Chapter Thirteen
Blackness dashed before my eyes quickly. My muscles turned to pools of butter, melting beneath the intense heat of fear crashing inside of me like thick water. The horrible snakes grew more fierce, lashing and hissing and bearing their fangs and lunging for my eyes. I tried to scream, but my throat constricted.
My eyes grew heavy. The black monster before me plucked me off the ground as if I were nothing. My arms dangled at my sides and my legs wobbled like jell-o. I felt dizzy, almost as if I'd vomit again. A moan escaped my parched lips, exhaustion overtaking my body. Everything within me loosened, and I lost all willpower to fight the squiggly serpents biting at my eyes. A thick thumb touched my cheek and burst like fire and I jerked my head away. I caught a glimpse of two soft eyes sticking awkwardly out of a horrific, petrifying mask.
"B...Ba...Batma..."
My voice trailed and all light vanished from my eyes.
Got to get her home.
With the information he needed and a slowly fading woman in his care, Batman decided now was a perfect time to make an exit. These inmates wouldn't stop coming in numbers, and Gordon's men would not be able to hold them off. He had the feeling none of these orange prisoners were intimidated by the fact the entire asylum was surrounded by all of GCPD's highly trained officers. He worried that Gordon would want to wait them out.
He raced to the stairs, his well trained legs taking them three at a time, no problems asked. Marianne was light in his arms, smelling terribly, looking worse. Crane had said she'd gotten an extra dose of his "goodies", a more concentrated mixture than what he'd received the other night. What terrified him was that this concentrated dose would work double-time on her psyche, erasing all sanity that his friend once knew. Horrifying fear gripped at his heart and tossed it around his chest like it was a baseball.
He took a sharp left around the corner, wondering briefly if Rachel had made it out okay. He guessed she had, since her Ford wasn't in the mix of black-and-white squard cars sprawled around the front drive. Relief overcame him and he jumped another flight of stairs, rapidly descending the corridor. He stole a glance down to Marianne's face, which had paled drastically. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and her head flopped side to side whenever he took a step. Clenching his jaw, he took a sharp corner and began to descend another flight, cape billowing behind him quietly. He cast a look up to the ceiling and whispered hoarsely.
"Keep her alive, please."
With that, he stopped at the top of another flight. He looked over the railing which lead down to the lobby, where the GCPD SWAT and a group of officers were barreling into, guns drawn. Officers were bellowing out orders to set up a perimeter, though none seemed to dawn the steps leading up to him. In an instant, James Gordon's familiar, shabby, brown leather jacket appeared. The lobby began to die down, the buzzing police fanning out across the asylum. Gorden gestured to three lieutenants and they hustled out of the lobby, leaving Gordon and a walkie-talkie alone. A perfect target.
Batman looked to Marianne, who laid limply across his arms. He took one hand and touched her cheek, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. Her glasses had been cracked in one of the lenses, giving her the look of a sleeping, psychotic professor on the verge of a discovery. He then lifted up a foot, he grabbed a receiver from the heel and pressed the button. His backup would be here momentarily.
Narrowing his gaze, he graciously knelt and set her up against a wall and grabbed his grapeling gun. He fired it up, pulled it tight, and jumped over the railing. Now behind Gordon, the man whirled around and Batman slapped a hand over his mouth and retracted the line. Up they went and he stoppe at the appropriate flight of steps. He hurled Gordon over the railing, where he collided heavily with the floor. He pushed himself up, caught one look at Marianne, then scrambled for her. Batman knelt at her other side and grabbed her face gently in his hands.
"What happened to her?" Gordon asked genuinely.
Batman tossed him a look. "Crane poisoned her with a psychotropic hallucinogen," Gordon gave him a look.
"In English?"
"A panic-inducing toxin. This is a concentrated dose."
"She's not panicking," Gorden gently slapped her face with the back of his hand as if to arouse her. "She's out cold."
"I gave her a bit of Isoflurane," he said darkly.
Gordon positioned himself to pick her up. "I'll take her down to the medics-"
Batman swatted his hand away roughly. "No. They can't help her. But I can."
He wrinkled his brow. "How much time does she have?"
He thought a moment. "With a concentrated dose, not long."
A shriek sounded faintly outside the walls of the corridor, and Batman smirked lightly. Gordon jumped to his feet and retrieved his M9, then pressed himself against the glass of a window. He turned around to find Batman holding Marianne, ready to pass off the unconscious doctor to him. Gordon replaced his weapon and took the woman from him. "How are you getting out of here?"
"My backup's arrived," he gestured to his boot, grabbed the receiver and tapped it against his palm. "Meet me in the alley on the Narrows side. Be quick."
He nodded. "Did you get anything out of Crane?"
"Crane's been working for an outside source. He was the third guy at the docks with the illegal drugs. He's been smuggling in his toxin by hiding them in Falcone's drugs," he replaced the receiver, "They've been refining and testing it here in the basement...then dumping it all into the water."
Gordon's brow rose, "What's he planning? Did he say?"
Batman shook his head stiffly. "I don't know."
"So he's working for Falcone?" he shifted his weight to stable himself and Marianne, "How long? Does he have contacts? Contact points?"
Batman stepped forward and placed his palm against Marianne's cheek, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. His eyes were lost in her complexion and his throat constricted briefly. Gordon stumbled forward but then caught himself as Batman jerked to attention.
"No. Someone else. Far worse than Falcone."
Blood-curdling shrieks erupted from outside again. This time they followed the fleeing officers into the lobby, where the doors burst open and three men fell to the ground. Gordon peered over the railing and his brows rose, then he frowned and watched as the swirling masses of screeching black creatures rise up the corridor. He stepped backwards quickly and fell against the wall, Marianne safely at hand.
"What in God's name..."
"Backup." Batman interrupted. With a glance back at Marianne, he grabbed his cape and jumped over the railing, hitting the ground with a thud and hustling out the door, the bats following him out.
Jim wasted no time.
Covering the doctor's head with a hand, he hustled down the steps and over the stirring guards. The last of the bats had followed him out into the black night and into the chaos of directing lieutenants and SWAT teams. Jim wove throughout the black-and-whites until he reached his own civilian Chrysler. Lying her in the back seat, he practically dove into the driver's side and hurried out of the asylum, kicking up pebbles and puzzling the cops around him. The car revved, the RPM's dipped over the 4, and he took a sharp corner of the long, dirt road towards the city. "Sorry, my dear," he whispered hastily into the rearview, watching her body jerk every time he hit a bump.
Within five minutes he was in the Narrows, winding his way down the familiar alleys and streets. Jim tried not to stare too long at the figures littering the streets like trash-the very sight made his heart crack. As a police officer dedicated to protecting those of Gotham City, seeing these people living in filth, watching as crime lords sucked them in the abyss of hope and survival. This place-including the Traps-made him passionate for law, order and justice. Cleaning it up was just the epilogue.
He swerved into the main alleyway of the Narrows, which was surprisingly mostly deserted. Only a few people, mostly mothers with young children, picked at the trash and whatever else was salvagable in the sewege and waste. He squealed the car to a hault, the back end smashing into the hard, brick corner of the abandoned barber shop. Glass shattered, metal crunched, and rubber squealed. Cursing, Jim pounded the wheel and threw his Chrysler into park, rushing out and throwing open the driver's side passenger door. He scooped up the doctor's shoulders and carefully hoisted her into his arms. He whirled around and kicked the door closed, only to find the women and children rushing out of sight as Batman walked dangerously fast towards him, cape billowing in the cooling breeze.
Jim blinked and knelt to the asphalt, setting her down carefully. Batman knelt and rested her head in his hand then looked at Jim, who stared at his car over his shoulder. Then, whapping the air above them, a chopper appeared, probably news and a police force model having followed him here. He cursed as the white search lite enveloped the trio. Batman scooped up the woman heroically and bolted for the shadows which he had emerged from. Jim rose to his haunces, fighing the massive wind created by the blades of the chopper and cupped his hands around his mouth. He hollared into the night. "Take my car!"
"I brought mine!" he hollared with a rasp.
"Yours?" Jim questioned. He hadn't noticed the man had brought a car, but what did he know? Between him and his partner, Jim stood no chance of one-upping them in this game of cat-and-mouse. He stood and looked up at the chopper, jolting in his place when blaring light flared him in the face, sending him back two steps. Covering his eyes with his arms, he fought the light and then straigthened when a massive sounded engine roared down the alley. His eyes widened behind his glasses and he dove out of the way as the matt-black stealth-fitted tank flew out of the darkness, rumbling over his totaled Chrysler and whipping a sharp right. His jaw dropped as his hands pushed him up out of the filth. He brushed off his knees.
"I gotta get me one of those."
His walkie-talkie chirped and he grabbed it from his worn-jacket pocket and touched the button. "We got a 10-10 on Magberry with a 10-14, all units acknowledge..."
A possible crime with an occupied and suspicious license plate check? Enfuriated, Jim slammed the button down with his thumb and practically screamed into the box. "10-80 that house! That's a 10-80 on my order!"
"10-7 that on the perp," that sounded like Flass.
"Verify that address my backside," Jim swore and grabbed at his hair, slamming this thumb harder onto the plastic button. "I said 10-80 that! 10-80 THAT ORDER!"
"All units, respond. A 10-13 has been called. A 10-34 present enroute 10-11 has been issued. All units respond. 10-6, over and out."
Flass must've requested a 10-13 from house for assistance. Jim pondered the 10-34. No one had been reported assaulted, and this wasn't an assault case. As far as he knew anyway. Maybe Batman had roughed somebody up. The alarm for all units to stand by had been issued, and that meant every cop this side of the Narrows was after that tank.
Jim vented out a huff and whipped the walkie-talkie towards the Chrysler. Then, he raised a hand and popped up his middle finger to the pilot overhead and looked ot his totaled sedan. "Drive fast, tough guy. Drive fast."
He looked over to the waning woman beside him, sweat beating around his temples behind the heavy kevlar cowl. He swiped at a trail of sweat running down his cheek and onto his chin, then regripped the wheel tightly. Anger burst within his soul, and his foot pressed harder against the accelerator. A scowl pierced his face, wrinkling his chin. Something burned in his eyes and he swiped at the opening in the cowl.
Keep her alive, God, and I'll take it all back. I'll take it all back. Just keep her alive and...sane. His bargain seemed weak, compromising. But, what other choice did he have at this moment? Marianne Angela Lancer was slowly losing her mind at his side. He raced around a corner, glacing out the mirror beside him. Half the GCPD was following him onto the freeway.
"Crap," he muttered. He flipped a couple of switches, the dashboard-screen coming to life. It lit up a lime-green color, with fiery red images behind him. Overhead, the radar alerted him to two choppers overhead, the searchlights bobbing across the asphalt and staining his matt-black Tumbler with their oppressive beams. He glared and whipped the steering column left. Before he knew it, his machine crashed into the median in the middle of he highway. Concrete fell around him, and a weak moan sounded beside him. Returning the wheel to normal and dodging more vehicles, he glanced at. She stirred, head falling side to side as if in a night-mare.
"Marianne," he whispered darkly, outstretching a hand and grabbing one of her curls. He twisted it around his fingers and watched it bob like a spring. Her head fell against his wrist and he saw her eyes try to open. One of them was cut across the eyelid, bleeding slowly. Her other was fine, but a nasty cut on her eyebrow oozed gently down her face. He scowled and vow to do the same to Crane. "Hold on, baby. Just hold on..."
He manuevered the Tumbler just enough to lose the cops a few cars behind. They struggled to keep pace, but caught on to his manuevers well. He frowned and activated a few gauges, then flicked a switch. Instantly a hatch released and a hundred sharp stars fell out below him. He watched through the mirror as the cops blew right through them, tires popping in a world of smoke. They spun out of control and one hit a civilian car, the other crashing into the median. The others screeched to a hault behind the others and he clicked another switch.
"Cloaking activated," the computing device declared. Satisfied, he watch the screen project the image of the Tumbler, then it shaded purple, indicating the cloaking device was on. He sped up, weaved between some cars, and lost the choppers at the outskirts of the city.
He took the long way home at fast speed, just to make sure he'd lost the choppers. Then he swerved onto the Tumbler's well-trodden path. They roared closer to the south entrace of the cave, growing closer and closer. Finally the opening appeared and he floored it. Marianne groaned beside him, stirring even more quickly. He glanced to look at her, finding her skin had began to gloss and her eyes rolled into the back of her ehad again. He scowled and looked ahead, watching as the pounding waterful inside the cave poured water in the abyss below. He wrinkled his brow and touched her cheek. No response.
"MARIANNE!"
He burst through the water, breakings continuous trail. Slamming the brakes, the Tumbler jerked forward to a hault, sliding by force and leaving tire-marks on the pavement he'd installed. Alfred hurried down the stairs, vial of Lucius' antidote at hand, along with a fresh pair of clothing. Batman released the hatch, grabbed hold of friend and leapt out of the Tumbler.
He hit the ground hard, cape unfolding behind him and rushed to the exam table in the middle of the lab. He rested her on it graciously and wrestled her jacket off of her. He drew a syringe full of the liquid and flicked the vial. Then, inserting it in her juglar vein, released the injection into her bloodstream. Panting hard, he removed his cowl quickly and tossed it to the ground, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders. He listened to the bats in the cave flutter far off, and listened as the echo of his cowl colliding with the pavement faded off. His eyes searched her face as unfamiliar tears traced a path down his face.
"Marty! Marty," he whispered, voice strangling his heart in his chest. He looked up and closed his eyes, legs seeming to fall out from beneath him. He choked on a breath and swiped at his eyes. "Please, God...let her live. Please. Have mercy on me."
He stepped away from the table, then his knees collided with the ground. He balled his fist and grabbed at his hair with his finger tips and let out a scream into the cavnern depths. Alfred began to tend to Marianne and remove her respective clothing, sniffling softy as he did so. Bruce rocked back on the forth on his knees, a cry escaping his throat. Suddenly his cave felt very empty, and his cape felt very heavy. "Please. I..." he looked up at her on the table. "I...can't lose her. Not now."
I never give you anything you can't handle, son.
He opened his eyes and wrinkled his brow. "You're giving me this! I can't handle this!" he exclaimed loudly. "I can't handle losing her!"
You grow stronger by trials and tribulation. Have you not learned this?
"Yes," he declared, defeated. "I have. I learned it the hard way."