got bigger fish!”

Silence.

I empty the contents of my purse onto the roof, my suit, my boots, some loose change, and a length of rope. I throw on my suit as fast as I can, and move to the edge of the building to look down and see if the van is still where I left it.

It hasn’t moved, and the doors are ajar. They must’ve moved the others inside and are probably calling in their demands right now. I tie the rope securely on the edge on the building, and- after taking a deep breath- grab hold and jump over the side of the roof.

The rope burns slightly as I slide down it, but my hands are so calloused it’d take a lot more than that to faze me. I roll onto the balls of my feet as I land, so as to not make any sound. When no one starts shouting and running out of the building at me, I come to the conclusion I was successful.

I crouched over and peered into a tall, filthy window. The abandoned warehouse/ factory was completely empty except for a few discarded boxes and the thick layer of dirt that covered everything on the inside and outside of the place. From what I could make out, the Joker was nowhere in sight, but Harley had the hostages tied to the base of rickety, metal stairs. She stood in front of them, her back to me, making exaggerated gestures, and no doubt saying things I couldn’t hear.

I hunch over and move towards a side door, instead of the main one, deciding to use to element of surprise while I have it. Unsurprisingly, the door is not locked. Nothing worth stealing. The entrance has almost completely rusted over, and gives off a terrible squeak as I push it open. My gloved hand comes away brown-red, I brush it off on my leggings before stepping silently over the threshold.

I pause for a moment, listening for sounds that would indicate the bad guys know I’m here. When nothing happens, I sidestep behind a few crates, and move towards where I last saw the hostages. A few feet away from the metal stairs, I still don’t hear anything, not even Harley’s obnoxious banter. It’s a little too quiet for my comfort.

I risk a quick peek from behind my hiding spot at the stairs. Dana Winters, Simon Stag, and Damien are still tied to the bars, but Mr. Wayne is nowhere to be seen. I focus in on Damien. He’s awake, but his gaze is dazed, probable concussion.

A cackle comes from high above, and my head snaps up towards it. Wayne has a precariously thin rope tied around his wrists, and is suspended thirty feet is the air. My stomach hits the ground. The Joker is crouched next to the bar where the billionaire’s rope is secured, spinning a razor sharp knife closer and closer to the knot.

One swipe away from death.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.07.2013

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