Issue 17:
Darlings, Tripping
1. Before
The trains whistled happily as well dressed men and women hurried through the station and in doing so became part of the crowd themselves. On a row of benches a young boy waited for his mother to return with their tickets. No more than nine years old the boy wore a yellow tee shirt and clean blue jeans. He twirled a dirty, once white baseball hat around his finger. The hat slipped off and slid effortlessly across the waxed floor. A passing man picked it up and looked his way. This man looked no different than any other man in the station. Well pressed slacks, a white collared shirt, and long black tie completed the ensemble. He wore no hat or glasses and his haircut followed the current style. Whistling a happy melody the man approached hat in hand and sat next to the boy on the bench.
"Yankees fan?" the man asked extending the hat with the New York emblem back to the child.
"Yes sir," the boy answered fitting the cap over his head.
"Who's your favorite?"
"Joltin' Joe."
"Joe DiMaggio? The Yankee Clipper?"
"Yes sir. He's the best that ever played," the boy insisted.
"Hmm, what about that new kid, Ted Williams? He's having a heck of a season," the man inquired.
"I don't care. Joe will always be the greatest. My friend Barney said he saw a baseball game on a television in a department store. Can you imagine that?"
"It's something else all right," the man agreed, "So what is it you like about DiMaggio?"
"Don't know. He's just my hero. I want to play centerfield like him some day."
"What will you do when he retires or gets hurt and can't play anymore?" the man wondered.
"That won't happen," the boy declared swinging his feet, "He'll play forever."
"Maybe," the man conceded and stood checking his watch, "Let me tell you something kid. If that happens it can't change how you feel. Joe will always be your hero in your heart. You know that right?" The boy stared at the man but said nothing as he disappeared back into the crowd without another word.
2. Cynophobia
Months before Gotham's lockdown Selina Kyle better known as Catwoman gazed down onto the familiar streets of the East End. A hot tip led her to this nondescript building set between a hair salon and international grocer that sold imported delicacies from around the world. Dressed in her skintight leather outfit and mask Selina's green eyes darted restlessly across the bustling cityscape. Something valuable waited in this building for transport out of Gotham. That was all she knew. For now she balanced nimbly on the rooftop's edge watching the district's underhanded occurrences.
Suddenly the image of Gotham vanished replaced with a hellish burning landscape before her. Flaming meteors rained down like monstrous hail crashing through buildings and cars. The streets split spewing molten lava hundreds of feet into the air. Screams from the city rose like steam from the sewers. Violently the sky cracked with an ear piercing rip and Selina saw an alien landscape through the tear. Across the universe a red rock formation held short stout aliens who tirelessly mined their home with foreign machinery. Up the street she saw a building lean and fall into the next crashing like dominoes. Standing silently on the roof across the avenue Batman watched the destruction motionless. Selina screamed and waved her arms but he didn't see her.
She knew regrettably it was too much to handle. She knew there were things you couldn't fight with shadows and dragon style kung fu. She knew some problems were more than a single man or woman could manage, and that problem had finally arrived. Laid out before her Gotham's end seemed preordained and inevitable. In the blink of an eye the vision vanished leaving her confused but relieved. Selina hopped off the ledge and sat in an attempt to regain her senses. Single mindedly she focused back on the score waiting below her feet.
A few cuts to the breaker extinguished power to the building but she immediately heard a generator fire up some floors below her. Cursing softly under her breath she scaled the hutch where the access door protruded from the roof when she heard voices coming up the interior stairs. Two men with Kevlar vests strapped to their torsos emerged carrying shotguns.
"Damn electrical systems, seems like they always go out at night. You ever notice that?" one asked.
"I don't know man," the second answered, "This seems like that part in an action movie where the hero sneaks in by cutting the power. Do you think she'll show up?" Selina's ears perked up at that comment but she was already in midair as she pounced on the shoulders of the speaker. She locked her legs around his neck cutting off blood flow to the brain. When the other turned due to the commotion her whip snapped out wrapping itself around his neck. Without so much as a single shot fired both men quickly lost consciousness and Selina paused at the open door leading to a shady staircase. Every instinct screamed at her to leave, to turn around and forget this ever happened. However there was no denying her curiosity and like so many others she just couldn't leave well enough alone. Wide eyed she descended into the shadows.
After the last step on the stairs another vision intruded on her reality. Her hands and feet were now shackled together. Faceless guards walked her down a nondescript hallway in what appeared to be Belle Reve, the supermax prison. Selina took those last few steps before reaching the prison cell from which she would never escape. One nonsensical slip led to a life in chains. That faceless authority would never let her live free, and that authority existed beyond cops or people in capes. They were only physical forms manifest of ideas like duty and responsibility, not to mention a moral or social agreement.
The greatest lie ever told: humankind is born free. From the wealthiest to the poorest no one is ever truly birthed unencumbered whether life demands making ends meet or maintaining an expectation of status. These are the chains she bore bound in a biological double helix at the moment of conception. Her entourage stopped in front of a cell door and a waiting guard unrolled a large parchment clearing his throat for his grand declaration.
"You, Selina Kyle, are under arrest, detainment, and subjugation for crimes against humanity and subsequently their owners, the corporate conglomerate," the guard read with feeling, "Your crimes include buying sandwiches for the homeless, hiding your mother's car keys when she was late for work, not giving two shits about your cable/internet bill. A minimum of three shits is required based on the terms and conditions listed in the agreed upon contract." The guard went on for some time over her crimes before finally reaching the end.
"Signed, sealed, delivered, he's yours, the honorable classy, not sleazy or skeazy, Corporal Sanders, acting fictional CEO in perpetuity of Tum Yum Semifood Corporation," the guard concluded opening the cell door. Another put a pillow in her outstretched hands and shoved her inside.
"You'll serve fifty years here before your execution," the guard explained, "You only get basic cable with sixty two channels. Sorry." He slammed the door in her face and Selina noticed the shackles had vanished. Gracefully spinning on her heel she turned to see a luxurious apartment spread before her. Beautiful art adorned the walls as she carefully tred across the rich plush carpets. Though the furniture was soft and stylish Selina still scoffed at the thought of fifty years trapped anywhere.
On the dining room table rested a newspaper that used a full front page to declare, "The Death of the Bat". She read a bit of the article that detailed Batman's death battling Joker in an attempt to save Gotham. Next to the half opened bedroom door a gilded full length mirror hung neutrally. Selina stepped towards it but stopped when she didn't recognize the woman staring back at her.
"Oh no," she breathed running a hand over her wrinkled, sagging cheek. Somehow she grew old, elderly even. Age marks marred her once even skin unapologetically and her stomach protruded from her sparkly dress.
"You got old and ugly. It happens to everyone if they're lucky enough," a voice spoke from the darkened bedroom. A young woman in a wheelchair rolled out to Selina's surprise.
"Barbara!" she cried and it was true. Barbara Gordon was the daughter of police commissioner Jim Gordon. Once long ago she wore the cowl as Batgirl until Joker shot her through the lower spine in a surprise attack paralyzing her from the waist down. Discontent with hanging up the outfit due to her disability she took on the personae Oracle providing offsite tech support for the rest of the Bat family still on the streets. Now she sat hands across her lap staring at Selina.
"Look at yourself," Barbara insisted, "You're a lonely widow of a man who wouldn't even do you the courtesy of marrying you." Selina looked again and felt like crying. Barbara rolled herself into the room and changed the sensitive subject.
"Let's not talk about men. They always seem to disappoint us. Can I ask you something instead? Were you often hungry as a child?"
"Sometimes," Selina answered through a dreamlike haze. She wanted to ask what was going on. None of this felt quite real to her but the impulse to answer certainly did.
"Is that why you steal?" Barbara inquired.
"Sometimes."
"Why else do you steal?"
"It's not about the score. It's about breaking the rules. So many rules…" Selina responded with her eyes closed.
"How do you feel when you steal something?"
"When I was a teenager I'd hitchhike out of town to rural fairs. There was a ride at some of them that was a giant cylinder that spun around really fast. The centripetal force would push your body against these cushions along the rounded wall of the cylinder. It was slightly angled with the top wider than the bottom. Eventually the cushion would shift up from the force away from the center along a track. You would literally hang in midair forced against the wall. And then the bottom would drop out and you could see spinning spokes below that would kill you in an instant. You knew you were being saved or being carried through life on your own momentum. That's what it feels like," she recounted.
"Good," Barbara answered and Selina snapped her eyes open. Now she felt as though a spell had been lifted. She saw Barbara clearly again.
"What are you?" Selina asked wisely.
"I would have thought that was obvious from the visions you experienced. It's the price you pay to walk down my road. Gotham destroyed, you imprisoned, or the love of your life dead with your youth long past? I am that inconvenient emotion that saves your life and this is how you see me…in a life you couldn't bear. In reality we're nothing so exciting, merely custodians here to sweep up after the party," the thing that was Barbara answered.
"What do you want?"
"From you? Nothing. We come to you with an offer. Join us and we'll save the man you love. We'll assure you a life with him you always dreamed. Even better than that, we can prove it to you. We can show you everything."
"By all means," Selina invited.
"Very well," Barbara began, "We should begin by talking about something called SECURE."
3. Dr. Hurt's Hippocratic Oath
A three car luxury train sailed through scenic mountain vistas somewhere in the middle of the Alps. Happily clacking the train steadily climbed snowcapped rises only to race back down the other side. Even further above a broad winged bird of prey circled in a wide endless spiral. The first train car carried the kitchen and dining area. The second was the sitting and recreational car. Third was the sleeping quarters. Jezebel Jet sat in the second car alternating between reading a mystery novel and watching a young set of parents doting over their toddler. The girl watched the mountains pass crudely sketching them in crayon then proudly displaying it to her always impressed parents.
Jezebel remembered her childhood as a princess of an African nation. As a princess it was hard to want from anything, but her heart broke when the true state of her country revealed itself. Still to this day she struggled to get a subset of her people proper access to clean water and basic medical care. Sadly she discovered leadership was often forced on those who never desired it. Perhaps that stress contributed to her decision to join the Black Glove.
The Black Glove was a group of rich people who liked to make wagers. One time they put a bet on Batman. During her infiltration of Bruce Wayne's life she accidentally fell in love with the stoic hero. When her deceit was revealed Bruce rejected her excuses outright. This left her a million miles and a billion years away from that young, naïve girl a few rows ahead. The end result of the mistakes she made left her another angry person in a world of absolute wonder.
Tugging lightly on her collar Jezebel realized how hot she was. She removed the black pea coat revealing a red cotton sweater underneath it. At that moment a man entered from the third car. Surprisingly she never noticed him before now. With it being such a small train she assumed she already ran into everyone on board. The man reminded her of Ichabod Crane only a little shorter and stouter. Carrying a worn brown medicine bag he nervously scanned the passengers until he looked her way. Then he righted himself with new purpose and walked down the aisle toward her.
"Excuse me, miss. I find myself terribly bored on this long ride, and I was curious if you might be interested in a game to pass the time?" the frumpy man asked removing his hat.
"Sure, I've certainly got the time," she agreed, "I'm Jezebel." They shook.
"The pleasure is mine. My name is Dr. Pierce. I'm an ear, nose, and throat doctor from Saskatchewan." Pierce sat gracefully and began digging through his bag.
"It's a different doctor who carries a game in his bag," she observed good naturedly.
"I have many games in my bag," he suggested, "but I hoped today we could play an old one." Lovingly Pierce laid out a grid marked board and began separating round stone pieces half white and half black.
"This game is a relic," he explained, "In fact it's the oldest game still played today in its original form. Archaeologists date its creation somewhere between 2,500 and 4,000 years ago. This game is older than Jesus Christ and we refer to it by the unpretentious name of 'Go'. Two players of opposing colors exchange turns moving their pieces across the board. The end goal is surrounding your enemy's forces with your own."
"Nothing is as simple as it sounds," Jezebel observed from past experiences.
"As a matter of fact it is that simple though strategies may vary." They began to play.
"It's an interesting phenomenon how often our games simulate the conditions of war. Don't you think?" Jezebel opined.
"Indeed. Many theories suggest games are derived from war to observe and simulate large events on a smaller scale," Pierce commented.
"That's interesting. So games may have been used as training for leaders and soldiers to improve warfare?"
"For some possibly, others used it as harmless entertainment. Of course there's a counter theory to that I rarely hear discussed."
"Which is?" she prompted.
"Since games and their history are difficult to accurately date we can't definitively determine which came first, the game or the war. From the beginnings of nomadic man and their ape cousins, small territorial skirmishes between neighboring factions occurred regularly. Despite how small a chance remains that games were in fact the inspiration for war, the true concept of war as we know it today. The possibility that a king or a religious leader, someone in power, once looked at the pieces and saw people. They ran a hand over the game board and felt land.
A literary person would recognize that as suspension of disbelief coined by the poet Samuel Coleridge. It's the same as when you see Dagwood eat a sandwich five times the size of his stomach or them Duke boys jumping a river in the General Lee. In this case a very real and fatal suspension of disbelief. However that literary occurrence all hinges upon one deciding factor. Do you the viewer care enough to put it aside?"
"Fascinating and frightful. That's the kind of question that keeps one up at night, I'm sure. I have to say though, doctor. I find your deception off putting to say the least," Jezebel commented.
"What deception would that be, my dear?" he asked.
"For one you name, Dr. Pierce. Would your first name be Mangrove by any chance? The common alias used by my former acquaintance, Dr. Simon Hurt. You were leader of the Black Glove, and though you appear differently now there's no denying it's you," she pressed. The doctor looked abashed at her accusation.
"Was it my name that gave it away?"
"To be honest, no it was the motions of your hand across the board. The way you moved your pieces."
"I see. Well I'm afraid I can't apologize as you are incorrect. I may appear to be Simon Hurt but I assure you it's not the case." As he finished a middle aged man escorted his aged mother down the aisle back to the third car. He reached out to Jezebel stopping just short of touching her shoulder.
"Is everything ok, miss?" the man asked with genuine concern. His elderly mother stopped in front of him and stared at her.
"Yes, thank you," Jezebel answered, "I was just playing a game with my friend here."
"What friend, Alexi?" the old woman asked her son, "What game? Who's she talking to?" Her son shushed her and they went on their way. Incredulously Jezebel turned back to the doctor who wasn't Simon Hurt.
"She can't see you? None of them can?"
"I'm here in an unofficial capacity. Perhaps it would ease their minds if we spoke without words," the doctor suggested without moving his lips.
"You can read my thoughts?" she asked without speaking aloud.
"In many ways we are your thoughts, Jezebel Jet. Now that our pretenses are laid bare what questions can we answer for you?" Dr. Hurt offered. She picked up a game piece turning it over in her fingers.
"I want to know why you're playing the white side," she thought. Dr. Hurt smiled coyly.
"I'm an agent or subsidiary of a collective called SECURE."
"Tell me about SECURE. That word has been whispered among my top generals and military advisors but no one really knows who or what it is."
"SECURE is a paramilitary reaction to the emergence of metahumans good and bad. It will begin with the capture of Batman in the coming months. Simultaneously a virus will be leaked throughout the hero populace causing them to abandon their crusades leaving us to war against the villain community. Some will be killed, some captured, some only pressured and with each victory we will grow stronger as we integrate their weaponry and biological marvels into our own army. This will end in the complete destruction of the person you know as Batman."
"You speak like some kind of supervillain yourself. I'm sure that's how it will occur but that can't be all. Tell me the truth. What did you really come for?" she insisted.
"The truth is we are the last link in a chain," Dr. Hurt relented, "A long time ago a little boy's parents were murdered in front of him. This began a decades long campaign against crime that branched into a thousand budding flowers of pain, violence, and death. We come to bring all things back to one. This is our mission: to rejoin the strands though sadly it cannot always be just. We strive to answer the question of what is real and what never can be." Dr. Hurt picked up a game piece in each hand, one white and one black. Closing his fists he opened them again only to reveal they changed in color over a fraction of a second.
"Do you know which is which?" he begged the only question that mattered.
"Can you be more specific?" she countered and the doctor paused in thought.
"One time someone learned a secret, something no one should ever know. It was a secret about reality and how to change people…to put their lives into boxes. We were sent to correct that mistake and contain that knowledge," he responded more cryptic than ever.
"Who leads you? Who is in charge of SECURE?"
"The person who runs SECURE is Jezebel Jet," Dr. Hurt stated definitively, "She is a third of the Triumvirate."
"Me? That's impossible. I don't know anything about it."
"That is to say you will be," the doctor corrected, "Let's skip ahead, shall we?" The game board changed and she saw the end in one tragic moment. She then saw herself, a simple snowflake rushing down the mountain accompanied by an unrelated avalanche.
"Do you understand now what we must do?" Dr. Hurt questioned.
"Yes," she responded suddenly sure, "How does this begin?"
"You answer two hypothetical questions. The first: imagine you have the option of saving your soul, the chance to reach the highest level of enlightenment and break free of the wheel of karma. All you have to do is torture that little girl a few rows down from us with a knife. Would you do that for yourself?"
"No of course not," Jezebel answered immediately.
"Fair enough. The second: imagine torturing that little girl would save everyone's soul, the entire world…including her own," he tempted. She said nothing only stared at the girl for a long time.
"Jezebel, will you take the knife?" Dr. Hurt asked.
4. Treading the Event Horizon
Cassandra Cain's upstairs neighbors were noisy as hell. Any time after noon it could range from bumping speakers to raucous parties. Action movies sent shockwaves through the floor with every explosion and gunshot. The apartment next door housed a nervous lapdog that constantly yapped in the mornings and afternoons. Two doors down from the dog a woman regularly fought and kicked out a boyfriend who habitually travelled in and out of prison. Below her apartments were being remodeled and loud sawing could be heard along with forceful pounding at various hours of the day. In happier times it reminded Cassandra that life went on around her. During sadder moments it reminded her that life went on around her.
An isolated person Cassandra Cain enrolled in college some years back to complete and education that hadn't begun until she was eight years old. Born to the woman known as Lady Shiva she was raised by her father David Cain a high ranking member of the League of Assassins to be a genetic masterpiece worthy of protecting the great Ras Al-Ghul. She killed her first man when she was eight then went on the run confused and unprepared for a life outside her unorthodox schooling.
From the moment of her birth her father forbade Cassandra from speaking instead relying on reading the body language and intention from her opponent. Eventually as a teenager she gained the ability to speak with the help of a mentally gifted friend. Unfortunately this resulted in a trade of her predictive skills for the chance to communicate with the world around her. Under the tutelage of her mother Shiva, Cassandra regained her assassin's tools in one night.
As a ward of Barbara Gordon then Oracle she took on the mantle of Black Bat aiding the family on the streets until Bruce got scared and pulled her out. Now Cassandra split her time between working, class, and studying for her masters in modern literature amidst the symphony of clattering in the off campus apartment building. Coincidentally she looked up to lock eyes with her perky roommate Stephanie Brown. She apparently missed something said to her as Steph looked like she was waiting for an answer.
"What?" Cass asked.
"I said ground control to Major Tom." They bonded over a love of David Bowie.
"What do you want for dinner?" Steph repeated.
"Doesn't matter," Cass answered, "surprise me."
"Oh of course, is there anything else I can get the mistress of the house?" Steph teased dropping into a curtsy.
"That will be all, wench," Cass played along straight faced. Steph threw a pillow at her that bounced off her chest.
"Asshole," Steph mumbled and laughed on the way to the kitchen. Cass smiled at that. Stephanie Brown was the daughter of Arthur Brown, a Batman rogue known as Cluemaster. In her teenage years Steph completely rejected her father's lifestyle of crime leading her to don a costume and name herself Spoiler. She took it upon herself to right the wrongs of her father and succeeded multiple times. Over the following years Steph took the positions of Robin and Batgirl as well. Despite not being a fighter on par with Cassandra she was effective though lacking any superpowers. Their friendship wavered on occasion but both were hard pressed to find other people who understood or lived the life of a vigilante. So it seemed logical to room together for the year.
"As soon as finals are over we should go nuts. Let's go somewhere and just disappear for weeks," Steph called from the kitchen as she microwaved some pizza rolls, "Cancun or like Brazil, can you imagine?"
"I have summer classes as a T.A. remember? I'll be practically running a few classes by myself."
"Oh yeah, that sucks," Steph said with her head sticking out around the cabinets. Cass occasionally thought that Steph represented everything she could never be. Steph had a fuller body like that of a cheerleader while Cass was taller with more of a ballerina's figure. She wore her golden hair long accentuating her natural waves. Cropped short Cass's hair hung straight and black with bangs shading her downcast eyes. Steph was the student council president who led the pep rally and hunted vampires by night. Cass was the kid who listened to her headphones while naming each duck she fed at the pond alone.
"Steph do you think I'm weird?" Cass asked nonchalantly. Balancing plates and cups Steph brought dinner in to the couch.
"Yeah definitely but so is everyone else. Everybody has their quirks and that word is so broad it barely hits anything anymore," Steph answered burning her mouth on the molten, artificial cheese.
"Sometimes I wish everyone would just leave me alone, not you obviously. Just the noise, it's all so loud."
"Believe it or not it gets to me too."
"How do you get rid of it?" Cass asked without much interest in the meal before her.
"I don't. I just get used to it."
Vast and nearly silent the campus library felt empty though packed with row after row of untouched, oxidizing volumes. Fewer women and men came to study here with the growing ease of online research. Society and technology gained momentum like a small rock rolling down the top of a mountain. It began with a calculator the size of a classroom and ended with robots performing hemorrhoid surgery. Another thousand years would pass before robots were granted the choice of cutting things off people's asses. Regardless of past and future worries Cass sat at a small table comfortable in a place that encouraged hushed whispers. Near the end of a row ahead she saw a young coed snuggling up against a barrel chested man who looked like he never cracked a book past fifth grade. Their bodies twisted they kissed like they were the only two people who ever existed in the world.
Suddenly from behind her Cass heard hysterical sobbing. Turning in the chair she saw a woman with her back to her bobbing with the whimpers. Cass watched her raise a hand palm toward her face. In the other hand she drew a shiny butcher's knife and cut a long gash from her wrist to elbow. Quickly blood poured from the wound and ran until her entire forearm went red. Although the cut appeared extremely painful her crying stopped and she didn't make another noise. Cass's chair fell over as she popped up and grabbed the woman's hand that held the knife.
"Stop it," Cass yelled unusually loud only to see the woman turn to her in horror.
"What are you doing?" the lady demanded pulling away from her grip. Gazing at the table she discovered a clean, bloodless surface and realized the woman only held a cell phone where once a knife had been. Other people in the library now noticed the commotion craning their necks for a better view.
"I'm so sorry. I-I made a mistake," Cass mumbled shamefully gathering her books and purse in haste. Head down she disappeared into the older sections hugging her textbooks to her chest. Gradually the library grew darker and just a bit more lonelier. Finally she found a secluded corner and flopped down in defeat. Before she could get her bearings back an older woman rounded the corner stopping at her feet.
"Oh hello dear, can I help you find anything today?" she asked sweetly. Cass almost turned her down until she remembered an old philosophical text from the 1800s that she hadn't been able to track down earlier.
"Actually maybe you can," Cass responded extending a scrap of paper with the information on it.
"Hmm, don't see much request for things like this anymore, but I believe we can track it down," the librarian claimed. Winding and weaving they trekked down the aisles that seemed an illusion of infinite regress. Soon the building looked less like a library and more like a hoarder's wet dream. Curiously stacks of recently dated newspapers and screenshots of news websites as well as printed out blogs and online journals caught her attention.
"What is all this?" Cass asked.
"Well, we print out as much as we can from the internet and store it in this section to protect it for later generations," the librarian explained briskly.
"That doesn't seem right," she quietly commented to herself but they continued.
"On October 19, 2028 a massive coronal ejection will lead to the destruction of all electrical grids and equipment slingshotting humanity back into the wilds. That first year will be hard for everyone but the next generation of children will take to it like ducks in water," the librarian stated happily. Cass snorted reflexively.
"That's really funny," she replied unsure if it was a joke at all. Humor especially sarcasm always seemed to give her trouble. Suddenly the woman stopped and Cass nearly ran into her.
"Should be right here, dear," the librarian declared digging here and there in the piles. Silently Cass watched wondering how anything could possibly be catalogued in the mess. After a while the old woman turned to her bewildered.
"It's not here. I don't understand. How can it not be here?" the librarian grew frenzied and flustered like a dementia sufferer, "It must be here!"
"Could someone have checked it out?" Cass suggested.
"No, no, no," she shook her head, "most definitely not. None of this is right. Things got out of place!"
"It's okay if you don't have it, really. It's not that important," Cass consoled her as best she could.
"You're such a sweet dear," the librarian instantly tripped a switch or possibly a fuse, "When I was in college I went camping with my friends on old Indian ground. At night I hiked off by myself and was possessed by the feral spirit of a Wendigo. In complete control of my motor functions he forced me to ravish myself for five hours with the branch of a mulberry tree. Ever since then I get highly aroused by extremely hairy men. Sometimes I even go walking at night-"
"Eww!" Cass cut her off in shock and disgust, "Excuse me. I need to go." Cass hurried off the way she came through the cluttered rows.
"Come on back after the apocalypse for a visit, will you dear?" the librarian invited.
Back at her apartment Cass sprawled across the couch after receiving no response from her call to Steph. She must have been out at a late class or at the gym. Instead of cooking she ordered a pizza from their regular store and waited. Involuntarily her eyes closed and soothing quiet washed over her until she realized just how out of place that was. Alerted she sat up on the couch and listened. No stomping above or bumping speakers could be heard. There wasn't any yapping from the dog next door either. At first she felt a kind of instinctual terror at the solitude until she heard the faint thump of carpentry below her room. That put her at ease so she rested her eyes until her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
"Hello?"
"Yeah, did you order a pizza? I'm at your place now," the man on the other side said.
"Oh I'm sorry. I must not have heard you knock. I'll be right there." Cass swung the door open counting cash to find an empty hallway. She dialed him back.
"Yeah?"
"I thought you said you were here? I don't see you."
"Look I'm standing in front of apartment 3F and no one is answering," the guy insisted.
"You're sure you're on the third floor? I think you're at the wrong place." She looked up and down the hall.
"I'm telling you I know where I am. Listen if you don't want it…" he trailed off and she heard him knocking on a door through the phone.
"Well it doesn't look like I'm going to get it whether I want it or not. Actually just forget it I'm not even hungry anymore," she replied feeling annoyed and ended the call. She ended up back on the couch after drawing their blackout curtains. That night she slept restlessly but steadily dreamt. Cass dreamt a bright light burst through the now open window and a high pitch buzzing could be heard outside.
Utterly defenseless she felt herself lifted off the couch and pulled toward the window. Cass was amazed when she passed untouched through the wall and outside her building thirty feet above the ground. Everything moved at a snail's pace as she floated up and when she cried out for help her voice made no sound in the night. Discouragingly she saw no people or traffic outside though it couldn't have been too late in the evening. Cass lightly ascended towards the uniform monolith in the sky darker than black. Rapidly pulsing colored lights ran along its belly as the ship hung in midair with no indication of any form of propulsion to resist the planet's gravity.
"This night sucks," she mused to herself as an opening appeared in the ship and the tractor beam pulled her through it. Eventually she rested uncomfortably on a hard metal table while white lights blinded most of her vision. Grey skinned, big eyed aliens loomed over her and chirped back and forth in their own language. One looked down and spoke to her in English.
"The Statue of Liberty wears a woman's shoe size of 879," it stated smugly. Cass felt too afraid to respond only looked away in embarrassment. One alien delicately laid tools of a kind she'd never seen on a table beside her.
"Don't look at me!" it whined when it noticed her. Another adjusted the metal clamps over her arms and legs.
"Of all the words in the English language, the one with the most definitions is the word 'set'," it insisted.
"Oh," Cass said blankly unsure of the proper response to that statement. It continued rubbing its long fingered hands together.
"In Japan watermelons are grown in a square shape to aid in their storage and transport."
"I know," Cass agreed, "I saw them on a visit when I was younger."
"Dammit!" it answered.
"What's wrong?" another alien asked out of her sight.
"She already knew that one!"
"So what? Just get her info so we can do the abduction. We've got to get four more done tonight or the union is gonna ask questions about our quotas."
"Okay," the alien in front of her began, "We just need your social security number and health care provider for our records."
"Health care provider?" she asked.
"Your insurance company…for billing purposes."
"It actually ran out. I meant to switch to the school's but I forgot."
"What's wrong now?" the other alien called to them.
"She's got no insurance."
"You gotta be kidding me! I'm sick of these people. It's like they think we do these abductions out of the goodness of our hearts!" the alien doctor ranted, "Dump her in the nearest cattle pasture."
"Should we pick up some new cows?" the alien next to her asked.
"Mother Mary no! Ship already smells like Texas." The next thing Cass knew she fell through empty space hurtling towards a grassy field. When she hit the ground she woke with a start on the couch. Already the dream reality mostly faded.
"Texas?" she mumbled stumbling to her bed, "What's wrong with me?"
The next morning she awoke refreshed and relieved after the weird previous day. Steph's door remained open and she noticed the room was empty. Instead of making breakfast she sat on the big couch and texted her roommate.
"I can't believe you stayed out all night. Did you meet a guy? I want details ASAP," she typed and waited. In a few seconds her phone buzzed back in response with a text.
"What are you talking about? Did you not get the twenty texts and missed calls from me? I got home at ten last night. I'm sitting on the couch right now. WHERE ARE YOU?!" the text read. In shock Cass looked down the empty couch.
"I'm- I'm at-" she typed then deleted it and sat listening. Although nine thirty in the morning she heard no yapping dog. She couldn't even hear the sounds of construction below her. The entire building was entirely silent. Another text from Steph buzzed.
"Are you in trouble? Do you need help?"
"Yes," was all Cass replied. Franticly bursting from the apartment Cass banged on door after door calling for help.
"HELLO! Anyone? HELLO!" she ran through the second and first floors shouting and got the same response, nothing. As she exited the back stairwell that let into the parking lot Cass stopped dead in her tracks. The cars still sat in their spaces but the sky was pitch black and filled with stars. Checking her phone again confirmed it was well past sunrise. With all her might she screamed into the darkness only to hear herself echo back. Desperately she sprinted down the middle of the road block after block but no one appeared. Cass stopped short of breath under a lonely street light and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
"Don't be afraid, little bat," a female voice called smooth as silk, "You're finally back where you belong." Cass looked down and watched her shadow step ahead of her against the light and turn back to face her.
"What is this? What are you?" Cass asked.
"I'm a weapon like the two before me. We are tools of your adoptive father Bruce Wayne. We've come to pay tribute to Gotham's hero and settle his toils once and for all. This place is your home. You've always been our favorite daughter, Cassandra," her shadow explained.
"Are you going to hurt people? Are you going to hurt Bruce?" Cass demanded.
"A lot of people will be hurt before this is over and you have been selected to help us do it. The paranormal phenomenon you experienced is only a part of the initiation," her shadow declared. In her hand Cass felt her phone buzz again. There was one last text from Steph.
"Some men from the gov. busted in here. They told me you have to do what they say or they'll hurt me. Don't listen to them! Don't do whatev-" the text cut off short. Cass looked down at her slender shadow.
"What do you want? What do you get out of this?" she demanded.
"We want what everyone wants, Cassandra…a happy ending. Will you join us?"
"Yes." She finally agreed.
Three women possessed by their fear, their rage, their darkness. The answer always before them only discovered when they stumbled over it. They would become unrepentant conspirators and leaders of SECURE, soon to be recognized as the Tripping Darlings. Happy Hunting!
Your friend,
Jervis Tetch, Mad Hatter
"What am I supposed to make of this?" Damian Wayne set the file down and looked over at Oswald Cobblepot.
"Not too sure, boss. After the spreadsheet on SECURE agents in and around Gotham, Jervis included this report at the end of the encrypted data. Calculator and the tech boys aren't quite sure what to do with it," Oswald explained. Damian sighed and tossed the folder back to him.
"Add it to the database…and don't mention it to anyone yet."