Chapter 5: Birdie

By: Galadeidre

"Is she asleep?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. We need to finish this fast."

"Sir, wouldn't this kill her?"

"She'll be fine. She's lived through much worse."

"That's true, sir."

"I hope you can stand blood. I have a feeling we'll be seeing much of that."

"I've done surgery before, sir."

"I know, but this is different."

"I can handle it."

I didn't like what they were doing. I felt myself on something hard and cold. I didn't like it. It was uncomfortable. I tried to squirm around and moan to get their attention, but my limbs were numb and my lips wouldn't move for me. I was scared, but I couldn't do anything. They lifted up my head and made me sit upright for a while. I felt something cold on the back of my head. It was digging through my scalp. I tried to scream, but the voice for it didn't come out. I could hear the buzzing of a machine. It was cutting right through my skull. I started to hyperventilate inwardly. I began to panic. My heart started to race. They were opening other parts of my body. They were cutting through my skin. There was nothing I could do. Whatever they were doing to me, I couldn't stop them…

I jerked upwards, thinking I was still lying on that cold table. It took me a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they did, I noticed that I wasn't on a cold table, but a soft, fluffy bed. I instinctively grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around me for warmth. I wasn't getting any warmer, and I didn't know why. I finally gave up trying to get warm and crawled out of bed. Walking to the curtains, I opened them and squinted slightly as my eyes adjusted to the sudden brilliance of light that greeted me on the other side of the window. I shut my curtains again and walked out into the hallway, which was silent and empty. I took my time walking down the hallway. Slowly, I began to remember what had happened to me…

My name was Birdie, I knew that. I took a deep breath and calmed my mind. I had decided to jump off the harbor and kill myself.

Why?

I really didn't understand why. I had just felt an impulse at that moment to jump off. Something or someone in the back of my head had been whispering to me, telling me that I was pretty much dead and that all I could do now was jump.

This was what confused me.

Why did my subconsciousness tell me that I was dead already, when I was still flesh and blood that was walking around in the open?

Even now, when I thought about it, the little voice kept telling me that I was just dead.

But why?

I walked to the end of the hallway and heard the voice of a newscaster in a room nearby. I slowly walked in to be greeted by a pair of old, yet stern eyes.

The man that had introduced himself as the infamous Mr. Bruce Wayne nodded his head at me as he smiled and lowered the volume down on the television screen. I didn't do anything back. Yes, it was rude, but I was just frozen with a complete lack of words to say.

"I hope you had a relaxing night," he spoke. His voice was kind. I could tell, though, that there was a toughness to it that not many others would probably have noticed.

At this, I nodded.

I still didn't know why I couldn't speak. I wanted to talk to him, but something was holding me back. It was like that thing that was holding me back feared that I would say something out loud that would reveal my secret.

Wait…what secret?

My brain hurt from all this confusion.

I had no secrets.

So why did I feel guilty of hiding something? I didn't have anything to hide.

"Are you all right?" Mr. Wayne asked. His eyes were filled with genuine concern.

This snapped me out of my thoughts and forced myself to think about what I should say. It was rude not to say anything. This man was very kind and had offered me a place to stay for a while. I silently prayed that he'd let me stay for a few more days. He had no idea how much his home actually felt like a comfort to me. I could hardly even remember my own room. I hardly slept. Normally, I was at the harbor. The same one that Mr. Terry had rescued me.

Why had he rescued me?

Mr. Wayne repeated the same question. "Birdie, are you all right?"

This time, I spoke, against my conscience's wishes. "I…I'm fine."

Mr. Wayne smiled a warm smile that made me feel all happy for some reason. I quickly erased that out of my mind. Why would he care for a child that he hardly even knew?

"Well, you look a bit pale. Nothing a little food can't cure." He slowly stood up, grabbed his cane that was leaning on the armrest of the sofa, and walked towards the kitchen. I followed him.

He began to open the fridge and looked up at me. "Would you like an omelet?"

I just stared at him.

He chuckled and said, "I may be old, but I'm not that old as to not be able to make a good dish every now and then."

I felt slightly embarrassed. "You don't have to…" He didn't realize what little food I had eaten for the past several weeks now, if any at all. I was dying to have an omelet, but I didn't want him to make it for me.

"I think it'll be well worth it." With that said, he took out three eggs, a pan, and started to cook on his tidy stovetop.

I wanted to interject, but I knew he wouldn't listen. Seeing as my mouth soon started to water the minute I had smelt his delicious cooking, I decided that it would be best if I did get at least a little bit into my stomach.

I thought it took him forever to finish cooking his meal, though it was probably only about half an hour. He had made more than an omelet, though, which kind of surprised me. He placed in front of me a bacon omelet, scrambled eggs with three strips of bacon, light and fluffy pancakes cooked to perfection, and a tall glass of milk.

I looked at him, confused and somewhat surprised.

"You looked like you needed more than just an omelet." He finished setting the platters of food in front of me and sat on the opposite side of the table. "Now, I want you to eat as much of that as you can, all right? You need to fill that stomach of yours with more than what it has now."

I tried to argue. "Eating so much after a period of eating so little is unhealthy as well."

Mr. Wayne smiled. "Well, then I guess you can just gradually eat a bit more for each of your meals until you're back to eating a healthy course." His eyes gave a slight twinkle. "We can save the rest of that food for later or for when you go home. You can take it all if you want."

His words made my stomach flip over. "Home…" I whispered as I chewed the food that I had in my mouth.

Mr. Wayne's ears must have still been sharp, considering he turned at the sound of that one word. "You do have a home, right?"

I nodded. "Yes…but I don't know where it is…"

Mr. Wayne gave a slightly confused expression, which he suppressed immediately. "Well, how are you going to go home?"

He did want me out of his house. I should have known. Still, it was worth a shot to ask. "Can I stay here for a while?"

Mr. Wayne gave a small frown. "I did say that you could stay for a while, but won't somebody be worried about you?"

"My daddy is a nice man. He won't mind if I stay here for a while. He's hardly ever worried about me."

"I kind of doubt that, Birdie…"

"Besides, he has to work. And he hardly is at home from work, so I hardly go home either. He'll find a way to contact me if he really, really, really needs me." I gave him a look of desperate and absolute pleading. Why I wanted to stay at his house so badly, I couldn't quite figure out. I just wanted to. I didn't want to go home. Not yet at least. Something told me that Daddy would be busy and he wouldn't be there again.

And I would be alone just like the rest of my life that I remembered.

Mr. Wayne must have given in. He sighed and asked me, "How old are you, Birdie?"

This question caught me off guard, and I had to think about it for a while. "I'm thirteen."

"Well, you are quite young to be on your own. You seem to need a lot of taking care of." Mr. Wayne gave another sigh. I hope I hadn't offended him. I knew I could be a bother, but he seemed to be such a nice and caring man, scratching off the slight gruffness in his voice and eyes. He probably was just lonely from being alone all the time. Just like me.

"I promise I won't be a bother."

A few more moments passed, before Mr. Wayne smiled. "All right. You can stay."

I gave a grin, which was so very strange. This smile wasn't hollow compared to the other smiles I had always made. This one was – happy. Actually, truly, genuinely happy.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Wayne."

"Please. Call me Bruce."

"Mister Bruce," I insisted.

Mr. Bruce smiled. "All right. You can call me whatever you like."

"Okay." I stuffed another mouthful of my breakfast into my mouth, stuffing it a little too much that I could hardly chew.

"But firstly," Mr. Bruce started. I looked up at him. "After you finish your breakfast, I'm going to bring you to the park. You could use some fresh air."

I didn't want to tell him that I had never been outside in the daytime in my entire life and I was slightly afraid of going outside in broad daylight.

"Going outside and feeling the warmth of the sun and the freshness of a new day can help you get better. You've been through quite the ordeal." I realized that he was talking about my incident a few nights ago at the harbor and so I refrained from arguing with him.

He did like to worry about my health a lot.