SwordStitcher-I'd pay to see that. Jonathan! What the hell? I have complete faith in your mother. It's Batman! Mum would end up in the hospital! Oh, I don't think so. I can see it now, actually: 'Batman! Put that down before you take out somebody's eye!' That is not funny. Oh, but it is. And true, very true.

Johanna Crane-They don't know all the details. They know the gist, and little else. They know more than I'd like, but that can't be helped. The more...gory...details don't make the papers. Half the time the boring details don't make the papers. With a city full of crazies... True enough.

It was still drizzling the next day, but he had to go home. He had some searching to do.

"I have to go home for a little while."

"Why?"

"That deed is in there somewhere. Chemicals are pricy and Cobblepot's not about to give me the Old Acquaintance Discount."

"Can I come?"

"Sure. You can help search."

They took an umbrella and a thermos filled with coffee and trudged across the overgrown no-man's-land to Keeney Manor.

It had fallen apart in his absence. The porch was almost completely rotted away and the roof had holes. The door had swollen shut in the humidity.

"We're locked out." She tugged on his arm. "Change of plans, let's go home."

"Scared?"

"No, but it's creepy and we're locked out anyway."

Locked out, indeed. What were guns for if not getting them inside?

Bang!

"There. Door's open."

Inside was no better. It was dusty and it smelled like something had died. Hell, something probably had-they'd had rats in that last year, and now, with no one setting traps, they'd probably taken over.

"Deed?"

"It has to be here somewhere. She probably hid it-she was paranoid in her old age-but it's here. It has to be."

She shrugged and pointed to an old oil painting of a man in a grey uniform. He had cold blue eyes and curly black hair and his right hand was missing a finger. Jonathan had always hated that picture. It always felt like it was watching him.

"Who's that?"

"Elias Keeney. He built this place."

"I don't think I like him."

"Nobody liked him, according to Granny." The picture seemed to scowl. "His slave cursed him. Apparently Elias thought he was stealing from him, and lynched him. Before he died, the slave swore that anybody who set foot in his old bedroom would die a horrible death."

"And?"

"That's it."

"Some curse."

"That's what I thought. But Granny never let me go in the attic. She said there were black widows up there, but maybe there's an angry ghost." He scoffed and went into the parlour. It hadn't changed since the day Granny died-there was even an empty glass on the table by her Bible. "Superstitious old crone."

"Do you think the deed's up there?"

"Maybe. I doubt it. Go and look, if you want. But watch out for ghosts."

"If I die, I'll haunt you."

He rolled his eyes and picked up the Bible. It would be just like her to put something important in here-she'd never let anything happen to it. If the house was on fire, she would have grabbed this.

He'd never realised it was so old. The family tree in the front dated back to the eighteen-hundreds, but the binding was new. There was Granny…and Grandmother…and Mother…and him. He was rather surprised she'd put his name in here, actually. Surprised and disconcerted.

He thumbed through it and found an old hair ribbon, a handful of family photos-one of which included Granny's hated brother-and a dried lily. There was no deed to be found and he dropped it back on the table.

THUD!

"Kitty?" Maybe those rickety stairs had claimed another victim… "Kitty, what happened?"

"I tripped on the top step and fell."

If she kept doing things like that, she'd give him a heart attack.

"How we ever escape from Batman is beyond me."

"I'm fine, thanks for asking."

He pushed his glasses further up his nose and went to Granny's desk. There were a few old letters-condolences and congratulations-that she'd never sent, something from the school informing her that he'd gotten in trouble for fighting-he hadn't started it, and he hadn't finished it, either-and a letter from Grandmother asking for money.

No deed.

Maybe this thing had a hidden drawer in it. It was old enough, like everything else in this house. He remembered as a little boy being forbidden to touch practically everything. It had been like living in a museum, only less interesting and more frightening.

He went over it again, found nothing, and scowled. It was just like Granny to make things difficult. She couldn't have stuck the thing in a folder marked 'Important Documents', oh, no.

It was days like today that he was glad to have gotten rid of her.

He wondered if Kitty was having better luck. Probably not-his one glimpse of that old attic had revealed a cluttered, cobwebby mess. She'd be out of there soon enough, anyway-there were probably roaches in it.

Where else, where else…perhaps her bedroom. It was as good a place to look as any.

He'd barely opened the door when there was a yelp and the sound of someone scuttling down the stairs.

"Roach?"

"Black widow."

He'd been close.

"So she was right. Wonder why she never asked me to get something down from there."

She swatted his arm and reached up to adjust her ponytail. She had a few cobwebs on her shirt and a smudge of dust on her nose.

"What did you do, walk into a web?"

"I opened a trunk and there was dust. No papers, by the way."

He wasn't surprised. That deed was probably in Granny's bedroom. Or maybe in her brother's bedroom. He'd check both and come back tomorrow if he was unsuccessful. The storm was starting to pick up again and he didn't relish being in here when it hit.

"You're quiet tonight."

"Kind of tired."

She'd been quiet for most of the afternoon, now that he thought about it. And she'd gone to bed early.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah. Just tired." She yawned and scrunched up against his side. "M'fine."

"You're sure?"

"Don't fuss, love." she mumbled. "Night."

The rain started up again, fat drops striking the window pane. Every so often a flash of lightning would illuminate the yard-the old scarecrow's cross (the actual scarecrow had long since rotted away), the weed-riddled field, and the rotting chapel.

God, he was tired. Maybe he'd stay here tomorrow, get some rest. That was, after all, the reason they were here.

Yes…sleep in, read his book, maybe go over his notes and see what had gone wrong with that last formula.

That sounded nice.