"Alfred, what the hell happened?" Bruce demanded as they stood in the ICU. Rebecca lay sleeping, heavily bandaged around the eyes, in a portable bed on the other side of the swinging doors. She moved uneasily in her anesthesia-induced sleep, but the brown-colored drip was still plugged into her arm and a nurse increased the flow to calm her.

"Frankly, I don't know, sir. Two intruders Mary let in. She opened the door, thinking they were deliverymen."

"And they just knocked her out? Why would they knock Mary out and wound Rebecca?"

"I don't know, sir. Maybe they meant to kill Miss Richards."

"But why?"

Suddenly, Bruce's cell-phone chirped. He pulled it out and answered. "What?" he demanded.

"Sir, my name is Stanley Daniels. I represent Carlotta Richards. I'm afraid I have urgent and tragic news."

"Go on," Bruce allowed, wary.

"The plane Mrs. Richards was on unfortunately crashed over the Pacific. No survivors. I'm told you are currently in custody of her only daughter, Rebecca?"

"Um, yes." He made eye contact with Alfred, who looked on with worry, wanting to know what had happened.

"We must ask you to keep her for a bit more time. We are unable to locate Carlotta's mother and don't know of any other family. Will you do us this favor?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank you."

He hung up and sighed deeply. "I'm thinking this wasn't just a pair of burglars, Alfred."

"Who was that?" the butler asked.

"Carlotta's dead. Rebecca's hurt. No other family. We have to keep her for now."

"Well, certainly, sir. But-…"

"They'll take her off our hands soon enough, Alfred. Until then, we have to watch her…and see if she gets through this."

Six Years Later

"How much for the whole lot?" An unshaven sailor thumbed a wad of bills and pulled off a few twenties. "A hundred's my last offer."

"Taken." A gloved hand tore the money from his dirty fingers and shoved a small bag of white powder into his palm. The owner of the gloved hand shoved the money into her pocket and turned away.

"You're a bit young to be dealin', don't you think?" the sailor asked, raising his eyebrow. "You run away or something? You know, there's plenty of room in the Narrows. I could give you a place to sleep," he grinned, showing off a few of his missing and rotted teeth.

The person turned toward him and pulled off the cracked pair of sunglasses she wore. Underneath was a pair of mutilated, white-scarred eyelids with a permanent halo of red around them. He gasped and took a step back as she snarled:

"I'd sooner sleep with one of Arkham's escaped than with you."

"Alfred, whatever happened to that girl?"

The butler looked over to his employer and tilted his head. "I'm sorry, Master Bruce. What did you say?"

"I asked what happened to that girl. What was her name? Riley? Regina?"

"Rebecca, sir? Rebecca Richards."

"Yeah. What happened to her?" Bruce Wayne stared out the window at his garden, now gone to seed. It was now overrun with wild vines and flowers. Nothing short of a machete and a weed-whacker could tear a distinguishable path through it. The excessive bourganvilla was what had jarred his memory about that little girl. Well, she wouldn't be little any more, would she? She would be fifteen or sixteen by now. Maybe seventeen. If she was still alive.

"Well, I haven't heard much about her lately. After the initial surge in the papers, the subject of Rebecca Richards has fallen into anonymity. I do recall the scandal of her mother being involved in a drug ring unbeknownst to her father. Your friend Marcus."

"Yeah. But what about the girl? Whatever happened to her?"

Alfred sighed. "I'd like to say that she was put up in a good home and was cared for a loved ever since. But no one knows, Master Bruce. After we gave her to the foster agency, she disappeared. Ran away when she was thirteen, I believe."

"What about her inheritance? Didn't anyone leave anything for her?"

"All taken by greedy affiliates and past debts her mother left. But why the sudden interest, sir? Why, after six years, have you sparked this curiosity?"

Bruce turned away from the garden and gave his friend a smirk. "No reason. Just wondering."

"Don't feel guilty, sir. The accident was terrible, yes. But the men responsible were found and punished."

"They were put up in Arkham on insanity charges. That's not punishment, Alfred. That's inconvenience. It's like back when Crane ran the place. They never caught him, did they?"

"No, sir."

The billionaire sighed. "No justice for the innocent."

"And no rest for the weary. Going out again tonight, Master Bruce?"

"Yeah. Let me go gun up the car."