An hour later we're finally out of there and I've dragged him into the nearest bolthole that I can acceptably disregard after this is all over. It's pretty much useless if he knows about, after all. He left the complex a bloody mess, broken bodies strewn everywhere. I don't think anyone died but I wasn't inclined to stop and check. To busy trying to coerce him into following while trying to avoid getting too close.

He seems to keep snapping back from being fairly coherent to tearing into the nearest thing in a fit of helpless rage. Another reason for finding a place that I can write off as a loss. If he stays here the place will be wrecked by morning and at the moment that's the only thing I can think to do. If I just let him go someone who doesn't deserve it is going to get hurt. There's nothing I can think of that's going to hold him in this state and if I go off to find one of his batty friends there's no guarantee he's going to stay here. I could try ringing, but who? Guess I could try some of the dubious chemical experts I know but how much could they do? I have no idea what those people gave him, all I know is that it must have been one hell of a potent brew to do this.

Arrgh! I hate being backed into a corner, I hate not knowing what to do and I especially hate having to do something because my conscience pressures me into it. Damn!

I take another look at him. At the moment, at least, he seems… stable. Curled up on the couch, arms twisted so tightly around his legs he must be almost cutting off the oxygen. Okay, partially stable, anyway. Although he looks like he's going to explode any second.

"How are you feeling?"

His head snaps up and he stares at me with eyes that are far too bright.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?"

The expression on his face twists and becomes almost… harder. He continues to stare.

"Look, I know you're not…"

He explodes from the couch like a bomb going off, and before I can react he's yanked me to within two inches of his face. And then he says, in a voice that is very deep, very dark, and very disturbing:

"I - want - to - hit - something."

I'm not frightened. Not at all. For god's sake, I've been up against Arkham's psychos, this is nothing. I'm not frightened. Just think. Something to hit. Okay…

"There's a punching bag next room, it's a gym. Just let go of me you…"

I don't even get to finish the sentence. He's outta there. Two seconds later I hear my punching bag getting more stuffing kicked out of it than it's had in the last year. I give myself a pat on the back for that one. Now hopefully the damn thing will hold out.

For an hour and a half non-stop I watch discreetly while he pummels the hell out of my punching bag. Half an hour in the chain snaps and after an hour the whole thing's been ripped open but this doesn't seem to worry him overly so I wisely don't mention it. He just seems to need something, anything to focus his rage on. To hit until it's literally ripped apart. I briefly picture a human being sitting there instead of the bag and then carefully push it out of my mind. Ouch.

I'm just beginning to wonder whether it's safe to run out for take out or something (I haven't eaten for hours, damn it), when he stops. Finally. I watch cautiously as he stands in front of the ruined bag, panting and dripping sweat.

"Okay, so are you feeling better n… "

"GO AWAY!"

He literally screams at the top of his voice and throws himself against the wall, sliding to the floor and curling into himself, his hands thrown desperately over his head. I wince and grab my ears. For gods sake!

"Will you just quit it! Do you want the whole neighbourhood to hear this? If you're that against being here, fine, go. I don't even know what the hell I'm…"

"please… father… just go…"

"…doing and… And you what?"

"I… I keep… seeing…"

Hallucinating. He wasn't even talking to me. Great.

After a few seconds of playing hidey on the floor, he lowers his arms and lifts his head slightly, and his eyes this time look… well… clearer, at least.

"Catwoman?"

I don't move from my perch on a crate across the room. I've learnt enough to not stay near him right now. "That's me. It's still me, in fact."

"…sorry. I … I'm sorry…"

And then his face twists again and he once more he slams his battered and bloody hands against the wall.

"I HATE THIS!" Only this time, he seems to deflate somewhat, and he collapses back onto the floor in a heap. "I hate this, I hate it…. I don't have any control again… I can't make it stop and I keep seeing…"

Okay, at least he seems vaguely lucid. Maybe conversation will help. It'll help my nerves, if nothing else.

"Visions of your father?"

He turns and stares blearily at me. "…yes."

"Just out of curiosity, was that why you felt the need to beat the heck out of what was once my punching bag?"

"…yes."

"You must have had a great childhood."

His gaze looks incredulous. Okay, maybe his brain isn't processing sarcasm right now.

"I meant that in an ironic way."

"…oh"

He flinches and stares at something invisible over my left shoulder.

"Look, there's nothing there, okay. Just try to relax and tell yourself that if it shouldn't be there it just needs to be ignored…"

To my extreme surprise, he gives a short burst of laughter.

"What?"

"If you see something that shouldn't be there, try to ignore it."

"That's what I said."

"Sorry, it's just… a friend of mine told me that once too."

"Oh, so having hallucinations isn't an unknown thing for you. How… nice."

He fidgets slightly, and then jumps up and throws a flurry of kicks and punches into the air. After two minutes of this he collapses again and hugs the floor.

I watch silently, and then ask "Too much adrenaline?"

"..yes."

"Oh well, feel free to punch anything that isn't me." More serious, I add. "They must have given you some pretty bad stuff."

"I think… yes."

"So, have you any idea who it was? And why?" Not that I haven't guessed that, but it'd be nice to have it confirmed.

He frowns at me. "I… I don't know whether I should…"

"I'm not asking for any of his secrets, okay? But a brief overview of why I'm risking my butt would be nice."

"…"

"Well fine then, just…"

"They were trying to find out… about the Batman."

"I did think that."

"They ambushed me when I… wasn't suspecting. And they had gas. And lots of guys…"

"I've no doubt. They must've had an arsenal to manage to grab hold of you."

He looks vaguely proud at this. Compliments. Best way to get people to open up. Not that it isn't true…

"They were led by a guy… he thought… I mean…" He trails off again, and closes his eyes. Maybe I shouldn't press but dammit, I'm curious!

"He thought what?"

His eyes snap open again and there's a trace of the weird hardness. But it doesn't last this time. After only a few seconds he shakes his head, hard, and hisses through clenched teeth "…go away, just go away, I don't want you now I don't need you now and I don't even have the mask on so for god's sake just go!"

"Am I allowed to ask what that was about?"

"I… it was…" he frowns and stammers.

"So who was the guy who had you kidnapped?" Another good way to get information. Ask them something they really don't want to answer first.

"His, his name was the Tallyman." He pauses. "Well, I don't know if that was his actual name…"

"He'd have to have a pretty weird mother."

A small smile "…yes." And then he frowns again. "He wanted to find the Batman so he could get revenge. He… he thought that the Batman did something to him, a while ago, something bad…"

"Anything in particular?"

He looks miserable "Yes. He… he thought that the Batman had… that he'd carved his symbol. In his chest… With sharp things… he, he…"

"That doesn't sound like the kind of thing that the Batman would do."

"He didn't."

"Well thank goodness."

"It was me."

"…Ah."

To be continued…