Chapter Ten
Crouching behind a dumpster, she steadied her breathing and pressed a palm to her affected side. A spike of pain shot through her stomach and to her spine and she winced. Looking up and finding that he wasn't coming after her, Reacher looked across the alleyway to her box, which was sitting serenly in the open. A man shuffled towards her dumpster and she muttered a prayer to heaven for him to remain silent of her presence.
Batman made his way to the ledge and fingered the object in his hand. The box caught his attention and he stared at it, probably wondering what on earth was in it. Reacher watched him intently, blinking and taking in his masculine authority. Though she absolutely hated him, she adored his aura. He was uncompromising and strong, and she liked that. Probably more than necessary. She often caught herself studying his built when she shoud've been boring holes into his face with her glare.
She was woman though, she allowed herself that.
Within minutes he was jumping the rooftops, disappearing farther into the shadows, his legacy going with him. Finally he vanished altogether, leaving her alone with the rats and the homeless man rummaging through the dumpster beside her. She leaned against the brick wall and sat, hand pressed to her side and one knee bent up to her stomach. The other she outstretched as she rested her head against the wall.
He stopped rummaging and looked at her, unblinking and unmoving. She looked at him harshly from the corner of her mask and swallowed, pushing herself up off the ground and staggering towards the box. Kneeling, she opened the top flop and reached inside for her purse and unzipped it. The small vial of Morphine sat, waiting patiently for her use. Fishing around for the needle, she drew up some and removed her glove. Pressing her teeth down around syringe, she found a vein and pushed the needle in. Her thumb pressed down on the lever and it injected into her blood. Relief washed over her.
Grabbing the box, she stood and found the old man had journeyed over to her. His foggy, clouded eyes were glued onto her, unmoving as he approached slowly with a hobble. He wore a long woolen trenchcoat, once a light brown of sometype. Reacher's brows rose immediately. A small inscription on the right breast pocket alerted her to the original owner of the jacket.
Bruce Wayne.
She straightened, squared her shoulders, and stared at him. He tilted his head to the side and reached out to touch her. She moved her shoulder back to distance herself and just stared at him. He chuckled and looked at her with a starry-eyed gaze and smiled, revealing a toothless mouth tainted with alcohol. "My, my. Ain't nuttin' be prettier down here for some time," he looked at her and then to the rooftops where Batman had been previously. "You an the Bat fightin', doll?" he asked sincerely, "I'se get the feelin' bats and archers don't get 'long to well these days."
She knelt and picked up the box, chuckling and tossing of her curls over her shoulder. Reaching inside the opened box, she fished for her wallet and popped it open, pulling a twenty from Marianne's stash. "Something along those lines,"she handed it to him.
His eyes widened and he practically ripped it from her grasp. Without a word, he pocketed it and returned to his stash of garbage in the dumpster. His rummaging made her shake her head. Hefting the box up, she dashed into the shadows, heading towards the docks.
Reacher took her time slipping in and out of the shadows. She went the long way around the Traps alleyways, ever watching over her shoulder for any batlike followers. A few children watched her slip by silently, and dogs and cats swarmed away from her as she weaved in and out of the darkness, moonlight streaking across her black suit and illuminating the waters just beyond the docks.
She thought of Bruce. They'd been friends since they were young. She'd been infatuated with him since elementary school, when their father's had met over a surgical meeting for equiptment. Bruce and Marianne had hit if off since then, and had done everything together. But then Rachel happened, and Marianne had seemed to play the part of the "third wheel" since they'd grown into adolensence.
But now; things had changed. Marianne had become someone entirely new. Medicine was her lifestyle, Reacher her destiny. She had no idea where Bruce came into the picture. It was true, she loved him dearly, but she feared her childhood crush had turned into something more dangerous for someone in her line of work. She hated to love him, but couldn't not love that man. No matter what he did, it seemed okay, though she knew it was. She couldn't stay mad at Bruce Wayne for long, no matter how hard she tried. Marianne Lancer had long been the third wheel, quiet, unmoving and devoted. Now she had squeaked just a little too loudly.
Setting the box down on the old, salty docks, she crouched and looked into the violet waters. The surface rolled with a lull, waves lapping against the planks and the shoreline, seemingly harmless beneath. Alot like her feelings. Outward she was lulled and content, but inside passion burned within her. She wanted so much! Wanted to say so many things to Bruce, to Rachel, to Batman. Yet her mouth stayed closed, content with where she was.
Growling, she reached in her thigh-belt and retrieved the last Shuriken. Glaring at it, she fisted her hand around it and whipped into the glossy waters. Instantly the waters shattered and it disappeared beneath the surface, salty tears burning the corner of her eyes. She dropped to her knees and glanced up at the starry painted sky, closing her eyes and pulling off her mask. Identity exposed and heart bleeding, she looked to her gloved hands and gave shaky sigh into the air.
"God," she murmured, "what's happening? I...I don't know where I am," she squinted her eyes closed as tears meshed together with her lashes, unwilling to spill over onto her cheeks. "I don't know what You want me to do. I'm so...lost." Opening her eyes, she stared into the sky again and smiled small. "But I bet Your not lost. Help me."
"Marianne?"
Jumping to her haunches, she instantly reached into her quiver and tossed out a small arrow, lashing out behind her. The arrow went soaring right passed Leslie Thompkins, and she ducked. Donning her mask once again frantically, Reacher stood tall and strong and scowled at Leslie, taking up the box again. Unphased, Leslie got up and approached hte vigilantress.
"You're going to get yourself killed," Reacher growled roughly, "I don't miss."
Leslie lifted the quiver of arrows from across her shoulders and Reacher took them. She handed the doctor the box and was about to strap the quiver around her shoulder boudier-style when something little and red caught her eye. Plucking it from the quiver, she found it to be a thornless rose, with a note.
For the strength blooming within. -J.
A smile painted onto her lips. John had been her supplier for almost ten months now. He had her arrows made confidentially somewhere in Chicago through a friend of his. He was originally the one who had designed them. Ever since that first shipment, he'd been supportive yet cautious of her mask, and she was ever dependant on his supply. John had never failed to give her arrows, and she'd never failed to write letters-their bargain, per se.
"He's a sweet man," Leslie whispered. "he loves you dearly."
Reacher smelled the rose and chuckled, then took the note and handed it to Leslie. "I know. But I'm dangerous. I can't be cut." She turned on her heel and began to walk away, then stopped and glanced over her shoulders. "and I can't be de-thorned, either."
"Every rose can be de-thorned," Leslie shot back quietly, looking out across the waters. "You just have to find the right man to do it."
She dropped the rose and headed back to her X-Terra.
Arkham was quiet tonight. All the lights were out, the huge Victorian-built building stagnant against a starry sky. Reacher was able to jump the huge fence with the help of a jumpline-arrow. Glancing over her shoulder, she managed to trek up the hill, Morphine her saving grace for the evening. After dodging the search-lights and quietly snaking through the huge trees and bushes which lined the yard. Most of the guards were armed with small M9's, nothing unusual.
What was curious, though, was the south end of the huge mansion-like Asylum was the heavy-armed guards watching over the entrance which would've been the loading dock years ago. With the addition of a much larger cargo bay, Arkham was able to take in larger semi's and many more than the south bay would've allowed. Many had presumed it'd been sealed off and dedicated to Amadeus Arkham, the Asylum's founder. Wrinkling her brow, Reacher quickly changed positions and quickly scrambled up into an aging willow. She scanned the yard which the heavy armed guards were patrolling-three to the north side, then two facing her, about 100 yards from her tree. Her mind began to reel, and she drew her bow and two arrows from her quiver.
Balancing on the high branch, she closed her eyes and remembered the hot Australian days, when the desert breeze would blast small beads of sand into her skin and fill her hair with grit. She recalled how much her skinned burned with rays of sunlight. Opening her eyes, she released the arrow and it went whizzing through the air.
It crashed into the side of the building, shattering a window to the south wing. Chaos ensued as gunfire blasted the air in firey bursts. Reacher fired another one farther towards the main entrance, which sent all the southern guards running to the northern end. They met up with the security of the building and branched off towards the relaxing gardens to investigate. Satisified, Reacher jumped off the branch and hit the mossy earth, bolting from under the confines of the weeping willow, heading towards the southern end.
Careful to stay away from the searching lights, she ducked into a patch of shrubbery and quietly picked her away across the stones, stopping every few moments to listen for the distant calls of the search parties. Once it was secure, she ducked into the broken window and dropped into the building. It was farther than she expected, and she landed with a yelp.
Quickly darting for the confining shadows, she breathed hard and pressed a hand to her abdomen. Wounded, but not broken quite yet. Reacher waited a few moments before pressing on, slipping out of the darkness like a night creature and slipping out the door. She looked around, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow. Pulling back, she secured the area and inched forward.
Apparently the southern wing was dedicated to "experimental science" or so the papers read. Most of the work was conducted by Doctors Lisa Murray and Pratt Kap. They were obsessed with the criminally insane, bent on experimenting on society's condemned. Finally declared clinically depressed, Lisa went on to Bludhaven's Yardley, a professional clinic specializing in clinically depressed. Pratt apparently went insane after studying his psycho lover Pamela Isely, an extreme environmentalist and botanist. He too was sentanced to an asylum somewhere in Metropolis. Most of their work was illegal, and the southern wing often referred to as "Southern Hospitality" was shut down and turned into a museum for Dr. Arkham.
Creeping her way through the hallways, Reacher managed to find the main corridor and work her way towards the elevators. She remembered the highlights she stored away in her mind from her previous visit-places to help her find her way back through the asylum. Finally she found the elevators and crouched to the power box. Prying it open, she cut the wires with the tip of an arrow and managed to open the doors.
The shaft wasn't too far up from the basement. About fifty feet. Easy enough to climb down. Nodding, she grapped her jumpline bow and fired it open. It racketed up and collided with something above and she yanked on it, making sure it was secure. Satisified with her accomplishment, she let the line drop all the way down and grabbed hold of it.
Positioning herself over the gap, she placed her feet firmly against the shaft wall and began lowering herself down carefully. Her feet didn't make too loud of echoes down the shaft, but some. Beads of sweat dotted her brow, and she stopped at the basement door. Again she overrode the system and managed to get the door opened.
Leaving the line, she slipped to the left nad ducked behind a wall. Peeking around it, she found she was on the top flight of stairs, which was actually a balcony overlooking the actual basement of the asylum. Her eyes widened at what she saw, which was surprising. Creeping out from the wall, she ducked and rolled, disappearing into the darkness of the balcony. The lights were not on above her, so she was somewhat concealed.
Reaching into her thigh-belt, she pulled out a phone and began to snap pictures quietly. Inmates, both male and female, spilled gasoline cans full of liquid into a small opening in waters pipes, rushing beneath the cement floors. It was Gotham's main water supply, everyone knew it ran beneath Arkham, and it was securely fashioned beneath concrete. If it were ever to burst, Arkham would have to be completely torn down to fix the water supply. Not one of Dr. Arkham's brightest ideas. Orange jumpsuits scurried about everywhere, dumping the gasoline cans into the water. Alarm spiked inside her head and she tucked away the camera. She then shook her curls and headed back towards the elevator shaft. She stopped when she heard a conversation ensue.
"You think Scarecrow's gunna take over the whole city?" one of the men asked. A woman ran her bright red nails through her red hair and shrugged.
"Probably. There's enough of that crap to bring down half of Gotham. And you know the whole sayin'. Kill the head of the snake and you get the body..."
Reacher leaned forward to better hear the conversation, but she leaned too far over the balcony railing. Her quiver rattled as the arrows shifted forward, and one slipped over her shoulder. Fumbling to catch it, it slipped through her fingers and hit the floor with a clank between the two inmates. They looked up, but Reacher had already bolted for the corridor.
Rushing from the balcony, she hustled towards the elevator and grabbed onto her jumpline, only her hand grasped the air instead of the line. Surprised, she stumbled forward, but caught herself and looked down. Her jumpline had been removed. Wrinkling her brow, she heard fumbling voices and pounding footsteps echoing across the walls of the basement. There must've been at least six or seven sets, and she panicked. Whipping her head to look down the hallway, she again looked back and found the doorway filled with a huge frame of the red-headed woman. Reacher didn't hesitate and took off down the hallway to the left.
They followed after her. She whipped a hard left and then a right, finding herself at a stairwell. Taking them three at a time, she jumped over the railing and began climbing the next flight. Panting hard, they appeared at the bottom and screamed up at her, all of them barreling up the steps two at a time.
Whipping open another door, Reacher frantically looked around. She took off again when the red-head neared. She lashed out and grabbed Reacher's arm, flinging her up against the wall. She reached behind her for an arrow. She looked back to the woman and ducked, barreling herself into the woman's abdomen, slamming her into the adjacent wall. She ground the arrow into the plaster beside her head and kneed her in the gut. Taking off again, she grabbed another arrow and punched it into one of the wooden doors, it breaking into the wood and splintering it. Turning on her heel, she whipped around, throwing it open. It collided with another woman and she fell to the ground, a nice gash across her forehead.
Wasting no time, Reacher spun around and grabbed her bow and another arrow and fired it into the barreling group. It collided with a woman's knee, and she fell to the ground. Looking over her shoulder, she found a huge window and then looked back to the group. Reacher gulped and pivoted on her heel slamming her boot into the window. It shattered with a burst and rained down in her curls. Without hesitance, she tossed her body out before a huge man could wrap his arms around her waist.
She fell hard through the air, the ground approaching at rapid pace. With not time to grab her bow, she was ready for the inevitable. Pain would ensue shortly, if she even lived. Leslie would never forgive her for leaving a huge mess to clean up. She gulped and braced herself. Air whistled through her ears and the ground seemed to jump up at her as fast as it could. As soon as she thought she'd hit the ground, she stopped abruptly and was swung left.
Screaming burst from her lungs and she looked up. Batman looked down at her, face hard as a stone. His strong arm wrapped around her abdomen and pressed her close, and she looked over her shoulder. The inmates leaned out the next four windows shouting obseneties at them. Relief flooded through her and numbed her senses, but pain still pulsated through her body, though she hadn't collided with the ground. More shouting from below burst through the air, and then gunfire erupted.
It whizzed passed them, and Batman released the line, and they hurled towards the ground. She dropped her shoulder and hit the earth with a thud, pain spiking up her shoulder and causing her to gasp. He moaned and rolled over onto his side, gripping his shoulder with a thick glove. She whipped a looked behind them and helped him up, out of breath and limping.
"C'mon," she said huskily, out of breath and shaky, "We've got to lose them,"
"Crane is heading to the Narrows," he said with a raspy growl which almost was a groan, "We have to follow him."
She nodded. "Right now, I'm more worried about our hides."
Reacher helped him into the darkness, passing by heavy branches and stepping over shrubs. They hurried down the hill towards the back roads, where she'd come from. He protested and reached into his belt, pulling out a receiver. He pressed the button and something roared from the bushes overhead. Reacher looked over her shoulder and saw the bouncing lights of guards and the barking of big dogs. Piercing the trees ands shrubs up ahead, a huge, black looking tank appeared, rumbling in the darkness, no light eminating from it. She stopped as he hurried forward, the upper hatch opening. He climbed in, whisping his cape away from him and stared at her, offering a hand.
"It's faster than running." he replied huskily.
She nodded and jumped up. Falling through the hole, she yelped and fell into a cushioned seat, looking frantically around for any type of escape, if need be. All she found was a small glass slit for a window and a thousand buttons on the paneling around her. He fell into the driver's seat and activated a few things, then surpressed the clutch and shifted into drive. She watched him intently as he manuevered the massive tank over the hill and right passed the guards and threatening inmates. He spun out on the dirt and hit the pavement of the parking lot, rumbling over a few cars and revving the engine. Batman manuevered the machine down the small driveway and sped up. The guards and men eventually gave up as the asylum faded from view.
Reacher gripped the sides of her seat and glared at him, mouth bursting with questions before she could think of possibly offering a thank you. "What are you doing here?"
"I had lead," he said thickly, "Marianne. She mentioned something about Scarecrow, a man who is obsessed with fear. I linked him up with Jonathan Crane."
"Jonathan Crane?" she asked, astounded. How on earth had he figured that out so quickly? I'd taken her almost three months to even track down the Scarecrow, much less pin down his identity. Her mouth dropped open then she shook her curls in confusion. "Wait-are you sure? Jonathan's a dedicated scientist. I know he's strange, but-"
"-but nothing. He's onto something," he began, "what you seen was just a fraction of what they've been pouring into the city. It has something to do with Falcone's drug shipments."
She wrinkled her brow. "How do you know? Did you talk to Crane?"
He looked at her and turned right. "No. I came here after we were finished arguing. Crane said something about picking up the drugs in the Narrows. He took kerosine with him. Whatever he's picking up, he's getting rid of the evidence."
"What about Falcone?"
Batman sighed and reached up to the dashboard and punched in a code. A door opened and revealed some papers, along with some photograps and a familair Shuriken-all of which he handed back to her. She accepted them and looked at the Shuriken and then back at him. He looked away instantly as a smile played on her lips. Shuffling through the papers, she found one of Jonathan's casefiles marked Falcone, Carmine.
She read aloud. "At 2000 on the 16th day of September, Carmine Falcone declared clinically insane by court order of Judge Faden. The patient was transfered to Arkham Asylum for further treatment under Doctor Jonathan Crane..." her eyes widened as she looked throught he rest, scanning over it. She slapped the page and looked back at Batman. "How on earth did he ever convince Judge Faden to declare Falcone insane? That's ridiculous! Everyone knows Falcone was sane from the moment he was tagged!"
Batman nodded and pointed to the page in her other hand, glancing at her and then the road again. "Judge Faden. There's our man. Look at the history of the court orders for the passed six weeks. Crane's visited with each patient, examined them, and then Faden declared them insane and to be charged under Jonathan. Most of the big names."
Reacher frowned. "Why? What exactly does Crane want with a bunch of big name criminals? It doesn't make sense."
"All I can think of is to form an allience of somekind," Batman rasped darkly, "with major crime lords around Gotham. Why, I don't know."
She fell back into the seat. She watched out the slit of glass, silent. The papers sat on her lap, her mind whirring with possibilities. Carmine Falcone insane? It couldn't be. She didn't understand what Jonathan would want with a bunch of big names to work on. He had other patients, why these? Not for money; the government gave him all he needed through funding. She shook her head and pressed her gloved fingers into her temple.
"Hey," he said thickly. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah," she snorted sarcastically, "I'd be a pile of mush if you hadn't shown up. Thanks."
He nodded slightly. "Your work is good, Reacher. You're smart. I watched your hand to hand." he held her gaze for a moment, "You have potential. You need training, but you have potential."
She raised her brow. "Really. I don't believe it," she tossed her hands into the air, "one minute you don't trust me, the next you're rescuing me like prince charming. And now you're complimenting me!" she rolled her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You really make it hard for me to hate you."