Part VI. II – "Inspiring Madness"
He was no stranger to fear. That ominous heavy feeling in your stomach, that twisted guts, that strain in the chest—out of despair. When his scream ended, everything was hushed. He lifted his head and looked at the starless sky. He gave out long dragged breaths and called for the void like he had been taught many years ago. He was fear, he was the vengeance, he was the night. He poured the fear in the void, and standing up, locked it away from him, out of reach. He could not fail, not this time, not another time.
He was going to find her or he was going to die trying.
Deadly calm, he took his phone. He called Alfred. "Sir—" His once guardian answered at the first ring. "Sir—"
"Alfred, find me all CCTVs that look at this street," he ordered in calmness, his voice hard but resolute, "And come to the bunker." He closed the phone without giving time to Alfred respond.
He wasn't interested in any responses. He was going to find her. He was going to— The barriers of his shelter shook and fear seeped through inside, an insidious sly voice asking— "what if you can't? What if she dies like-?" He stopped the voice before the question was finished, but it was too late.
What if she dies like Rachel?
NO! Not again, not another one—No! Never again, never again—The emptiness shook within foundations but this time it wasn't of fear, but of anger. He reached out and took it, wrapped it around himself as he started running toward the car, ready to challenge the world, ready to burn the world to the ground to find her, to save her.
She was no stranger to pain. That itchy feeling that etched on the flesh, the fear of anticipation when you waited another blow to come—screams and salty tears on your lips, god, no, she wasn't stranger to pain, but this wasn't anything she had ever experienced before.
As the current passed through her body, she shrieked like she had never done before in her life, too loud that she couldn't be even sure that voice belonged to her. No human would scream like that, or she had believed.
She could, she could scream even louder, and she did. When the current abruptly stopped, it left its place to tingles and more pain if it was even possible. She slipped over her chair as long as her bonds let her, her head lolled over. She tasted tears and snot through her lips but she couldn't find energy to split. She let them run over her chin, and closed her eyes. If you don't see the monsters, monsters cannot see you…
"Does it hurt?" the monster asked in a feminine voice.
If she could manage, Valerie could laugh. Without lifting her head, she raised her eyes and looked at Graves. She was smiling. "I know it does—" the agent continued, "I was questioned before too, for days—" she paused, nodding at her, "so believe me when I say this. What you feel right now is nothing what you will experience in a few hours if you keep your mouth shut."
And the moon was still high in the sky, she completed in her mind, her eyes skidding over the long windows in the heights. She knew threat wasn't an empty one, and with the little time they had spent together she understood how capable Mercy Graves was for her job. Even the thought of it was almost made her scream for mercy but she refused to give in. She was not going to beg them. Instead she weighted the possibilities of escape. The options were slim. She couldn't climb up there in the windows, not in this state, even if she somehow managed to get herself free and dealt with the agents.
Her eyes found her other captor, standing away from them, his back at the wall, watching them carefully but not making a sound.
Despite of his silence and inactivity he still frightened her more than Graves. Graves was just heeding according to her orders but there was something more in Lawton's gaze, a clear curiosity, not only for her source, but also for her. A tremble passed over her again, but this time wasn't because of the torture. She recalled the way he touched her faint scars under her chin, the way he looked at her—God, she was in deep shit, in very deep shit.
She shook her head mentally. No. She wasn't. Bruce would come in any minute. She didn't know how but she knew he would. He would not let those people torture her to death.
Torture her to death. The words echoed in her hazy mind with a certainty. This was how her life would end? In this shitty shit hole, tied to a chair, stifled with her vomit and snot… She knew she would never die in peace, when she said she wasn't afraid when Ronnie had pointed a gun at her she hadn't lied, she wasn't afraid, she wasn't afraid of dying but this—
"Who is it?" Mercy Graves asked again, "Who is your source?" Mercy Graves's voice cut through her dark musings.
She kept her mouth shut. Shaking her head, Graves leaned more over her. "I know people like you—" she whispered to her ear, "You're arrogant. Your pride makes you defiant. People like don't surrender. People like you has to be beaten into obedience so that you could feel yourself better."
Valerie almost laughed. She knew herself, and she had never been too much prideful when it came to pain. Granted, she was defiant, but she was also pragmatist. She'd been questioned before, and she had managed to survive but there was one vital difference between those times and tonight.
There she didn't deal with old spies trained for this, but only angry, greedy mobsters and it was easy to manipulate people when you had something they wanted badly, and second and more importantly she had never cared for the people she might have sold at the end. She wouldn't prefer it, but she couldn't die of torture to protect them, either, whereas here—
"It's not pride, Mercy," Lawton suddenly commented, walking to her. She snapped her head at him. "She doesn't talk because she's too much prideful for her well-being," he said as another string of fear captured her. He stood over her, his eyes narrowed with trepidation, "It's loyalty," he announced, "she cares what happens to her source."
When Bruce entered in the bunker, Alfred had already found the security cameras footage. He ran across the white hall and turned on the computer hub.
On the screens, he saw her talking to the air, turning around herself, her head craned up. There must be a reason why she had gone there, to find Caldwell, of course, but someone had to point her to that exact spot and Bruce had a good idea who that someone might be. Taking his phone, he called Rory.
"Rory—" He greeted the younger man through the background noises. He must be still in the city center. "Did Valerie tell you who she was going to talk to?"
"No—" Rory answered, "I asked but she didn't answer. She probably didn't want us to stop her—" he paused, understanding what he had said, "Did—did something happen?" he asked, a hidden fear straining his voice.
"She's kidnapped," Bruce answered simply.
"Her tracker?" Rory asked in a small voice, the fear now clear in his voice.
"It was taken," Bruce said, "I found it in the street where Caldwell's family was murdered. She went to there."
Rory was in silence for a little while, then he spoke, "What do you want me to do?"
"Stay where you are," Bruce answered, "My CI sent me a message," he continued, recalling the message Bottlecup had sent him while he drove to the bunker. The message seemed urgent but he couldn't deal with him now. He had to find Valerie. Everything came second next to that. "Talk to him, learn what has happened." Perhaps Bottlecup had information about Valerie but it was very unlikely.
His eyes turning to the computer screen, he watched two DHS agents approaching to Valerie from the darkness. His blood turning cold, he watched as Lawton hit her head roughly at the wall, Graves putting a black bag over her head. She still fought, though, kicking and screaming like she always did, but soon she was lost in the van waiting for them. The footage stopped.
His fixated at the screen, he looked at the frozen image. His fisted hands drew blood. Derrick Malkin. Derrick Malkin had sold her to the agents. "Derrick Malkin is still there?" he rasped out.
"I don't—know," Rory answered hesitantly, "Possibly—" another pause, "Do you think he's involved?"
"I don't know," he said, his eyes still on the screen, "but I will find out."
He closed the line. As soon as he did, the phone started squalling again. He looked down and showed Gordon's number at the screen. The first time the commissioner calling him openly. Bruce opened it. "Gordon."
"Alfred told me what happened," Gordon started immediately, "I looked into the files. They issued an indefinite detention for her—"
Bruce's attention snapped away from the computer, "What?"
"I tried to question the warrant," Gordon continued, and Bruce felt the incoming "but" even before he said it aloud, "but they say it's national security, and cannot comment."
Derrick Malkin's words repeated in his mind… "Tell West to stay away. This's not something should get involved." So he had known, or he had suspected… Didn't matter now. He would deal with it later.
"Can you find their hide-ins in the city?" he asked, and hated what came next out of his mouth, "They need to question her first."
Gordon pretended like he didn't understand what he had meant. A safe house, a safe place, where there wouldn't be any disturbance when screams—He stopped the thought but a little too late. An image of her suddenly flashed in his mind, bounded and bloodied—in pain, screaming his name…
The world darkened—his grip loosened, he felt like he was going to throw up. When Rachel had been abducted, he had known the fear, but this was worse. Rachel's kidnap was a game, one he had lost at the end, but nevertheless it was a game. This was more than a game, and even he hated to speak of it, they were worse things to being dead. The little tidbits came from the agents' dossiers snapped in his mind…
"You're not alone in this, son, you know it, right?" Gordon said suddenly. He knew it, but it made little different. "We're going to find her," Gordon said at last, his voice determined.
They had to. If something happened to her—he stopped that thought, too. "Send me whatever you find," Bruce said in answer before closing the line. He had to find her, he had to. Or else—
When Graves took pity on her, or simply he grew tired with electricity, and left her alone for a while, Valerie finally accepted a few things. She was losing her ground, her resolves fading. Her first interpretation of her situation was correct. This was nothing she had experienced before. If she didn't find a game changer soon enough, things were going to end up badly for all of them.
Mercy had left, telling her to think carefully before she came back. She had put another set of cables on the table next to her chair to make her point, her eyes staring at her lap, between her legs.
Message was clear. Valerie pulled her legs closer in instinct, glancing at the cable. Lawton didn't miss her reaction. He walked toward her. "People always talk—eventually," he said slowly, almost conversationally, "There is no such thing as loyalty under pain."
She looked up at him. "Is it why you carry a cyanide capsule inside your molar?" she asked with a murmur.
Lawton laughed. "It's not cyanide anymore, but yes," he said, "it's why. People like us usually don't die in bed. Being killed is a part of our job."
"Or killing?" she shot back.
Smiling, he nodded. "To kill, or to be killed, that is the question," he intoned, and looked at her with heavy eyes. "You know his name, you know his story, but do you know anything about Elliot Caldwell?"
It did take quite an effort but she craned her neck dismissively, "Spare me the moral talk," she said, "I know you hate him."
He laughed again. "Yes, I do. I've always. I'd told Control; "do not create something you can't control. But she didn't understand."
"Or she thought she could," Valerie interrupted.
Lawton nodded in agreement. "People like him cannot be controlled. They create their own madness, and become something else. Then they create the world in their own imagine."
"Or the world they live in creates their madness," she retorted, recalling how Caldwell lost his family, recalling how Bruce lost his family. "You have no rights to judge them."
"Am I?" Lawton asked, titling his head and suddenly Valerie had a disturbing thought they weren't only talking about Elliot Caldwell anymore. "On the contrary, Ms. West," he said, "I do exist to judge them. The Joker, the Batman, Wrath—they're all the same, they all inspire the same folly. Someone has to stop them."
Looking at his insensate eyes, Valerie understood they weren't the only ones. This officially couldn't get worse. "I assume that someone is being you," she murmured, turning her head away.
Lawton smiled again. "Who would stop the madness of chaos other than an agent of Control?"
Her attention turned to him, and she started laughing. "You're insane."
He took a threatening step forward, and managed to be more frightening than the wires that lay dormant on the table. "And you're my captive," he told her coldly.
She inhaled sharply, then decided that she'd made a tactical mistake. These people—they were no comprise with them, and being loyal or being prideful made no difference. God, she must have grown soft. The old Valerie would have never made a mistake like that. She raised her head, and looked at his eyes directly. She let out another breath, and said, "It's Wayne. My source—It's Bruce Wayne."
As a dark gleam glowed in the depth of his eyes, Valerie told herself she hadn't done a mistake.
Yes, Valerie is giving away Bruce! I bet you didn't see this coming, haha!
I'm quite excited for the next part even though I don't seem to be able to write it! My initial plan was to write the eventual showdown in this chapter but if I waited to finish it, we could have waited forever-forever.
Tell me what you think, it always motivates me.