Make sure you leave comments after this chapter, cause I'm very eager to hear your guys' thoughts. Oh, and make sure you pay close attention ;)
Six months later…
It was her phone that woke her.
The blaring ringing pulled Kris from her deep sleep, startling her awake. She gasped quietly, beginning to sit up, when she began to catch her bearings and remembered where she was. In her room, in the penthouse. The alarm clock read 2 a.m., and with a jolt, she realized who was most likely on the phone.
Grabbing the ringing, vibrating device, a glance at the screen confirmed her suspicion. It read Unknown Caller ID, but she knew better. She'd been getting these calls ever night, between midnight and 3 a.m. like clockwork, and it had all started after one particular incident.
Taking a deep breath, the chocolate-haired teen pressed the answer button and brought it to her ear, holding onto air she had just breathed in. The other end of the phone was near silent, but in the complete and utter absence of sound in her room, she could hear the light breathing on the other end. She knew exactly who was calling her.
"Jonathan?" There was no answer, but it was the first time she'd confronted him since she started getting the calls after he snuck out of Arkham, and she swore she heard the breathing on the other end catch. She licked her lips, sitting up all the way, fingers clutching the phone with such force, her knuckles were going white.
"I know that's you, Jonathan." She paused, partly because she wondered if he would respond, but also because she was unsure of what to say next. She decided to be direct. "Why do you keep calling? Why don't you talk to me?"
Silence.
"Where did you find my number? My dad will be furious, as soon as I tell him what's been going on, he'll take this phone away and get a new one, a much harder one for you to track down." Still, there was no answer, and she felt her temper flare up. She struggled to keep it under control, desperately recalling Dr. Levinson's voice when it came to controlling her anger.
1, 2, 3, 4…
"Damn it, Jonathan," she cursed, voice dropping into a barely controlled snarl, "I'm not one of your fucking patients! I'm your family, you can't play these stupid fear tactic games with me-!" She caught herself, managing to force in a calming breath before her voice rose too loud. Pausing, she turned back towards the door, waiting for Alfred's footsteps, but there was nothing. She turned back around, biting her thumbnail as the breathing on the other end continued.
"Don't call me again." She instructed firmly, a tremor hiding under her tone, "Or I'll tell Bruce everything, and then you'll never be able to find me." With that, she slammed the phone shut and sat there, counting quietly, and breathing deeply; desperately attempting to control her emotions.
It's important to realize, whenever you get upset, you need to stop and remember: I am in control of my emotions. I decide what happens when someone angers me; I am always in control.
"I am always in control…" she muttered to herself, staring at the bookshelf across from her bed. Somewhere around that time, she laid back in bed, and sometime after that, drifted back off to sleep.
It wouldn't be until morning that she saw the text that came from the number, the very last one that she'd see from him, since one week later, her father would have her biological uncle locked up again for drugging involuntary Gotham citizens and attempting to run incredibly fucked-up psychological tests on them. The text was only one sentence.
Ask Azalea Murphy about Elizabeth Crane.
Six days later…
Alfred Pennyworth looked up from where he was pouring syrup over a stack of blueberry pancakes, hearing soft footsteps coming towards him. Sure enough, a young girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen, entered the kitchen. Clad in a traditional private school uniform of a plaid skirt, stockings, white button down shirt and a blazer, her dark hair ran down her back, past her waist, held out of her face by a single braid done across the crown of her head.
She was a beautiful young girl, and sharp as a whip. Of course, he didn't expect anything less from a teen that willingly spent her free time solving puzzles, riddles, and fiddling with a Rubix cube.
But Kristina Wayne had a kind heart, too.
"Morning, Alfred." Kris greeted softly, kissing the older man on the cheek and hopping onto a stool with a small scowl. Jonathan had told her some odd years ago that she would start growing by high school, but she was still only five foot. Then again, her maternal uncle was a pathological liar, so maybe she was holding out with false hope.
"Good morning, Miss Kristina," he returned warmly, setting the plate in front of her. "A steaming batch of my famous pancakes, and an excellent way to start off the week."
Kris giggled as she brought a bite to her mouth, looking around. "Looks like Bruce didn't think so."
The butler rolled his eyes, turning back around. "You know your father, young miss. Sleeps all day, that one, but I'm afraid that won't be an option any longer." He shook his head, "Going to get himself into a bloody mess of trouble with Wayne Enterprises if he keeps falling asleep in board meetings."
"Who's falling asleep?" A new voice inquired innocently, and both turned to see the man in question, fixing the sleeves to his dress shirt as he walked in the room. Kris smirked playfully.
"How come you're always getting on me about falling asleep in math class but you're allowed to sleep through million dollar business deals?" She interrogated, and Bruce pinched her arm lightly, yanking his hand back before she could slap at it.
"Cause I'm an adult, and that means I'm always lacking sleep. Plus, I already have a job. You, on the other hand young lady, need to get through this semester so you can move onto your junior year and finish up your college classes." He returned, nodding at the bulging bookbag that was sitting by the door to the living room. Kris rolled her eyes.
"But my classes are so boring, Bruce, I already know the answers!"
"Well, then getting a perfect score on your SAT's in a few years should be a walk in the park." He shot back playfully, then pecked her forehead. "I'm heading out to work, you need a ride?"
"Oh, um, no thanks." She denied quickly, hopping off her stool, "Alyssa is coming to pick me up, and I'm probably getting a ride back with her, too, so don't worry about it." Snatching up her bag, she shot a quick farewell over her shoulder and raced out the door to the elevators.
As she left, Bruce looked over to Alfred, eyebrows raised. "So, I know Rachel warned me about the teenage years. But you have to admit, that was a little weird."
"Do you really think you are the most fitting person to pass judgement for being strange, Master Bruce?"
"Wow."
The sounds of mid-morning Gotham echoed around her, a sound she was extremely familiar with. But Kris wasn't paying attention to those. No, she had to focus, she needed answers.
She stood outside the bank, clutching the pieces of paper in her hands. It held information, information that she wasn't really allowed to access. Bruce would eventually find out she'd been snooping using his computer, which is why she had to be quick. Chewing her lip, she looked back down at the papers. At the top read, Murphy, Azalea Selene. Underneath was a long list of information. Date of birth, marriage and divorce information, offspring, spouses, and even past addresses. But only one line of data concerned Kris, because it was technically the only one she could legally follow up on.
Current Employment: Gotham City Bank, Loan Officer
With a deep breath, Kris silently recited the list of questions she had in her head as she hurried up the steps, her school shoes clacking lightly. It wouldn't be too long until the academy called Bruce to let him know she wasn't in second period; she only had an hour to make it back, or her ass was toast.
Inside, it was surprisingly quiet. She was guessing ten o'clock in the morning wasn't the busiest time for a bank, seeing as most people were at work. A small line was formed at a few teller booths, but the rest were empty. Hazel eyes roamed around until she finally realized that she had no idea who she was looking for. Despite all the information, she didn't have a current picture of the woman in question.
"Do you need help, miss?"
Kris jumped, feeling her muscles tense until she realized it was simply the security guard, watching her in confusion. Stuffing the papers into her bag, the teen nodded, thinking quickly.
"Um, yes. I'm looking for Azalea Murphy, I'm told she's a loan officer here?"
"Yeah, Mrs. Murphy is in today," he confirmed, still looking suspicious "but why do you need to see her? Shouldn't you be in school?"
"Oh, uh, yeah, that's why I need to talk to her." She raised the pitch in her voice to a level of slight panic. "I was interviewing her on financial careers in Gotham the other day, and I left the entire report on her desk. If I don't get it turned in by ten, it'll be an automatic fail." She widened her eyes, allowing her chin to quiver. "Please, sir, I'll be quick, I promise!"
"Ok, ok, please don't cry." The security guard quickly shut down, then turned to point at an all glass office sitting in the middle. "That's her office, looks like she's on a call right now. Just go in, get your paper, and try to be quiet, yeah?"
"Yes, thank you, thank you so much, sir!" She told him sincerely, smiling in relief and walking towards her. Once her back was too him, she rolled her eyes.
Not the best cover story, but it'll do, I guess.
As she neared the office, she caught the tail end of the conversation.
"Yes, yes, I understand. Not to worry, sir, the money is well-guarded. No one would be stupid enough to rob this bank." The woman paused, then turned to the door and made eye contact with Kris.
The phone receiver actually slipped from her hand as the woman's lips parted in shock, and both parties jumped when it clacked loudly on the desk. Scrambling to pick it up, she stuttered out, "Yes, yes, sir, understood. I'll make sure to double-check, I swear." As she was hanging up, Kris got a good look at Azalea Murphy.
She was in her late thirties, maybe a few years younger. Her hair, which was a much lighter shade of brown than Kristina's own and filled with highlights, was pulled back into a high bun. Her blue eyes were bare, but a pair of glasses hung on a chain around her neck. She was dressed in a navy-blue blazer and skirt, with a black blouse underneath. There wasn't much that was remarkable about her, but Kris could barely contain her anxiety and excitement when she saw the woman's face.
She knew that look. She'd seen it on Jonathan's face a million times.
Recognition.
"Hi," she started hesitantly, hands clutching the straps of her backpack. "I, uh, need to speak to Azalea Murphy?"
"Yes," Azalea agreed, seeming to catch her bearings. "Yes, that's me. Um, why don't you have a seat?"
Heart beating like a drum, Kris sat in the chair in front of the woman's desk, still fiddling with the straps of her bag as she quietly set it by her feet. Unsure of how to even begin, she decided to simply cut right to the chase. "You look like you recognize me."
"Do I?" The older woman asked, her voice a little higher than it had been before. "Well, that can't be right, I don't think we've ever met-"
"Did you know Elizabeth Crane?"
The question pushed its way past her lips before she could stop it, but the teen couldn't help it. This woman knew something, she could feel it.
At her outburst, the color seemed to drain from Azalea's face, and she seemed to flounder for a second before she could speak. And when she did, one word came out.
"Kristina?"
Kris nodded, now feeling her hands shake. "Yeah. So, you knew her, right? You knew my mother before she died."
"How-" Azalea shook her head, looking confused, "How on earth did you find me?"
The teen played with her fingers, trying not to look guilty. "It's not important. What's important is I have some questions I really need to ask you."
"Did Jonathan tell you about me?"
Kris startled, raising her eyes to stare at the woman in shock. "Wait, you knew Jonathan, too?"
Biting her lip, Azalea leaned down and opened a drawer in her desk. Shuffling around for a few seconds, she came back with several small slips of paper in her hand. No, not paper. Pictures. Hesitantly, she held them out to the younger girl across from her.
It was of Jonathan; Kristina couldn't help but be shocked of how he looked. He was younger, ganglier, maybe around her age. On his back was a girl that looked just like him, and with a start, Kris realized she was looking at her mother. It was true, they did look alike. Except for the fact that Elizabeth had Jonathan's blue eyes and was a little taller than Kris, they could have been twins.
The pair was laughing, and the next few pictures were not only of them, but some held a teenage Azalea in them as well. They were always laughing or smiling, and the last picture showed Azalea and Elizabeth standing with their arms around each other, making silly faces at the camera.
"We were best friends." The woman's voice pulled her back to reality, and Kristina raised her eyes to see Azalea fiddling with her hands, eyes wet. "She was amazing, your mother. So kind, and so smart, too. Jonathan always tried to act like he was the brains of the pair, but," she scoffed, "Beth could've outsmarted him any day."
"You don't like him." It wasn't a question, just a statement. Azalea paused, then shook her head.
"Your uncle wasn't always like, well, how he is now, Kristina. But that doesn't mean he was ever really good to begin with. He was always narcissistic, and controlling. He used to get so jealous of anyone Beth spent her time with, including me. If she wasn't with him 24/7, he was upset." Her eyes grew even more teary, and she shook her head. "And when your mother got pregnant with you, he couldn't bear the thought of losing her, it made him crazy. He even drove her to the abortion clinic once, tried to force her inside." A stormy look passed over her face. "She was only nineteen at the time, I had to come pick her up. She wouldn't even speak to him until she got about halfway through her second trimester."
"Do you have more pictures?" Kris asked, not meaning to interrupt, but she couldn't help it. This was the first time she had something, something that was her mother's. It made her chest tight, but in a good way. Tight, but warm, like she imagined it would feel to have the woman beside her. Regrettably, Azalea shook her head, chuckling tearfully.
"No, Beth hated having her picture taken. I never understood why, she was such a beauty." Her eyes raised to Kris. "Just like you. You look just like her, you know, it's almost scary. Except for your eyes, of course."
At the mention of her single, distinguishing feature, the teen realized something. She looked at the woman, fingers tightening around the pictures.
"Wait, you said you knew my mother during the pregnancy." She paused, almost afraid to ask. "Did you know my father?"
It was like asking the question had flipped a switch. Azalea's face went from tearfully happy to white as a sheet, horror dawning on her face. She stuttered, then shook her head.
"You know what, I shouldn't have done this. You need to be in school. Come on-" the woman stood, beginning to round the desk, but Kris stood too, eyes burning in desperation.
"Wait, no, please!" She resisted, "Please! My uncle won't tell me anything, and this is the first time someone-!" her voice was rising, and she could feel that flame in her chest starting up. Stopping mid-sentence, she sighed and closed her eyes.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…
"I'm begging you." She continued, voice a littler softer, opening the hazel orbs. "My adoptive father can't find anything, and Jonathan won't talk about him either, so please." She stared up at the woman, jaw set and determined.
"Please."
Azalea stared at her, eyes wide, for several seconds. Finally, she exhaled defeatedly. "Ok," she said softly, walking back to sit behind her desk, "I can't tell you everything, but I'll tell you what I know." Pausing, she looked out the windows across from them, eyebrows drawn, mouth set into a frown. "Jonathan and I never agreed on much, but neither of us liked him." She started, looking regretful. "There was just something…off. I couldn't be too sure. Maybe it was the way he spoke, or the way he looked at Beth, like she was his or something." She looked at the girl sadly, then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Kristina. But he wasn't a good man, and I don't know where he is today, but I'm guessing he still isn't."
The words should have hurt, but for some reason, they didn't. Maybe it was because Kris had put so much focus into finding information about her mother that she hadn't particularly given much thought to the man. Of course, he hadn't been there at the birth, so she was guessing he was either dead by that point, or just a plain dead beat.
She wasn't sure which she preferred.
"He was so manipulative," Azalea continued, and her face grew distracted, as if recalling old memories. "And Beth was so smitten; he could have gotten her to do anything he asked, and he did. He had this way of looking at you, and when he did, it was like you could feel him picking you apart, learning everything about you before you even had to say anything." Her face tightened ever so slightly in anger. "Beth always did whatever he wanted, she was desperate to please him. She'd just graduated high school when they first got together, and he was already twenty-two, if I remember correctly. And," her face darkened, "she always excused everything he did; telling us he didn't have a good life growing up, that his father was an abusive drunk, and his mother was simply never around. She claims he was never physically abusive to her, but," she shook her head, "sometimes, I wondered." She blinked, as if coming back to reality. "I'm sorry, you don't want to hear this."
"No," Kris cut her off quietly, "no, I do."
The teen wasn't sure how she felt. She knew the man wasn't good, but she hadn't really imagined him like that. A part of her was angry; her mother sounded wonderful, and she'd had two abusive shit heads following her around and making life miserable for her. But another part was sad. Sad she couldn't have tried to make her mother's life better, sad that her mother had to die before it could happen.
Sad that her mother hadn't truly had someone who loved her.
Taking a deep breath, she looked back at the woman. "Why wasn't he there when I was born?"
"He left." Azalea told her regretfully. "Honestly, I don't think he even knows you exist. They got into a huge argument one night, and he kicked her out of the house. I came by to get her; she was a wreck, calling him, begging to come back, swearing that she would change. But he ignored her for weeks. Finally, she found out she was having you, but when she went to find him and tell him, he was already long gone." She shrugged, "I haven't seen or heard from him since."
Kris felt her hands tighten around the strap of her bag, which she was clutching to keep calm. "So, he never even-?"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"EVERYBODY, HANDS IN THE AIR!"
The sharp, rapid pops of gunfire sent Kris straight to the ground. She slipped off the chair and reflexively crouched behind it, eyes widening in horror as she saw what was happening.
Three men, dressed in clown masks and dark clothes, were rushing into the bank, brandishing guns as the other employees and customers screamed and dropped to the ground in panic. She couldn't tell what kind, but before she could look too closely, one of the men with a smiling clown mask busted into the office.
"Let's go, ladies, let's go! Out! Out!" He barked loudly, brandishing his gun. Azalea, who had shrieked and ducked behind her desk, grabbed hold of Kris as they were dragged out, holding her close.
"We'll be ok, it's ok." She tried to sooth, but honestly, she looked more scared than Kristina. As they were both dragged to the main area, the girl felt her bag thump against her leg, and she remembered.
My phone!
If the silent alarm didn't bring the police, sending her father a text sure would. They had a code word she was supposed to use in dangerous situations, one that meant he needed to call the police and track her location immediately, like a panic button.
"Get on the ground! Put your hands together!" She grunted as the man shoved them both, sending them to the floor. Azalea grunted in pain and shimmied off to the side, pressing her back against the teller booth. Kris followed, fighting to stay calm as she ran through the scenarios in her mind.
Don't panic, don't panic. Remember what Bruce taught you: stay calm and find a way to reach him. Don't run at them, they'll panic and shoot. If theres multiple, try to appear non-threatening so they pay less attention to you, that gives you the chance to grab your phone.
Her hands trembled slightly as she watched the man begin tying people; one grabbed the bank teller and yanked her, screaming and kicking, over the counter. She could see at the other end of the line of hostages, another clown with a sad face was also tying their hands.
She didn't have much time.
Slowly, she slid her hand off her lap, right next to the entrance of her bag. As stealthily as she was able, she reached into her bag, keeping her eyes on the two men as they worked their way towards her. She felt her fingers brush against several textbooks, her folders, and a homework assignment before they curled around the small, heavy block.
There it is.
As she slid it out, a hand clamped down on her other wrist. The movement made her jump, but her head whipped to the side to see Azalea staring at her with panicked eyes, shaking her head slightly.
Don't, she mouthed to the teen, but Kris ignored her. Biting her lip, she felt herself panic as the clowns moved closer. She clicked on messages, fingers still shaking a little as she typed the keys.
B-U-R-N-
Before she could finish, the phone was snatched from her hands. She turned to see Azalea, holding the phone and glaring at her. Her mouth opened, but before she could admonish the young girl, a shout startled them both.
"Hey, she's got a phone!"
The words had just barely left happy face's mouth when a shot went off, and Kris jumped when something hot sprayed over her shoulder and neck. A weight fell on her lap, and she looked down, hear stopping.
They'd shot Azalea through the neck.
Her breathing picked, blood rushing in her ears, as she realized what had just happened. "No, no," she spoke, voice rising as she grabbed the woman and laid her on the ground. "No, Azalea! Azalea!" She shook the older woman's shoulders, now shouting. "Azalea!"
But it was no use. She was long gone, eyes glossy and staring off into the distance.
"You idiot!" Happy Face shouted furiously, "The boss said not to shoot anyone!"
Kris didn't see Sad Face's reaction, but as she saw his hand move to grab her phone, which had dropped to the ground when Azalea was shot, she felt it. That familiar fury, rising in her, burning her skin and making her heart rate rise, fingers tightening on the fabric of Azalea's blazer. What had this woman done? Nothing, absolutely nothing. She showed up to work her job and provide for herself and her family, and now she was dead.
And now, Kris had no more answers about her real mother and father.
A shout of anger left her lips, and before she could stop herself, she lunged at sad face, grabbing onto his gun and trying to yank it from him. She actually landed a pretty solid kick to his groin, which made him gasp, but when she managed to get one hand off of his weapon, he shoved her back, harder than she'd been expecting.
Her shoes slipped on the shiny, sleek floor from the force of the push, and she felt herself fall backwards. As she went, she felt the back of her head smack hard against something.
And then it was dark.
GENERAL P.O.V
The other hostages watched, some still screaming, as the young teen's head smacked against the edge of the booth. Her body thumped heavily against the floor, completely still. Not too far away, the older woman's body, the bank employee, was now surrounded by her own blood. Happy Face cursed.
"Fuck, now that's two! Make sure the kids not dead, we don't need that kind of heat!" He ordered furiously, now moving faster to tie up the rest of the hostage's hands since his partner had just created more work for them.
Sad Face leaned down, moving to pull the young girl's body off to the side, when he paused. Tilting his head to the side, he reached up and pushed some long, brown hair away from the teens face. He stared at her for a beat, simply watching. Finally, he looked back at the bleeding bank employee's body, then back at the girl. His fingers found their way to her neck, finding the steady thrum of a pulse. Still alive, just unconscious.
Now moving faster, Sad Face grabbed her bag and began rifling through it, dumping everything onto the floor. Textbooks, loose papers covered in notes, and some assignments fell to the floor, but it was what fell out last that caught his attention.
A school ID.
East Gotham Private School
Wayne, Kristina Elizabeth
Sophomore
Sad Face paused, then read over the name again. Kristina Elizabeth.
"Hey! Let's go, tie the kids hands together in case she wakes up, we gotta move!"
Coming back to reality, Sad Face grabbed the girl's hands and wound them together, not bothering to place a grenade between them. Stuffing the ID into his pocket, he then jumped up and ran to finish the last of the hostages.
Bruce busted through the doors of the hospital, stopping at the reception desk. "Bruce Wayne, here to see my daughter. She was a hostage in the bank robbery, they said she'd be here?"
Seeing the panicked look on the man's face, the nurse nodded and beckoned him to follow her, leading him through the doors and into the emergency room. Bruce's heart thumped against his chest, eyes darting over the people inside, desperately searching for a familiar head of thick, brown hair. Finally, they stopped outside of a room, and he nearly collapsed.
"Kris!"
The teen looked up from where she was talking to a nurse, and her adoptive father rushed forward, wrapping her in a hug. She returned it, breathing in deeply. It was ok, she was safe, Bruce was here.
She was safe.
"Bruce, I- I'm sorry, I went to text you when they first came in and-" she tried to come up with an explanation, but the billionaire shook his head.
"We'll talk later, ok?" He told her, then pulled her tightly into a hug again. "I'm so glad you're ok, Kris, when Detective Gordon called me, I'd assumed the worst."
The girl relaxed into his embrace again, enjoying the feeling of security that came with being in a room with him. It was ok, it was over. She'd get some medication for her head, and then they'd go home, where she was sure a lecture would be waiting for her. But funnily enough, she didn't care.
She also wouldn't care when she went through her bag in a few hours and realized her ID had been taken. Reasoning that it probably fell out and got lost somewhere, she shrugged it off.
But Kristina had no idea the domino that had just been knocked over.
She had no idea what was coming.
Why so serious...