Chapter 1: Along Came a Bat

Hi, my name is Merr. No, it is not short for Merrick or Merry; it's short for Merrill. Merrill Damian Johnson. My father told me it was my mother who named me. Apparently, it can be both a girl's and a boy's name. Dad told me my name means "of the bright sea" in Old English. He told me of how both my parents were reading a translation dictionary of Old English. When she came across Merrill, she instantly said she wanted one of her children to be name Merrill. I guess it meant a lot to her.

I never knew my mom. She died of extreme exhaustion and dehydration. In her last dying breath, she said Merrill, my name. Back then, when I was little, I thought it was my fault Mom died. My two older sisters tried to console me. I gave them a reassured smile; deep down, it didn't help.

But that's not the point. What's important is the fact that I'm hiding Batman, the Batman, in my closet.

I guess you want to know the whole story.

Well, it's like this...

It all started with a phone call...

Flashback

"MERRILL DAMIAN JOHNSON! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Uh oh. I'm in trouble. Not only did he used the tone, but he said my full name. When a parent yells your full name, it's never a good thing. Ever.

I came out of my room wearing a loose, black tank top and a pair of baggy, silk black pajama pants. I brushed my bare feet against the velvet carpet looking a bit innocent at whatever incident I may have caused again.

I looked up at my father's face. He had light skin and neck-length light brown hair. He wore a long-sleeved, white buttoned shirt with some of the buttons came off revealing some of his chest and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows; a pair black dress suit pants; and he still wore his black business shoes.

My dad worked at Wayne-Powers as a finance committee. His job is to keep an eye on the company's money. Basically, he keeps track of all the bills from his job and ours times two. Wow, that's tiring. He must had brought his work home again and judging from the look of anger and disappointment in his green eyes he got a call from my school... again.

"I've got a call from your principal. You've went through another meaningless fight at a new school, no less! It's been a week since you've been transferred!"

Actually, if you don't count the weekends it's technically five days. New personal record.

You see, before now I was an easy target for bullies. It's been that way since preschool, kindergarten, along with first, second, third, and forth grade. Not just about my appearance, but the fact I was into gymnastics.

That's right. I was a gymnast. A damn good one, last I check.

One day, in fifth grade, a guy called Big Joey, along with his friends, picked on me saying I must be a girl inside; I was weak; I was a hermaphrodite. I couldn't remember what happened. One moment, I was being used as Joey's shoving toy; the next thing I knew, he was on the ground holding his nose. Blood was seeping through his fingers like the Hoover Dam was leaking. I didn't understand how it happened. Between me and Joey, Joey was more bigger, older, and stronger than me. He was in the seventh grade, for crying out loud; two grades ahead of me! The next day, a student from my Math class expressed how much he was in awe when he saw how I punched a seventh grader. He told me how my eyes were so scary that I scared Joey's boy posse. I came to a conclusion on that day, I snapped. My rage came from being welled up inside me all this time. I finally found my assertive side.

So when someone decide to cross my line, I let them have it.

Two years later, I quit being a gymnast and my coach was not impressed. I won the gymnastic championship four years straight. I didn't want to continue on with the fifth. I reminisced about my time there. I was seven years old when I became a gymnast; however, I quit at age 11. I liked it, but somehow I felt like I'm not going to go far in my destiny by being a champion.

I shook my head. I forgot I was in trouble again.

"And I had a good excuse this time!" I retorted, "The head jock shoved me on purpose! On purpose! And, as an added bonus, he called me a freak!"

"You gave him a black-eye..." my father mumbled.

"That was for the name-calling."

"...and sucker-punched him in his abdomen..."

I tilted my head in thought. "I don't know what you said, but I'm pretty sure I've got his stomach." I shook my head. "Anyway, that was for everything else."

My father massaged the bridge of his nose. He's really annoyed today.

He sighed. "I've had it. You are irresponsible of your temper. You are turning seventeen, for Pete's sake! Yet, you continue to act like you're seven!"

"How would you feel when people look at you and judge you because you're not like everyone else?!"

"This is not how your mother wanted you to become!"

I cringed. He doing the mother speech again. Honestly, I think he is more talking about himself than mom. He has always praise my sisters, Lauren and Kelly.

Lauren (the oldest) became a well-known lawyer. A pretty good one in Gotham City. Only problem is her douche of a boyfriend. His name is Steven. The guy loses more jobs than a retired pimp loses his harlots. I don't get what she sees in that guy! He's using her! But does she listen? No. Not from anyone, especially from me.

Kelly (middle child) is a successful brain surgeon; got a bachelor's degree from Gotham University. She's the best in her line of work, too; unfortunately, she's very superstitious. On her first surgery, she accidentally wore different pair of socks. She was so nervous she almost panic on the spot. Later on, the surgery was a success. From that day on, she made sure she wears the same pair of socks like before and wears a four-leaf clover charm necklace for luck. Sometimes I worry about her.

It's a good thing there are people like those out there: both lovesick lawyers and superstitious brain surgeons. Way to go, Dad.

"Mom would've stood up for herself! She wouldn't let anyone walk over her like a worn-out carpet!"

"Your mother would've done the situation in a different manner." He covered his face with his right hand. "Why can't you be more like your sisters."

That felt like my own father stabbed me with a kitchen knife in my heart. Every time, every single time we argue he brings up my sisters. How great they are; how talented they are; how wonderful they are!

I get it! Compare to them, I'm the runt of the litter. An outcast. A nobody.

I bit my lower lip. "You're right... I'm nothing like my sisters... I'm not one of your greatest accomplishments. What I am is a failure."

Dad looked up at me with shock-filled eyes. Before he can say anything, I ran straight to my room and locked the door behind me. I didn't hear my father calling my name. He must be too shock to even utter a word. I looked up at my candlelit room.

Before Dad could utter my name, I was reading a nice book called "Book of Scary Stories" on my bed with the lights out and having those automatic candles turn on. I thought reading like this would be thrilling for effects. My bed, with soft black sheets and fluffy pillows, was on the west side of the room straight against the left wall. Below it is the one door closet. Small, but good place for my clothes and shoes. On the east wall, is my black dresser drawer with six drawers. An oval mirror hung a few inches above it. And straight ahead is a two door glass leading to a small balcony.

I walked to my dresser where there are some picture frames. I picked up a light brown one which has a picture of a smiling woman. She has long black hair, sparkling blue eyes, and pale skin. It was my mother. I looked at myself in the mirror. Beside the short, eye-covering, emo-style hair, I have the same features as my mom except...

I pulled the long piece (the one covering my right eye) of my hair and drew it to the side. The one thing I have from my dad: his green eye. That's why everyone calls me freak (along with my appearance). It is mostly because of this one little thing on my face.

I sighed. Why am I so different?

A noise broke my train of thought. It came from outside on the balcony. The sound made me jumped releasing my hold on my bang. I quietly went to my closet and opened the door. I grabbed the first thing I can get my hand on, which happens to be an umbrella. I tiptoed for the balcony door. I can see the dark form on the floor. I grabbed the doorknob while my other hand raised the umbrella ready to strike the intruder.

I yanked the door open ready to strike the newcomer. What I did not expect is the same newcomer lying unconscious beside my feet. I raised an eyebrow. I poked the stranger from the tip of my umbrella. I know it sounded ridiculous, but I was making sure no one was leaving me a dead body. If I wanted a corpse, I would've put it in my list to Santa Claus or my birthday list.

I heard a grunt from the body. Now that I get a good look up close I can tell it is a male. The outfit he's wearing is a suit, a costume actually. An electronic one judging from most of the outer layer being torn. A moan soon came after. My curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know who this stranger is.

I reached out a hand. At first, I hesitated for fear of being shock and being mistaken as a threat. I took a deep breath and carefully turned the suited man around. The front is worse from the back. There were more ripped fabric on the arms, legs, and one on his face. I looked at the chest where a long cut was overlaying a red insignia. I moved my hand on the torn fabric. I flipped it up to see a red bat... Hold on. There a guy wearing a dark costume, has a gray belt which might be a utility belt (if I'm right), and an insignia of a bat on his chest.

...

...

I felt my eyes widened.

OMIGOD!

This dude, lying unconscious on my floor in my room, is Batman!

But-! How-! When-! Why-! Better yet, what am I going to do?!

Hospital? No, bad idea. They might take off his mask to see if he is suffering from concussion.

Police? Tch. Yeah right. They can barely hold on to crooks.

Parents? Heck, I just met him!

Dad? As if! He'll mistake him as a thief. Gotham City isn't always unicorns and rainbows. There's something happening in every corner.

Okay. I guess I have to take care of him until he gets back on his feet. Easy job, right?

Knock, knock.

"Merrill, are you alright?"

Crap! I was just telling myself going to Dad was a big N-O. Think, Merrill. Think. Closet, of course!

I picked up Batman and dragged him to my one-doorway closet. Jeez, this guy is heavier than I thought. What kind of food does he eat? Another knock appeared again. I better hurry before he gets impatient. I pushed the Dark Knight in the already opened closet. Time and again he kept sliding down. I used all my limps to keep his whole body in one area. After pushing him far enough, I shut the door swiftly. I hope when Batman wakes up he doesn't mind yoga. I went to my door, unlocked it, and opened it.

"Come in", I said.

My dad entered, holding a small black box. He looked at me with a questionable gaze.

End of Flashback

"Why are you breathing erratically?"

Man, I'm so screwed!

God, if you can hear me, please don't let my father know I'm hiding Gotham's Dark Knight in my closet.

End of Chapter 1