Synopsis: Someone has stolen all the money from the Wayne Foundation Youth Charity Fund. Batman and Red Hood go after the man who did it. While doing research on the thief, Tim is hit by a mysterious beam from an odd weapon sitting on a shelf and is de-aged. Oh boy, what are they going to do with a four-year-old Tim?
Part 31: In A Strenger's Arms
Tim was walking through the woods that bordered the highway into Gotham. The headlights from a specific passing car had spooked him enough that he thought it was better to stick to the woods. Soon the woods were thick with undergrowth and Tim had to get closer to the highway if he was going to stay on target. He had to duck behind trees and bushes to keep car's headlights from spotting him. Tim was getting tired. He didn't know how long he'd been walking. He made one mistake and a car was pulling up and stopping almost in front of him.
"Hey kid, what are you doing out here?"
"I'm on my way home," Tim lied.
"And where is that?" the stranger questioned him. "You shouldn't be out here. I think you should come with me."
"No!" Tim tried to run, but he ended up running into bushes that were too thick for him to pass. His backpack got caught and fell off his shoulders.
"Gotcha." The man grabbed Tim's arm and pulled him away from the bushes. "Hey, you're just a little kid. You can't be any more than four."
"Let me go!"
"Sorry kid, I can't do that. You're alone with no adult in site. I know just where to take you. CPS will want to investigate why your parents' let you run around alone and walking along a dangerous highway"
"CPS?" Tim knew what that meant. He remembered a nurse questioning on whether she could call CPS while his father was in a coma. She was doubtful that Bruce Wayne was a suitable guarding and that he would benefit staying with a foster family, just in case. He knew what she meant by "just in case.'" He was glad Bruce had been there to have him stay at his place during that time. "No, please . . . You don't understand."
The guy picked up Tim and carried him to his car. "What I understand is you're walking alone. You look to be about four, even though you don't sound like a four-year-old. You don't have a parent or guardian with you, and this area of the hightway is far from any houses."
The man placed him in a carseat that he happened to have in his car. The man might have a child of his own and he might have been driving home from work when he spotted Tim walking along the road. Tim heard him make a phone call, but he didn't hear the full conversation. He was regretting leaving home. Within fifteen minutes, after the man picked up Tim from along the road, he arrived outside of a building that contained the Child Protective Services twenty-four-hour office. A person approached the car and the man got out. He talked with the person and the back driver-side door was opened and Tim was removed from the carseat. The person held out their hand and Tim refused to take it.
"Don't be stubborn," the man said. "She's a very nice person and you need a place to sleep. Tomorrow, you'll be talking to a social worker."
"I don't want to talk to a social worker, I told you I was on my way home."
"And where was that?"
Tim refused to answer.
"Go on," the man insisted.
Tim was pushed forward, and he had no choice but to follow. He could have bolted and ran for the alley, but the man would have caught him easily. There was no place for him to hide, and he was too short to be able to grab the fire escape ladder to pull it down so he could get to the roof. At least this way, he would have a place to sleep for the night. He was feeling tired, but he lost his backpack and he had only the clothes on his back. The person led him into the building and then up a flight of stairs to a second floor.
"Normally, we don't take children as young as you, and there are no orphanges to send you to," the woman stated. "My name is Carol Marcus. What's your name."
"Timothy," Tim answered.
"And your last name?"
Tim didn't answer.
"You have to have a last name, dear. I'm sure your parents taught you to give your last name and maybe a telephone number where they can be reached."
"You don't want to know," Tim answered. 'They're dead and Bruce Wayne's my adopted father, but I can't tell you that. They'll look into it and find out that Timothy Wayne's 17 years old and married. They'll say I'm lying. I can't tell them anything.'
"Hmmm," the woman scrutinized Tim's face and made a decision. "On second thought, we better place you up on an upper floor. You might run away, and we can't have that. This building is locked after midnight, unless there are children in danger, then they are brought here for their own safety."
Tim was led to the fourth floor where he was led into a room with a bed and bars on the windows. The room faced the alley, but there wasn't access to a fire escape. Before Tim could react, the woman. Carol Marcus, was locking Tim in the room.
"HEY!" Tim yelled. "Let me out! I want to go home!"
"This room is a private room. It has a bathroom. I will bring you some fresh clothes in the morning."
"Please, my family will be worried about me!"
'What is your last name?"
"I . . . I can't tell you, please, don't leave me locked in here."
"I'm sorry," Carol Marcus said. "It's for your own good. We'll talk in the morning when you've had some sleep."
Tim could hear the woman's footsteps leaving.
"Please, don't leave me," Tim started crying. It reminded him too much of what happened earlier in the year, six months ago to be precise, when his records had all been destroyed, and Devlin tried to adopt him. If it hadn't been for Dick, he would be in the hands of that man. Tim moved over to the bed and crawled under the covers. At least it was warmer than the floor. Tim covered his head and cried himself to sleep. He didn't hear the conversation on the other side of the door.
"Poor boy," Carol Marcus said to someone else. "I bet the truth is someone abandoned him along the road, and he's embarrassed to say who. I bet his parents decided they didn't want him after all."
"They could have dropped him at the hospital, no questions asked."
"He didn't have anything with him?" the woman asked. "A backpack?"
"I might have seen a backpack, but it was lost in the woods. I'll go back and look for it. I should remember where to look."
"Why don't you look in the morning. I doubt if anyone is really looking for the boy. And I'm certain you will find it when there's more light outside."
Continues with Part 32: Searching in Vain