Chapter Three

The clock on the wall is slowly driving me insane. I'm sitting in this "interview room" and feel like a criminal - which, you know, I sort of am. But it doesn't change the fact that the clock is seconds from driving me completely insane and that I'm seconds away from crushing it into dust because of it.

As soon as I'd entered the Police Station, I'd seen the Joker being wheeled out in a wheelchair and straight jacket by some men in white coats.

And for a second, I thought he wasn't going to see me, but then he did and - he looked unhinged, smiling at me as if he was a five-year-old with a new toy.

"Hey - hey, Annie! Nice to see you! Have you -"

I couldn't help the shudder that ran through me and the ground to his chair, which caused a look of pain to pass across his face. And I knew I'd dislocated his broken bones again, because the screams he let out were inhuman.

Commissioner Gordon stomped in from an office above us. "What's going on here?! Get him out of here! He should have been out an hour ago."

"Out?" I asked, as soon as he reached me and then he was staring at me long and hard.

"This way, Ms. Simon."

Which is how I find myself in the interrogation room waiting for over an hour for an officer to question me. They even took my phone - said they had sensitive equipment in here or some other such bullshit.

If I had known it would take this long, I swear, I would not have bothered.

But a part of me really wants my bed back and if this is the only way to get access to my apartment then fine.

It's just as I'm contemplating just up and leaving that the door finally opens and in steps a guy in business casual and a police badge hanging from his hip.

"Hello, my name is Detective O'Neil and I have a couple of questions for you."

Fantastic.

"And then I can get back to my apartment you guys have blocked off for the past week?"

He looks slightly surprised and annoyed, but then, "Sure. We've cleared the apartment and have all the information we'll need from it. But let's start with this."

And there it is - the gun Falcone gave me months ago. Placed by a frowning police detective into the middle of the table.

"And this has to do with Joker's broken legs how?"

"This is an illegal firearm. Purchased illegally and not registered to you."

"I didn't purchase it. It was a gift."

"A gift from who?"

"A gift from whom," I correct, and he gives me a look that is equal parts confused and annoyed. "My boss, Mr. Falcone gave it to me. I don't really use it much except when I go to Mr. Falcone's private gun range."

"Ah. Yes. Your employer. We have records that you worked for both Mr. Falcone and Mr. Sionis."

"Who the fuck is Mr. Sionis?"

He looks at me for a hard second, then replies, "He's also known as the Black Mask."

"Oh. You mean the assistant position I had with Ms. Li. What about it?"

The detective looks nonplussed.

"Funny thing, Black Mask was recently arrested and Mr. Falcone's whole building was blown up on the night Joker went to your house."

I seriously don't know where he's going with this.

"And that's not all. The coroner's report showed Falcone, his son, and his daughter were all shot in the head."

I stare at the guy for a hot second before I reply. "Where are you going with this? I thought I was here to talk about an attack on me by Joker and the attack on my tenant . . ."

"And that's another thing. The Joker - he really likes to talk. And he mentioned you know a known criminal - the Red Hood."

There's silence in the room for a hot second.

"Am I under arrest?"

He clenches his jaw and nearly spits out his answer. "No."

"Am I free to leave, then?"

He doesn't respond.

"Or should I ask for my phone call?"

He leaves without responding. And I'm stuck in the interrogation room for what feels like forever, but according to the clock on the wall, is really just another hour. My stomach grumbles. If they plan to keep me here much longer they'd better fucking feed me.

And then - my phone is ringing. I can tell it is, because I can hear it - somehow - just past what I assume is a two-way mirror.

"You've reached the phone of Annie Simon."

Oh - no. They didn't. They didn't just . . . I can hear a mumbling - and isn't that weird - asking where Annie is and then -

"This is the GCPD, who is this?"

Not thirty minutes later, there's a commotion on the other side of the door, and yelling and stomping and then - the door flings open.

"Annie! There you are."

"Dick."

And look, it's the whole gang. Minus Jason - because wouldn't that be awkward, because isn't he supposed to be dead?

"Bruce is going to take care of everything, don't worry."

"I wasn't."

"And then we can -"

My stomach interrupts growling for food, and even as Dick stares at me trying not to laugh, Tim sticks his head in.

"Let's go. Bruce is kicking up a storm, you don't want to miss this."

And I'm really glad I didn't. Because by the end of his tirade, Bruce has an assurance I can use my apartment again and that Joker will not be able to press criminal charges against me. And I'll have my apartments back too, which is a plus.

And then I'm being shuffled into a limousine and am left staring awkwardly at Bruce.

"Where to, Mr. Wayne?"

"Well where do you want to go, Annie?"

I give the driver - a man I have never seen before - the address to my apartment and we settle into silence again. Until I break it.

"How did you even know to come?"

"Jason called and said he hadn't seen you in a few hours, and when he tried calling your cell, he got the GCPD. So I made a call to some people."

Of course.

Because that explains everything.

"And it won't cause you any problems?"

"Why would it be a problem?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that I used to work for Falcone and Black Mask? Take your pick. Won't it hurt your image, helping me out?"

He has a frown on his face, before we're interrupted by the ringing of my fucking phone and as I dig it out of my bag, I can feel all the eyes on me and -

"You've reached Annie Simon. How may I direct your call?"

"Hello, is this Annie Simon?"

Is this person stupid? That's just what I - the voice on the other end erupts into word vomit before I can respond.

"My name is Caitlin Jeffers, and I'm calling to personally invite you to the Smithson's Charity Event being hosted by Lex Luthor at LexCorp's downtown office in Metropolis the week after next."

Fuck.

"No."

"Okay."

What? That was way too easy -

"I mean, I'm sorry to hear that. I've heard so much about you, all good things of course, and I was really looking forward to meeting you there."

Bullshit. But . . . this girl's actually pretty funny. A part of me sees myself in her. But this girl's probably a terrible salesperson.

"Sorry, no can do. I have plans. Maybe next time though?"

The line is silent for a moment, and then, "Sounds good. Yeah. Okay. Um ...thanks."

I hang up the phone only to find the three bats staring at me.

"What?"

"Who was that?"

"Just -" I really don't want to tell them about Luthor . . . "A friend. She has a party next weekend, but I haven't exactly let my friends know about what happened these past few days."

"And why aren't you going?"

Well I can't exactly tell him about Luthor at this point, can I? Not with my stealing part of AMAZO under their noses . . .

"Like I said, I have plans. I have to clean my apartment. I have to find a new job. I have to -"

"There's a position with Wayne Enterprises."

It's Tim who interrupts me.

"Yeah? And how would Mr. Wayne feel about a self confessed former employee of two mob bosses?"

The car is silent again for a hot second before Mr. Batman speaks up.

"Something could be arranged, I'm sure. What are your qualifications?"

I can't believe I'm hearing this.

"I- I was an assistant to Ms. Li, Black Mask's assistant for a good while. And I organized reports for Mr. Falcone. Basic office work."

They're totally judging me.

"That's . . . impressive."

Sure it is.

"Look, you don't have to give me a job, I-"

"It's fine. I'll send your resume to Lucius."

"You don't even have my resume."

The look on his face seems to tell me he actually does and he's amused I would doubt him.

It pisses me off.

Thank the Lord I don't live too far from the Police Station, because just as I'm about to argue with Mr. Batman, the car is stopping.

"We're here, Mister Wayne."

I'm out of that car faster than a bat out of hell, even as I hear Dick call out, "We'll be in touch!"

I try not to think about it - the impending confrontation I'm bound to have with Batman. Despite the fact that he wants to butt into my life, I've had enough of millionaires and billionaires trying to force my hand.

And in trying not to think about it, I notice my apartment - which had yellow tape blocking the door - is a complete mess.

It also occurs to me that I did not have the written authorization to enter my apartment - Bruce did. And I'm not about to give them an excuse to come after me again. I need that authorization in writing.

I'm on hold for ten minutes before I finally get a detective.

"O'Neil."

Because of course it was the ass who interrogated me earlier.

"Hi, this is Annie Simon. I'm home, not inside, just - I didn't get anything in writing saying I could enter my house . . . could you send me an email with all that information? For my records?"

There's a sigh on the other end of the phone before he grumbles out "Yeah, yeah" and takes my information.

By the time I receive the email, I'm hungry and grumpy - so the mess waiting for me inside is enough to drive me to literal tears - and why the fuck am I even crying?!

I get started on the food (because that's more important than literally anything else) and by the time I'm tossing the last of the expired perishables into the trash bag behind me - there's another heartbeat behind me, right over there where - I hear a curse muttered.

Except, of course, Jason's here, I realize as I spin around with a box of cereal (it's not perishable, but it'll be sacrificed for my escape if necessary). He caught the jar of half eaten tomato sauce in his left hand while his right carries my groceries and he has my bag over his shoulder.

And he's scowling.

"What?"

"Were you not going to call and let me know you weren't coming back?"

Because of course he expects to be what I'm thinking about as soon as I'm free from an interrogation - the stuck up ass.

"I was hungry. And all this stuff is crap and useless at this point. Thanks for bringing the groceries."

At this point I turn back to my fridge and pull out the almond milk (I bought it a while ago and haven't used it for much since). Thank goodness it's still good.

While I'm making bland rice, he sits by the island behind me and silently stares. It's annoying.

It's as I slam the bowl of rice with almond milk, sugar, and cinnamon, that I've had enough of this.

"Why are you so upset, Jason?"

He doesn't say anything again while I shovel the food into my mouth, desperate to get something into my stomach before I collapse or maybe kill him out of my "hanger."

It's as I'm finally finishing the bowl, he speaks up.

"I owe you a bit of an explanation."

"You think?"

"I'm Robin. Or I was."

"I figured."

He seems to glare at me as he asks, "Do you want me to explain or not?"

"Fine. Fine. Go on - you were Robin, the boy wonder."

"Bruce Wayne found me stealing the wheels off the batmobile."

Wait, what? Seriously?

"It was after my mom died. School had let out. And . . ."

He trails off at that point, jaw tensing.

"You weren't getting the lunch money."

He doesn't react for a moment, but then he nods, forearms resting on the counter.

"I wasn't getting the lunch money. And he just parked the damn thing in Crime Alley. But instead of beating me up, he gave me a sandwich, talked to me, and then brought me to the manor to start training me to be Robin. Because apparently Dickie-head left."

He really doesn't need to be telling me this, but even as I start to open my mouth, he continues, "It was fine for a while, but I later found out my real mom was out there and - and I was stupid. I got myself killed."

What the hell?

"I went after her on my own, without any backup. I didn't listen to Bruce and -"

"Are you fucking blaming yourself for your own death?"

He looks startled. As if he didn't expect me to interrupt - because of course I'd been good so far.

"It was all a part of Joker's plan. And there was a bomb." He looks like he's trying to explain it, that the only possible reason for his death is that he was stupid.

"It wasn't your fucking fault."

He doesn't look like he believes me.

"Anyway, I died."

He's quiet again, and in the awkward silence that follows, I rub my arms to get the blood flowing, because fuck.

"I should have killed Joker when he was here last week."

His lip twitches as if he wants to smile but then his eyes harden, "He shouldn't have even been here in the first place."

"You're not wrong, but continue. You were dead?"

He nods.

"There's this very ancient League of Assassins," something about the name makes me pause - it sounds familiar, "and the leader is called Ra's al Ghul."

I definitely know that name. I watched the Batman movies with Christian Bale - it was pronounced differently, but I know that name.

"He has this thing called the Lazarus Pit. And he brought me back to life. But it's not a perfect fix. The pit messes with your head. And I don't even care that it did. I always had this anger anyway and I don't -"

"What kind of anger are we talking about here?"

"The kind that drives me to put ten heads into a duffel bag. That kind that has me hating Bruce so much for not killing Joker that -"

"I think anyone would be upset about that. I know I sure as hell would."

He does crack a smile at that.

"Yeah? Well, I think you're the only one. Anyway, I didn't . . . my mind wasn't in the right place and I couldn't remember much at first. And I stayed with them for a while. Coming back to Gotham, I was just going to get back at Bruce. And then I saw you in the alley and recognized you. And I needed an insider."

I try not to feel offended, but I nod and turn to the stove, starting to grab some pots and ingredients (because that rice was not enough, and I'm still hungry).

"Want some pasta? Fried in butter and garlic?"

"Sure. Anyway, I . . . things changed when Dick visited your apartment."

What the fuck is he talking about now?

"And I realized I'm not just angry about Joker, I'm angry they won't leave you alone either. That I can't leave you alone. Nothing good ever comes from associating with the bats. So, I'm sorry."

"Okay."

I have no idea what the fuck he means, but okay.

He looks confused, but doesn't look like he wants to argue. So the rest of the night passes in silence as we eat pasta and he spends the night in my bed again.

Jason joins me on my hospital visit on Friday. He's twitching the whole time we walk through the halls, but with his hair redone and with the old Mr. Simon's slacks and shirts I found in a chest in mom's old closet, he looks decent. And he's grown.

I have a feeling no one's going to connect this twenty year old with the dead fifteen year old adopted son of Bruce Wayne.

Besides, if it works for Clark Kent, then it ought to work for Jason.

"Mrs. Simon."

Jason seems to scrunch his face up at that, even as I correct the nurse - it's Clarice again.

"I'm not married. Ms. or Miss Simon, please. How's Mrs. Janet today?"

If Nurse Clarice's face was straight before, it's grave now. "She spoke with the doctor today. She's opting for hospice care."

What? I think my heart stops for a moment, even as the beating continues all around me.

"Are you serious? Where is she?"

"She's sedated and -"

I can't breathe, I feel sick, I need to -

Jason finds me somewhere to sit while Clarice grabs the paperwork, telling me there are a few things that need to be finalized and organized before Mrs. Janet kicks the bucket. And I can't - I . . .

"Are you alright?"

"No."

"Right."

By the time I finally get to the hospital room, I've got my breath back, but I still feel sick and I keep going over the last time I saw Mrs. Janet. She had bruises and she didn't look happy. And she mentioned this, but I didn't actually think she was serious!

But what I can't figure out is how? I had the power of attorney. And . . . I just don't understand.

And at this point, with the morphine dripping and keeping her comfortable, I can't even ask her about it.

"I just don't get it."

"How old was she?"

"In her eighties. She was a stubborn old woman with no children. Always telling me I had to give her grandkids."

And now I'm fucking crying again, damnit!

"Sounds like a riot. Wish I'd gotten the chance to properly meet her. Come on, Annie. Let's get you some food."

He takes me to the hospital cafeteria, seemingly getting over his apprehension that someone will recognize him, and before I know it, I have a sandwich in front of me and a carton of milk.

I'm strongly reminded of my elementary school days and the cafeteria. Only this time it's weird because he's the one buying me lunch and also he's staring at me funny. I don't know whether he's afraid I'll break or whether I'll bring the whole hospital down. Neither option sounds reassuring.

His arm is over my waist again on Sunday morning, and he's warm and -

I have to get up. I have way too much shit to get done today. I spent the whole day Saturday at the hospital, instead of looking for another job. And I plan to do the same today. While working on my laptop.

She hasn't woken up even once, and I know she's not going to.

Jason's still sleeping, face down on the bed as I grab my pull over sweater and pull my sneakers on.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm hungry."

He always does this it the mornings. He loves to lay in and do nothing. It's almost endearing.

"You're always hungry. Stay in bed, don't you care about me at all?"

Oh fantastic. He's being even lazier than usual.

"And yet, I am unmoved."

I hop out of bed, dodging his reaching hands before he can do anything more to keep me pinned to his side and head to the kitchen.

Jason follows shortly after, turning the news on while I make coffee and an omelette, and then there's an announcement that prompts a quick doubletake on my part.

"Yes, Janice - you heard me. There's going to be a charity ball in Metropolis on Saturday next in Lex Luthor's Corporate Office Building. The Guest list is very exclusive, and is rumored to be one of the most publicized social events of the year!"

"Why is this on?"

Without even looking back, Jason tells me, "it's a talk show."

"Yes, but why is it on?"

He smirks and I resist the urge to glare too harshly.

"Because I turned on the TV." He turns back to listen to the conversation going on a bit and then calls back to me just before I go back to the food. "You should try to go. You might be able to get more data straight off his computers and will probably have more luck then we've had with that piece of AMAZO you have."

"What do you mean, like a Trojan Horse?"

"Exactly. I think Tim has this really fantastic device that once it gets information off the hard drive wipes it completely and -"

"Wait, what did you say?"

"Tim - the replacement. He has this device. I can ask him to lend it to-"

Oh fuck no. He did not . . . damn it!

"I'm going to kill him."

I'm out the door and on my way to the metro when I register the heartbeats behind me, and assuming it's just Jason, I assume it's fine.

The sharp pain at the back of my head is the only warning I get before everything goes dark again, and all I can think of is, "Damn, not fucking again. This is getting really old."

Sorry for the late update. I'm going back to school and working on some original fiction that will hopefully be published and available for sale soonish… if you want to support that (please do) and also see more accurate updates, go to my username and add the dot com.

The link will also be on my profile. There will be a blog there with weekly "Press Conference" updates on Sundays at 5PM and a monthly blog with information about the Original Work and its worldbuilding on the first of every month. So check it out if you want to. Or don't . . . All of this is free, the ebook won't be . . .