Chapter Nine

When the black Suburban didn't come roaring up the ramp to the third level of Gotham City County General's parking ramp, I knew I was okay to head back down to my beloved Outback, which seemed to sag in place as if it were as depressed as I was. Scratching my head and puffing out a breath, I forced back the urge to sob. With no car, I was unable to head home and get to the Asylum to give Jonathan his papers. Swallowing thickly, I choked down a sob and reached through the blown-out trunk window.

Flipping the edge of the carpet up, I unlocked the "secret" compartment latch and lifted it up. The lip popped open as it always had, seemingly the only part of my Subaru in working order. Inside was the oppressive box from my 'hero'. Furrowing my brow at the intrusive object, I picked up the box and stepped away from the car. Sighing, my shoulders slumped forward and I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket. Quickly dialing the operator, I asked for the number to Gotham Claire.

She transfered me and I began the hike to the curb. I'd have to get my car towed sometime tomorrow; after I called into work to cancel my shift and use whatever sick days I had left. I asked for John Carter's room and they connected me, and he answered on the third ring. Ignoring the stares coming at me from the people bustling around the sidewalks, I headed in that direction.

"John Carter," he said, voice more chipper than I'd originally planned. I blew some of my curls out of my face and grabbed the letter signed to me on top the box, shoving it in my pocket.

"John," I said with a weak laugh, "this is Marianne."

"Marty! What's up? You're not cancelling lunch are you?"

I laughed at him. "No, I don't think so. You think you can give me a ride? My car is-let's just say my car is not running at this time." I chuckled at my own sarcasm, despite my situation. I drew my attention to the street, where I spotted a familiar figure in a ash colored suit hail a cab, a few other man beside him. His scrawniness and lanky appearance immediately made him a sight for sore eyes, and I stopped in my tracks.

Jonathan was supposed to be meeting me at the Asylum, ready to receive his papers.

Apparently not. I furrowed my brow and said a quick good-bye to John, cancelling the need for a ride. Slipping the phone back into my jacket pocket, I balanced the box on my hip and with my arm, watching as Jonathan and the men entered a cab and passed by me. Quickly I hid my face as they passed and spun on my heel, hurrying towards the direction of the Narrows. I frantically whipped open my cell again and dialed Leslie.

"This is Leslie,"

"Leslie!" I said sharply, looking around the abandoned alleyway I'd cut through to make sure I wasn't being watched or followed. "Marianne. You mind doing me a favor?"

"That depends," she said wisely, "Is this a costumed favor?"

I chuckled, blinking and removing my glasses. Setting the box down, I opened the flaps and reached inside, grabbing the Shuriken looking tools and running my thumb across the 'R' shaped emblem painted in white. I nodded and tied my hair back into a messy bun, phone cradeled between my collar bone and my ear. "As a matter of fact, it would be."

I gave her directions to the drop-off point and quickly I managed to change into the 'new' suit. It fit perfectly, as if it'd been made for someone of my body type and style. Once my boots were one and the gloves in place, I looked into the box. There, at the very botton, waiting patietnly for me, was a very different "domino" mask than what I was accustomed to.

I knelt and picked it up between my fingers and ran my thumb through the eye-slits. My other mask had been deep purple, with jagged points than ran up and down my cheeks-much like two V's intertwined.

This was Venetian style; black netted "lace" (which actually looked like stronger material) with bold black lace-looking cloth around the edges. The netting was woven with white vines throughout the entire mask, which would make my face hidden behind beauty and mystery. I ran my thumb over my material-it was strong cloth; but I couldn't place what kind it would be. All I knew was that it was light-white and beautiful. It wasn't domino, it was more of an '8' mask, rounded around my eyes instead of pointed.

I instantly loved it, but yet I hated it.

How dare he conconct something so...beautiful and seductive and then give it to me-someone he despised? It made my blood boil with anger. Did he see me as nothing more as a female specimen; a woman for him to play mind games with? I was none of the above. I was set on a mission: strong, just, determined. I was not elegance, as this mask would display; I was powerful, strong, daunting. This mask said nothing about who I was truly. It displayed what he saw me as:

Weak.

Running my gloved hand over the material, I then gazed at the inky blackness and the newness of the suit. Power overcame me, and I felt a surge of energy burst into my soul. It didn't matter what Batman thought-I'd prove him otherwise. He'd see that I was more than this. Reacher would show him why he gave me this suit: to continue on what I've started. In essance, I'd make him regret his decision by showing him up. It would be my new goal, my new standard: be better than Batman. I situated the mask on my face and immediate the familiar micro-beads adjusted to my skin and stuck.

I began to put my items back into the box. I quickly closed it and hefted up onto my hip again and headed south, towards the docks of Gotham Harbor. It'd be quiet there, especially this late in the evening, and I was only about a twenty-five minute walk from it. Checking over my shoulder, I ducked into the shadows and took the long way around the alleyways-what us GCU's called the 'Traps'.

As far as I knew the Traps hadn't really ever been publicized in Gotham; not like the Narrows and the Upper End had. Nothing had really every happened here in the Traps; no criminals, murderers, or rapists came from these grounds. People only starved, bled, shivered and suffered in the Traps. Fathers only slaved, mothers only watched their children die. Children only grew sick, and families only perished. In a way, the Traps were almost worst than the Narrows-the Narrows always had people coming down and helping; some families even got out of the Narrows with money and led decent lives. Not here. The Traps were exactly that: a trap that held one and their family forever by helplessness. People came down here to live when there was no hope-when mortgages couldn't be met, when strikes laid men off work, when debt collectors came and took everything.

The Traps were the first outcome sometime back in the late 40's, after the depression hit America. Gotham had suffered greatly in those times; having been not large enough to provide work and its own produce. This city had relied on then "scraps" that other cities and states could offer. Iowa gave us corn, Minnesota; fish and water. The city almost died, lost in debt to the government, loss of production and exports. Families lost everything as debts were collected and people were taking to the streets. The desperate enough to take up crime to the Narrows, and the willing to work and survive the Traps.

My new boots sloshed through waste-water, my footsteps echoing off the old, crumbling morter of the alleyways. A few people secluded themselves in these dark, dank places; mostly pregnant teenagers running away from home. Scraps of crates and torn pieces of cloth littered the dirty concrete; newspapers and limp cardboard boxes hung everyone to try and provide warmth and shelter. Overhead in one of the condemned apartment complexes, there was moaning and vicious laughter. The chill of my surroundings pierced my emotions, and sent goose flesh up my arms despite the warmth of my protective outfit.

The box was beginning to become heavier in my arms, and my side was beginning to hurt. That didn't stop me. I was careful to stay in the shadows, observing the people as they pondered who and what was lurking in their darkness. I dodged people's curious wandering by swining onto fire escapes. Some people I chose to pass by-mostly teenage girls sitting with their faces between their knees, some crying, some just...being.

I was about three blocks from the docks when I remembered a passage of scripture my mother used to read to me. She led a women's Bible study at the church the Bruce and I used to attend when we were in grade school. "For pure and holy ministry before God The Father is this: to take care of orphans and widows in their affliction, and for a man to keep his soul without defilement from the world." (James 1:27) I remember my mother saying that people could tell we served something greater than ourselves by our devotion to to helping those in need around us, but by casting aside the things that which were wrong. By "keeping our souls without defilement" meant we were to make right decisions and be good people, ever trusting on God to deliver us from evil and bring us to a place of grace, forgiveness and wholeness.

I stopped and looked over my shoulder. A door slammed overhead from one of the apartments and I dashed into the shadows. Kneeling and leaning agains the corner of a building, I looked up to see a young girl, not much older than six or seven, jump a baby-gate blocking the path onto the balcony. I wrinkled my brow and watched her stare down into the filth of the world around her and press her face against the bar-railing. Her bright blond curls hung in riglets around her face, hair cut above the shoulders. Her clothing was ragged and her dress faded and pathed, her shoes mismatched. I reached into the box, pulling out one of the Shurikens. I tilted my head to the side and stood up.

I looked overhead and spotted a piece of broken fire escape. Taking a running start, I hurled myself into the air and wrapped my fingers around the piece and swung my weight to the left. My foot caught the side and I scrambled up silently, looking down at the box of my belongings. It would be alright until I got back.

It was easy enough to get to the roof of the building adjacent from the apartment complex. Kneeling at the ledge of the buidling, I watched her swipe at her face, undoubtedly at tears hidden from view. I smiled weakly and looked around the area, spotting a full and capable fire escape that would be good jump spot to connect me with her. Standing, I was able to drop down from the ledge and grab a window sill on the way down.

The little girl gasped and I looked down, right over the fire escape now. Releasing my hold on the rotting wooden sill, I hit the escape with a rattle, fire flaming up my abdomen. I hissed and pressed my hand against the suit and grabbed the railing, turning around and standing full height to face the youngster. Her eyes were wide and she gripped the railing, the pureness of her gaze piercing innocence into my soul. I gave her a stern look and she gulped.

"You're that woman," she said quietly, casting a nervous look over her shoulder into the darkness of the room, "the one everyone has been talking about. The one working with Batman."

I blinked and nodded. "I am. My name is Reacher."

She smiled. "My name is Liv. I'm six."

I reached inside the belt of my suit and pulled out the Shuriken. "You're practically a lady," I whispered roughly. She giggled and I held the tool up, twisting it around my finger. Immediately she looked at it and furrowed her brow.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A tool," I replied deeply, "worth a lot of money. I want you to take it and bring it to James Gordon. His son is goes to school. His name is Jimmy." she nodded as if she understood.

"Jimmy and I play at recess together sometimes. His dad's a cop."

I crouched and nodded. "Yes, he is. Take it to him and tell him you got it from me. Tell him you're from the Traps, and he'll give you money for it. Understand?"

She nodded frantically. "Uh-huh."

"Good."

With a flick, I whipped it towards her and she ducked. It hit the brick wall behind her with a fwap! Immeidately she popped up and looked at it, scurried over and plucked it from the wall. Looking at it, she cockced her head to the side and I quickly jumped over the edge of the railing and hit the ground below, and took off running. Plucking the box from the ground, I disappeared around the corner and looked over my shoulder.

She tucked the Shuriken in her pocket, and slipped over the baby-gate.


The Traps was a place he didn't scout often.

He was surprised to find her here after he'd left Marianne at the parking ramp. After that he'd followed the Suburban downtown a little, where the group of men abandoned it in an alleyway just off of Marshall Street. They'd taken their guns and made a quick phone call, tossed the phone into the SUV, and bailed the area.

Of course he checked the Suburban out. No evidence whatsoever leading back to main vein of this...scenario. These thugs were sent to kill Marianne, and he wanted to know why. Nobody messed with his close ones and got away with it. He'd find this guy and rip his eyes out of his head, so to speak.

After he'd onced over the SUV, he checked the cell phone. The calls were all to unknown, secured lines. The last one the thug had made was to an unknown number. He didn't have time to analyze the call now-he lad a lead on "Scarecrow" and would follow it. Pocketing the cell phone, he left the scene and headed towards the Traps.

There he'd stumbled upon Reacher, walking the shadows with a large, familiar box. But, her suit is what caught his attention. He studied her from the rooftops, eyes wandering over her form. He caught himself almost desiring her, but quickly shot the mind out of his head. Heat rushed up his neck as she stopped and let her curls run down her shoulders in bobbing springs. He continued to follow her, trying to find her as she dipped in and out of the shadows and stopped to switch directions to avoid onlookers.

Then she stopped and ducked into the shadows. Setting the box down, he followed her gaze, and spotted the object of her attention. It was a small blond girl, swiping at tears running down her cheeks. He crouched and wathced Reacher as she scrambled up the fire escape and jumped the buildings, and then drop down onto the sturdy escape across from the girl's balcony. Their lips moved in conversation. He wished he could hear their conversation, but watched Reacher as she moved.

She flicked something from her grasp and dropped down over the escape. She looked up to the little girl and retrieved her box, heading farther south towards the docks. He continued to weave his way along at a slow, steady pace and kept an eye on her-really it was impossible for him to keep his eyes off of her.

Then she stopped and changed directions. Now she was heading towards him. He guessed she was avoiding the rougher, more populated area of the Traps. She looked both ways and set the box down, then hurried away from it and began a magnificent presentation of gymnastics. She flipped and turned and leaped through the alleyways above the earth, switching between fire escapes and flag poles, window sills and balcony's. Finally she was on the rooftops, and dropped over the ledge of one, gone.

He fired a grapnel across the opening between the buidlings and jumped. Easily, he landed on the rooftop of the building and collected his line, replacing the gun and surveying the area. Now he could see the box clearly and a smirk floated onto his lips. At first he thought she wouldn't accept the gift, but then the obvious hit him. Of course she would take it. It was an improvement, she couldn't afford not to. He realized this would give him the lower hand in their game of competition. But, he'd rather see her alive than dead.

"Puppy guarding?"

He quickly spun around, surprised. Unwilling to reveal this, he frowned and faced her. He set his jaw, furrowed his brow, and glared at her. "No. Investigating."

She smirked and shrugged a shoulder. "It's the same thing, essentially. You were following me." she walked off the ledge and approached him, eyes twinkling almost seductively but anger flashing across her features. "It's okay. I'm flattered."

"Don't be."

She tried not to smile. "I see you left me a gift," she extended her arms and spun around. "Thanks."

He said nothing, just overcame the desire to smile.

Her personality instantly changed. She frowned, crossed her arms and cocked her hip to the left, then glared at him deeply. Surprised, he stood and waited for what she would say.

"I told you I didn't need help."

"Your injury said otherwise."

She snorted. "Oh, so every time I get hurt you're going to rush to my rescue and give me something? I don't think so." she spun on her heel and flipped onto the air conditioning unit and crouched, fingers pressing against the green metal for stability. "I don't need your charity."

"I don't need a dead vigilante to clean up after."

She gauked at him and shook her head. "You're impossible." She turned on her heel and began to walk away when she stopped and glanced on her shoulder. "I'll have to tell Marianne to stear clear of you. I don't want you threatening her."

"I wasn't threatening her. I saved her life."

She snorted. "That's right. I forgot. You're a hero now, not a vigilante." She turned to face him at the edge of the unit and glared at him. Reaching to her belt, she plucked out something. "Stay away from her."

He said not a word.

Then, she flicked her wrist and the object whizzed through the air, colliding with the floor in front of him. He glanced down at the object and did his best not to chuckle. So, she was making good use of the tools after all. He looked back up at her.

But she was gone.