Life pools back into my limbs. It's slow at first, starting with my toes and tips of my fingers.
The first thing I feel is pain. A deep ache sits in my bones, vibrating at a frequency that stretches my muscles and grates against my skin. I can't open my eyes, they're too heavy. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. I must have swallowed sand, the air passing through my throat is enough to convince me that it's scrubbed raw. Air boils hot in my chest and against my skin. Something heavy pins me down to a soft surface. White-hot agony blooms in my brain when I try to move my head.
"Thank the bloody lord almighty—Miri, can you hear me? I'm right here."
Someone clutches my hand, it feels like they're cracking my bones. The voice is too far away to recognize. It's different than the others I remember, this voice is soft and soothing. I concentrate hard.
Open your eyes.
It's an intense effort of will, but my eyes flutter open. Warm light emanates from some corner just enough to highlight white walls and blue sheets. My eyes begin to shut again. I want to go back to oblivion.
"Miri, open your eyes for me. Wake up, sweetheart."
The voice sounds closer to me now, more familiar. I finally open my eyes wide and try to take in my surroundings.
I'm in a white room on a bed. Blue blankets are pulled up to my chest. Thick gauze covers my hands. Red and white tubes are coming out of my arm and there's a mask pressed against my face. Memories of Mom strapped to her hospital bed, the struggling and screaming from tumor-induced hallucinations crashes into my mind with the fear of that monster in purple and green.
Get up. You need to get away.
My body attempts to fly forward, but a hand shoots out and pushes my shoulders back towards the bed. I gaze wildly around the room.
I need to get out—I need to leave. I have to find Parker. Where's Mom?
There's a voice in my ear. It drowns out everything.
"Someone over here's a little loopy, hmm? Did I tap your head too hard?"
Laughing. All I can hear is him laughing.
Why is he here? Where am I?
The room is changing. I'm on the ship, in the rusted-out room. Joker's standing over me, his mouth split in a false smile.
Everything hurts. I need to get away. I need to get away. I need to—
"Miriam! Miriam, look at me. It's me—you're alright. It's alright." Alfred's next to me. He hasn't seen the Joker yet.
"Alfred! Alfred, we have to go. No—no, he's going to hurt us! He's here, we have to go—" My voice is a hoarse whisper, it hurts just to try and use my vocal cords. The mask muffles my protests. I try to rip it off, but gauze keeps me from using my hands. Alfred tries to hold me down. The Joker waves at me from the end of the bed and grins like a kid on Halloween.
I need Alfred to understand. He can't be here, he's in danger.
Alfred's face crumbles into tears. A woman in lilac scrubs and a white coat rushes into the room.
"Miri, you're safe now. You're in hospital. I'm not leaving you, you're going to be alright." He's holding me too hard, pushing me back into the mattress. He doesn't understand.
"Whoopsies. Don't you die on me now, we've got too many items on the agenda before you bite it," the Joker giggles.
I try again to get off the bed. Alfred's struggling to hold me down.
Why can't they see him?
"Miriam, you're in Gotham General. I need you to calm down, OK?" The woman has a syringe that she injects into the IV line.
"No! No, you have to listen to me—he's here, we need to—" A heavy weight pushes down on me. "Al-Alfred, you have to… listen to me…"
It's hard to talk all the sudden. I slump back on the bed. My brain is awake, but everything comes through a thick layer of fuzz.
The ship and that awful room melt away. I'm confused. I know I heard him speak, but I can't see him anymore. I can barely move. My own limbs pin me to the bed.
Where'd he go?
"Just a small dose of Ativan. This will help keep her calm," the woman says to Alfred. She leans back over the bed. Her dark brown skin is smooth under the light and her expression is kind.
"Hey, Miriam. You're in Gotham General, you've been here for two days. There's a police officer outside the door—you're completely safe, OK?" Her amber eyes track mine, she won't let me look away. Everything slows down. The panic ebbs, but it doesn't leave completely.
"I need you to understand that you are safe, Miriam. Alfred has been here the whole time with you. No one else is here." She doesn't look like a liar. I start to doubt my own senses. I heard him speak as if he were right next to me. I saw him no more than two feet away. But he couldn't have left without the doctor running into him. What's real and part of the nightmare muddies together the more I try to focus on it, slipping through my fingers and dispersing like grains of sand.
The doctor's eyes keep mine still. She's tethering me back to the room. My head stops throbbing, and logic works its way back in my mind. I centre myself on her face. I stare at her until my breathing evens. Her long faux locs have small bands of gold and threads of silver woven in. A hospital badge hangs from her coat pocket. She has a warm smile.
"I'm Doctor Rosetta Williams, but you can call me Doctor Rose. You've received a lot of injuries this past week: you've suffered extensive bruising, some tissue damage in your hands and feet, and you have a serious head injury."
My fingers twitch and the discomfort flares up with her words, as if my body needed to remind me that what she's saying is true.
"When you were in the river, you took on a lot of water and hit your head again. We saved your hands from most of the damage, but we're keeping you for another night before we release you," she says as she leans toward me and adjusts the mask around my face. "I know this has been a lot to deal with, and I know you're scared, but I'm here to help."
I can't say anything. I'm struggling to remember. Everything's all jumbled up inside. I close my eyes and try to think.
We were on the edge of the ship. Parker was there and so was—
The memories hit me at once. The ship was burning, and Batman pushed us off the edge into the water.
New images flash in my brain, they're unfamiliar. He's in them. I can hear his voice behind me, around the edges of my senses. I can't make out the words.
Dr. Rose moves the hair away from my eyes. The feeling of warm hands on my skin, ones that won't hurt me, is enough for my body to ease into the mattress. My breathing steadies again and I don't try to fight the medicine.
You're losing it, Miriam. Didn't she say I hit my head?
A wrinkled, shaking hand reaches for my arm.
"Miri," Alfred begins.
I look over at him and my head feels heavy again. Most of the pain has dulled, but it rises anew in my heart when I search his features. The lines in his face are deeper, his hair disheveled, skin a deathly shade of white, and I think this is the first time he's been in public without a tie. I haven't seen him like this since Bruce went missing.
"I am never letting you out of my sight again. Master Bruce thought—I thought—" Alfred can't finish. Instead, he brings my hand to his face and cries.
Damp warmth flows down my cheeks. Alfred rises from his chair next to the bed and wraps me in his arms. He still has the familiar sandalwood smell, mixed with the scent of sleep, clinging to his sweater.
Doctor Rose says something I don't catch and leaves the room. The forced calm running through my blood makes me realize who's missing.
Bruce should be waiting to see me, and Parker must be in another room with his family.
I let go of Alfred and look towards the door.
"Where's Bruce? Is he here, too?" My voice is croaky from disuse, and it's a struggle to get to words out of my mouth, like my tongue forgot how to work.
Alfred doesn't say anything. My confusion spirals into doubt.
"Where is he? Doesn't he know where I am?"
Alfred looks at me and conflict rages in his eyes.
"Master Bruce is—" I can tell Alfred is thinking hard about something. "Master Bruce will—he will be here soon." Alfred, even with the medication pumping into me, doesn't sound convincing.
"He didn't come? Isn't he worried about me?"
"Yes, Miri. Of course. Very much. But he… he will…" Alfred trails off.
Another memory triggers in my mind. I push it down quickly. I close my heavy eyes and reach up and swipe the mask from my face with my padded hands. Alfred reaches up as if to put the mask back in place and I push his hand away. I don't want to hear more of Bruce's excuses. The strong smell of antiseptic and industrial cleaners fill my nostrils. I can't help but think of Mom.
She's here, in my mind's eye, laying where I am. She's screaming at me, unable to even recognize her own daughter. Mom was so angry—the tumor-fueled psychosis left the doctor's little choice but to strap her to the bed to keep her from ripping out the tubes and attacking the nurses.
Bruce was there for me then. He sat with me while the drugs rendered Mom comatose. He stayed, holding my hand, as we waited for her suffering to end. That was something we shared. We both watched our mothers die; mine just took a lot longer. I thought he would remember. Bruce knows how afraid I am of hospitals, of being alone.
What have I done? Why is he leaving me here?
I can't think of Bruce anymore. The pain wrenches my chest and my throat fills with emotion.
"Where… where's Parker? I want to see him." It feels like Zsasz has his hands wrapped around my throat again. The drugs are barely keeping me stable. I need to know Parker's OK, that I didn't fail him, too.
Alfred doesn't answer me. Somehow, he pales even further. His shoulders start to shake.
"Tell me the truth." The words burn my throat like fire.
I want Alfred to tell me I'm crazy, that Parker is just down the hall. I want him to lie. Alfred's mouth sets in a firm line.
"He… Mr. Kwan—they—" After a minute, Alfred silences himself and forces his blue eyes to meet mine.
This is all my fault. It all comes back to me. It's all my fault.
"They don't know where he is. You—you were pulled from the river, but they couldn't find him. The police were attacked that morning, during a memorial parade. They didn't respond in time. Gotham River is being searched." Alfred reaches out as if to hold me. My vision goes black. Everything conflates together.
The Joker's knife plunges into Lewis' neck, again and again, the sounds of Lewis trying to breathe deafen me. Zsasz takes the knife and sticks it inside me, laughing while I scream. I'm in front of school, my limbs contorted in some sick alignment. My hand grips Parker's as I make a promise I wouldn't break this time. Parker's face transitions from the sad kid I left behind that night to a man beaten bloody. It's me. I'm hitting him until the skin splits like an overripe peach. Parker's on his back, a knife sticking out of his chest, the Joker pouring the blood into a cup and taking a long swallow, his lips dripping red.
I can't register anything beyond my own screams.
The next fourteen hours are a blur.
True to his word, Alfred hasn't left my side once. Dr. Rose ordered an MRI for my head before she'd sign the discharge papers, and so we're trapped within the hospital walls as we wait. Alfred doesn't want me watching TV. Instead, he's found some classical music radio station, the kind that doesn't have news segments. Alfred's kept his post by the bed, reading magazines and occasionally giving me sidelong glances.
Alfred gave up trying to get me to speak after the first three hours of silence. Dr. Rose is regularly dosing me with Ativan, and all I do is stare at the wall—trying not to think about anything. My fingers grasp for a ring that isn't there anymore. I try not to think about who has it. Every time I hear a laugh down the hall I break into a sweat and inch towards the edge of the bed, ready to drop to the floor and lock myself in the bathroom.
"Miri."
It's just Alfred. Don't think. Nothing exists beyond the fleck of paint on the wall.
A spasm erupts along my neck when I snap my head at the unexpected contact against my arm. Alfred is nudging me. The world falls back in around me. Somehow, I missed the three visitors who came into the room. Rachel, Detective Stephens, and an unmistakable Harvey Dent, with his styled blond hair and pressed suit, shuffle their feet at the end of my bed.
Rachel's holding a small bundle of flowers. Daisies. I break out in a cold sweat.
"Hey, Miriam. How are you feeling?" Rachel asks, as if she was inquiring about a cold I'm getting over. We never did get over the awkwardness between us, but her concern seems genuine. I inch away from the flowers she places on the bedside table.
It's been a few months since I last saw her. Her long brown hair is curled into long waves that sit atop her navy blazer. She looks thinner than before. Elongated, like a rubber band about to snap. I notice the exhausted look in her eye and how she leans towards Harvey. I'd never met the man before, but I still voted for him on election day. Mostly because I liked his cheesy smile in those awful ad campaigns. Standing here now, he doesn't have the same suave easiness about him that he exudes on TV. I'm surprised that Lieutenant Gordon isn't among them. If I was going to talk with anyone, he's who I wanted it to be.
"Where's Gordon?" My voice has gone all craggy again. The image of the deep purple hand-shaped bruises come, unbidden, to mind. I don't want to talk about how I feel. Especially with them. I'm afraid that, if I do, everything will come pouring out and I won't be able to stop.
Detective Stephens looks upset. He's in all black except for his crisp white shirt and blaring red tie. His back bows and his shoulders slump. He rubs a palm across his face before answering.
"Jim's—Lieutenant Gordon died in the line of duty three days ago."
I didn't think anything else could make me feel worse. I was wrong.
"What do you mean?" My heart steadily climbs up my throat. I pull at the collar of my hospital gown. It feels too tight against my neck. My throat constricts painfully, like it's being squeezed. It's Harvey who speaks this time.
"The Joker hid a bomb under the platform where Commissioner Loeb's memorial was taking place. It blew before it was full, and Joker used the diversion to start shooting at the crowd." Without that lopsided grin, Harvey's handsome face takes on a darker look, one that's stern, hard, and unforgiving. It makes his words ring true, but they can't be. Gotham may have its problems, but no one could do that here. Not even a man like the Joker.
I look at Alfred. There's no way it can be true. It can't be. But he won't look at me, his hands are folded together and he's staring at the point I was fixated on moments before. My stomach drops.
"Gordon… he died bravely protecting the Mayor. We—we suffered significant casualties." Harvey's solemn expression spears me in place.
A deep ringing pierces my ears. It doesn't take long to make the connection. If Batman hadn't been on the ship with Parker and me, he would have been there. He could have saved those people. I don't know how many people died, but the weight of their souls, and Parker's, crushes me.
Batman saved me for nothing. All those people died. It should've been me. Parker should be the one who's here. This is all my fault.
Air leaves my lungs in shallow gasps.
"Is there something specific you require? Or are you just here to retraumatize Miriam?" Alfred demands. The hostility in his voice makes my head snap up to look at him. Never in my life have I seen him so angry. Not even when Bruce came home last year.
Harvey throws his hands up and backpedals quickly.
"No, I'm sorry. This has been a difficult time for everyone and—" Rachel cuts Harvey off before he can finish.
"What Harvey's trying to say is that we need any information you can give us, Miriam," she says as she comes around to sit next to Alfred. I don't miss the sideways glare she gives Harvey. Her eyes are shards of ice in the white room. She hesitates for a moment before gingerly holding my hand. "I can't imagine how difficult these last few days have been for you, and I'm sorry about Parker. We're doing everything we can to find him."
I'd heard those words before when Bruce went missing. It took seven years for him to come back from his voluntary absence. Parker probably wasn't coming back at all. I don't want to look at Rachel, how she's pleading without saying a word. I feel close to cracking again.
"Are you blind? Can you not see that this is not the bloody time for you to be pressing for information? She has been through enough without all this bollocks!" Alfred spits as he rises out of his chair, pointing his finger at Harvey. The two start exchanging terse words, Alfred's Cockney accent gets thicker the angrier he becomes. The tension escalates until I can barely stand it. Rachel rubs her brow and turns around to join the argument.
I just want this all to stop. I want them to get out.
"Alfred—it's OK." Alfred pauses mid verbal assault. His mouth opens in protest and I press on. I want this to be done. "I don't know how much I can tell you. Don't know if the doctor mentioned it, but I have a few head injuries. My memory's a bit rough." It's hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
Rachel takes point, probably hoping to keep Alfred from smacking Harvey with his tightly clutched magazine. Harvey leans against the wall and Stephens takes the other available chair, near the door. He pulls out a pad of paper from his jacket pocket and flips through the sheets.
"We know you were on the old freighter that blew at Gotham's south harbor. Do you know why you were there?" she asks.
I thought I cried all the tears my body could produce when Alfred told me about Parker, but I can feel the burn of fresh tears filling my eyes.
I will not cry in front of them. I won't.
"I don't know what happened after being at Parker's apartment. The first thing I remember is the… the video he made. I thought that was it, that he was going to—" I can't even bear to say his name aloud.
Do not cry, Miri.
"After that they—they…" I don't want Alfred to hear. I don't want him to be upset.
Breathe, Miriam. Breathe. You're OK.
I'm lying to myself, I'll never be OK again, but it's the only way to stem the panic.
"Who's 'they,' Miri? Was anyone else there that you can remember?" Rachel asks.
The dark shaggy beard, my ruined clothes, the rows of scars, his hands around my throat—all of it flashes across my eyes. I try to suppress an involuntary groan.
"Zsasz. He was there. He—he was acting as some sort of second, or something." Saying his name is enough for me to shake. At least with Zsasz, I know he will be caught, just like he was before. The Joker seems more elusive, like a specter haunting me and the city, always staying out of reach, waiting for a sign of weakness.
"Fucking Christ," Stephens mutters under his breath. Alfred looks horrified.
"They wanted me to breach a popular app. Parker told me—he told me…" I take a shaky breath, "We were able to talk, once, before the ship went down. They were getting him to access hospital files. He—Zsasz—wanted me to do something similar, I guess."
Rachel stares at me intently. I'm sure we're both remembering the same conversation we had four years ago.
"Do you remember the name of the app?" Stephens asks.
"Gotham Mingles." Stephens looks incredulous, but he makes a notation in his pocketbook anyway.
"Why would they want access to a thing like that? Isn't that where teenagers yell into the void nowadays?" Harvey asks. I think he's trying to be cheeky, but it sounds callous. I direct my answers at Stephens and Rachel.
"A lot of people use it. They didn't say why they wanted access, but they were willing to beat me and Parker to get it." I know I sound bitter, and I definitely am. The more he talks, the more reason I have to dislike him.
"You're saying we should be on the watch for cyberterrorism, too? I know you're doing some new things at Wayne Enterprises, but this doesn't fit in with anything the Joker's done. How would he even know you would be capable of gaining access? You know what, nevermind," Harvey says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
That's the problem with people like him. They only see the physical threats. He hasn't been paying attention to the news: computers hold the near entirety of human knowledge and much of it is largely unprotected. Despite everything, I can't help but scoff.
"Think of everything you've ever seen, sent, or put out on the Internet. All of that information is up for grabs if you know where to look. Are you telling me that there wouldn't be a sizable amount of people who'd be willing to do anything to make sure things they wanted buried stayed that way? Or the kind of panic that would happen if that amount of information became public? Entire governments have been crippled with less."
It hurts to talk that much, but it needed to be said. No one says anything. Rachel, Harvey, and Stephens are looking away from me, hopefully considering my point. Alfred's staring at me with an expression I don't understand, like I told him the answer to a puzzle he'd been working at for hours.
It's impossible to ignore that the Joker is a man without limits, and, if they aren't already, they should be much more afraid of what he can do.
AN: Hey everyone! I just want to say thank you (again!) to all of you who are commenting and following the story, it really means a lot! Especially with this being the first work I've publicly shared. I'm still in university, so keeping up with the chapters has had me pulling a few late nights, but this has been a lot of fun and a great creative outlet.
I will be back again next weekend, and I hope y'all have a good Halloween! :)
