Author: A.R. Fredrick

Archive: With Permission Only

Chapter Rating: PG 13 TO R

Chapter Spoilers: None

Disclaimer "If I owned Teen Titans, I'd also own the Coca Cola Company."

Foreword & Notes
As promised I present you with a bonus chapter of Paradox, things finally start to heat up here in this chapter. I know most of you must be questioning my reason for posting this bonus chapter early, I promised it as a Halloween gift. But, I've changed my mind a little bit, I am posting this as a thanks to those of you who have been following my story. Even given the lack of reviews, I'm sure there are several of you. How do I know? I've reached 4,000 hits, so somebody must be reading. If you have been reading, and have yet to review, please take the time to write a few words, I'd love to hear from you.

Also, to make things a little more interesting, I've set up a Forum for this story, on this website. Visit my profile for the link, just click the HOMEPAGE link. As a special way for you to get involved in the story, I'm holding a vote for pairings. Please do not flame the reviews page with your vote, visit the Forum and cast your vote there! Pairing details are listed there are well. Any voted flamed or posted to the reviews section for this story will not be considered.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN - A little early!

The Future
Smoke? Fire! French fries!

Chapter Nine
Twilight Tempest

I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?
- Ernest Hemingway

I Can Feel It - DMX

While the night outside was alive with a fierce storm, Richard slept safely within his room at The Royal Arms Motel. Safely, but not comfortably. The twin bed that he rested on was lumpy and old, it creaked whenever he moved, and there were several instances that he could feel springs poking him through the cotton bed sheet. He almost would've preferred the floor, but he resisted the urge to move, confident that if he stayed still long enough, he would finally fall asleep.

Outside a clap of thunder issued from the heavens. Though the curtains were drawn, Richard could almost sense the thunderheads rolling across the ebony sky. The clouds would be as dark as the night itself, and more likely than not, heavy with a rain that was eager to spill fourth at any moment. The impending storm did not worry him, it left him feeling amused, because it reminded him of tall tales from his childhood. After all, thunder was only the sound of angels bowling.

Richard had rested fitfully since morning. His mind had been plagued with thoughts since his breakfast at the Stackhouse. In truth he was tired of second-guessing himself, he was not the type of person that liked to be hampered by indecision, but a single question had kept surfacing in his mind since this morning. Had he made the correct decision, by starting down this foolish road to redemption?

Outside a heavy rain finally started to fall, in a deluge that would deafen Richard to the world. However it would do nothing to silence his thoughts, his mind was a jumble. He thought of his friends back home. About Raven. About Terra. Even about the waitress from the restaurant. All the errant thoughts clamored for his attention, and he found himself debating whether or not he should continue to feign sleep.

It was the rain the held him at bay. After all, even a mild-mannered hero such as himself was prone to colds, if not careful. And truthfully, he did not feel like getting soaked. Resigned to stay the rest of the night, he finally started to doze, giving himself peacefully over to the realm of dreams.

After what was only a few seconds of unconsciousness Richard began to hear the whisper of Earthly noises from within the rain. The roar of a car engine, the squeal of tires, the sound of a car door slamming, and the crash of breaking glass. This racket invaded his mind, and roused him from his sleep slowly. Upon finally opening his eyes, he looked across the room, to the small LED alarm clock resting on the fossilized television set. It is shortly after ten at night, and he registers that fact as he slowly rose from bed.

Somewhere outside, in the dark soup of the night, a woman screamed. This woke Richard more quickly than a douse of cold water to the face. He became fully alert and awake after hearing the wail of distress. He threw back his covers, quickly climbed out of bed, and stumbled over to a small window. The window, which also housed an air-conditioning unit, provided him an ample view of the parking lot. He pulled back a curtain, and gazed out into the night.

The Royal Arms Motel is an L-shaped building, with the main office, and the Stackhouse on the shorter wing, which left the guestrooms, guest laundry, and housekeeping facilities to span the longer wing. By some irony Richard was given the last room, on the far end of the building. This little slice of luck afforded him with a clear view of the main office, and the Stackhouse.

The office and most of the rooms were dark and vacant. This caused the diner to quickly draw the attention of the eye, almost as effectively as a manmade beacon. The lighted dining area poured illumination out into the night in a muted manner. Someone had drawn the shades, causing the dining area to be hidden from view. Richard found this development to be weird to say the least, and felt something was definitely amiss.

He thought for a moment, using logic to provide back-up to his gut instinct. He had noticed during his prior visit, that the diner was open until midnight. So why would it be bottled up now? It should be catering to evening truckers, and bustling with dinner business by now. The interstate was a popular route, so why close up early?

He turned his attention out to the far end of the parking lot, he saw almost a dozen semis lined in two neat rows. Yeah. The Stackhouse was definitely busy, the customers were there, so what the hell was up? Once again gazing at the diner, he took in the surrounding parking lot, and studied it in more detail. And there it was in the shadows, sticking out like a sore thumb. A car hastily parked askew in front of the diner, the vehicle took up two parking spaces while its engine idled with a cough. The driver's side door was open, and the dome light shone faintly in the distance. Another scream pierced the storm, and Richard decided that this was all the information he needed. It was time to act.

He stepped away from the window, and let the curtain fall shut. He paused, and stood still for a few moments, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the motel room. He didn't want to risk turning on a light that might alert someone. The people in the diner were his first priority, and he knew they needed help, but he could not rush in, trying to save them while half naked.

He bent down, and groped the floor blindly, looking for his jeans and boots, that he had casually tossed there hours before. He found them after only a few seconds, not caring that they were a wrinkled mess. He slipped on his pants, buttoned his fly after some effort, and bent over to put on his boots. Fresh socks? Hah! Who was he trying to impress? He laced and tied his boots quickly, and though shirtless, he couldn't waste any more time. He grabbed his leather jacket from the nightstand next to his bed, shrugged it on, and reached into his left pocket, searching for his mask.

He had found it easily, feeling familiar in his hands, he pulled it out of his pocket. He brought it up to his face, the adhesive already beginning to react to the oils in his skin. He closed his eyes, and attached the mask to his face. He waited a moment for the bonding agent to take hold, before opening them again. He walked quickly to the door, and began to pray that no blood would be spilled this evening.

She had noticed a run in her stockings, and was pissed. The idea of being upset at such a thing, especially given her current situation; gave credence to the fact that she was just a tad freaked, and focusing on the little things. She had every right to be angry, but she knew she was focusing her anger in the wrong direction. The question that resounded in her mind was a simple one, what made people able to commit such random acts of violence so easily?

They had come so quickly, and without warning, much like the storm outside. Bursting in, the immediately demanded that everyone get on the ground, and kiss the tile. She remembered hearing the voice of a regular customer, an elderly man named Ellis Jenkins, demanding to know what the hell they were trying to pull, then she heard glass break, and the sounds of a scuffle. The sickening crunch of breaking bone, and squishing sound of broken flesh followed And then, an uneasy silence marred by an agitated wheezing sound as someone gasped for breath.

"Take it easy man! Take it easy!" Someone pleaded.

"Give me the damn wallet then." One of them demanded. "I'll pump you full of lead if you give me anymore crap, you stupid prick; so give me the wallet!"

She had switched places with her brother Kavin for the remainder of her shift. She took over the kitchen duties, while he tended the dining area. She was not as adept in the culinary arts as her brother, but the change of pace was welcome. Especially since some of the more colorful customers arrived in the evening, and they tended to stare at her fiendishly.

She had left french fries to sizzle in the deep fryer, and had set out to start making a couple of chicken fried steaks, but now it was all left abandoned. The oil was now hot and certainly sizzling, cooking the french fries thoroughly, and that worried her. Soon the fries would burn, the oil would begin to smoke, then one of them would enter the kitchen to investigate the smoke, and discover her here.

Had she been in a more lucid state of mind, it might've simple occurred to her to crawl over, and turn off the deep fryer, thereby eliminating the danger the smoke currently posed. However, she was distracted by other more pressing matters. She had not heard the voice of her brother for several moments, and was becoming more and more concerned about his welfare.

The last time she had heard him, was when the bandits had first entered the diner. They had asked him if there was anyone else in the building, and Kavin insisted that there was not. It was a ruse that she was sure would fail, she was certain they would take it upon themselves to verify his statement. And while they did take the initiative to check the restrooms, they had not bothered to check the kitchen. This made her believe that they were either incredibly stupid, or that she was blessed with divine luck.

She listened intently, for any clue as to her brother's welfare, but she was granted something else. She heard someone grunt, some broken words, and then a muttered curse. Someone in the diner was clearly agitated, and it was a safe bet that it was the assailants. She heard a cough, and then someone clearing his throat.

"Alright, everyone listen up! We're tired of playing games with you people. Big Jim is going to go around the room, he'll tap each of you, you'll sit up, put your jewelry, watches, wallets, cell phones, and anything else of value into his nifty sack, and then lay back down and kiss the tile again." There was a pause. "And God help anyone who tries to give us any shit, because they'll be eating a bullet."

The sound of a gunshot pierced the unsettling silence, and as the rapport echoed, and she became aware of how high the stakes really were. She tried to stifle the scream building in her throat, barely succeeding in stopping its escape. She wanted to be strong, and try and keep her cool, maybe figure out a way to diffuse the situation. But the gunshot had proven just how grim things were, and that left her jumpy, her nerves frayed.

The smell of gunpowder assaulted her senses. It was dense and cloying. She tried to breathe shallowly, hoping to rid herself of the metallic taste that lingered in the back of her mouth. The smell of the gunpowder was dense and strong, with an almost acidic quality that reminded her of death.

"Next time it won't be the ceiling folks. It's raining like hell outside, and with the thunder, nobody will hear a couple of gunshots. So don't tempt me."

This warning was issued in an almost polite and friendly manner that she found severely disturbing. The man issuing those words was surely crazy. She found herself saying a silent prayer, giving thanks that nobody had been shot. It was on the heels of that first prayer, that she finally heard the voice of her brother once more, and instantly began a second prayer on his behalf.

"Please sir, just give them some slack. I'm sure they will listen to you. But we are all frightened here." She heard Kavin say. His voice was brave and humble. His words drifted in from the dining area, a powerful voice of reason in this madness.

"Listen to me Chef Boyardee, I don't need some kindness lesson from you. What I need you to do is stand up, walk over to the goddamned register, and get all of the cash out of it." She listened to the exchange, which was followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps, and the ding of the cash register opening. There was a maniacal giggle of glee, the sound of coins falling to the tile floor.

She was sitting on the floor, cold tile chilling her body. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, and her arms were clasped around her legs in a haphazard manner. She had hidden behind the dishwasher, the door to the dining area directly behind her.

What now? What next? She had sat here for too long, held rapt with anxiety and indecision. She glanced to her right, to the rear service door. It led to a narrow alleyway that provided access to dumpsters, and a staging area for small deliveries of goods from vendors that serviced both the motel, and the Stackhouse. It also led to the main office in a roundabout way. The office was currently vacant, they had handled the check-in duties at the Stackhouse tonight, so that their parents could enjoy a much deserved night out. If her parents had been here, they would've called the police by now, but they went for dinner and a movie, perhaps never considering they might return to a bloodbath.

She could go to the office though, call the police, and the cops could surprise the criminals before they tried to flee. Both the service door here in the kitchen, and the office door were unlocked, as they were required to make frequent trips back and fourth. It was her best chance. Better than sitting here and doing nothing.

She unclasped her hands, and leaned forward, first crouching slightly, and then getting on her hands and knees. She began to crawl forward, and was going steadily enough. The door inched slowly closer, as she moved as quickly and quietly as possible towards it. Time was almost at a standstill, for her things moved almost as quickly as molasses.

She gazed up longingly at the doorknob, less than three feet away from it, she could almost feel the freedom of night within her grasp. She crawled forward, and reached out to take hold of the doorknob, ready to feel triumphant in her quick escape. Her dream was shattered as the doorknob rattled it its frame, and slowly began to turn.

She cursed silently, there was no time to hide.

Richard opened the door of his room slowly, holding the doorknob tightly in his clenched fist, he pulled the door back only a few inches, enough so that he could peek out into the darkness, and survey his surroundings. The parking lot was still empty, as it had been moments before. He was being too cautious, wasting precious seconds trying to determine if it was safe to approach the diner. But this was futile effort, he would go to the diner, whether it was safe or not, because it was clear somebody in there needed some help.

So get your butt in gear Grayson!

He chided himself, throwing back the door, and preparing to cross the threshold, when it happened. The muffled sound of a gunshot pierced the night with an eerie clarity that seemed almost supernatural in origin. The sound came clearly to him, and he was able to identify it quickly, but to the untrained ear, it would seem like nothing more than the unruly, coughing backfire of an neglected car engine.

Richard had been dreading this, hoping that his instincts were wrong. That paranoid had once again seeped into his mind during the dreamless fog of sleep. But the gunshot was real. He had heard it, and no amount of wishing would change what had happened. The situation was simple. A woman had screamed in distress, and there was a gunshot. There were many shades of gray to this scenario, unknown variables which he could never hope to calculate or fathom, but he had little time to contemplate them. He had little time to be careful or make wise decisions. He was out of options, he could only react.

Richard ran out into the night, and was immediately engulfed in rain, it drenched his body and left his clothes a soggy mess within seconds. He launched himself off of the sidewalk, and ran haphazardly into the parking lot, veering past a large pothole that was filled with water, he made his way towards the Stackhouse as quickly as possible.

Wait! You're forgetting something Dick!

The car. He changed his course, deciding to make an abrupt stop to investigate the vehicle. He approached it quickly, while taking little more than a fraction of a second to decide on a course of action when it came to dealing with the errant machine. The car was a rusting hulk, an older model Ford Tempo Wagon, that had definitely seen better days.

The Tempo sat on aging tires that were weather worn, and cracked along the sidewalls. The driver side door, that still stood open as if to invite in the rain, was dented in several places, and marred with scratches. The antenna, along with the rearview mirror were completely missing. Richard couldn't tell what color the ancient Ford had been when it had originally rolled off of the production line, but now it sported a primer gray shell that was accented with patches of rust.

Richard slowed down, falling into a light jog, then only walking at a frantic pace, he stepped closer to the Tempo, and gazed inside the driver's side of the vehicle. The interior was a mess. There was garbage strewn everywhere. Discarded Styrofoam coffee cups, cigarette butts, and old candy wrappers lined the dashboard. The floorboards were worse, littered with burger wrappers, beer cans, and old matchsticks. There was also an unintelligible amount of staining on the seats, from fast food meals long past. Here a smudge of bean burrito, there a blotch of ketchup. A few old French fries stood sentry on the driver seat, as if protecting the vehicle for the missing driver.

The Tempo's dome light cast a waxy yellow glow across his face, it's engine still running with an air of discontent, it wheezed and sputtered like a veteran racehorse past its prime. He had no way of knowing for certain that this car belonged to the assailants inside, but his gut told him it did. That was enough for Dick Grayson. He didn't have time to debate the chances with himself, so he was going to go with his gut instinct.

Time to cut off their escape. Not that they'd ever make it that far.

Richard smiled grimly at his morbid humor, while reaching into the vehicle, meaning to make a grab for the keys. But he met no surprise when he discovered that there were no keys to be had, the steering column was severely damaged, they had jammed a screwdriver into the ignition, and used it to start the care. A more careless way of hotwiring the vehicle.

He stood up, thinking for a moment, and decided to do the next best thing. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out his Swiss Army Knife, and then walked to the front of the car. He did it all in one fluid motion, bending over, feeling for the driver side tire, then opening the largest blade the knife held. This knife was made for a Boy Scout, or amateur woodsman, and Raven teased him constantly about owning it. But tonight, it would come in handy.

He felt a grim sense of satisfaction as he drew the knife back, and slightly over his head, then swiftly plunged its blade into the sidewall of the tire. The rubber resisted at first, putting up its best effort to stay intact, but finally gave way. The knife had gone deep, but Richard was not done yet, he pulled the blade swiftly to the left, turning the small puncture into a gash.

Compressed air had already started to vent from the tire, as he pulled the knife free. The smell of rubber was strong, and almost triggered his gag reflex, Richard stood quickly to avoid nausea. He closed the knife, and stuffed it back into the butt pocket of his jeans, as the tire rapidly deflated. That task completed, he turned away from the wrecked Tempo, and looked towards the diner once more.

There was still twenty feet of parking lot between him and the entrance to the diner, but he decided there was little chance of him being seen, even from here. The storm hid him. Ceaseless barrages of raindrops shattered against the blacktop with force, creating such a froth and dancing spray that the parking lot appeared to be aboil.

While the rain hid him from view of anyone who might be peering out into the night, from within the diner, it also obscured his vision substantially. However from this vantage point, he was able to make out the murky outline of a dumpster on the side of the diner. The dumpster gave him and idea, and he ran toward his target, with renewed speed and purpose.