Chapter Seven

9:30 p.m.

Helena was supposed to be home from the park by nine … and Barbara was getting worried. A few weeks had gone by since Helena had moved into the Clocktower and Barbara had given her permission to go to the old water tower in Central Park -- provided she was home by nine.

"Where is she?" Barbara wondered aloud to herself. "Did she run away? Did I do something to provoke her?"

"If you will permit me to be forward for a moment, Miss Barbara, you would do well to remember that you are dealing with someone who has suffered abuse at the hands of her foster parents in the past," said Alfred.

"That's true," said Barbara softly.

"If this custodial arrangement is to succeed, you must first gain Helena's trust. I would probably venture to say that at this point in time, she is in all likelihood somewhat wary of … authority figures."

In other words, people such as myself, Barbara thought. "I'm going out there."

The water tower in Central Park gave the appearance of a large white granite lighthouse -- sans light -- sitting on dry land.

Helena and Mike -- an old boyfriend from her days on the street -- were holding and caressing each other in a shadowy part of the lighthouse.

Mike was seventeen and a convicted car thief. He was tall, athletic-looking, had oily dark-brown hair, and was wearing a dirty navy blue fleece jacket. "C'mon, baby," he said -- on an Ecstasy-fueled high -- as he groped Helena. "Gimme some."

"GET … OFF ME!" screamed Helena as she shoved Mike away. "What's with you?!"

Mike reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a couple of Ecstasy tablets. "Want some?" he said, offering them to Helena.

"Mike, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm not into that shit."

From a distance -- her presence concealed by the shadows -- Barbara watched the shoving match at the water tower, unseen by either Helena or Mike. She was clad almost completely head-to-toe in black: black turtleneck sweater, black jeans, black gloves, and heavy black tactical boots. Crimefighter instincts told her to approach with caution.

She produced a small matte-black metal cylinder out of the back of her pants. She tapped a button on the end of the cylinder; a green indicator light glowed near the tip. Armed … good, she thought.

"LEMME GO!" Helena screamed as Mike grabbed her wrists and held her against the wall.

"Not until you give me what I want!" Mike shouted.

"HEY!" cried a third voice -- Barbara's -- from the darkness. "What's going on?" Before Mike could react, she raised a small metal flashlight above her head and shined it in his and Helena's faces -- her right hand concealing the small matte-black metal cylinder with the glowing green indicator light in her lap.

Mike winced in the light. "Who ARE you?" he cried.

"I was about to ask you the same question," Barbara replied.

"Foster mother," Helena whispered in Mike's ear.

Before Barbara could react, Mike wrapped his arm around Helena's neck, grabbed her chin, pulled a switchblade out of the back of his pants, and held it against Helena's throat.

"Drop the knife!" Barbara commanded, Batgirl now taking over. "Drop the knife NOW!"

"Shut that light off!" Mike cried. "Shut it off or I slit her throat!"

Unseen by Mike, Barbara pressed a second button on the black cylinder that lay concealed in her lap. As she pressed it, Mike dropped the knife, released his grip on Helena, and suddenly dropped to his knees -- screaming and clutching his stomach in agony. Helena broke free and ran for cover.

"HELENA, GET DOWN!" Barbara commanded as she kept the black cylinder trained on Mike. Helena dropped to the ground.

Satisfied that Mike was now thoroughly subdued, Barbara released the trigger. "Want some more?" Barbara taunted. In response, Mike got up and ran away as fast as his legs would carry him. Guess not, Barbara thought. She then wheeled over to Helena.

"You OK?" she asked as she put her hand on Helena's shoulder and shined the light in her face.

"Yeah … I think so," Helena replied. "What WAS that thing?" she asked, pointing towards the black cylinder.

"This?" said Barbara as she held up the cylinder. "A little gadget I like to call 'Shockwave'." Barbara paused. "Uses ultra-low-frequency sound waves … give you the worst case of indigestion you've ever had," she said proudly. She looked down at Helena -- tears were streaming down her face. "Why are you crying?"

"You saved my life," sobbed Helena. "You're the first one who came after me … first one who gave a damn about me."

"Really…" Barbara reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out a hankie, and gave it to Helena.

Helena accepted the hankie from Barbara and wiped her eyes. "The others … they'd send me back the first chance they got."

"I'm not going to send you back."

"Really?"

"I've made a career out of busting murderers, thieves, and megalomaniacal dictators hell-bent on world domination." Barbara paused. "I think I can handle a teenager," she said with a grin. She then gently stroked Helena's shoulder. "C'mon … let's go home."