"Well, Nygmakins is doing quite well, Professor," a woman's voice says and The Riddler, ducking away in a nearby alcove, thinks it sounds like the woman with the heels from last night.
Professor Strange corrects her. "Dr. Greene, please refrain from using these truncated names that your generation seems so fond of, especially when referring to our specimens."
"Well then," a man jests. "I guess we better stop calling the other one Galazean."
Before anyone can laugh, Strange warns, "That would be wise."
"Nygmakins?" Ed says in his head. "That sounds ridiculous."
Agreed.
"Lee's likely to find us soon," Ed warns. "Sleeping holds don't last indefinitely."
No they don't. Only long enough to escape. It won't be long before she figures out where he's gone and follows him here. Good thing the Van Dahl estate is large and it will take her awhile to find him. He only hopes she's smart enough to evade the notice of the scientists as she comes after him and that he's done with his mission before she finds him.
He is conflicted about what to do next. Should he stay hidden here, learning what he can about what Strange is doing with his specimens, or should he see for himself if his theory is correct about what's in the Nygma/Thompkins tank?
He involuntarily shivers because he already knows what's in there - he's had enough clues. But he just wants to see for himself what Professor Strange has done.
"If you want to see the tank, you're not likely to get a better chance," Ed says wisely. Sometimes it's a good thing that they're sharing the brain again.
The Riddler leaves the scientists to their meeting and silently creeps down the hallway.
He is absolutely horrified at what he sees before him. He places a shaky hand on the cold, clammy glass of the tank. "Baby . . ."
Her eyes fly open, startling him, and he steps back. But only two of them open. The vertical third eye in the middle of her forehead remains sealed. She swims towards him like some mutated starfish, her six limbs propelling her as her black hair flows behind her.
A baby this small shouldn't have such long hair . . . But there she is.
He places his hand on the glass again and whispers, "Daughter."
One of her hands matches its placement. And then the other one from the same side joins it. He can't tell if she's smiling because the mask on her face that allows her to breathe in whatever murky substance she's swimming in obscures her mouth, but she appears to be. She places another hand where his face would be if it was touching the tank. He knows what she wants and obliges, moving his cheek to the glass. She rubs it with the two hands that aren't already 'touching' the hand he has pressed to the glass. His baby has four arms.
He looks back at her in amazement again.
He has a baby. He knew it.
And then it hits him. She's a monster. Professor Strange specializes in making monsters. What has he done to his little girl?
That's when he notices Ed.
"Ed," he hisses in alarm, not wanting to speak too loudly. Who knows who can hear them in here?
"Ed!"
Ed is curled up in a fetal position, almost in a fugue state. Oh no. He can't split again.
"Ed, give it to me," The Riddler commands.
"No. You have too much already. Isabella. Os -"
"Ed. We need one of us to stay calm, cool, and collected. You know I can handle this and you're about to split. That's the last thing we need."
"I don't want to split," Ed says weakly, rocking himself.
"I know. But you're going to if you don't share the burden. You're on the verge, Ed. This is what I was made for. Please."
And there it is.
Ed's pain.
All of it.
It hits him like a ton of bricks and he falls forward onto the glass, palms flat against it, startling his daughter. His beady brow is slick against the coolness of the tank. He's shaking incredibly hard, barely holding on. Through the glass his baby frantically claws at the area in front of his eyes, trying to get his attention.
But it hurts too much. He closes them.
There is no rage - he's left that with Ed so he can do what needs to be done. No this is just pure grief at encountering the horribly mutated mess that Strange has turned his child into - his innocent, helpless baby. His heart aches.
"Baby," he says softly one more time, bringing his hand to the glass. He opens his eyes to see her match it with one of her own and then pukes all over the tank. Now weaker than ever, he breathes hard against the unyielding glass, leaving breath prints over his streaks of vomit.
Is this worse than losing Isabella? Or the same? His heart twists in the same way Ed's had. He remembers that. He also remembers Ed shooting Oswald and losing his best friend - his compass. Aren't those losses greater? His child is still alive.
But in what condition? There's no way his child hasn't suffered. And it absolutely kills him. The guilt is overwhelming. He hadn't even known that Lee was pregnant before they died. Had she? He wouldn't have stabbed her if he had known that she was carrying his child, no matter what she had just done. He was sure of that.
And just how long had they been dead? His child looks like a one year-old. But there's no way . . .
"Are you ready, buddy?" he hears Ed say. "For a good long rest?"
"Yes," the Riddler whispers in relief. He needs to relinquish control.
Ed says solemnly, "I didn't give you all of it, you know. I refuse to forget what Strange has done to her."
The Riddler looks up at Ed's reflection, now in the tank. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Ed says. "That . . . And I didn't want to break you."