17
THE UNSOLVED RIDDLE
BY JANNA KALDERASH
PART ONE:
Disclaimer: Is this really necessary? The only things I own are the original characters and the plotline. Everything else belongs to DC Comics, Warner Bros. etc.
Author's Note: This story is set during the 1966 Batman TV series. However, this will not be a campy farce. It is a serious story, with some comedic elements between characters.
Edward Nygma, also known by his alias as The Riddler, slowly opened the door of his lair. It had been a good two years since he had gone to prison for his last crime, and he was glad to be out of Gotham Penitentiary.
The place stunk on many levels, not just physically; he was happy to breathe the relatively fresh air of Gotham City itself.
The lights were on, which they had not been when he'd been put away by the Batman and his wretched pipsqueak sidekick, Robin.
"Hello Ed," came a familiar voice, and he looked over to his right, where the sofa was situated.
Seated on said sofa was a woman in her early thirties, although she looked a good bit older. Her face was drawn and her complexion spoke of having a long illness. Her dark brown hair, usually bouncy and curly, now lay flat against her scalp.
It was the eyes that spoke to him the most; her eyes, normally a clear aquamarine blue, were now faded and dull with sickness and pain.
But, there was no mistaking her voice for anyone else's. He'd known that voice growing up in the meaner section of Gotham as a child; he'd heard her calling his name in passion when they had been horny teenagers together, dreaming of a way out of the hell that was their lives.
"Maggie? Maggie O'Shaunnessy?" he asked incredulously. "Is it really you?"
"Yes, Ed; it's me. It's good to see you. You're looking pretty good."
"I just got out of Gotham Penitentiary, Maggie; it was either work out in the gym or go stir crazy in my cell. I chose to exercise my body, since I solved every puzzle book in their teensy weensy library."
She giggled slightly, leaning against the back of the sofa.
He walked over to her, taking in her appearance in shock. The last time he had seen her had been not long after they both had turned sixteen.
The two of them had made plans to run away and elope, to hell with the adults in their lives, and make a new life for themselves far away from this wretched city.
Fate however, had dealt them both a nasty hand of cards; he had been turned in to the police by his own father for taking part in a shoplifting spree with some of his friends.
Ed had been put in juvenile detention and hadn't gotten out until two years later. He had looked for Maggie, but she had disappeared.
"What happened Maggie? Where did you go?"
"My parents sent me to St. Mary's School for Wayward Girls." She replied quietly.
Ed's face blanched at that revelation. The only girls who were sent to that place were those that had gotten in the family way, and their families were too ashamed to admit it.
The babies had been adopted out at birth, and the girls themselves were cut loose after two years doing hard labor behind the school's walls.
It had been one of Gotham's biggest scandals in years, for as it turned out, most of the girls had been the victims of rape, either by a family friend, or a family member. A few of the girls had died in very strange circumstances, and their babies with them.
"What happened to the baby," he asked, almost too afraid to hear the answer.
"He was adopted out by the sisters. I named him Ed, but knowing how adoption works, his new parents probably changed his name. My uncle, the Bishop made sure that I would never find him. I was kept there for four hellish years, Ed. I nearly lost my mind." Her voice had trailed off into a mere whisper, and he sat beside her to offer her comfort.
"Do you need anything, Maggie? I can see that you're ill. Do you need a doctor? I can pay for it."
"I've seen a doctor, Ed. I don't have long left to live. Evidently, there's a tumor in my head that's killing me."
Tears came to his eyes for the first time in a long time. To lose Maggie to something as horrid as brain cancer was horrible; especially as he had just found her again.
"You're getting a second opinion, Maggie." He declared firmly, "Most doctors are full of crap, and you know it."
"I can't afford it, Ed." She whispered, looking exhausted.
"I can. I've got enough money stashed away to make sure you get the proper treatment. Tomorrow, I'm taking you to the Gotham Cancer Research Institute; no arguments. Do you have a place to stay?"
She shook her head in the negative, too tired to speak.
"Okay, you can stay here with me. It's not much, but it's got running water, electricity, and my housekeeper stocked up on food when I told her I was getting out. Come on now, you can have the other bedroom."
Showing great care for her depleted condition, he led her to the other bedroom (the one that Molly had occupied so long ago, but no other), and made sure that she was comfortable before going out into the main area.
Since it was still fairly early in the day, he called the Institute, and made an appointment with one of the better known specialists in brain cancer.
The doctors in the Institute were well known in their fields, and had a reputation for being more concerned with their patient's well being, instead of lining their pockets.
The next morning, Ed was the first one out of bed. He checked in on Maggie, only to find that she was fast asleep. There was an assortment of pill bottles by her bedside, and out of curiosity, he checked out the labels.
Some of them were vitamin supplements, but the biggest bottle was for a very strong pain killer. Evidently, the tumor was causing migraines of great intensity, difficulty sleeping, nausea, and loss of appetite.
A small silver case yielded a couple of marijuana joints, and Ed smiled in genuine humor. While not a user himself, he knew that pot was often used by cancer patients to deal with nausea and the accompanying loss of appetite.
He looked at her face in the weak morning light, his own expression pensive.
Maggie had once been a very cute teenager with curly brown hair, big blue eyes, and a sweet curvy figure that had driven him wild as a boy.
Now, due to the ravages of the diseased tissue in her brain, she was thin to the point of being gaunt, and her once rosy complexion reminded him of a wax mannequin.
Ed gently stroked her cheek with the back of his left hand; he almost couldn't believe that this delicate shell of a woman had once been known as 'Mighty Mouth Maggie'.
As a child, and even as a teenager, she had been known to be a very opinionated, pushy, wisecracking pain in the butt. Naturally, he had adored her.
'Don't worry, my Maggie.' He thought, 'I'll make sure you have the best treatment in Gotham City.'
He left her side and went to the kitchen to make breakfast; eggs and corned beef hash for himself, tea and buttered toast for her.
Once the food was ready, he gently woke Maggie from her deep sleep, and served her the tea and toast in bed, in spite of her protests.
"Hush now, Maggie darling. Let me take care of you. I've been a selfish son of a bitch for a long time; it will do me good to look out for someone other than myself."
"Looking to score brownie points with the Almighty, Ed?" she teased, sipping at her tea and nibbling on her toast.
Ed simply snickered, "Like the Almighty would even want me around, my darling. I know perfectly well that I'm going to Hell when I die, so I may as well enjoy my life as it is."
"Bullshit Ed," she stated baldly, "I know you. You've never killed anyone in all of your crazy schemes, in spite of trying very hard to do so. Especially that nutcase with the bat motif; he's got problems."
He giggled at that, for it was true; in spite of Batman stating that nearly everyone in his Rogue's Gallery was clearly insane, he was the least sane of anyone in Gotham!
"Ah, Maggie; how I've missed that mouth of yours." He teased, grinning at her and she smiled at him.
"Pssht! Cheap flattery will get you nowhere with me Edward Anthony Nashton."
'Oh crap! She called me by my real name!' he thought. The only time Maggie ever did that was when things were really going badly.
"I've made an appointment at the institute; I've got a friend on staff who helped out. You just stay here and rest up a bit. Would you like a book or two?"
"That would be nice, Ed."
He handed her one of the books that Molly had left behind by an up and coming science fiction writer, and went to take care of a few chores.
His contact at the hospital had immediately given him the name of Jason Waters, one of the best oncologists on the East Coast. However, due to a heavy schedule, he could only see Maggie that next Friday. Ed had agreed to it, and confirmed the appointment with the doctor's receptionist.
He kept himself busy by doing laundry, and generally straightening the place up. His housekeeper was a good woman and dedicated to her job, but sometimes she neglected the little things.
He peeked in on Maggie after a while and found that she had conked out some three pages into the book.
Riddler gently eased it out of her hands, and tucked the blankets around her shoulders. If it hadn't been for his wretched, abusive father ratting on him, he and Maggie could have escaped from Gotham years ago, and made their lives someplace else.
He cursed the dead man fervently, for there had been no love lost between father and son. John Nashton had seen Ed as an unwanted reminder of a forced marriage, and Ed had seen the older man as an abusive alcoholic who blamed everyone but himself for the misfortunes in his life.
No one had held a gun to his head as he bedded his then teenaged wife to be. John had seen the opportunity to bag a pretty eighteen year old Irish girl of a good family, and had run with it.
Unfortunately, the conception of their only child had necessitated that he marry her, dumping his rich fiancé in the process. Maryann had wasted away after the birth of her child, due to hopelessness and anguish.
Her parents had cut her out of their lives, and out of their wills.
While not wealthy, her parents had more than enough money to set up a nice fat trust fund for her; which she would have gotten after the age of twenty one.
Once she had gotten pregnant and been forced to marry John Nashton, her parents had emptied the trust fund, and put the money into the trust fund of their son, Maryann's younger brother, Arthur Littleton.
Maryann had died young, at the tender age of twenty three, leaving behind a grieving little boy, and a raging widower.
He sank into a worn, stuffed armchair and cried for the first time in more than a decade.
There had been so much that had been lost; to his mother, himself, Maggie, and the son that they had been robbed of.
He only hoped that he could find the boy while Maggie was still alive.