Jason and Babs talk over some things. Sabine's struggles continues.
C/W: traumatic memories and flashbacks
Chapter 14 of What's Up, Danger?: When It Rains
11:10 PM, Friday
Jason's critical eyes roamed over the sparse contents of Barbara's apartment from his spot on the couch; more and more of her personal effects and decorative items—throw pillows, art prints, books, plants—must have been leisurely making their way over to Dick's pad in Bludhaven. He caustically wondered if and when he could expect a 'Save The Date' card in the mail.
He'd stopped by Barbara's to relay information about a smuggling ring, but also to take shelter from the sudden downpour that was now pommeling against the windows. (Had he threatened to use the goon as target practice until he fessed up? Sure. Had he also left him tied up to a chain-link fence even after he divulged his involvement and what he knew about the aforementioned smuggling ring? Of course.)
Barbara was busy, actively engaged in her work as the information broker and computer expert to the others; headset on, orange hair pulled back into a ponytail, eyes intelligently gleaming behind the lenses of her glasses, fingers eagerly clacking on her keyboard, and her voice brisk as she spoke into a mic.
His helmet sat on the coffee table in front of him, the white slits staring blankly up at him. The sound of falling rain provided a somber sounding backdrop for contemplation.
Alas, poor Yorrick, he thought bleakly with an inkling of dark humor as he stared at the red dome. He felt a fondness for the famous Hamlet quote and its grim reminder of the brevity of life—something he knew too well.
"So," Barbara began with a pop of her lips as she grabbed a mug off of her desk. She pulled her headset down and it dangled around her neck as she wheeled her chair over to the couch that he was settled on. "I heard you fell back onto some old habits."
She smiled at him in a knowing way that made him feel like he couldn't hide anything from her.
"What do you mean?" he feigned a little too dumbly, avoiding eye contact.
She audibly tsked as she adjusted her glasses. "Tim saw you stealing some poor man's tires. Twice." She held up two fingers and wiggled them for emphasis.
"The guy's not exactly 'poor' if he can afford to keep replacing them," Jason countered without remorse.
Barbara hummed mildly in acknowledgment. Her fingers rotated the mug of tea cupped between her hands, amusement shining on her freckled face. "Just make sure no one sees you next time."
Jason's eyes darkened under his brows. "Well then tell Tim not to stalk me like a weirdo."
"Oh, please," Barbara chuckled as she waved a dismissive hand in the air, "you all stalk each other like weirdos."
He bristled at that comment and held his tongue, resisting the urge to mouth off—a rare occurrence for him. It wasn't like he could deny her claim anyway. If there was one thing that was endlessly annoying about his 'family' it was how nosey everyone was; everything was everyone's business.
"Maybe you should spend some more time with him," Barbara said, and when the upcoming holidays came to her mind she added hopefully, "with all of them. With all of us."
The corners of Jason's lips curved down. He leaned back against the couch cushions and moodily draped his arms over the back. "I'd rather chew on glass."
A pang of betrayal hit him between the ribs as his eyes flitted over her wheelchair, if anyone should understand him it should have been her.
She was picking at a wound that repeatedly scabbed over before being ripped open again, and though it hurt a little less each time, it still ached. It wasn't that he didn't want to (although the idea of participating in a 'family board game or movie night' sounded awful as hell and, well, noisy), it was just hard for him in a way the others didn't understand. And it was easier to be distant than to let them in or try to verbalize to them for the hundredth time how Bruce's absurd inability to take more permanent measures of action against the Joker broke his heart.
"Oh, come on," she pestered, leaning over to him, "is Jason Todd really too good to grace us with his wonderful presence at a family dinner?"
"Would love to but I'm afraid my brooding would bring down the mood," Jason answered dryly.
Barbara huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, resigned. "Well, at least I can tell Dick that I tried this year. You have an open invitation if you want to come."
A noisy and annoyed snort out of his nose was his haughty response.
"Wayne Manor," Barbara continued in quick beats just in case he changed his mind (because, hey, miracles could happen), "Thursday. Six-o-clock."
"I'll let you know if my schedule opens up," Jason grumbled, his gaze settling back on his helmet. Maybe some idiot would try to blow up Gotham City Hall or kidnap the mayor, then he'd have a solid excuse to avoid the others.
Barbara rolled her eyes as a shrill beeping sound cut through the room, signaling an alert.
She wheeled herself over to the several computer screens she had set up—just a few of the things that hadn't made their way to Dick's apartment yet. The harsh glow of the many screens reflected in her glasses as she jammed the headphones over her ears. She placed the mug down on a coaster on the desk and moved closer to the keyboard. Her fingers tapped against the keys.
Jason watched from the corner of his eyes as her expression changed—the cheerful twinkle in her eyes vanished and her smile slowly slipped off her face.
She swallowed and in a steady voice said, "GCPD just received a call. Homicide at C&D Cafe. They have a suspect on the scene."
Jason lifted his chin, waiting for her to continue.
Barbara relayed the information as it crackled over the radio in her ears. "Cause of death is supposedly identical to Alek Storrison's. The suspect on the scene is a young woman, mid-twenties, name Sab-"
"Shit," Jason hissed through clenched teeth as realization ripped through him like a bullet.
Barbara stopped and shifted her headset so it was only covering one of her ears. Her eyebrows pinched together in concern. "Is this the same young woman—"
"Yeah," Jason muttered, standing up. He adjusted his holsters and grabbed his jacket off of the sofa arm, his body already brimming with tempestuous energy.
She exhaled and rubbed her forehead, slightly knocking her glasses askew. "This isn't good, Jason."
"I know."
Barbara fixed her glasses. "That makes three—"
He cut her off again, sternly, "I know."
A void of silence enveloped the living room as the tense exchange tapered off. Their gazes focused on one another for a disquieting amount of time. The furious pitter-patter of rain bounced off the windows as curtains of water fell outside, distorting the view of outside lights and buildings through the glass.
Jason reached for his red helmet and was about to stuff it on over his head when Barbara stilled him with a concerned hand on his forearm.
"Jason, she doesn't need a vigilante right now," she paused for a moment, allowing her words to sink in, "…she needs a friend."
His tongue darted over his bottom lip as an uneasiness sprouted inside his chest. His scrambled brain knew that what Babs said was right and that Sabine didn't need the Red Hood busting through her window right now demanding answers she probably didn't have.
So what the hell was he supposed to do?
Three bodies—her mother, her professor, and her coworker—three lifeless husks were more than just mere coincidence. It was a sinister pattern that couldn't be ignored. This was his city, and people were dying in it without explanation.
Barbara watched as the gears turned in Jason's head, his expression a muddled blend of troubled and introspective. His body language was rigid, hands wrung at his sides and shoulders tense.
She made a small noise, drawing his attention. "Do you want to keep investigating this by yourself?"
The words stung him. Did she think that he couldn't handle it?
She saw his jaw harden and the muscles in his neck strain.
"I didn't mean to imply—"
The irrational flash of anger that had flared up inside of him fizzled out like a wet match. "It's okay," he straightened up, "I just…can you buy me more time on this?"
An image of Sabine brandishing a broom at Batman as he tried to interrogate her flashed in his mind. Nope, that wouldn't go well at all.
Barbara sighed and propped up her elbow on the armrest of her chair. She rested her chin on her fist. "So what do you want me to tell the others? I can only keep them in the dark for so long. They are going to know something is up."
Jason stared at her, long and pleading.
When Barbara spoke again, she chose her words carefully. "I can try to delay the report getting to them. Rain sometimes…interferes with satellites and radio signals, disrupts internet connections and communications…" her voice petered off.
Satisfied, Jason donned his helmet and made his way over to the window. The rain was still coming down hard as he slid open the window. Red helmet and leather jacket on and one leg hanging out the open window frame, he glanced at her over his shoulder. "You're the best, Barb."
She held her chin up, prideful because she knew she was the best, before facing the computer screens again, and tossed a low mumble in his direction, "And don't you forget it."
10:30 AM, Saturday—Sabine's Apartment
"The body"—that's what they had kept calling her at the station ("What time did you find the body? What happened before you found the body?"). They didn't call her Marie Leblanc, just "the body". A lifetime of experiences and memories was reduced to two short words.
The body, the body, the body—the words repeated themselves in her mind like some ominous dirge.
And Sabine remembered every wretched detail about Marie Leblanc's corpse; the way the warm light from her phone illuminated her dried out husk in the dark office, the hues of dark blues, purples, and browns, the sunken cheeks, the way her arms and legs sprawled out like knotted tree branches, her braided hair reduced to thin wisps…
She covered her mouth with a hand as her stomach churned, and acid surged up her throat.
Sabine walked slowly by the line of nice and freshly painted row houses while humming 'The Farmer in the Dell' quietly to herself. She wondered what it would be like to live in a house with a driveway and a tree in front. It must be nice.
Crossing the street, the neighborhood got rougher. No more nice houses and driveways and manicured trees. Weeds popped out from the cracks in the sidewalk. The ground was littered with garbage; broken glass, bottle caps, used needles, empty cardboard boxes, and wrappers lined the street gutters. The street signs were covered in graffiti and tags, or tipped over and broken. Many of the buildings had black iron bars over their windows and in front of their doors.
She looked down at her scuffed shoes that had cardboard stuffed into the soles to hide the holes in the bottoms. Her mother had recently won some money off of some scratch cards. Maybe she would buy her a better pair from the used clothing store this time.
Sabine keeled over the toilet and puked. Brown with small chunks. The remnants of the cup of coffee and the half of a donut she had eaten at the police station while they questioned her for several hours. Her body convulsed as her mouth heaved until only bitter strings of saliva dripped from her lips. Her throat burned and a sour taste coated the inside of her mouth.
Blindly, face still hanging over the toilet bowl, her hand groped for the lever by the white ceramic water tank and tugged it down. The toilet flushed with a watery whoosh and she leaned backward, sinking against the wall, wishing she could disappear into it. She felt like she had been scooped out from the inside, hollow and raw. Perspiration dotted her forehead.
She approached the rundown motel where she and her mom had been living for the past month. The large 'L' in the blinking neon signage over the two-story structure had burnt out long ago. Several of the doors and windows had large planks of wood covering them.
Sabine walked past the front office where the manager, a portly and balding middle-aged man that had what her mother described as a "porn-stache" (whatever that was), glanced at her over the dark lenses of his sunglasses as he sat behind the check-in desk. Even from a distance, she noticed his scleras were tinged with yellow and there were several thin lines of white powder on the flat surface in front of him.
She made her way over to the furthest end of the building and up a flight of switchback stairs that smelled like urine and trash to room 213.
From the other room, her phone chimed and vibrated, intruding into the heavy atmosphere in her studio apartment.
Sabine pushed herself up and went over to the sink. She turned on the faucet, letting the cool water stream over her hands. She then pressed her wet hands to her face and cheeks to calm herself. The water was damp and nice against her flushed skin.
Shoving down her nerves and anxiety for the moment, she made her way over to the kitchenette where her phone was laying on the counter.
She fished the room key out of her pants pocket and the motel keychain attached it to jangled as she forced it into the lock. The lock had a bad habit of sticking so she had to jostle the key until it finally turned, opening the door.
The smell hit her nostrils first, nasty and pungent but also sickeningly sweet like rotting meat. She almost keeled over in the doorway from the stench. Her body convulsed with each dry heave as one of her hands clutched the frame and the other covered her mouth.
Looking up through the strands of hair that fell on her face, her eyes zipped around the musty room. The curtains were drawn. Empty wine bottles covered the single queen-sized bed. Two duffle bags—a small one for her and a larger one for her mother—sat in front of the TV stand. The TV was on, casting an eerie white light into the darkened motel room. The distorted pixels on the screen vibrated and the static hissed.
And there was something scrawled on the walls—cryptic symbols composed of lines, arrows, and circles in what looked like shiny black ink. She hoped it was just black ink, there was a tint of dark red to it.
She tried to grab her phone off of the counter, but her right hand passed through it, touching only air.
Sabine uttered a string of curses under her breath as her eyes focused on her transparent hands. Her insides flipped, and her heart pounded against her ribcage, threatening to burst out of her. She could make out the faint ghostly white outlines of her fingers and the indents of her knuckles, and through the spectral apparition she saw the wood grain surface of the counter.
She squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.
Her eyes blinked open and her hands were flesh and bone again. She flexed her fingers and rubbed the pads of her thumbs over the tips, making sure they were solid.
Sabine's eyes moved around the disheveled room as she stepped inside. "Mom?"
The feeling that something was horribly wrong clawed at her insides, latching onto her guts with a crushing vice grip. A voice slithered inside her head, telling her to turn back.
The rotten smell grew stronger and she used her fingers to plug her nose.
"Mom?"
The sound of the static swelled, stinging her eardrums as she stepped around the duffel bags by the TV.
And when she rounded the bedframe…there she was on the floor, her mother—only recognizable by the rings on her hand and the floral shift she wore.
Her mouth dropped open, but she was unable to scream. Her voice wormed itself back down her throat and stayed buried there.
Her cell phone chimed again, reminding her that she had unread text messages. Two message banners on her lock screen read:
(4:30 PM)
Dad: About ten minutes away now
Dad: Don't worry about packing for the week, Roz and I still have some of your clothes and things at the house.
Sabine's heart raced as her hand hovered above her phone, reaching for it again she prayed that her hand wouldn't pass through it. Her fingers curled around its edges, feeling its smooth texture in her hand.
She shakily exhaled, relief flooding her system. Okay, one problem dealt with for now.
Sabine replied to the text with a thumbs up and slid the smartphone into her back pocket. She found CEO curled up under her bed frame and tempted him to come out with a few treats. She then whisked him up into her arms and inside his cat carrier despite numerous raspy meows of protest.
She gathered up a few more things and crammed them into her backpack; her laptop, and two textbooks. It was absurd to worry about schoolwork—she knew that—but maybe it would distract her frenzied mind to reread the dull text about various case laws and procedures.
She perked up at the familiar sound of a car rolling to a stop outside followed by two quick honks. The phone in her pocket rang, and she hurriedly slid her thumb across the lock screen before pressing it to her ear.
The sound of her father's reassuring voice on the other end of the speaker was a welcome interruption to her spiraling memories.
"Hey, Beans, I'm downstairs."
"I'll be there in a sec," she replied, her tone on edge.
Quickly, her eyes swept over her apartment before she stepped over to the door. Gotham has been her second home for over six years and now everything about it, from the busy streets and the gothic architecture of the buildings to the cozy comforts of her studio, seemed like a stranger to her. Gotham had never been bright and shiny or the typical college town her friends from high school went off to; it was murky and shadowy and smelly, but she had made it work. And she had been damn proud of that.
Sabine blinked in the doorway, cat carrier in hand and backpack slung over her shoulder, finally realizing that the rims of her eyes were watery.
She wiped at her eyes with the corner of her jacket sleeve, drying them before rushing downstairs after locking her front door, and out the drizzling rain with her hood pulled up.
"Ready to go home?" Nicholas Song asked his daughter as she slid into the passenger seat with the cat carrier snug in her lap.
Sabine noticed that the wrinkles in his face seemed deeper and more defined than the last time she saw him several months ago.
She nodded before visibly swallowing as she settled into the warm leatherette seat, keeping her eyes focused on the rain battered street in front of the car.
"Yeah," she managed, "…yeah, I'm ready."
11:30 AM, Tuesday
Jason flipped through the newspaper as he entered his apartment. The thin newsprint crinkled in his hands as he tried to shake off several rain droplets.
Marie Leblanc's murder didn't make the front page news of the Gotham Gazette. Instead, it was tucked away at the end of page 10, formatted in a tiny box with no revealing information other than the name of the deceased and where the body was found. On the Gotham Gazette's website, less than three sentences were devoted to the story.
There was no mention of the cause of death in either, Jason speculated that the police didn't want to stir up panic or publicly connect it to Storrison's mysterious death. The residents in Gotham already had so much to worry about in their day-to-day lives—bank robberies, drug traffickers, criminally insane supervillains—that the police probably didn't want to publicize that there was now someone, or something, lurking around the city who was turning people into lifeless husks.
And the articles didn't mention that there had been a suspect at the scene. Although judging from the police chatter that Oracle had tuned into that night and the reports from that night that she'd scrounged up on their database, it seemed they couldn't determine if Sabine was a suspect or a witness. They didn't have any hard evidence to hold her for longer than a few hours; no fingerprints, no blood, no fibers, or bodily fluids to connect her to the crime scene.
He'd listened to the audio recording of her interview that Babs had sent his way via digital file from her mini-drone several times. Sabine was barely able to string together more than three-word sentences as the detectives questioned her. Her voice was zombified, spaced out. Between long lulls, he heard her sniffling.
While at the station, Sabine used the police phone to call her father, who was a city attorney in New Brunswick, who in turn called in a favor or two and had her released in a few short hours.
Nepotism at its finest, he snorted to himself.
But if they knew what Jason knew about her—that he had seen her floating as she slept only a few nights ago—she would be sitting in a jail cell right now. Hell, he hadn't even revealed that to Barbara and she had even gone out of her way to try and buy him some more time to figure this mess out.
Jason folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the countertop in his kitchen along with his keys. He strode across his living room as worry wedged itself into every nook and cranny in his mind.
He sank into the computer chair, untied his laces, and kicked off his boots. He retrieved Sabine's file from the short filing cabinet under his desk and spread out some of the documents in front of him, wondering if he had missed anything.
However, he didn't need a file or report to confirm what he already knew, he had seen it with his own eyes, and so had Roy. He just wanted to avoid thinking about his theory and the implication it presented—that Sabine had an affinity for magic. But did she know? And how was he even supposed to go about asking her?
He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. Jason can't ask her, but Red Hood can. It would be better if he was the one who talked to her, she was slowly starting to trust him after all.
He had stopped by the rooftop across her apartment building Sunday night (against Barbara's advice) and found she wasn't home. One window had the blinds pulled halfway up. The lights were off. There was no sign of the cat. He remembered that Sabine had informed Red Hood she would be away for the week for Thanksgiving. Maybe she had already left? She must have wanted to leave after what had happened. He couldn't blame her, not a lot of people had the stomach for discovering a dead body.
It would be ridiculously easy for him to pick the lock and snoop around inside of her studio. But what would he have been hoping to find?—more creepy books?
It had been a week since he'd last seen her and the entire day now felt off because of it, a jarring and unwelcome change in routine.
Barbara's words replayed in his head like a broken record: "She doesn't need a vigilante right now…she needs a friend."
Jason scrunched his face in thought and dragged his feet on the floor, twirling the computer chair in half circles, back and forth.
He pulled his phone out of the side pocket on his jeans, unlocked it, and stared at the messages app.
Jason's thumbs hovered over the keyboard on the texting screen of his phone, torn between concern and a growing desire for answers.
His heart and mind stuck in an indescribable lurch, he hastily typed the first two sentences he could think of before he could overanalyze it any longer:
(11: 45 AM)
Jason: Didn't see you at the shrink's office today. Hope you're doing okay.
Instantly, he winced and wished he could unsend the text, but if it was too late. The cursed "delivered" in tiny font already appeared under the chat bubble.
Jason waited a few minutes, accursed phone between his hands. He didn't expect her to reply right away but a response would quell his anxiety. She probably wanted to spend the week forgetting about Gotham and everything and everyone in the city. How could he hold that against her?
So when his phone vibrated a beat later, his posture and eyebrows shot up. He deflated instantly when he saw Dick's name appear on the screen.
(11: 46AM)
Dickbird: Madame Xanadu, 616 Christy St., Hokus & Pokus Occult Curioso, Greenwich Village in NYC…try not to touch/break anything, ok?
Jason squinted at the text. Finally, took him long enough.
He pulled up the GPS on his phone. Greenwich Village was a good two-and-a-half hour ride away, and that was without traffic. However, no shop with the name and address that Dick provided came up in the search.
He thumbed his nose and made a decision to kill two birds with one stone: Red Hood was going to drag Sabine on a little occult road trip once she was back in town because he was damn ready to get some answers.
A/N: This update is both a transitory chapter and kind of a bummer.
Thank you for your patience between updates—life's been so busy (new role at work, went on an overdue vacation, and then got sick on said vacation blehhh).
And thank you for reading! I really appreciate every hit, comment/review, kudos, subscription, bookmark, alert, etc.!