Chapter Five

The elevator door opened. Alfred led Helena and Ms. Lockwood into a tastefully appointed living room.

Alfred set the black duffel bag and briefcase next to an antique-looking settee upholstered in crushed red velvet. "Please … do sit down," said Alfred as he gestured towards the settee. Helena and Ms. Lockwood each sat down. "Would you care for any refreshments? We have coffee, tea, milk, ice water…"

"Just ice water for me, thanks," said Ms. Lockwood. Turning to Helena, she then growled, "Want anything?"

"Do you have any iced tea?" Helena asked shyly.

"I believe that can be arranged," Alfred replied cheerfully. "Sweetened or unsweetened?"

"Sweetened, please."

"Very good," said Alfred. "I will inform Miss Gordon that you are here." With that, he turned and left.

"You want my opinion?" asked Ms. Lockwood after Alfred had left the room.

"Not really," Helena shot back.

"This is a mistake. People…" Ms. Lockwood struggled with the word. "Like you should be locked up forever."

"Locked up … for what? Misdemeanors?"

"You know what I mean," said Ms. Lockwood. "Locked away … from normal people."

"Normal people" … like you? Helena thought wryly.

"You must be the social worker," said a voice -- Barbara's -- from behind them. Barbara wheeled herself to a spot directly across from Helena and Ms. Lockwood. A small wooden coffee table sat between the group. "I'm Barbara Gordon," she said as she extended a hand in greeting.

Helena gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth in horror at the sight of Barbara in her wheelchair. God, she thought. What happened to YOU?

"I'm Eleanor Lockwood…" Ms. Lockwood replied as she shook Barbara's hand. "And this … is Helena," she said as she made the introductions.

"I already know her."

"You do?"

Barbara nodded. "I knew her mother," she said. "I used to baby-sit her when she was younger."

Alfred entered the room carrying the refreshments -- a glass of ice water, a glass of ice tea, and a cup of hot tea for Barbara -- on a silver tray. He set the tray down upon the coffee table.

"Thank you, Alfred," said Barbara, acknowledging the gesture. That said, he turned and left the room.

"How is it that you can afford a butler on a schoolteacher's salary?" asked Ms. Lockwood as she picked up the glass of ice water.

"He's not mine," Barbara replied as she picked up the teacup and saucer.

"He isn't…"

"No … and frankly, that is not a matter I wish to discuss at this time," Barbara said flatly, closing the topic. "Now," said Barbara as she changed the subject. "I believe we're here to discuss Helena."

"Personally, I think this is a mistake," said Ms. Lockwood.

"Why?"

"WHY?" asked Ms. Lockwood sarcastically. "I'll tell you why. This is not … repeat, NOT … someone who belongs in polite society."

"Why? What has she done?" asked Barbara, feigning innocence.

Ms. Lockwood snorted. "What HASN'T she done? For starters, she's got a rap sheet the size of the New Gotham phone book!"

"I really think you're exaggerating," said Barbara.

"Oh, really?" Ms. Lockwood countered. "She's done time for shoplifting, truancy, underage drinking…"

"Those are all misdemeanors, if I'm not mistaken."

Ms. Lockwood leaned close to Barbara, dropped her voice to a hushed whisper, and said, "She escaped from Walton..."

Walton Juvenile Detention Center … I've heard of the place, Barbara thought. A maximum-security facility. That's where the state sends its worst juvenile offenders -- the fighters, the escape risks, what-have-you. The kids the system can't control.

"How did she escape?" Barbara asked. "I've always heard the place was airtight."

"Here's where it gets weird," said Ms. Lockwood. "First, she jumped from the roof of her cell block -- a SIX-STORY cell block, I might add. She lands on her feet without getting hurt! Not even so much as a sprained ankle! She then ran across the yard and jumped over a ten-foot fence topped with razor wire. All without a scratch, mind you."

"Fascinating."

"They finally caught her about four miles away from the place."

Barbara glanced over at Helena. She's right about one thing, she thought as she reflected on Ms. Lockwood's testimony. The average person can't do what Helena did. At the same time, that doesn't necessarily mean she needs to be locked away.

"Sure you wanna do this?" asked Ms. Lockwood.

"I have experience dealing with … the criminal element," Barbara replied cryptically

"You speak as someone who's worked in law enforcement."

"You … might say that."

"Were you ever a cop? It's not on your record."

"No."

Helena cast up-and-down glances at Barbara's petite-yet-toned frame. Worked in law enforcement … but never a cop, she thought. She knew my mother. I wonder … did she know my father? Was she … ever one of … THEM?

Ms. Lockwood picked up the briefcase, opened it, took out some papers and a pen, and shut the briefcase. "Here are the final transfer-of-custody papers," she said as handed the paper and pen over to Barbara. She shook her head in bemusement and said, "You are a most mysterious woman, Miss Gordon." She paused. "I'm beginning to think that you and Helena are perfectly matched."