Here you go, as promised . . . For those of you who haven't kept up. The original Ch. 45 was merely a head's up that I sprained my wrist and was taking an few days to get this chapter up. I didn't actually change the story here at all. I'm liking this one and hoping you do, too! Happy Reading!
"I think we may have found her, sir," Alfred told him as soon as he and Robin stepped out of the zeta-tube.
Batman set Robin down as he pushed back the cowl, keeping on hand on the boy's shoulder to make certain he wasn't light-headed.
"Are you all right," he asked Robin.
The boy swayed a little, but otherwise kept his balance. "Yeah, I'm good. This was a lot better than the other time when it made me sick." He looked at Alfred. "Hi, Alfred," he said. "Who are you talking about?'
Instead of answering the boy, the butler looked at Bruce, so it was Bruce who answered him.
"No one you need to worry yourself about, chum," he smiled. "Why don't you go change while I take a look at this?"
Robin looked back and forth between the them, suspecting a conspiracy between the two of them was being perpetrated on him. As his thoughts had cleared greatly over the past several days, it didn't take him long before he connected the dots. He paled so quickly, that Bruce made him sit down on the floor.
"It's her, isn't it? The mean one . . . Lydia," he said, his voice dropping down to whisper her name. His eyes looked huge and lost.
At the look in his eyes, Bruce felt the hold on his control slip ever so slightly. He pulled Robin into his arms. The child's arms slid around his neck, and Bruce felt the tremors that seemed to make his body vibrate with fear.
"You are going to arrest her, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," he promised. "She won't get away with what she did to you. Now, I need you to go change your clothes and hang up your Robin uniform."
"The search results are on the computer, Master Bruce," Alfred informed him. "I'll help the lad change in the meantime."
Bruce watched the two head off towards the changing room. He waited until they had disappeared through the doorway before moving to the computer. Bringing up the search results, he stared at the photo of the woman. The screen was split with one side bearing the composite he had made while the other bore the DMV photo and bullet points of the woman's life. His composite photo was nearly identical to the real woman.
He had found her; the woman who had assisted Scarecrow in experimenting on his son, the woman who had apparently enjoyed hurting him for her own sick pleasure. His eyes narrowed as he memorized her face.
She had long, dark hair; slightly wavy. Dark eyes that held traces of humor, but no light; as if she would enjoy seeing you bleed out. Bruce blinked, rubbing his eyes. He hoped he was not projecting his feelings about this woman on her. He needed to see her for what she was, not what he expected her to be.
High cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and a strong jawline along with olive undertones bespoke an Indian heritage or perhaps an American Indian ancestor not far in the past. The paleness of her skin told of long days inside . . . In a laboratory? Maybe in a classroom? Her mouth was well-formed and wide, but he could see traces of tension. She was not pleased about something when this photograph was taken. Bad day? Or bad life? He would soon find out.
He deleted the composite, and moved her photo to the other side of the screen. Her information filled the left side.
Lydia Owens-Shaw
Gender: Female; Age: 34; Marital status: Widow.
Hm. He wondered what had befallen the ill-fated Mr. Shaw, and if his wife might have had anything to do with it.
Occupation: Biological Psychiatrist. Employment status: Unemployed.
Last Place of Employment: University of Arizona.
Arizona? No wonder it had taken so long to find her. Bruce brought up another window, and hacked into the employment records of the university; searching for information on one Professor Lydia Owens-Shaw. It took all of two minutes to bring it up. The University of Arizona needed to update their computer security, he decided. But then again, he thought smugly, so did the FBI.
Date of Hire: June 18, 2010. Date of Termination: March 14, 2013.
She was fired mid-term.
As he read, the story became clear. Harlow had been correct in his theory that she would have been fired for unethical behavior. Apparently, Professor Owens-Shaw was conducting secret experiments on students without obtaining approval or permission from the university. Three of the students required medical and psychiatric care two weeks into the experiment; one student committed suicide. The details of the experiment were sketchy, but told him enough. Short of going to Phoenix personally to search departmental records and perhaps conducting a few interviews with the professor's ex co-workers, he would learn nothing more about the experiment on here.
But there was one glaring clue from what few details were included, however. The experiment supposedly created physical symptoms from exposure to chemically-induced emotion; in the case of the four unfortunate students, the emotion had been fear.
When had she shown up in Gotham? It meant another search, so he opened a third window and set the parameters. Search out any airport or bus records of a Lydia Owens-Shaw leaving Phoenix. It was non-specific, in case the professor came to Gotham via another city. If she did, he wanted to know where she might have gone first before coming here. It might be someplace she would return to if she were worried about the authorities . . . Or about Batman. If she was as intelligent as her information was suggesting, she should be very worried about Batman.
He opened another screen and began searching for utility records for one Lydia Owens-Shaw. Now that he had a name, an address should be forthcoming.
A gasp behind him had him turning around. Dick stood in the middle of the cave in a t-shirt and jeans and bare feet, wet hair plastered to his forehead; staring at the screen with owlish eyes.
"Master Dick, come back here," Alfred ran out of the changing room only to stop abruptly; towel dangling forgotten from his hand. "Oh dear," he muttered.
If Bruce had questioned whether or not this was the Lydia he was searching for, Dick's reaction would have put those doubts to rest. The boy walked slowly toward the computer, his eyes never straying from the photograph displayed on the screen. He stopped when he bumped into Bruce's leg; leaning hard into his side. Bruce lowered his hand to the boy's shoulder, and felt his trembling.
Although he didn't need to ask it, he wanted clarification. "Is this her," he asked softly.
Dick didn't reply, but his tremors became quakes. Bruce kneeled next to his son. "Dick, answer me, please. Is this Lydia? Is this the mean one?" He had to physically turn the child's face away from the screen, so he could look at him.
Watery, cerulean-blue eyes met his. One slight head nod was all it took to loose the tears hovering on the boy's lashes. Slender, yet muscular arms slid around Bruce's neck and tightened into a death grip as Dick's sobs tore at his heart. He wrapped his arms around the boy as his gaze met that of Alfred. The elder man's stiff, upper lip was nowhere to be found as he, too, was overwhelmed by the child's emotional turmoil.
When the child began to regain some semblance of control, Bruce asked him gently, "How was she mean, Dick? What did she do that made her mean?"
Dick shuddered and burrowed as deeply into Bruce's embrace as possible. "Sh-she . . . She made e-everything hurt," he whispered into Bruce's neck. "Not as much when other people were around, b-but when sh-she came by herself . . . I-It was w-worse."
"How was it worse, Dick," he asked him. He needed to know the extent of this woman's crimes against his son.
When Dick whined, Bruce nearly let it go. The boy was too traumatized still to withstand this line of questioning, and truthfully, he was no longer sure he wanted to hear the answers anymore. Just the possible answers Dick could give him scared him.
"Sh-she . . . enjoyed it, then," he said. "When she came a-alone, . . . Sh-she . . . liked what she did."
"Sh," Bruce hushed him. He didn't want to know anymore; not now anyway. While it was possible that his imagination was worse than the reality, he thought it would be better if he didn't know exactly what she had done to his boy until after she was remanded into police custody.
"J-Jeremy tried to m-make it better," Dick told him. "When sh-she came a-alone, he would always c-come after her. S-so, she didn't have much t-time to do th-things . . . At least, m-most of the time."
Bruce swallowed. "What kind of things . . . No! Wait! Don't tell me yet. There is time for us to talk about this later, Dick. And we will talk about it. I don't want there to be anything hidden between us, son. You don't have to deal with this alone. I'll always be there to help you."
Dick was nodding when the computer pinged, letting them know the results of one of his searches was in. He followed as Bruce went and pressed the button that would bring him the answers he wanted; a list of utility companies all with the same address for the same customer; Lydia Owens-Shaw.
5693 Sandler Court, Briar Ridge . . . Briar Ridge, he thought. What a coincidence.
"Are we going to arrest her now," Dick asked; his tears now dried. He was still looking at the computer screen but the fear was gone; replaced by determination.
"We aren't going to do anything, chum," he said. "Batman is going alone."
Dick was shaking his head in consternation. "No," he cried. "Not alone! It could be a trap! Dr. Crane might be there! Please, Bruce, take me with you . . . As backup. I wouldn't have to go in. I could wait in the car. If you turn on your communicator, I can listen in in the Batmobile, just in case you need me."
"Dick, no! I won't have you anywhere near them right now," he told him sternly. "Besides that, you are not physically up for the challenge at the moment. I cannot do the things I need to do if I'm worried about you."
"Ple-ee-ease, Bruce!"
"I said no, Dick," Bruce repeated again, louder this time. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll call someone for backup."
"Superman?" Dick asked hopefully.
"More like a police detective I met recently," he told him.
Having Harlow around for the interrogation might be useful, he thought, if Harlow didn't insist on bringing Lydia into the station for it. Batman would have to feel him out first. Harlow had bent the rules for him several times already; it wouldn't be fair to expect him to continue to do so. Harlow seemed like a straight arrow for the most part, and honest cops were hard to find; in Gotham, at least.
"Bullock?"
Bruce looked at Dick, surprised. "You remember Detective Bullock?"
Dick froze; frowning in concentration for a moment. "Um . . . Yeah," he said, looking up at Bruce in surprise himself. "I think I do. A big guy that looks like a . . ." he glanced back at Alfred. "Looks like an unmade bed!"
Bruce laughed and Alfred smiled. That was exactly how Alfred had once described the police detective; as looking like an unmade bed! Dick remembered something new! Amazingly enough, something relaxed slightly inside of him at this tiny thing . . . His son was on the mend!
"Yes, that is a very good description of Detective Bullock, but no, that isn't the detective I was referring to. This man's name is Detective Harlow. He doesn't dress like wrinkly bed linen. He is, however, very, very good at reading people and between the lines, and making the right connections."
"Does he like you better than Detective Bullock does," Dick asked, concerned.
"He once offered to buy me some pie," Bruce smiled. "I think he likes me well enough."
Dick's head tilted; a puzzled look crossing his face, but he didn't ask the questions Bruce could see behind his eyes.
"You can see that I will be perfectly fine," Bruce said, pressing his point. "Robin stays home! Robin is grounded from patrols, in fact, until further notice."
"What?" Dick balked. "That's not fair!"
"I believe we've had this conversation before, young man," Bruce pursed his lips, placing his hands on his hips. "Life isn't fair. But despite what you think, I am being quite fair. Robin will not fly unless Leslie gives you the okay. We need to know that your heart hasn't been damaged by all of these attacks. There will need to be stress tests done to see if you can return to crime-fighting without risking your life needlessly. And before any of that can be accomplished, you must heal first. Remember, this last time fractured your sternum."
Dick frowned unhappily. "It was only a little fracture," he muttered, even as he rubbed a hand over his chest unconsciously.
Only a little fracture!
Bruce stifled a laugh, knowing Dick wouldn't appreciate it. It was things like this that made him realize that Robin would always need to fly. There was no keeping the boy down! Alfred had called him resilient, but resilient wasn't even half of it. Perhaps if the JLA could see him like this, they might understand what Clark had told them; that Robin's creation had been inevitable. And it wouldn't be stopped now either; it couldn't be stopped! Bruce could see right now that it was only a matter of time before the boy rejoined him for the nightly patrols. Like before, Bruce had no doubt, if Robin wasn't allowed to join him, he would simply find a way to go out on his own.
"I will tell you all about it when I get back." With that, Bruce ruffled the boy's hair as he moved past him. He had a couple of things he needed to do before he could go; one of them being to contact Harlow.
Dick watched Bruce walk away. He looked over his shoulder at the woman who sometimes haunted his nightmares. How could he go back to being Robin if he couldn't even face her? He wouldn't deserve to wear the mask if he couldn't conquer this unreasonable fear! Remembering some of the things she had done, however, didn't make the fear seem all that unreasonable to him. But the Batman wasn't scared of anything, he thought. If he wanted to be worthy, then Robin couldn't be scared either!
"Master Dick," Alfred said, not unkindly. "Why don't you go upstairs to the game room? You can practice a little hand and eye coordination while I whip up something for you to eat. Leslie said you can progress to fruits and vegetables now, and I made a nice vegetable soup for you."
"Sounds good, Alfred," Dick smiled, not wanting to hurt the elder man's feelings, but he wasn't interested in eating at the moment. "Thank you. Um . . . Alfred?"
"Yes, Master Dick?" Alfred turned to look at the young sir.
"I'll be up shortly. I want to wish Batman luck and watch him leave, and then I'll have some soup. Is that okay with you?"
Alfred looked at him silently for a long minute. Then, nodding, he replied, "That would be fine, sir. I'll bring your soup in half an hour?"
"Yes," Dick smiled. "That sounds good."
He watched the butler as he moved back up the stairs to the manor. Once he disappeared, Dick moved back to the changing room. Bruce had moved around the corner to another part of the cave; probably to restock his utility belt. Dick was fairly certain this was a ritual before every patrol or mission. Some items would be removed to be replaced by others that Batman deemed more necessary or critical to whatever patrol or mission he foresaw happening. In this case, Dick suspected he would be adding in the antidote to Scarecrow's fear toxin.
It was a race against the clock as Dick threw off his clothing and climbed back into his Robin's uniform. Peeking around the door, Bruce still wasn't in sight. Robin's mask in his hand, Dick ran to the batmobile. He hit the remote on his belt to unlock the trunk. There wasn't a lot of room in there, but he refused to turn back now.
He could hear Batman's voice talking to someone. It was probably that detective Harlow Bruce had told him about. Taking advantage of Batman's distraction, Robin leapt into the trunk and, as carefully and as quietly as possible, pulled it down until it clicked shut.
He would face Lydia, and then he would be worthy of being Robin again.
Apologies again that this took so long to get up! The good news is that my wrist is merely sprained . . . No fracture! So, I will rub some dirt on it and suck it up, and get out the next chapter to you as quickly as I can. I thought I would get a little farther into the story than I did with this chapter, so Finding Lydia will be a three-parter. Don't worry - I promise that it will be worth the wait! Not done with the exciting stuff - Not by half!
Now then, to the important stuff: REACTIONS?
