I built my life on a rigid frame.
So nothing bends it only breaks into pieces and pieces.
I waited for hope to arrive but it never came.
Leaving me with only pain inside.
I'm going off the deep end.
"The Deep End" –Crossfade
Chapter Three:
Margot was covering the flowerbeds with tarpaulins to protect the sprouting bulbs from frost when she glanced up and saw a figure prowling lithely on the garden wall.
"Hey!"
The figure froze and looked her way. It was a girl.
"What are you doing? Get down from there!"
The girl dropped to the ground and darted away with surprising speed. Margot gave chase, her feet pounding over the gravel. Damn, she thought, that girl is quick. Fortunately, she knew the grounds better than the little intruder.
She cornered the girl in a place where the wall met shrubbery in a dead end. "You're trespassing—" she began, only to stare when the girl whirled around and scaled the wall like a cat.
Margot cursed. She wasn't going to lose the girl, not before she found out what she was doing hanging around Wayne Manor. Taking a few steps back, she ran at the wall and managed to grab the top and pull herself up. The girl was already dashing over the lawn, heading towards the main road.
Margot leapt down and would have given chase, except that she landed badly on her left leg and collapsed with a groan as pain shot through her like lightning.
She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth together, and let out a soft string of curses as she held her leg. She'd be fine. It would just take a moment for the pain to wear off. By then, though, the girl would be gone.
Except, when Margot opened her eyes again, the girl was still there, close enough to see her clearly, but just out of reach. Margot had once had a cat like her, a wary creature that stayed out of reach whenever she wanted to show him affection, but always twining himself through her legs when she was trying to do something important.
"Who are you?" Margot demanded as she sat up.
"Who are you?" the girl retorted.
The girl seemed harmless enough. Margot slowly answered, "I'm the assistant gardener. Margot."
The girl eyed her curiously, tilting her head to the side. "Cat," she finally replied.
"Cat?" Margot echoed. "Is that really your name?" she asked in disbelief.
Frowning, the girl crossed her arms and asked, "What's it to you?"
Margot shrugged. "Nothing. Why are you hanging around here?"
This time, Cat shrugged. "It's a nice place. Why are you here?"
"I told you, I work here," Margot answered.
"Yeah, I know. But why?"
"It's a nice place," she replied with a bit of a smile.
Cat sniffed and started to walk away. "You should get your leg looked at. It might be broken."
Margot didn't see a point in responding. She simply watched the girl leave before she gingerly rose to her feet, tentatively putting a bit of weight on her leg. It ached, but it was just sensitive, not injured.
"No more climbing walls, asshat," she reprimanded herself, limping the long way back to the flowerbeds and finishing her work.
Somebody was shouting nearby, loudly enough to be heard over the earbuds in Margot's ears. Pulling them out, she ran towards the sound, only to stop at the edge of the bordering hedges when she saw what the commotion was about.
A slight, dark figure stood on the roof, balancing on the balustrade. Bruce. Alfred was in the courtyard below, shouting in an all-too-familiar bark. For a moment, Margot thought he sounded a bit too much like a drill instructor.
"Get your bloody arse down here this instant!"
The boy started, and for a moment, Margot thought he'd fall. He didn't. He climbed from the balustrade and disappeared. Not a minute later, he emerged from the front door and approached Alfred sheepishly. He received a swift cuff upside the head. It wasn't a hard one, meant more for shock than actual pain. It was the same kind of knock Margot's mother used to give her when she'd done something stupid and dangerous, a panicked parental reaction when the woman hadn't known what else to do.
It was followed by a hug, Alfred pulling the boy into a tight embrace. "How many times have I told you?" asked the butler. "What the bloody hell were you thinking? What if you'd fallen?"
Bruce, still tightly encircled in the man's arms, explained calmly and patiently, "I'm conquering fear."
Alfred held the boy out at arm's length and retorted sternly, "You're giving me gray hair is what you're doing." He indicated his head of gray hair and added, "See this? That's your doing, mate."
From her vantage point, Margot couldn't see the boy's face, but the butler's stern countenance had faded to a gentle look of concern.
"I'm sorry that I worried you, Alfred," Bruce apologized solemnly. It was almost comedic, the serious voice that came from the small body, the feet pressed together, hands clenched at his sides.
Alfred held the boy by the shoulders. "Don't do it again," he warned him.
Bruce nodded, but as they both turned to go back inside, Margot caught a glimpse of his face and recognized the look in his eyes.
He'd do it again.
Bruce remained inside most of the time, except for his rare excursions onto the roof, when he thought nobody would see him, and the occasional venture through the gardens. It had snowed a few times, but none of it had really stuck. It had just made the ground wet. Margot and Mr. Harrison mostly planted the early spring flowers, pulling up the ones that had unfortunately been killed in a recent spell of frost.
She was wheeling away a barrow full of such plants when she caught sight of Bruce slowly wandering by. He had earbuds in his ears, and he seemed wholly distracted. Margot wasn't sure what possessed her to do it, but before she could stop herself, she approached the boy and quickly snagged the earbuds from his ears.
"Hey!"
She ignored his protest and popped one headphone in her ear, listening for a moment. "Spit?" she inquired, recognizing the band.
"What are you doing?" exclaimed Bruce, snatching back his earbuds. "That's rude!"
Margot was a little taken aback, but not by the shouting. It was the intensity in the young man's eyes, the fury burning behind those dark, soulful eyes.
"Sorry," she apologized quickly.
The boy glared at her and began to walk away.
"Hey!" Margot called after him, causing him to stop and turn. "Can I make a suggestion, kid?"
"What?"
She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her nasty old iPod with the cracked screen. Unwinding her headphones from it, she tossed it to the boy, who fumbled for a moment before he caught it in his hands.
"Breaking Benjamin and Three Days Grace," she told him, pointing at the iPod. "They got me through my rough patch." And with that, she limped off before he could say anything.
"Peanut butter sandwiches again?" inquired Mr. Harrison as Margot sat down at the table and pulled a sandwich out of her paper lunch sack.
"I happen to like them," she retorted, unwrapping it from its wrap and taking a bite. The truth was, she didn't like peanut butter, but she wasn't going to tell the man that all she could afford were peanut butter sandwiches because of the copay for her mother's latest hospital visit. That was personal, and she didn't mix personal things with work.
The kitchen door swung open and Alfred of all people walked through.
"Good afternoon, sir," Mr. Harrison greeted the man cheerfully.
The butler nodded as he approached. "Mr. Harrison." He turned to Margot. "And as for you…" he began ominously.
Margot froze, her sandwich half raised to her mouth. Had she done something? She suddenly found her mind running back over the past week, searching for any reason she might be in trouble.
Alfred reached into his coat and pulled something from the inside pocket. It was an iPod, accompanied with a note. "Master Bruce asked me to pass this on," he explained, adding something under his breath. Margot thought she heard the words, "I'm not the bloody postal service."
She took it, thanking him with a nod. It was her iPod, she realized, but it had been fitted with a new screen that wasn't cracked.
Alfred watched, thumbing his lapels for a moment before he commented, "I remember when 'disturbed' was an adjective, not the name of some band." He looked her over and added, "Fitting that you'd like it though, innit?" Then he left.
Margot frowned after him, wondering if she'd just been insulted. Had he gone through her iPod?
She glanced down at the note and opened it. Suddenly everything became clear.
Dear Ms. Vallant,
Thank you for your recommendations. I particularly appreciated Disturbed, though you only had a few of their songs. I've taken the liberty of purchasing all of their albums and adding them to your library. I hope you enjoy them.
Bruce
P.S. I fixed your screen. Try not to break it again.
Margot let out a soft laugh and folded the note again, shaking her head in wonderment. He certainly was an odd one. But she liked him, and she was pleased that he'd actually listened to her music. It made her feel good to help, even if it was just sharing heavy metal with a twelve-year-old boy.