Your Cheatin' Heart
Chapter Six
DISCLAIMER: Nope, no way, not mine. How different (and better!) it would be if they were... but DC Comics would probably hate me more than they already do, so... blah. XP
Oh. And I sincerely apologize for any mistakes I made with the medical and/or attorney stuff in these next few chapters. I'm not exactly an expert on these subjects, nor do I have much time for research, so there may be several noticable discrepencies (sp?) in here. Or whatever. Anybody who cares to (NICELY) correct me is more than welcome. I'll probably leave it the way it is anyway, unless the real way would make the road a little bumpier for Dick, (hehehe...) but I really would like to hear what you have to say on the subject(s).
I don't know how long I was out, but I vaguely remember someone picking me up and carrying me somewhere. I'm not exactly sure who it was. Probably Bruce.
Anyway, it's pretty tough to recollect what happened (hey, give me a break—I was barely half-conscious at the time). I must have managed to say something, because whoever it was told me to keep quiet and just take it easy. Then there was what I thought was quite a violent jerk and I was once again dead to the world.
I spent the next few days in the hospital on some sort of life support system. Because the bullet had gotten so close to my heart, they thought I was beyond all hope more than once. That kind of freaked everybody out—the doctors said it, I didn't—but somehow I always managed to bounce back into a somewhat stable condition. I'd lost quite a bit of weight though.
The only part of my stay in the hospital that isn't hopelessly blurred was the day when I was actually awake and coherent. First thing that came to my attention was the fact that my left arm was in a sling. I had had those before. Not fun.
Bruce was there, along with a nurse who was doing… something. But when she saw that I was awake, she picked a glass up off the nightstand and tried to shove the contents down my throat.
Okay, don't panic, I didn't mean it literally, but it smelled so bad that that's what it seemed like. I would have put up a fight, but I couldn't find the strength to do it. So I wound up having to choke down every last drop of that stuff. I'm still not sure what it was, but I won't mind if I never find out.
After she took the glass away, all I could manage to do was make a sour face and mumble "Tastes like swamp water" under my breath.
"I heard that," the nurse interjected.
"Well, it does," I insisted. I didn't care whether she had been serious or whether she was just playing around with me, but I wasn't in the mood for it either way—I still felt lousy. And I wanted to go home.
The nurse left, taking the glass with her.
That was when I noticed Bruce was looking at me strangely.
"Well it did," I grumbled tiredly.
"I'm sure it did," was the reply.
Even though I was in the hospital with buckshot in my shoulder, I know there is something seriously wrong when Bruce and I agree on something. Or rather, when Bruce agrees with me.
I gave him an odd look, but when he made no move to explain, I decided to ask what had happened.
Bruce just continued to stare at me. I shuddered involuntarily.
"You knew, didn't you?" he asked in that low, menacing, Batman-type voice of his.
"Knew what?" I whispered, closing my eyes. I wasn't in any mood for his little word games either, especially because that whatever-it-was the nurse had given me was shutting my brain down.
"You knew what was going to happen by riding around Seagull Rock at six in the morning."
That should have been a warning signal for me to keep my mouth shut, and if I wasn't in the hospital, I would have. Unfortunately for me, I was in the hospital, and my brain was still rather fuzzy, so I began rambling:
"Yeah, I overheard them talking about taking your money while ev'ryone wassat th' funeral r somethin'…"
Well, there went my ability to talk like a human being—I sounded like I was drunk.
My hearing was beginning to deteriorate as well. All of Bruce's words after that seemed so blurry that it was almost impossible to understand what he had said. I think it was something like "So you were deliberately going to let Tracie and June get away with murder?" Maybe it was just the ever-increasing fuzziness of my head, but Bruce sounded a bit ticked off.
"Yeah…" I slurred. Yes, I know, stupid thing to say, but what did you expect? "Had too… tried… couldn' tell you… wan'ed you to be…"
Before I could finish, that nurse came back. With a needle. A really sharp needle.
"Oh, no, you don'!" I protested. Now that I think about it, it was a rather weak protestation, barely above a whisper, but it was the best I could do. As you can guess, it didn't work, and I wound up with that needle in my arm anyway. Whether because of the drink or the shot, I don't know, but within seconds, I was back in dreamland.
And that was how the next week went—I spent most of my time sleeping (either from exhaustion or from the drugs the doctors forced me to take) although I did wake up and talk to people once in a while. However, I noticed that Bruce was never there, and nobody would tell me where he had disappeared to.
Pretty soon, I had woken up enough to remember what had been said that day and to realize what the effect of my words must have been. Just the thought of my grave mistake was enough to make my stomach churn. How could I have been such an idiot? 'Loose lips sink ships' and all that. And at the time, it looked as if my ship was definitely sunk.
There was a quiet knock at the door. I said come in, trying not to let my voice tremble as I sat up shakily.
In walked some guy I didn't know. He was middle-aged with graying hair and dark eyes, looking very official in that very expensive suit of his. I guessed he was a lawyer or something. Maybe he was mine.
Oh no, I forgot! The trial was coming up… definitely not something I was looking forward to.
That nurse was with him, too. Luckily, she didn't have any needles or nasty-looking drinks this time. She just kept giving the guy really mean looks. I wondered why.
"You're Richard Grayson, is that correct?" the man asked.
"Yes…" I answered cautiously.
"Well my name is Gary Landon and I will be representing you in the trial Thursday afternoon."
Thursday afternoon! That was the day after tomorrow!
"He can't go!" the nurse grumped. "He's just barely out of the sling—he's liable to reopen the wound and bleed to death right there on the stand. It won't take much to do it, either."
Yet another good reason for me not to appear in court.
Landon looked peeved. "Can he at least answer some questions to help strengthen our case?"
Still looking pretty annoyed herself, the nurse mumbled her consent and left the room. I could tell she wanted to slam that door with all her might, but didn't for fear of disturbing other patients.
Landon turned to me (after muttering some not-so-G-rated words at the nurse's back) and asked a few questions about what had happened at Seagull Rock that day. I told him everything I knew about it—including the fact that I had arranged the shooting, but I made very sure that I explained exactly why I had done it. It was embarrassing, really, but it was better than getting accused of aiding and abetting a crook. Although, according to Landon, this was still a possibility. I hoped the judge would be in a good mood on the day of the trial—last thing I needed was a charge like that hanging over my head. Bruce and Alfred would absolutely kill me…
An hour later, the man gathered his papers, stuck them in his suitcase and stood up.
"I'll be seeing you the day after tomorrow then," he said as we shook hands.
I blinked. "…We will?"
"For the trial of course."
"But… the nurse said—"
"Oh, come now. I'm sure you're not worried about something that probably won't even happen, are you?" Landon said with a laugh.
Actually, yes, I was. Bleeding to death is not exactly my cup of tea. I don't even like tea. But I supposed that I would need to be there and give my testimony at the trial.
Slowly, I shook my head.
"I'll be there," I told him. As he left, I got this awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach—the kind of feeling I always get after I know I've done something wrong.
Me: REVIEWS! (dances around the room, hugging all of her reviews)
Dick: What's wrong with you? I mean, there's always something wrong with you, but this time there's something extra-wrong...
Me: I got ELEVEN WONDERFUL REVIEWS for just ONE LITTLE CHAPTER! Life rocks! XD
Dick: Not for me, I've got to do the replies!
Me: Right! Get to it, Bird Boy!
Dick: HEY!
Me: (turns the Bee Gees up on her radio full-blast, deafening Dick into submission like in that Catwoman episode with the giant water faucet)
Reviewer Replies
60's bat-fan-Those are very good words! Especially those first five! VERY good words: I'll write them down and stick them on the wall somewhere in Panamint's room so she doesn't forget...
lizaln-...I don't know whether to say 'thank you' or to go to my room and mope the rest of the day! But, because Panamint is glaring warningly at me, I think I'd better just stick with the thank you. ;-)
Silentia-Thank you very much, those were very nice compliments. Panamint likes hearing things like that: they encourage her. 8)
Onthnis-Well, she tries (and is succeeding, apparently...). Thanks for stopping by: she always likes to see a new name in the reviewer list.
Mysterious Jedi-I agree with you whole-heartedly on the comfort part. And we'll be getting to that fairly quickly... I hope...
Alexnandru Van Gordon-123 e-mails? You must be one heck of a popular guy! And Panamint will try to deliver a nice little ending for you (and, hopefully, for me too!)
bataholic crazy teen-Panamint is really glad you like the story. I hate cliffhangers too, especially when we leave off with me in extreme danger! It's just evil, I tell you...
kokomocalifornia-Kokomo is her favorite Beach Boys' song. And I'm sure she will agree with you one-hundred percent on it being a good place to leave off on. As for me... well... :-P
Zarz-You're right, it would make more sense. But I guess each crook has his/her own way of doing things, and apparently, this is the way the Silvers' sisters operate. And she thanks you for thinking she's good at drama, btw. XD
Chapstick23-She's continuing, she's continuing! ;-)
Mrs. Hermione Potter-Thank you! She tries to update every week or so, but lately, it's been hard... she says she's busy, but I think she's just lazy...