Chapter Three

"Nice suit, by the way."

He could've sworn he saw a wink twitch her eye before she dived off the ledge of the building, disappearing from sight. He heard her feet take off against the wet alleyway floor, running the opposite direction from the department. Waiting a few moments to make sure she wasn't coming back, he finally deemed it safe and spun on his heel.

Making his way back towards the ledge, he looked across the small space between the two buildings and spotted the violet and black arrow caught in the drain-gutter across the roof's edge. Taking a line, he swung it over his head and secured it to the ledge and yanked on it a few times. Finding that it was secure, he jumped off the building and within seconds the soles of his feet collided with the brick building silently. He climbed it high enough to finally be within reach of the arrow. Sweat soaked his ski-mask, and he reached up, freeing it from its inevitable trap.

Then, sliding the line, he met the earth again and then studied the arrow. This one was full size; but had the same color scheme as the other. Black body, white fletching, and purple vine print. His brow wrinkled behind the mask as he spotted the engraving along the body by the fletching end of the arrow. One word. Just one.

Reacher.


Morning found it's way between my blinds and penatrated the dark room around me, forcing my eyelids to burn with its attacking rays. My eyes flittered open and were welcomed by a sun-streaked room, rays of sunshine trying desperately to shine fully behind my blind. Groaning, I stretched my arms above my head and glanced at the clock on the desk across the room. Seven-thirty.

Forcing myself from bed, I flipped off the covers and shuffled into the kitchen. Pain sparked my joints awake as I reached overhead for the only unpacked thing in my kitchenette; the coffee pot. I messaged the crook of my arm, the joints in my fingers burning, as I started the pot. Yawning, I retreated into the living room and grabbed the tattered, butter-yellow, leafy paged book underneath my coffee table.

This Bible had traveled with me everywhere. To the Great Australian Desert, the hills of the wildly unmastered Outback, into the city streets on my first escapade. It'd stayed safely in a small pack on my most of the time during my journey; the only thing I was unwilling to give up from my 'old life' as Ranine had put it. The way I seen it; God was the force keeping me alive as I did this, so I owed him some time in His book.

I flipped it open to Timothy and read the entire first book, then got up and retrieved my coffee. Letting the warm steam soothe my aching nerves, I was about to curl back on the couch when Curley came bounding into the living area, ears flopping and mouth open as if to great me. I smiled and allowed the lug up onto the couch and began to pat his smooth coat and rub behind his ear.

"Everything go good, Curl?" I asked him innocently, "No intruders when I was away?"

He looked up to acknowledge his name, then rested his chin up on my lap. I smiled and stroked the dog, letting my mind wander to the night beforehand. All in all it'd been fine; I'd encountered no other incident's that needed intervention, and my redezvous with the newcomer had been-interesting, to say the least. My mind wandered back to him and I caught myself daydreaming.

He seemed handsome; even with a mask. His voice could've well been misleading to his looks, but I doubted it. He seemed brawny enough for a man, around six feet two inches tall, with amazing brown eyes. I couldn't get over that dark, raspy voice...the one that had grated my nerves so badly the night before, but made my chest tighten now. I shook the feeling away and reasoned that it was just my estrogen acting up into my emotions.

Finishing off the rest of my coffee, I retreated to the bathroom to get ready for my day. A burning shower took away the rough stiffness of my muscles and relaxed me completely. I dressed myself in semi-formal for my day at the hospital; a pair of black slacks and a lavender, cow-collared no-sleeved cashmire shirt. Pinning my bangs up with two bobby-pins, I allowed my curls to air dry as sauntered around my apartment in flats.

Curley watched me attentively as I readied myself to leave. Plucking a few things from various boxes; such as some photo albums and framed pictures, I dotted them around the house before leaving, giving me a sense of satisfaction that I'd somewhat unpacked. Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I said a quick good-bye to my dog and was out the door.

The hospital parking lot was busier than I had anticipated; people were smoking outside the ER, and ambulances where busily unloading their patients like bees returning to the hive. Frantic parents demanded answers from EMT's, mother's wailed as they saw their children rolled into the ER with doctor's and nurses rushing to complete the string of orders flying across the bay. Cars squealed in and out of the parking lot, pedestrians shoved and elbowed their way passed me as I made my way towards the ER entrance.

I rubbed my hands together as if I was in charge of the place. I quickly discarded my things to the bottom of the administration desk, I grabbed my stethoscope and looped it around my neck; grabbing some files and glancing over them. I looked up to a screaming patient; a child around the age of four clutching his wrist. His mother wrestled with him at the desk and barked at him to stay still and quit squirming.

"Dr. Lancer," the receptionist tossed me a pleading look, "would you mind looking over this case please? They've been here all day and frankly, their making the other patients restless." she turned on her heel and seated herself in the computer chair. "It'd make everything alot less noisy 'round here."

With that, she used her feet to push her chair across the seramic and flipped her hair. She picked up the phone and asked in a very deep, Southern accent. I shook my head and hit the button which seperated the ER from the waiting lobby and stepped through the air-lock doors. I extended my hand to the mother and introduced myself.

"Marianne Lancer," I said kindly. "what seems to be the problem?"

His mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "My son cut his wrist on a piece of glass. I can't get the bleeding to stop," I nodded and knelt before the boy, who was sniffling and crying and shaking. I rubbed his shoulder and pointed to his wrist.

"Can I see? I promise it won't hurt." I coaxed gently. "Only a quick peek." I smiled brightly at the boy and waited patiently for his response. He looked up to his mother and then back at his wrist and slowly removed his hand.

The cut wasn't very large at all, maybe one or two stitches. It didn't look too deep, only superficial and barely even opening the epidermis. I wrinkled my nose and raised my brows, then pushed up my glasses as if it weren't a big deal. I kept in consideration that this poor boy's world was crashing down around him at every angle. "It's not so bad," I shook my curls. "won't take but a minute-"

"Dr. Lancer," someone called behind me.

I rose from my haunches and slapped my knees, grabbing hold to either end of my stethoscope and pulling on it slightly. I raised my brows to Chau; the Asian woman who was the Chief of ER Medicine. I excused myself politely from the mother and son and approached her. "Dr. Chau."

She handed me a casefile and I opened it and she began scrawling out a prescription for Demerol. "I'm assigning you to the clinic-mobile," she began hastily. "It's that time of the month again."

Exhaling, I nodded. "Okay. Where am I headed today?" I began to walk with her down the hallway and we stopped in front of an exam room. I wrapped my arms around the case file and pulled it into my chest. "Anywhere worth going?"

"You're going to Arkham," she added, "you'll be assisting Dr. Jonathan Crane with physical's today. Apparently some of the inmates have been a little more violent lately and have some physical injuries that need tending to," she pushed open the door and stopped it with her foot. "you know Jonathan, don't you?"

I nodded in confirmation. "Yeah. We went to school together. He's bright, but a little strange. I think his mind his bigger than the rest of him-"

"-I'm glad you think so, Doctor."

I whirled around and blinked at the figure, heat dashing up my neck and exploding in fireballs across my cheeks. I pushed up my glasses nervously and swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Me and my big mouth sometimes... "Dr. Crane. Nice to see you again."

He nodded towards me and held his suitcase in front of him with both hands. "A pleasure, I assure you," he extended a hand behind him and bowed respectively. "whenever you're ready we can go. My man has a car waiting outside."

I smiled weakly and hurried passed him to retrieve my things.

Arkham was a dreary place; it was well suited for its inmates, that was for certain. It looked like it had crawled its way out of some horror novella; created by one with a sick imagination for the supernatural. It always sent shivers down my spine. Not only the building itself, but it's live-ins as well.

Once monthly-or sometimes twice, depending on the severity of the case-a crew of doctor's and nurses were selected by the County General's board to do volunteer work for the city down here at Arkham. Most times it was harmless check ups; the scientists on the facility kept their "experiements" very well sedated, so rarely where there ever times we had any difficulties on these outings. But, sometimes, the inmates just couldn't help themselves and brought hell in their wake.

Jonathan's car pulled to a stop at the main-gates. We were waved inside once we showed our passes, and Jonathan sat across from me where a very blank expression-as usual. He'd always been a quiet kind of man; he'd always kept to himself and never really spoke out in class. His strange obsession with the mind and phobia studies had pretty much exiled him from the student body of GCU, he'd been outcasted since day one. I'd always made it my duty to somehow acknowledge him in group study-and I feared he'd taken a little bit of a liking to me.

Which was fine. As we entered Arkham's main lobby I felt somewhat protected under Jonathan's power he had here. He was a well respected doctor of science in these walls; infesting the place with his work and his "life's plan". He was a skinny, dark-haired, weak looking man who had no intimidation to his physical body here. Any one of these men-or even one of the nurses-could easily snap his arm in two.

But; the intimidation of his mind...that is what scared the people into place.

We made our first stop to intensive treatment-which was at the second to the last floor of the Asylum. Crane explained that his presence during the examination with the "criticals" was mandatory to his study, and as soon as I was finished with my assessment he would leave me to my work. My work consisted of updating all the medical files on each patient I saw-and since this visit was strictly a PRN (as needed) treatment for the intensive treatment floor; I had much updating to do in the database.

Together we made good time with the patients, only a few needed to have x-rays done and on two I had to fill out a transfer document to have them taken to County for some castings. Head lacs, stitches, irrigations and exams. I did the easy stuff, tested the sexually active for STD's and sent the samples to the County Lab in the van. Overall our work took about three hours, which was fine. I'd have a boatload of paperwork to do later that evening-before my next outing.

"Thank you, doctor," Jonathan thanked me after the procedure room was re-stocked and tidied, "you make quick work. And most impressive. Almost as good as your college practice cases."

I gave him a fake smile in return. "Thank you, Dr. Crane. I'll have the copies of the files faxed over from the ER. Have your guy watch for them," I explained. Then I handed him the stack of prescriptions he needed to have filled. "each of these should be put in today. It's unlikely they'll have them filled, should be sometime tomorrow. None of them should interfere with the medicine they're receiving-"

"-Or my-"

"-Or your work," I added inclusively. "I'd better go. I have alot of charting ahead of me, and the hospital will be missing me. Call me if anything changes, Dr. Crane."

"Again; thank you, Marianne."

I nodded and forced a genuine smile to the man. "You're most welcome, Jonathan."

"I'd escort you to the elevators but I'm afraid I'm running a little behind today. Think you can find your way?"

I nodded. "I'm sure I can."

With that, I departed and headed towards the elevator. I passed by a few bulky looking security guards and offered them a pretty smile, but they just hurried on and continued hauling whatever cargo they were carrying in huge boxes. Puzzled, I wrinkled my brow and pressed the elevator's button.

Then, something shuffled to my left. I looked down the darkened hallway and saw nothing but inky blackness. I furrowed my brow and stepped closer into the dark veil draped across the hallway and let my eyes adjust to the scene. I heard nothing move, but as I squinted my eyes, I swore I saw just a sliver of light farther down the hallway. Underneath a door perhaps?

"Miss?" I turned quickly around to see the security guard staring at me awkwardly. He lifted a brow and pointed towards the elevator. "You okay?"

I nodded and curtly hurried by him, tucking some of my curls behind my ear. "Yeah. Thanks." I entered and the doors closed, sealing the man's strange look from me. Leaning against the elevator wall, I humphed.

Arkham would need some further investigation.


Letting himself drop from the pull-up bar, Bruce reached for the towel hanging half-hazardly over the back of the chair pushed up to the workbench, where'd he'd been meticulously cutting his beloved batarangs all morning. Alfred had insisted on going back up to the Manor through the elevator shoot for lunch, while Bruce had stayed behind to start his extreme workout.

He'd relayed the incident last night to Alfred, and the newcomer as well. Alfred had just raised his brows and continued on tidying up the cave after his master. Bruce concluded that Alfred had the same thought about the new female vigilante. Though unknown to the outer world, she seemed highly qualified and dangerous; a mix Bruce was afraid could run rampid through the city.

His first thought was of Marianne; her passion for the bow and arrow taken to extreme levels. It wasn't beyond her to take her skill and bring it to the bettering of Gotham. She was capable, he knew that much, and she was determined to see Gotham righted after so long. But, he'd quickly tossed the idea from his head. Marianne was far too...mellow for such a job. The woman was a doctor; she lived to serve in healing, not in destruction. He knew her too well to think she'd take up such a risky "other life" and throw her dream of medicine to the stars. It wasn't like her to be so...irregular.

He seated himself at the grinder again and put on the goggles, letting his bare skin dry in the dampness of the cave. It brought a soothing to his conscious, being here in the dankness; smelling the musk and breathing in the earthy air. He felt complete here; at peace and serene. Something he hadn't experienced forever. He began to grind another batarang at the wheel when the figure from the night before came crashing into his thoughts.

Her skills outweighed her appearance, that was for sure. He had noticed her most intriguing feature was her bow and arrow; far more elaborate than her costume itself. Her bow was black colored, with slightly curled points facing inward and white vines racing up the titanium. At least he guessed it was titanium-probably the same stuff his suit was made of. Her costume though was lacking; probably a last resort in comparison with her bow. It recalled what her clothing consisted off, or at least tried to. His meeting with her had been so brief and aggrevating that he hadn't really paid much attention to her body-only to that of her eyes.

If he remembered correctly, it was a simple jumpsuit; black, he recalled. He believed her boots had been somewhat military grade with a twist: they had been thigh-high with no heel to them, just standard boot, like he himself wore. It was hard to remember if she had a utility belt; he faintly recalled something strapped to her upper right thigh-probably a knife case if nothing else. Her gloves had been the same style as her arrows; black with purple vines, and they were elbow length.

What he knew for sure is that she'd let her wild curls fall around her face from her ponytail, fiercly adding to her deep, ocean colored eyes. Eyes that were hidden behind a purple domino mask, casting sharp points down her cheeks and onto her forehead. But they were striking, strong eyes nonetheless that held power, determination, and warning to them. He blinked and tried to forget her face-her fierce eyes, her...childish wink. At least he had some dirt on her.

She was a woman afterall, and he was very good at playing the game women liked to play.