Hopeful Idiot
Chapter 26
This had been a long time in planning. This was organized. Efficient. Professional. Purposeful. This was funded by money, and not just a little. This was done by money with a capital M.
She swallowed hard. "Mmph?" What in the hell did they want with her?
"We're not going to harm you. We're just the delivery boys, Ms. Lane."
The tranquilizer wasn't lasting nearly as long as it probably should be since she hadn't been shot very long ago and it had kicked in almost immediately. (Hope wondered if that was because of incompetence on their end or some version of luck that she should worry about later.) Her mind was clearing quickly. Thus, his words made her stare at him in weary vexation. Either this group of obviously extremely well-funded professionals had made an extremely ginormous error in identification, or they were lying. And while the former would be more proof that they were incompetent, Hope knew which option she'd bet on. Not to mention that she was too jaded to count on incompetence to give her an advantage.
Hope for the best, plan for the worst. She gave a snort at her own joke.
"Pulse increasing." The youngest, who she was starting to think of as her personal medic, took her blood pressure again. "Pressure increasing. Think she's coming out of it."
"In fifteen minutes?" One of the men in the seat Hope was leaning against looked at the medic and shook his head. "Not a chance."
The one right behind the driver didn't look back as he ordered, "Hit her again, Jack. Assumptions'll get you killed, Jim."
Jack? Jim? Obvious aliases. The others will be Steve, Bob, or something else equally common and ridiculous. The common criminal never wanted witnesses to clearly see their facial features, just in case they could be identified later. The professional criminal didn't give a shit because they knew that without plain identifying marks it was highly unlikely they'd get caught anyway. The only one of them that had a chance of being correctly identified was the bald man with the tattoos, who probably didn't care for… different … reasons…
Hope blinked slowly, her head turning to see that Jack-the-medic was pulling a needle out of the tubing that led to her hand. His eyes were set on the cuff and pulse-ox meter. "Vitals slowing," he narrated.
"Day-amn!" Jim muttered.
"Never take a chance, Jim," the boss advised.
"Especially now," the second bald one said in a stereotype-perfect rumble. "Metas popping up all over these days."
"I heard about one over in Central City. Can go so fast he's a blur," the driver chimed in.
"So she's a meta?"
"Wasn't in the profile, but that's never a guarantee," Boss said.
Jack-the-Medic agreed, "Could also be a mistake with the drugs."
Jim's new. Rest aren't. Hope's thoughts had ground to haltingly short sentences. She knew she should be annoyed by that… She blinked slowly at Jack, her head almost falling to the side. I'm heavy! She giggled to herself.
"ETA - two minutes."
"Get ready for transfer."
There was a couple of clicking sounds to her left. Then Hope blinked as Jack-the-Medic suddenly bustled around her. Magic…! Her brain supplied as a wheelchair was just there on her right and Hope was being maneuvered into it. Her head lolled to the left as she tried to keep her eyes on something still. The bags were unhooked from their previous position and moved to a metal antenna on the chair. Should've put it there first. Idiots…
The ziptie around her ankles was cut. Then her feet put in the wheelchair footrests. She heard Velcro sounds and felt thick pressure around first one ankle, then the other. Magically appearing hands came and she was seat-belted into the chair. A nice fleecy blanket was tucked, hiding her from the waist down. Her fingers slowly rubbed over the nice fleecy material, tangling in the frayed ends of the squares. Fleece rag quilt. Mommy made me a ducky one. Where'd I put my ducky one? I like the duckies better… Where's…my…duckies…?
"Transfer ready, John."
"Ready."
"Ready."
"Ready."
"Execute."
The world was filled with harsh metal sounds, then swirled and tilted, and she felt a bit yucky. She must've made some sound because a hand was on her head and shoulder. Eyes staring directly into hers. Daddy? Not Daddy. Daddy's eyes are blue. Yours're brown. You're not Daddy. Where's Daddy?
"How much did you give her? Her pupils are huge!"
"She started to come out of it thirteen minutes after initial injection. Boss gave the order and I doubled the dose via direct line, then put the rest in her banana bag."
"Thirteen minutes?" A low whistle. "Impressive. Good choice. She certainly won't be a problem on route. Easier for me."
"Transfer complete."
"Yeah, yeah."
Hope blinked as the world cleared a little as the Delivery Boys moved out and away. Brown Eyes went behind her. One was still beside her. I'm moving but I'm sitting. That's Einstein-y magic-y brilliant-y awesomeness! She got a good look at what was in front of her. That's an airplane. Am I going on an airplane?
+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++
Clark began to get mildly worried around 10p.m. When he still hadn't heard from his girlfriend by 11, he started to get agitated. His mind kept flashing back to her panicked shout that night long ago when they'd first met in the gas station and a bullet he'd almost failed to catch. She had no idea how close she'd come to death that night. He had no intention of telling her, but he remembered. Oh yes, he remembered. Sometimes he had nightmares of being too slow and cradling her bleeding body to his chest.
At midnight he could no longer take the images of her broken bleeding dying form his imagination kept conjuring and called her cell, it rang
…and rang
…and rang
…and then voicemail came on. "Hope, I know you have your work but you know you aren't your best with so little sleep. It's time to come home." A pit of worry seeped even heavier in the pit of his stomach. She always answered his calls. She screened her calls due to telemarketers, yes, but she always answered his.
He waited ten minutes before trying again. "Hope, it's so late. If you aren't done by now, just leave it for the morning when you're fresh. You need at least some sleep tonight." Something was wrong.
Another ten minutes. "Please, Hope. I'm officially worried. Call me." The pit of gnawing worry grew with each minute.
Another ten minutes. "I know you're an independent woman and I don't want to be the hovering overbearing boyfriend but I'm worried. I'm really worried. Where are you? Why haven't you called me?" He was trying so hard to keep himself calm. His imagination in overdrive giving him all sorts of horrible possibilities. Bleeding. Mugged. Beaten. Dying. Dead. Needing him.
Another ten minutes. "Hope, if you don't call me in the next five minutes, I'm coming to get you." As much as the gnawing pit of dread ate at him, Clark prided himself that he waited the full five minutes before exiting their apartment.
It was five and a half blocks to The Daily Planet's building. He made it in record time. He didn't let the night guard get out a word before Clark asked, "Henry? Did Hope leave yet?"
Henry's eyes widened, "Several hours ago, Mr. Kent."
The new guard Clark didn't recognize grabbed a clipboard and ran a finger over it. "She left the building at 9:13 p.m."
The deep black abyss opened wide and he felt all his internal organs fall.
"Have you called her cell?"
"Yes." Even as he bit out the word, he was pulling out his own and hitting the speed dial yet again. This time however, his ears caught the faint ring. He turned his head sharply to the side. "I can hear it."
"You can?"
"I can't hear anything."
He ignored both and kept his speed human-slow as he jogged towards the noise. Less than half a block. He hit the green call button again and again, making the ringing continue so he could track it.
"I hear it now. It's coming from over there, I think. Wow, you've got good ears!" The new guard had followed him apparently. Clark didn't look behind him. He didn't care. "But where's…?"
Clark's eyes had locked on a small lump at the far end of the sidewalk, hiding in the shadows created by an awning. The ringing came from it. He picked it up and pulled own Hope's cell phone. As if to confirm the ominous foreboding, the noise stopped as soon as it was in his palm.
"Shit," the guard breathed. "We… We need to call the cops."
Clark saw a white piece of thick card stock that had been laying right on top of Hope's concealed carry. Hope kept a small notebook, tucked beside the gun, for emergency note paper. She didn't carry card stock. Especially not fancy card stock. What…? He pulled it out and read the calligraphic script easily.
Clark mind was suddenly oh so very very still.
He kept staring at the words.
The guard finished speaking into his walkie-talkie and came to look at what he was holding. He read the words. "Oh fucking hell," he breathed, eyes wide in shocked horror. "Are they insane?"
"Must be," Clark said oh so calmly.
"We gotta… Someone's gotta… Someone's gotta tell 'im." The guard swallowed harshly, accent suddenly thick. "You gonna tell 'im? Or do I hav'ta tell 'im? Someone's gotta tell 'im."
Clark smiled up at the man, who paled and took a step backward. "Don't worry. I'll take care of it." He carefully placed the note back in the purse and began to walk back towards their apartment.
"Hey, uh… Mr. Kent? We gotta wait for the police. They'll wanna to talk to… Mr. Kent? Mr. Kent!"
Clark ignored him. His mind was utterly quiet. Calm.
All he could see in his mind's eye were the beautifully scripted words.
TELL SUPERMAN WE HAVE HIS LOVER
+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++
Bruce Wayne's head jerked when a small alarm went off on his computer in the BatCave. He brought up the specifications. It was a ping he'd set to search for keywords in the police band and his eyes narrowed as noted it was for the Metropolis P.D. He read the highlighted text and immediately got up. He strode to the sidewall and began to pull on the armor of Batman both mentally and physically.
"What is it, Master Bruce?"
"Hope Kramer's been kidnapped."
+++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++
Ra's al Ghul looked up when his daughter came into his office.
"Luthor made a move. Hope has been taken."
His eyes narrowed.
+++++HOPEFUL+IDIOT+++++
Posted: 10.07.2022 Word Count: 1800
AN: With everyone instantly correcting me that the flowers had to have come from Joker because it wasn't Bruce's style, I'm amazed so many believed that highly trained professionals could make such a huge mistake in kidnapping the wrong person. Nope, not a mistake. They're just big lying liars who lie. Luthor's crazy, not stupid.
No beta. All mistakes are mine.
Let me know what you think but please be kind. I know it's not perfect.