A cold, bitter wind hit Malcolm soon as he stepped out from his taxi. A chill went through him in spite of the fact that he wore gloves, a winter coat, and a heavy sweatshirt. He hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his coat pockets to try and keep from losing what little heat he had. The rational part of him told him to climb back in the warm cab and have the driver take him to Gil and Jackie's.
He ignored that part.
Which was easy to do given the cabbie didn't wait around to see if he'd change his mind. No, he pulled away the second Malcolm shut the car door.
Another part of him, this one disguising itself as his rational part, urged him to chase after the cab.
He ignored that part, too.
Something else he found easy to do.
Especially since the cab's taillights were now two small red dots in the distance.
Malcolm gasped as he turned to stare out at the black water. The sound it made as it slapped against the docks soothed him. The briny tang that teased his nostrils comforted him. Bolstered, Malcolm made his way towards where some ships waited for their cargo to get unloaded.
Five minutes later, he realized he shouldn't have snuck out of the house.
Not at two o'clock in the morning, anyway.
He also shouldn't have taken a cab down to the docks to search for Gil.
Not when he had no idea where his stakeout location even was.
He also realized that what he should have done was called Jackie, told her he couldn't sleep, he needed to talk, ask her to come pick him up.
If he had, he wouldn't now find himself surrounded by four men in black masks, each one tripled him in weight and height, and all with guns sticking out the waistband of their pants.
"Shoulda stayed home, kid." As if Malcolm hadn't figured that detail out on his own. "Docks ain't no place for a squirt like you."
Malcolm took offense at being called squirt but wisely kept his mouth shut. He was in enough trouble; he didn't need to go inviting himself more.
"Look at them fancy ass sneakers he's got on," the one to his right rasped. "Gotta be worth a couple bucks, easy."
"Down, T." The first man's lips peeled back in a smile that chilled Malcolm to the bone. "He's gonna give up them sneakers and a whole lot more before we're through with him."
Malcolm's heart hammered in his chest as he deduced the man's meaning. A quick look around told him running would be futile. He had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. His only option was the water. Freezing to death or drowning in the Hudson was far more preferable to what these men planned for him.
"Thinkin' he should hand over all his valuables before we give him a hurtin' he won't soon forget."
Low murmurs accompanied that statement. Sweat ran cold on Malcolm's skin, and he smelled his own rising fear; the edges of his vision blurred as he shot a single feral look over his shoulder, hoping the cab driver changed his mind and came back.
No such luck.
Not that Malcolm was surprised.
If it wasn't for bad luck, he'd have no luck at all.
"If the kid's got a pair of sneakers like that..." A thump on the back of his head left him seeing stars. "Guaranteed he's gonna have a boatload of money on him."
"I want that fancy watch of his."
Malcolm really didn't want to give up his watch. His mother got it for his birthday in lieu of a car. She'd be quite annoyed with him if he let these men take it. Deep down, he acknowledged she'd be a bit more upset at the fact that he got beat up while down here at the docks than she would be about his stolen watch.
So would Gil after he found out how he came here to find him.
He's already going to tear me a new one for this, Malcolm thought, wetting his lips with his tongue.
Deservedly, too.
Had I not come here...
The man to his right lunged at him. Malcolm jumped back, barely stifling a gasp, and gazed at the grinning man with wide eyes while the rest of the men laughed and jeered.
"Aw, what'sa matter, pretty boy?" One taunted. "Don't you wanna play with us?"
No, he really didn't.
Especially since their version of play differed immensely from his. Only to himself did Malcolm admit he enjoyed pain. To a point.
He also chose what form of pain and how much of it. Even masochists have their limits.
If the pressure was extremely bad, he made thin cuts in his arms and upper thighs with the razor-blade he hid in a box under his bed.
If he needed to ground himself, he made small holes in the palms of his hands and the back of his feet with the sewing needles he swiped from Louisa's sewing kit.
Hot wax poured on his stomach or inner thigh also worked when he needed the bright bite of pain to chase back the dark things always screaming at him from within the white noise filling his head.
These men planned on delivering a lot more than a few hard slaps to his face. Malcolm had never seen such a predatory look in eyes before. Even his father, a notorious serial killer known as The Surgeon, didn't look at Gil the way these men currently were him. An animal's hunger burned in the gazes trained on him. Malcolm's blood began to pulse, quickly, helplessly. He had to find a way out if this mess before these men tore his flesh from his bones.
"How about I give you my sneakers, my wallet, and my watch?" He offered in a shaky voice. He'd give them anything at this point to avoid what they planned for him. "My gloves are leather with a cashmere lining." He was babbling at this point, but he didn't care. He had to keep them talking long enough for anyone to happen by. "And my coat will definitely keep you..."
"Shaddup."
"Plea—" Malcolm yelped as his arms were twisted behind his back. He struggled against the man who held him to not avail. "No, listen..."
Pain exploded across his face. Not the sharp and momentarily distracting kind he found he enjoyed, but a blinding sort he didn't much care for. It was followed by a fist to his gut that knocked the breath out of him. Had him retching.
For a moment, just one, he thought he might vomit what little contents he had in his stomach all over the shoes of the man who held him.
For a moment, just one, he wished he pushed his mother harder about the self-defense classes he wanted to take — not that Malcolm believed anything he learned in those classes would be of any use against these men.
Another fist connected with the left side of his rib cage.
Malcolm swore he heard ribs snap.
Or cracked at the least.
He didn't get a chance to focus long, though, as another fist sunk into his right kidney. He'd have doubled over if not for the guy holding him by his arms.
"Please..." he managed to whimper. "Please, stop hurting me."
The men all laughed.
"Please," one mocked, cuffing Malcolm on the side of his head. "Please, stop hurting me." Another slap left his ears ringing. "We ain't started to hurt you, yet, pretty boy."
Malcolm realized he was not going to survive the night.
He was going to die.
Here, on a dock, his body likely dumped in the river.
I deserve to die, Malcolm thought as a cold breeze snaked under the collar of his shirt and slithered its way down his back. I deserve to die at these mens hands. If I had called the police sooner...
The Girl in the Box would have been found.
She'd have been saved.
Yeah, he was gonna die like she did.
Alone.
Without justice.
As it should be.
The man holding him released him. Malcolm's knees buckled, and he crumbled to the ground without a sound. The man who chimed his bells kicked him onto his back and planted his boot against his throat.
Malcolm sputtered as his airway was blocked off. He clawed and slapped at the man's leg, trying to dislodge his foot so he could draw a full breath, to no avail.
A second later, it was gone, and he could breathe again.
How, he didn't know.
And he didn't rightly care.
Malcolm rolled onto his side, coughing and choking, and trying his best to not vomit.
Distantly, he recognized the sound of fists meeting flesh.
A frown furrowed his brow as he tried to puzzle out what was going on.
Had Gil found him?
No, he'd have announced himself as NYPD.
He also wouldn't have gotten into a fistfight with four armed men.
Malcolm went to turn his head but a blinding pain stopped him. Nausea rolled greasily through his belly. His breath wheezed out from between his clenched teeth.
Grunts were accompanied by thuds.
Then?
Silence.
A shadow loomed over him. Fear it was one of the men who attacked him shot a spasm through his hands that rattled all the way up to his elbows.
He could do nothing to defend himself, though.
Not injured as he was.
"Go ahead," he whispered. "Kill me."
It's what he deserved.
"We wouldn't be good heroes if we went around killing those we save." A gloved hand gently brushed his hair from his face. "Now, would we?"
A girl, he realized with some surprise. It was a girl crouched over him. One with a voice like velvet, soft and warm. A siren's voice, he decided. The kind that lured many seafaring men to their deaths.
Malcolm stared up at her with his good eye.
That first look cut him deeper than any razor blade could.
Dark hair formed a halo about a face like honeyed cream. Her nose was small, and straight, her lips wide and full.
Her eyes, though, were what held his attention. They were green. Not hazel green, not emerald, not green flecked with hints of gold or brown or blue.
Just a pure and hypnotic shade of green.
Against the backdrop of the black domino concealing a good majority of her upper face from view, they glowed with a mystical force. As if they were trying to suck him into a deep, dark web. Just like the sirens who lured so many to their deaths.
"Circe."
Malcolm swallowed a groan as he realized he spoke that name out loud. Embarrassed heat filled his cheeks. He silently prayed she hadn't heard him.
Not that he had any hope whatsoever of luck or the fates, if they existed, being on his side.
"What?" Those springy curls brushed his face as she leaned close to hear him. "What did you say?"
"I, uh, called you Circe."
"Circe was the name of the enchantress who lured Odysseus and his men to her home with her singing." Her lips curved into a smile full of warm amusement. "I'm not quite that talented a singer nor do I know how to turn my enemy into swine."
Despite the pain throbbing through him in one continuous wave, Malcolm found himself intrigued. "You've read The Odyssey ?"
"And The Iliad ."
There was a soft sigh and then another voice, male this time said, "She's totally into books with no pictures."
"Just because you lack an imagination, bird boy," she retorted with a tiny sniff, "doesn't mean the rest of us do."
"I have quite a vivid imagination thank you, Nix."
"Nix?" Malcolm kept his gaze on her. His dark angel. Come to save him from the demons. "That's your name?"
"It's short for Fenix." She carefully lifted his aching head and placed something soft beneath it. A jacket, he assumed. Either way, it felt better to his aching head than the cold, hard ground. "And the one fluttering around us is Robin."
Fenix and Robin.
Where had he heard those names before?
Before Malcolm could ask, sirens sounded.
"Time to go, Nix."
"I don't want to leave him alone."
Malcolm didn't want her to leave him, either. Robin insisted, however.
"NYPD and EMS will be here in less than a minute."
"I know they will be here in less than a minute." Her right hand covered Malcolm's. "I still don't want to leave him here alone."
"Nix." Robin entered Malcolm's line of vision. He, too, wore a half-mask that concealed the majority of his upper face from view. Only his was a deep forest green instead of black. Where her eyes were a vivid shade of green, his were a shade of blue deeper than Malcolm's own. "You know the rules."
"Robin."
"We have to go." A gloved hand rest on her shoulder. "C'mon."
Fenix sighed as she rose reluctantly to her feet. "I don't like this."
Malcolm didn't, either.
"I know you don't." Robin sent her a teasing grin. "You won't be the one you-know-who will yell at, though."
Fenix harrumphed. "Like you don't yell back at him."
"True."
They turned then to leave. Malcolm went to beg them to stay but the lights from the approaching vehicles hit his eyes, blinding him.
When he could see again, they were gone, leaving Malcolm wondering if they had been real.
Or just another of his many hallucinations.
A/N: Hi there and welcome! This work is a crossover between Batman (picking and choosing from comics, movies, video games, and television) with Prodigal Son. As it is a crossover and set in Prodigal Son's universe, events in Batman might be altered/adapted for a new spin on them.