Chapter Three: In Which Cat Goes Missing

The weekends were like paradise to Dahlia - They meant no school, no work, and best of all, no bullying. No trips, no slips, no pokes, no names, no threats, and no games of Monkey in the Middle. For the most part, she was a normal human being for two days.

Lou was home for a change, and warmly greeted her as she emerged from her bedroom in the morning. However, he was preparing coffee and was already suited in his police uniform - He'd be off to work yet again. "Hey there, Darling!"
"Morning, Daddy." Dahlia's practically non-existent smile suddenly emerged as she stepped forward and embraced her father tightly around his stocky waist. He returned it.
"Boy, it feels like I never see you anymore!" Placing his mug of coffee down, Lou's hand playfully tousled her frizzy hair. "What you been up to?"
Playfully slapping his hand away, she replied happily, "This and that. I fixed my camera so I got a few good shots the other day."
"Oh really? Well that's good." One of Dahlia's bedroom walls was completely covered in photographs of people and animals that she took, most of which were strangers on the street. She greatly admired beauty in others, the beauty of happiness among simplicity in life. She most likely admired it so much because she herself didn't have the fortune of enjoying such things anymore.
"Hey Daddy, have you seen Cat lately? I haven't seen her since the other night."
"No, sorry Darling. She'll probably show up. You going to head out today?"
"Mm hm. Oh, and Daddy . . . I was thinking of going to Killinger's today to get a new veil, but I'm a bit short on cash . . ." She glanced about the ceiling of the room and pouted.
"Ha ha. Alright, but this is all I have for now." Lou took out a small fold of money and slapped it in Dahlia's hand. "No porno, no booze, and no strip clubs." He joked.
"Thanks, Daddy!" Once again she hugged her father and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Hope you have a good day at work." And out the door she scurried with camera in hand, before Linda could try and weasel her out of her cash.

Though she set out for the department store outside the Narrows, Dahlia was side tracked by the many strangers on Gotham's streets. It was no doubt a very corrupt city, with few good and even fewer who would do something about the crime. But somehow, people still fascinated her. That was probably why she enjoyed psychology class so much - She could learn to get inside others' heads, learn how they behave and why, among many other things. Simple emotions like happiness or sadness were so complex when examined closely.

A young woman tugging her son along by the sleeve hurried to get across the street, and the moment was captured on Dahlia's roll of film. A few minutes later, a smiling old man came around the corner walking his dog, and he too was photographed.

Dahlia continued to wander the streets aimlessly until her feet finally began to grow sore under her heavy shoes. She spotted a coffee shop just nearby and decided to head over for a drink and a short rest. However, she came to an abrupt halt just at the door when she spotted a familiar figure at the window - Crane. He hadn't noticed her, and was sitting quietly by himself at a table reading a newspaper. She took advantage to hide around the corner. Why am I hiding? Why was she? He had been kind to her just the day before, most apparently showing concern if not curiosity at least for her bruised cheek and neck. He was one of the only teachers within the past nine years who had shown even remote interest in Dahlia, and she felt that she was repaying him by avoiding him like the bullies.

. . . But her feet didn't budge. Instead, they turned her right around and back down the street she came from. She only sighed to herself and headed straight to Killinger's Department Store.

Dahlia returned home by the time night had fallen. However, she was soon reconsidering leaving again once noticing that her father was once again not home, and Linda was there, drinking herself silly. Sighing, she only asked, "Have you seen Cat?" Linda craned her head over her shoulder and murmured,
"Nope . . . S'your cat, you take care of him."
"Her." She corrected with a slight scoff. The goth girl grabbed an umbrella from the coat rack before heading back out, seeing that the anticipated rain had finally begun to fall. She left just as soon as she had gotten then.
"Hey, hey!" Linda called to the door though Dahlia was already gone. "Where's your father? He's been gone all night without a word! Stupid girl . . ."
Grabbing the umbrella was a complete waste of time. No more than three minutes out of the building, Dahlia was recognized by one of the boys who had aided in confronting her the other night. It was the usual encounter - Name calling, some shoving here and there . . . Though this time, for added intimidation, he had snatched away her umbrella and smacked her in the back with it, chasing her several feet down the street with it like a stray dog. No doubt it was degrading, especially in the rain, and on what was supposed to be a good weekend. Rubbing the new bruise that would now form on her shoulder, Dahlia continued down the street, determined still to find Cat.

After an hour or so of searching the streets and alleys, Dahlia then went on to knock on every door she passed. The first one she came across was probably the most polite of the many strangers she met that night.
"Excuse me, have you seen a small black cat around here with a red collar and big blue eyes?" Dahlia took out a photograph from her pocket and held it out for the woman to see.
"Get lost, little tramp." And the door was slammed in her face. For a moment Dahlia stood there staring at the door, then just kicked the frame and moved on. The rest of the residents on that particular street were the same. Then she came upon one of the nicer and more expensive apartment buildings in the area. Several times during school days she noticed Cat milling about the area, so surely there must have been a chance that someone saw her.

Other than being under a roof and out of the rain, the people greeted Dahlia all the same. Each new door she headed to, her questions and words became more and more pitiful and desperate. "Please, please sir . . . I'm looking for my cat . . ." Slam, right in her face. Knock knock knock on the next door. "Ma'am, please, you have to help me. I'm looking . . ." A blunt comment before another slam.

Gripping her dripping wet sleeves in any hope to preserve her body's warmth, Dahlia just continued on, determined to make it to all of the doors. Someone had to have even a little bit of compassion, right?

No. Of course not. What was she thinking? The entire building had turned her down. Talk about a sinking heart. Back out on the street, following the sidewalk without any aim or direction, Dahlia began to wonder if she truly was just wasting her time. What if Cat got picked up by a stranger and taken away from her, or yet worse, what if she had been hit by a car and was lying dead somewhere on the street? Every second, she grew more and more worried.

There was an alley nearby that she hadn't noticed before, and since Cat herself was an adventurer, Dahlia went ahead to check it out. Emerging out the other end however, she only noticed a small side street and a row of lovely houses - Definitely a richer neighborhood. But one house in particular stood out in her eyes. It was not particularly large, but definitely was beautiful, neo-gothic in architecture and design. She headed there first to start her last list of inquiries for the night.

Dahlia rang the doorbell, then readied her photograph and politeness as she awaited the resident to emerge. Her shy eyes were cast down to the dry porch, water stains and droplets carried there from her wet clothes and boots. When she heard the door open and saw the golden light from inside stretch to her feet, she immediately held the picture out and asked desperately,

"Please, please don't turn me away. I need help. I'm looking for-"

"Miss Rhodes?"

That voice sent shivers throughout her body. Her muscles tensed and her outstretched arms began to noticeably shake. Slowly her eyes, wide as saucers, trailed up the neatly dressed figure to meet with his blue hues. Her jaw dropped.

"P-Professor Crane!"