Today was her thirteenth birthday and her mother had promised her an exciting birthday bash when she arrived home. Ava should have been excited, but she wasn't; her malaise compounded by the look of disappointment on her mother's face when Ava had told her that she wanted to keep things small and understated and that had meant inviting no one.
Sadly, there was no one to invite.
Uncle Jack wouldn't even be there; he'd been called out of town on business but promised to come see her over the weekend. It was a pretty sad state of affairs when your mother and your uncle were your two best friends.
But that's the way it was. As time went on and picking on Ava Martinez became the new national pastime, her friends had drifted away one-by-one. Now she was on her own. It was just as well she told herself, remembering the old adage, "With friends like these...?"
She entered the cafeteria; feeling particularly dejected that day, and took her usual seat at an empty table in the corner. It wasn't long before a wad of paper bounced off her shoulder and landed next to her. This was unexpected; normally they let her finish her sandwich before they started throwing things at her and Uncle Jack's words of wisdom echoed in her mind, "You've got to stand up for yourself."
"Not today," she thought. "You can't fight all the time. Can't they leave me alone on my birthday of all days?"
She picked up her tray, ignoring the jeers from the peanut gallery and started to leave the cafeteria. She would eat by herself today, thank you very much.
As she passed the last table, Jill – who up until that point had been her one remaining quasi-friend, stuck her foot out and sent Ava crashing to the floor. Her soup, her carton of milk; nothing was salvageable. Her classmates already seemed to have an endless list of reasons to poke fun at her. Had it really been necessary to give them one more?
"Et tu, Brute?" she thought as she looked into the face of her former friend.
Yes, unfortunately; Jill had betrayed her and the harsh reality began to set in. This is what it was like to be friendless. It hurt; it hurt a lot, but she was every bit as stubborn and headstrong as her mother and they would never see her tears, just her wrath.
There was Jill, leaning back in her chair, laughing the loudest of them all; obviously feeling proud of her accomplishment.
"Why not give her a little pat on the back for a job well done?"
So she gave her fair weather friend a nudge for old time's sake. It was more a shove really, sending Jill ass over tea kettle; causing her to drop her soup and spill what was left of her Diet Coke down the front of her white silk blouse. Needless to say, Jill was less than pleased with her ruined clothing. As Ava left the cafeteria she heard her ex-friend calling out to her, "You're dead, Scarecrow. Do you hear me?"
"Yeah, whatever…" Ava called over her shoulder, ignoring the threat and walking down the hall to her locker.
She didn't even bother trying to scrounge a suitable lunch from the vending machines. By now, she'd lost her appetite. All she wanted to do was select one of many books buried within her locker, go outside and hopefully lose herself for the rest of her lunch break.
When she opened her locker, an envelope fell onto the floor. Ava looked around, certain she was about to become the punch line of some joke, but the halls were deserted. She didn't hear a sound, so she decided to take the risk. She bent over and scooped the letter off the floor.
"Hate mail, that's new," she whispered and carried it along with her.
Ava slipped her coat on and went outside. The cold February afternoon meant that she would be alone, which was exactly what she had hoped for. She sat down on a bench beside a bare maple tree and opened the letter.
It wasn't hate mail at all, far from it. This was a heartfelt communication, written by a tortured soul and it was moving; not just for the emotion it conveyed but for the similarities it bore to her life.
The letter concerned a young boy; gangly, awkward and hated because he was different. Each and every day of his life was filled with the verbal and often times physical abuse of his classmates. There were some who, much like soccer and baseball, viewed his beatings as sport and the boy, who was frail and bookish, had only his quick wit for defense.
The boy had never known his father, he'd vanished without a trace shortly after he was born and there were no brothers or sisters to speak of. His mother, on the rare occasion that he saw her during normal waking hours, would curse his existence and hold him responsible for all life's shortcomings. After her tirades, she would often drink heavily and on those nights, just before she passed out, his mother would beat him too.
Seeing no other way to cope, the boy had become a shadow, never talking to his fellow students, never making friends, never going so far as to make eye contact with another living soul, even his mother. He had learned to bottle his emotions and bury his hurt deep inside. His studies became his passion and slowly, the years had passed.
It was on the day of his graduation that it happened…
He'd been accepted to college on a full scholarship and though his mother couldn't have cared less and didn't even attend the ceremony, he had been proud. It didn't matter that no one who cared for him saw him receive his diploma and graduate at the top of his class. A better life was waiting for him; he'd already mapped it out.
He hadn't even met her but he saw her quite vividly in his mind. Her black hair, her tan skin; it wasn't like him to fall in love with a figment of his imagination but that's just what had happened. Somehow, he knew she was real and he wondered what it would be like when they finally met in the fleshHe dreamed that they would marry, they would have a child and in the years that followed, people would see him with his family and they would be jealous, because he was now the ideal; a dearly loved husband and father
That's what he told himself as his fellow classmates jeered and hissed when he was called up to receive his certificate and life was otherwise, unbearable.
While walking home later that day, he felt good about himself for the first time in years. He felt as though he'd turned a corner. Things would be different from now on. High school with all the taunts and beatings that accompanied it was behind him. Offering some proof that justice wasn't completely blind, the majority of the students who had spent more time harassing him and less time minding their studies had not been accepted to college. He would never see them again; he was finally free.
Or so he'd thought before they had ambushed him….
His classmates had come to pay him one final visit, and how brutal they had been.
The first assault came in the form of a large rock that hit him in the forehead. It knocked his glasses from his face and almost brought him to his knees. He looked up in dismay to see a girl he recognized vaguely, standing in front of him. Shortly thereafter, another of her friends emerged from the woods, followed by another and then another, until there was a group of seven boys and three girls standing on the path in front of him.
They hated him; absolutely hated him, though he had no idea why. He hadn't even met the majority of them, only passed them in the halls between classes. He could think of no reason why he should be so reviled.
"Why?" he asked, wiping the blood from his forehead. After all these years of being their whipping boy, didn't he deserve an answer?
They offered him no reasons and to his surprise, it had been the three girls who rushed him first. They pulled his hair, scratched him and tore his clothing, spitting at him while they did so with a rage he could not comprehend; but he made no attempt to fight back, telling himself that it wasn't right to strike a woman, no matter how deserving she may be. When that humiliation hadn't been enough, their male counterparts had joined in.
He remembered two sharp blows to the jaw before he was thrown to the ground. After that, they gathered around him, some throwing rocks, others kicking him. They huddled so closely that they blocked out the sky and he could see only their loathsome faces; again he asked, why?
The hateful barbs, "Fucking bookworm…Scarecrow…thinks he's better than us," were his only clues.
Such was the level of violence, that when he saw one boy brandishing a rope, he was certain they intended to kill him. But just before he blacked out, the beating stopped. His merciful classmates had lifted him up and carried him into the nearby cornfield less than 500 feet from his home. Someone placed his glasses back upon his face and when his vision cleared; he could see the balcony of his apartment. The sliding glass door was wide open, his mother must be home, but he knew better than to call for help. With a mother such as his, it would be a waste of breath.
He gave in, realizing that for the time being, life had beaten him and he didn't fight anymore. He didn't say a word as the tattered remnants of his clothing were stuffed full of straw and he was strung up in that field for all to see. Adding insult to injury, one of the girls had snapped a picture of him in all his misery and had promised to tell his new classmates at Gotham University that Scarecrow would be starting in the fall.
He stayed there, strung up like a rag doll, unable to cry, not because he'd found some inner reserve of strength, because the blazing June sun was beginning to take its toll and he couldn't spare the tears. His skin burned, his mouth went dry and he lost all feeling in his arms and legs, which, in some twisted fashion, had been beneficial because when the sun went down giving him welcome relief from the heat, the insects had come. He suffered through the night feeling somewhat delirious as the mosquitoes nearly ate him alive. It wasn't until the next morning that an elderly couple drove past, heard his exhausted plea for help and realized he wasn't a real scarecrow.
When he returned home later that day, the apartment was empty. Everything they owned was gone. He never saw his mother again and was later told she had never reported him missing. He had often asked himself why she hadn't filed a missing person's report, but secretly he knew the answer; why bother searching for a person, you don't want found? She was glad to be rid of him and when he hadn't come home, she had jumped at the opportunity for freedom.
At this point, Ava set the letter down on her lap, taking a moment to rub her eyes. This was all too personal, too close to home and the last paragraph was shocking because it addressed her directly.
"Ava, use the side exit this afternoon and take the path through the woods. The front and rear exits will not be safe. They'll be waiting for you and you know how cruel children can be. Be careful and keep our communications in the strictest of confidence."
Ava had heeded that advice, even if it was somewhat reluctantly. Her inner voice told her that the letter itself may very well be a trap and her would-be attackers could be waiting to ambush her in the woods. When school let out, she had slipped out the side door. Slinking along the wall, making sure she was out of sight, Ava ventured a peak at the front entrance. Upon careful inspection, she saw a group of ten students standing around the front entrance of the school, looking in all directions; searching for something or someone.
She saw one of the boys with a length of rope and just assumed that someone else was carrying the straw.
"Would they really string me up in the middle of winter?" she thought, wondering how she would survive the night if that actually happened and what she or her father had done in their childhood to warrant this kind of hatred.
She came to the conclusion that whoever left that letter, her father or otherwise, had been trying to protect her, and she stepped into the woods without fear.
Half way home, she stumbled upon a burlap bag lying in the middle of the trail. Her name was etched across the front in black marker and she reached down cautiously, picking up the bag and opening it. Inside she found an apple, a carton of milk and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
"What the…" she began to say before the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow caused her to spin around in a panic.
There was no one in sight but instinct told her she was not alone.
"Daddy?" she called out, silently berating herself for jumping to such a foolhardy conclusion. "Is that you?"
Stillness was her only response.
"I think it's you," she said softly.
Ava took a seat on a large rock and pulled the apple from the bag. "Well, whoever you are, I hope you're not trying to poison me."
The whole apple thing had a Snow White feel to it, but hunger caused her to chance a bite regardless.
She waited one minute…two minutes; she felt fine. No magical spells had been cast, so she gave into her hunger and devoured the apple in record time.
"Is it true, Daddy; does an apple a day really keep the doctor away?" Ava asked the glaring silence.
She imagined that he was there, enjoying lunch with her from sights unseen and in her reverie, he smiled.
Her father had a wonderful smile…
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
She woke up to a darkened room and Ava hated the dark. She'd hated it ever since that fateful day nearly three years ago.
She was surprised that she had actually passed out, always thinking that was something saved for the traditional damsel in distress she'd seen all too often on the silver screen. But she had done it and someone had carried her into this room and left her in the dark. Her only source of light poured in from the crack beneath the door.
Biting her lip, she stood up and ran to that door, feeling a surge of panic when she found it locked.
"Mom, Daddy!" she shouted, hoping someone, anyone would come to her aid.
It was her father who answered her cries. As he burst through the door almost knocking her over, he turned on the lights and looked upon her with patent incomprehension.
"Why did you leave me in the dark?" she asked.
"I thought the light would wake you. You needed the rest. Ava, I meant no harm," he said as he reached for her.
"Don't touch me," she yelled and slapped his hand away. "I want to see my mother."
Ava pushed passed him and ran across the hall, shocked when her father grabbed her from behind and pulled her back.
"You shouldn't go in there, Ava," he warned.
"What have you done to her?"
"Nothing that wasn't medically necessary," he explained.
"Medically necessary; she's on life support," Ava yelled.
He was pushing her down the hall, toward what she remembered was some kind of lab and she struggled against him.
"She's in a medicated coma," he began. "It was necessary to stave off the infection. Her heart is beating by itself but she needs the respirator to help her breathe. She cannot fully comprehend of respond to you right now, but she is at least partially aware of her surroundings, which is why it's best if we don't disturb her. She needs to rest also."
Ava continued to back away as he followed, crossing the threshold of his laboratory. This room was dark as well and as the shadows engulfed her, she felt faint.
"No, stay away from me; I don't know you," she said.
"That's not true, Ava. I'm your father. Please, try to calm down. I'm worried he said hurriedly and caught her for the second time.
"Please…turn on the lights," Ava whispered, finding little comfort in his embrace.
He sat her down in a plastic chair at the edge of an elongated table and once he'd made certain that she wouldn't fall over, he walked across the room and turned on the lights.
Ava hung her head and stared at the floor. Something about the chemistry room setting brought about vivid memories of high school and the way her father was looking at her now was the same way her teachers looked at her whenever she met with them after class; that sad, sympathetic look that seemed to say, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
"How long have you had this fear of the dark?" he asked, taking a seat opposite her.
"You know how long," she said, feeling her cheeks flush from embarrassment but seeing no reason to lie, "since that day in the alley."
"Did you ever talk to anyone about it?"
"No; I tried to tell Uncle Jack, but I don't know – it just didn't work out."
After she spoke, Ava glanced at her father's face. His brow was furrowed; Uncle Jack did the same thing when he was deep in thought and for the first time, she noticed just how close the resemblance was. Her father was thinner, dressed more conservatively and carried himself with a certain air of sophistication, but the fact that these men weren't brothers was almost as shocking as the rest of the days' revelations.
Their pensive expressions were so close in similarity, that Ava couldn't help but be transported back to that day in the alley, but that was not an all together uncommon occurrence Up until now, it had been the most traumatic day of her life and the slightest impulse, no matter how obscure or unrelated it might seem, triggered flashbacks; flashbacks to the day when her Uncle Jack had come tearing down the street like a bat out of hell, looking only slightly relieved to find her in one piece.
Her impromptu, "No!" when he stepped into the alley, searching for any trace of her attackers, peaked his curiosity and told him there was something down that passageway that must be seen…
She stayed behind him the whole time and it wasn't long before he stumbled upon the bodies. Ava had always remembered how unaffected he'd been by their presence. It was so unlike a person seeing death, murder in this case, for the first time.
"Who did this?" he asked.
"I don't know. He wouldn't let me see his face."
"Did he say anything to you?"
"He told me to go home and never walk down dark alleyways again," Ava answered.
Uncle Jack bent over, picking up the shattered pieces of her cell phone and stuffing them in her backpack which, in her panic, she had also left behind.
"Do you think it was Batman," Ava asked, while Uncle Jack continued to remove all traces of her presence.
"No," he scoffed. "Batman wouldn't care if you saw his face and he wouldn't have shot these men."
"He scolded me. He sounded just like a father would…do you think?"
"No," Uncle Jack said, cutting her off.
"Maybe he's alive, maybe…"
"Your father is dead, Ava," he insisted through grinding teeth and a firmly clenched jaw. "This was probably the work of some other crazed vigilante or Batman wannabe."
"But…"
"He's dead!" Uncle Jack yelled and took a challenging step toward her.
This was the first time that she felt frightened of her uncle and she took a step away, befuddled by his newly revealed temper and the menace behind those blue eyes. He had never lost his patience and snapped at her like this and when he grabbed her by the shoulders and marched her back onto Main Street, she offered no protest.
"Don't mention a word of this to your mother. Don't say anything to anyone. This could bring all of us a lot of unwanted attention," he ordered.
Ava had always wondered what he'd meant by that, but never dared to ask.
Their relationship had recovered with time, but things had never really been the same. Though they remained about as close as any niece and uncle could hope to be, his blow up marked the day when she had begun keeping things from him.
Ava directed her attention back to the situation at hand. Her father was looking at her with that same intent gaze and under his scrutiny, the fear she felt that day resurfaced and along with it came her tears.
"Ava," he whispered and his face softened. His concern was evident as she watched him drag his chair across the floor. He sat down in front of her and reached out, taking both her hands. This time, she did not pull away.
"I told Uncle Jack what happened and that I thought it was you who rescued me and he flipped out. He started yelling that you were dead and I needed to keep quiet about the whole thing, so I did. The only other person who knows what happened is you," she confessed.
"What about your mother? The two of you must have an open and honest relationship, didn't you discuss it with her?" he asked.
"It wasn't that I couldn't tell her, I just didn't want to frighten her, not with her…history."
"Your selflessness and concern for your mother are admirable, Ava, but internal trauma like that does not go away on its own. Your Uncle Jack did you no favors by reacting the way he did. He compounded the effects of an already painful event; as a result, you retreated inward and your fear, your anxiety over the attack surfaced in other ways – hence, your fear of the dark."
Psychoanalyzed by my own father and even worse, he's right.
"Do you want to talk to me, Ava? I can help you deal with your fear; it's what I do."
Ava had heard too many rumors about how he had helped people deal with their fears and when his grip on her hands tightened, it caused her discomfort on many levels. Still, she didn't know this man or what he was capable of. Thinking it wise not to test his boundaries so early in the game, she pulled away from him as politely as possible.
"No, Daddy; it's okay. I'm fine with it"
"Well, I do hope you'll reconsider," he said as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Bottling up your emotions, keeping everything inside – that's how monsters are born."
She looked into his eyes and they spoke volumes. Was he making a confession of sorts? Hadn't he spent his whole life hiding his emotions? He had admitted as much in his letters. What did that make him?
"Are you a monster, Daddy?"
"No, Ava; you're safe with me."
"But you killed those men," she said.
"Yes," he responded. His tone indicating he felt not a shred of remorse and would offer her no apologies for what he had done.
Ava couldn't decide how she felt about that either.
"That's it? Do you feel sorry about what you did?" she ventured to ask.
"I'm sorry that you had to grow up in a city where two grown men think the rape of a child is justified because she had the audacity to take a short cut home and a father is demonized, hunted for trying to protect his family."
He rose from his seat and began to pace back and forth, removing his glasses and tucking them inside his suit coat. He was the essence of determination; a man who held steadfast to his beliefs and Ava found his graceful stride almost hypnotic.
"I won't apologize for defending you and I don't even want to think about what would have happened had I not been there."
"Uncle Jack would have…" she began to say.
"Uncle Jack would have arrived during. Do you take comfort in that?" he asked, punishing her with that distressing stare, quickly relenting when he saw fresh tears spill down her face.
"Don't say that, Daddy," she whimpered, for her mind had wandered again, begun contemplating the "what-ifs?" She buried her face in her hands, jumping when she felt his hand gently stroke her hair.
Like a tempest, he was. At times, she saw rage more powerful than any hurricane churning within him. Then just as quickly, it subsided and he was her father again.
"I'm sorry, Ava," he said. "I shouldn't have been so harsh. It's not an excuse, but I think it's important for you to know that my anger isn't directed at youI absolutely detest hearing you refer to him as your uncleHe is no such thing, and he is not my brother in any sense of the word. The influence he's been allowed to have on your life is a tragedy of the worst kind."
"Who is he?"
"Jackson Rippner is a loyal member of the Falcone crime syndicate and a hired killer. After I took Carmine Falcone off the streets permanently, his surviving family members put a contract out on my life. Mr. Rippner sought to execute that contract, kidnapping your mother less than two weeks after you were born and using her as bait to draw me out. No one else had ever done that; they had never sunk that low, but he knew I would come out of hiding if my family was in danger."
All her life, she'd been told that her father had been the one who had snatched her mother from that department store. A closer glimpse of the surveillance tape confirmed the chiseled features of Jonathan Crane, but given their close resemblance, she could see how that lie was easily maintained. It was funny to her how after all this time; the pieces of this twisted puzzle were finally coming together.
"I saw him earlier today, Daddy. On the job, I guess you could say; he was torturing a man and he told him that he watched you die, that he burned your body himself," Ava admitted.
"As you can see, he was mistaken. He thought I had died as the result of a gunshot wound and he thought he had disposed of my body, but as painful as they were, I survived my injuries. The emotional scars took far longer to heal," he said, stopping to look directly at her, "The person, who shot me, Ava, was the woman I loved. Damn him for warping her mind and exposing the two of you to his twisted world."
"I can't tell you that," she remembered her mother saying when she had asked who killed her father. The writing was on the wall and the revelation shouldn't have come as a surprise to her, but Ava still asked, "Why?"
"It wasn't her fault, Ava. Mr. Rippner poisoned her delicate mind. Such was the extent of his relentless browbeating and brainwashing that when I arrived two days later with the money required for his supposed ransom, she was too far gone. I told her I would take her home, get her the help she needed and we would appropriate you from Wayne Manor. Then she shot me," he said with a heavy sigh.
"What was I doing at Wayne Manor?" she asked in confusion.
Ava knew her mother worked for the eccentric billionaire, but she never spoke of him in anything more than a professional context. It seemed strange to think that he was once her "babysitter".
"After Mr. Rippner kidnapped your mother, you were taken in by Bruce Wayne. At the time, your mother was involved with him romantically. He's now her current employer… and the man who attacked me at Arkham," he explained.
"He's Batman?"
"Yes,"
"What's his relationship with Uncle Ja…I mean, Jack?"
Her father gave her a barely perceptible smile as he watched her try to break old habits.
"There's no relationship whatsoever. In fact, it's safe to say they despise one another. No, Mr. Rippner works strictly for the Falcone's and it would not bode well for his reputation if word got out that I was still alive."
"What does he want with mom? I don't understand why he would stay so close to us if he thought the job was done."
"He's a vindictive man, Ava. By staying with your mother, he's effectively thumbing his nose at Bruce Wayne and I'm sure he believes, spitting on my grave. I've done a great deal of research into his background. He has a tendency to become obsessed with his targets; your mother wasn't the first woman he found himself taken with, but so far, she's the only one who hasn't died as a result of his affections."
"Oh my God," Ava said, covering her mouth, repressing the urge to shout in the face of these revelations.
"Are you beginning to understand what motivates these two men? It's not their love for your mother. It's their hatred of me. She's merely a pawn and as soon as she's well enough, the three of us will leave this city. We'll get away from all this chaos and most importantly, we'll be a family. Your mother will finally have a chance to heal."
"But wait, how long have you known about Bruce Wayne?" she asked.
"Over 15 years, before you were even born."
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Because it was more convenient to be thought dead; leaking that information would have given me away."
It was all too much and Ava took her eyes off of him. Now that the lights were on, she surveyed the room for the first time. Again, it was the vests above all else, that drew her attention.
"What are you doing here, Daddy? What's happening?"
"I'm dispensing justice, long overdue justice, to the city of Gotham."
"Didn't you try that once before?" she asked, remembering the stories she'd heard about the riots.
"That was a poorly thought out, foolish plan. The release of the toxin was too pervasive; too many innocent lives were lost. Thanks to these vests, our targets will be more selective."
"Please don't do this. We'll get you help, Daddy."
"Help, I don't need help, Ava. Your compassion is touching but it's also naive. Do you understand the way this city worksI took the head of a crime family off the streets and became the hated one. Now you spend each and every day of your life paying for my mistakes. There's no justice in that."
"Tell me who you're working for," Ava demanded.
"It's better if you don't know that."
"So, you plan to keep things from me too?" she asked and looked away from him.
"No, in two days his identity will be irrelevant. My contract with him will be fulfilled and I'll be free. I think you would be much better off if the two of you didn't cross paths."
"What do you mean contract? Daddy, if you don't want to do this, than we can run away," she said with a glimmer of hope. She knew that sometimes people found themselves in situations that were beyond their control. Could it be herfather was a less than willing accomplice?
"Not with your mother in her current state, Ava. Why else do you think he delivered her to me under such conditions? I have very few choices right now, my love. He'll make sure I stay here until the plan is complete."
"And you just happened to have life support equipment on hand?" she challenged, suddenly finding that aspect just a bit too convenient.
"With over fifteen years spent providing medical treatment to his henchman, yes I do and thank God for it. I requested or more accurately, demanded your presence; I had no say in his methods. Without my supplies, I would have been helpless in the face of her pain."
Ava remembered her mother's tortured screams and the way they had stopped so suddenly. Picturing her mother lying in the hospital bed, she wondered if she should really be thankful.
He stopped his pacing and approached her again. "I'm so sorry for all I've put you threw. In time, I hope you can forgive me and that's all I want from you Ava; your faith and your time. Please believe me when I say I'm trying to protect you."
His arms were outstretched, beckoning her closer. He looked timid; almost frightened that she might reject him. Her mother sick, the man she had always thought was her uncle unmasked as a ruthless killer; this deluded, former psychiatrist who was no doubt still suffering from the long term effects of his own toxin was all she had. At least she knew he really was her father; more than what she could say for her Uncle Jack.
Ava stood and walked into his waiting arms, finding the comfort she'd been searching for ever since she was a little girl; her father's embrace. He held her close, whispered to her that everything would be alright and all she could say in response was, "Daddy," over and over again. The sound of her own voice frightened her, so forlorn, delicate; almost on the verge of breaking. Then she began to cry.
"It's a hard life you've been forced to lead and I think you've heard enough truth for one day. Let me show you to your room," he said.
"No, I want to hear the truth. I just want to get it over with," Ava demanded.
"Fifteen years is too much to cover in one sitting, Ava. We'll talk more tomorrow. Things will be clear in the light of day, you'll see."
He broke the embrace and took her hand, leading her through a door at the opposite end of the lab into a rather cozy bedroom with its own bath.
What a strange place this was. Some rooms were isolated, like the one in which she'd first awoken and others were continuously adjoined. As a whole, the place was a labyrinth.
"I want you to be as comfortable as possible while you're here. Try to get some sleep, Ava."
"What about mom?"
"I'll look after her tonight and if she responds to the antibiotics, she could be back with us within the next day or two."
Ava sat on the twin sized bed, noticing the bag lunch next to her.
"Like old times?" she asked, smiling at him as she opened the bag.
"I never let you go hungry before; I don't intend to start now," he said, walking towards her and cupping her face in his hands, studying her. "You grew up so fast, my love. I can't believe I missed it."
She wanted to feel touched by his words, but when he kissed her on the forehead, she couldn't deny that she felt somewhat uncomfortable being this close to him.
"Good night, Daddy. I'll see you in the morning," she said, thinking it best to be alone with her thoughts for a while.
It's just paranoia…he's my father.
He wasn't an evil man, not in the conventional sense of the word. His intentions were pure; it was his methods that were misguided, that was all. With the proper therapy he could get better, he could be the father she'd always longed for.
That's what she told herself anyway, but when she noticed that her bedroom door locked from the inside, she made certain it was secure before she dared close her eyes.
Author's Note: Okay, so this chapter was…..long! Sorry, but I don't know what else to say. It was hard to balance crazy Crane with the Crane who's trying to win his daughter over for his own nefarious reasons. I certainly hope you all enjoyed it.
Thanks to emptyvoices for being my ever vigilant sounding board and everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review.