Author's notes following chapter
Dick took a final look back at the bedroom he had left. It was dark, but not menacingly so. Instead, it seemed sort of lonely, empty. It was a vast home, but where was the laughter, where was the life? He shook his head. It must be his own imagination, his own sadness blurring his perception.
He considered briefly leaving a note, after all, Alfred had been nice to him, and so had Bruce, although they'd only met briefly. Was leaving like this sort of cruel? Yes, but no crueler than bringing them into his problems would be. He wasn't stupid, he knew that he was a witness, and that the man who killed his parents would not hesitate to snuff out the existence of a ten year old boy to save himself. They said he would be safe here, but what if that man came here looking for him? Would that high fence and gate they'd passed through be enough to keep out a murderer? Dick doubted it, and he didn't want to bring that kind of evil here. Even if they wanted to help him, he wouldn't want them to end up like his parents. It was another reason why, the sooner he left, the better.
His eyes drifted over to the boxes, and he wondered briefly what would happen to them. Probably they would be thrown out, for there was little reason to keep them, and no next of kin to send them to. Dick shook his head suddenly, there was no use in thinking about it.
On impulse rather than any real thought, he swung himself over the iron rail and clung to the lattice work on the side of the house. This time of the year, the flowers had died back, and it took little effort to descend into the night. When he could see the ground, he let go and dropped the rest of the way, landing silently in a crouch in the shadows. He looked around curiously, but saw no one. No security, and thankfully no guard dogs patrolled the grounds.
Staying close to the house, he crept along, crawling when low windows would have revealed him to any of the manor's inhabitants. He felt a little like he was wasting his time, for the home was quiet, and no one was looking for stray children creeping through the shrubs. Still, he took his time, pausing frequently and listening for anything. He never considered what he might have said had he been caught, and thankfully it never came to that.
An open door stood ahead of him, and soft voices made him pause. Creeping closer, he slowly looked into the opening, prepared to run if anyone saw him or raised an alarm. He'd finally made it to the garage, his destination from the beginning. Inside, he saw no one, though the voices were clearer. He stayed low, inching his way between the rows of shined and polished cars. He recognized one voice as Daniels, the young man who'd parked the car he'd arrived in. The second voice was lighter, a girl, and she was giggling at something Daniel had said. They were at the far end of the garage, and Dick had a clear view of his bicycle, still resting in the bike stand.
When the voices moved farther away and the sound of a car door opening and shutting echoed in the distance, Dick made his move. He ran as soundlessly as his small form could to the bike rack, risking a glance towards the voices. Daniel had escorted one of the young maids to her car, and was standing with his back to Dick, managing to block the maid's view of the child as well.
Dick wasted no time sliding his bike off the rack, cringing as the weight of the bike scraped across the metal. Thankfully the sound was covered by the car starting, but that meant Dick had little time. He rolled the bike back towards the still open side door and made it outside before he was seen.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he allowed himself a small smile at his success. It was short lived however, as the woman's voice rang out.
"Oh no!" she said in frustrated alarm, "I've lost my card key!"
"Again Jody?" Daniel said with an amused chuckle. "That's the forth time this month." His laughter nearly drowned out the girl's growl of frustration.
"You're not helping Daniel," She said with thinly veiled annoyance. A shuffle could be heard as she dug around in her bag. "I had it this morning I know! When I was dusting Mr. Wayne's room."
"Well you certainly can't go there now and retrieve it." Daniel mused, "Well, maybe you could. Especially in that short little maid skirt you girls prance around in."
The sound of a heavy cloth bag colliding with an arm or maybe a head was followed by an indignant yelp.
"Alright alright! I'm joking." Daniel insisted hurriedly. "Go on down to the gate and I'll open it from here. You'll find your card tomorrow."
"Thank you!" came the relieved reply.
If anything else was said, Dick did not hear it as he kicked off, speeding towards the massive iron gates as fast as his legs could peddle. The grounds illuminated around him suddenly, and he peeled off to the side, deeper into the landscaping and trees as the car moved away from the house and began its trek to the gate. Dick took a short cut across the yard, clenching his jaw as the terrain jolted him in his direct route to the gate. He made it barely in front of the maid's car, and ducked behind a hedgerow as the car came to a stop. On cue, the gates opened, silent despite their enormity. As the car exited, Dick hesitated until the gates had almost shut, then, at the last possible moment, he and his bicycle slipped through the tiny crack. The gates closed with finality behind him, and Dick knew there was no turning back.
He watched until the car had rounded a corner, and the taillights could no longer be seen, before he slowly began following. Wayne Manor sat at the end of a lane that held no other homes. Dick suspected that all the vacant wooded land he was passing belonged to the Wayne family. Coming from the circus, with rows of trailers crammed close into whatever space was allocated for them, you could hear everything from the Trelawney's new baby boy crying, to Arnie's beer induced snoring. But here, the night was deathly still and quiet. No neighbors, no dogs barking, no cars passing as people got off late shifts and made their way home. Total isolation, quiet and alone. Maddening. Dick couldn't help but decide then that there was nothing the large, painfully quiet manor could offer him.
The lane sloped downhill, giving the boy an unobstructed view of all ahead of him as he rode closer to town. Peddling was not necessary, so he allowed his momentum to carry him downhill as his mind drifted to the circus. They had not left town, and maybe, if this whole mess could be resolved tonight, he could rejoin them. He had to, for without the circus, he had nothing. There was no family. His mother's parents hated him because of his father's blood. He'd only met them twice, and had little desire for a third meeting. His father's family was as elusive as the wind. The Romani were travelers, and Dick's small family had never met up with them at the same place twice during the summer months that they visited them. Dick never knew how his father had known where they would be. He'd never asked, and he'd never assumed that the need would arise for him to find them on his own one day. Tears burned his eyes as he thought of this. Everything was just… wrong. His life had fallen apart, and Dick had no means with which to pick up the pieces.
Slowly, the woods thinned, and the dark shadows or forests were replaced by well lit, all night gas stations, and businesses closed for the night. Circles of light offered by street lamps illuminated the world in spaced intervals as the child peddled though unknown territory. The quiet of the forest road had been sleepy; but the quiet of this urban sprawl was laced with danger and anticipation. Dick would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't afraid…but he'd also have been lying had he said he wasn't somehow strangely exhilarated by his surroundings.
Keeping his eyes peeled, he rode until he found a bus stop. It was his only choice. The docks were miles from here. Even if he knew the exact direction to go, it would take him days to cross the city. By then, that man would be gone, if he wasn't already. Dick pushed thoughts that he might be too late aside as he looked for a place to stash his bike. He decided hastily on simply parking it behind a gas station. Sneaking by the windows, he went unseen by the clerk, a young man with earphones on, singing into the top of the broom handle as he periodically swept the floor.
It was with great hesitation that Dick propped the bike against the building. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that his bike would not be here when he got back, but there was nothing he could do. His bike had brought him as far as it could, just as it always had, and leaving it behind somehow felt like betrayal of his father's memory. He tried to tell himself that he was doing this for the memory of his parents, but it did not make it any easier. It was the approaching sounds of the bus that finally made him walk away. He made a point not to look back.
The bus came to a screechy halt at the sign and bench that marked the bus stop. The doors swung open to reveal the driver. When his mother had always warned "never talk to strangers", this must have been who she was talking about. A large beefy face with small eyes glared down at him over the top of a cigar that smelled like something dead. He looked suspiciously like one of the animals in the circus' small petting zoo, a large hog named "Slopper" whose name was aptly earned.
"Where you headed boy?" The driver grunted when Dick made no move to board the bus.
Dick swallowed, "The- uh, the docks…sir."
"Not if you don't get on the bus, you ain't."
That at least unglued Dick's feet enough for him to step up onto the bus. He realized with a sickening feeling that the dead smell was not coming from Slopper II' s cigar. Instead, it emanated from somewhere deeper inside the bus. The dread was only chased away when Dick saw the token box sitting on a small poll in front of him. He had no tokens, and panic rose inside him. Before he could bolt from the bus, or try a cover story, the driver saw his expression and raised a large hand to remove the cigar from his mouth.
"S'okay kid," he said, waving his cigar at a sign, dropping ashes close enough to him that Dick was sure his hair would ignite. "Kids under twelve ride free, an' you don't look a day over six. Hell, my dogs chew on things bigger'en you."
Dick stood in a moment of indecision. On the one hand, he had a free ride, something the well worn sign by the door confirmed. On the other, he'd been placed somewhere on a level of importance with the driver's dog food, and did not know quite how to react to that. The driver was grinning gamely, enjoying his joke. Dick finally just smiled and nodded politely before moving to find a seat.
At this late hour, the bus was quiet and almost empty. Passengers sat dispersed, everyone claiming a small nitch to themselves. There were a couple of middle-aged men, all looking worn as they got off work and finally made their way home. A young girl and boy sat huddled in the rear, each wearing an earphone as they listened to some music and effectively ignored the rest of the bus. An older gentleman was sleeping soundly, taking up a row as he dozed, his tattered coat a makeshift blanket. No one seemed to care as the young child boarded and slipped into an empty row, and the bus pulled away from the curb before he'd even taken a seat.
There was one stop between there and the docks, at which time the young couple slid from their seats and exited the bus. Dick lost sight of them as they ducked into a dark alley beside an old closed down department store and the bus began moving again.
They drove a few more miles, and Dick watched for any thing that he recognized. It all looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't be sure, and the anxiety rose in him. He finally spotted Nelson Drive, though it was a different corner, obviously a few roads over. Still, he calmed his breathing, he knew where he was, and that was all that mattered. The bus continued for another half mile before it finally began to slow as it approached the empty bus stop. Dick was on his feet and moving to the door before it ever stopped. The driver was watching him with a frown, "You live around here kid?"
Dick shrugged noncommitally, "Yeah," he said shortly.
"Well, you be careful now. This ain't a place to be wandering around, y'know?"
"S'okay," Dick mumbled, one foot off the bus already. He didn't look back, but heard the driver mutter something about "latchkey kids running around in the middle of the night" and "damn parents without a lick of common sense". He ignored it all, and pulled his collar around him as he retreated from the bus and walked back towards Nelson Drive. After a moment, the bus pulled off behind him, it's engine loud and disrupting in the still night. After it was gone, the quiet fell in place again, and it was earily lonesome to the small child who clung to the shadows.
It took little time to backtrack to the street sign he'd seen, and even less time to finally find the wharehouse that his parents' killer had slipped into. He stood some distance away at first, afraid to approach, afraid of what he'd find. He didn't know if that man was still in there, but his gut told him that he was.
Now that he'd finally arrived, Dick had little idea what he would actually do. That was a killer in there, cold blooded and evil. Dick couldn't stop him. No matter what hatred boiled in the child's veins, he knew that to be true. He knew that man would kill him, and then no one would be around to bring the killer to justice. Dick's parents would never be avenged.
A pay phone stood under the shelter of a street light, and Dick debated on calling the police. They would know what to do. But what if the killer had already gone? It was then that Dick made his plan. He would find out for sure whether or not the building held the killer. He wouldn't go inside, but instead would sneak around until he could find an opening. A window or crack in the old metal siding. Once he knew for sure that he was in there, Dick would call the police and have them handle it.
That decided, the child crept around the side of the warehouse. He saw a few cars parked nearby, but there was little indication as to where the owners of those cars were. They could be in the other warehouses in the area, the ones which were still in use, and not in abandoned disrepair like this one.
He was near the back of the building, eying a pile of crates, wondering if they would support his weight so he could look through the cracks in the boarded up window above him, when a crash and a pained cry froze him. It came from inside the warehouse, not far from him. Caution no longer cared about, Dick scrambled onto the boxes as quietly as he could until he was level with the wooden boards. He looked through the cracks and was given a clear view of most of the warehouse. A large glass skylight allowed the moonlight to cast the interior in pale light, illuminating the vast space filled with building debris. Steel girders were piled haphazardly high in one corner, old shelving in another. Sheets of plate glass were stacked nearby and it was at the base of these that a figure huddled.
Dick's breath caught in his throat. It was him. The killer. The murderer, huddled like a beaten dog on the floor. Dick did not know what made the ruthless killer cower like he was, and for a moment, he didn't care. All he knew was that the man would not escape. Not this time.
"Where's my money Zucco?" The voice was like burnt sandpaper, an awful mix of growl and rasp forced through vocal chords. It sent a chill down Dick's spine and he searched the shadows beyond the killer for the speaker. For a moment there was nothing. The labored breathing of the killer-- Zucco...-- but no other movement, no other life. But then the shadows moved, coalesced into the form of a man who slowly walked into the square of moonlight which illuminated his features, his face.
Dick jerked back as if he'd been struck. Horror gripped him, and he stumbled back, losing his tenuous footing as the crates shifted and cracked under his weight. They began to fall, and there was nothing he could do to stop them from crashing to the ground. Distantly he heard startled yells sounding from inside the warehouse as he twisted his body to land in a crouch amidst the debris. He was up and running before the final crate hit the ground, darting towards the shadows as metal doors opened behind him.
"Get him!" Dick never looked back as heavy booted footfalls pounded behind him. He ran faster still, sliding around a the corner of the building as his foot hit a slick of oil or grease. He barely regained his footing before realizing that it was too late. He stopped running, breathing hard as he stared into the muzzle of a handgun leveled at his head.
A/N + Apology:
Ack, I'm sorry. This chapter has been lying ignored for weeks with literally 2 paragraphs needed to finish it. I blame laziness... but also the fact that my comic muse decided to pack up and run to that little corner of your brain where dead plotlines live. So, what I'm trying to say is that the future of this fic is iffy. That doesn't mean I won't update. The fact that I pulled it out and finished this chapter on a whim tonight is kind of promising since usually when my fandom phases pass I don't revisit them for a long time. I do know where this story is going, lol I was smart enough to leave detailed notes for myself. I just need to sit down and write it. It should be a decently long story, and I will try (try no promises) to get another chapter out in the next month or so.
By the way, muses are a fickle lot. This part that you are reading about right now? It was supposed to take no more than five or six paragraphs. One chapter at the most. But here it looks like it might run 3 or 4 chapters. I find that funny... in an "Holy crap, I'm not in control of my own stories" sort of way...