Two strange men, that he had never seen before, walked over as soon as his mother's words left her mouth. He strained to remember those words, some plea, some trade, bargaining for her life, but he was so confused that they didn't make sense. The men grabbed him on either side, one of them surely would have been enough to take him away, his mother had sold him for a debt, those were her words, take him. But instead they dragged him over to the center of the dank pit as a chain lowered. Tears blurred his vision; he was shaking, but couldn't make a sound. His mom was leaving him here.
The men had tied his hands in front of him and placed the rope onto a large hook at the end of the heavy chain. He blinked and he was high in the air, looking down at his mother, as she just stared at him with no expression. He squirmed in fear, attempted to scream but nothing came out, his mouth wide, and the feeling of screams came without the noise. He's coming! He mouthed to his mother. She blinked, looking behind herself in slow motion as the loud clank reached her, and he came over, popping his knuckles. Jason struggled more, and he looked back down as his mother begged for her life, walking backwards, her hands were up, and she tripped, and he just calmly came closer.
Slowly Jason saw the man's face, yellow and cracked thin brown hair on his head, blood on his knuckles and on his teeth when he smirked. He struggled against the rope, high above what was happening, trying to get the rope off the hook. He needed to leave. He was next, he was sure of it.
The men above the pit, encircling them from the safety of their benches, in the darkness around the brighter pit, began to chant, "Croc! Croc! Kill her, Croc! Croc! Croc! Kill her, Croc!" And as the chanting continued, he realized there was a pipe in that man's hands, raised above his head. Croc swung down on his mother, her screams ceased.
"Killer Croc!" The chant blurred, and he screamed and struggled, and cried.
The man was large, tall with broad shoulders, yellow dry skin, and a large mouth. He turned to Jason so high up, a smile on his horrendous face. Jason screamed, as the man stood right below him and jumped, trying to reach his legs. "Kill 'im, Croc!" they chanted, and Jason's panic became dire. His eyes shifted to his mother, now a pile of human, her arm had been thrown off to one side, her scalp he'd been torn off but somehow was still attached to her head.
"You're next!" Croc had yelled, and attempted to reach for Jason, who curled up his legs. He laughed, low and menacingly, more of a chuckle then threw his head back, looking Jason full in the face as the chain lowered and laughed harder than he had heard anyone before.
He awoke in a sudden scream and haze. The darkness of the room got to him; he saw things move in the shadows. Jason, breathed out, trying to calm himself, he —in his frenzy of thoughts— could not remember where he was, though the bed beneath him told him safety, the faraway creaks hindered this notion.
He curled up, trying hard to stop breathing, to stop crying; wherever he was he didn't know what would come to his distress. He slipped off of the bed, tugging the sheet off with him, slowly, staring at the door —at least he assumed it was the door since dim lights in a rectangle shape were seen— and crawled under the bed. He held his arm close to him, safe in its thick cast as he strained at the shadows to see. Slowly he became a part of the darkness as he curled up against the wall. He slowly tried to remember all the events, including the strange man that had said he would help him but instead gave him something that made him feel unusual, and took him somewhere strange and forced him into a dress. He sighed, slightly remembering a boy, taller than him busting in from the hallway.
That boy had promised to be back for him when he was back at the hospital. Now he was in a home for boys, Mary… no, Martha? Wayne? Like that rich guy, something Wayne… Bruce Wayne. He curled up more, remembering the large black shadow that jumped over him and into the strange man. He felt tears renewed in his eyes. He was tired, scared, and alone.
So he left. Crawled out from beneath his bed, and looked to the window, only to find an alarm device, rigged up to the window. So he opened the door. The hallway was lit by a single lamp on a hallway table, that didn't do much when the rest of the long hallway was considered. He stayed low and rushed past the light, slowly made his way down the corridor.
He rounded a corner, feeling his ribs ache from the strain of staying crouched as he moved down the passageway. He slowed when he heard the someone exit a room. He pressed himself against the wall, noticing a small armoire.
He made his way over, opening the armoire, only to find shelves filled with linens. He scaled the shelves instead, closing the door once he got to the top. A woman with a tired look on her face, her hair pulled into a messy bun, and a plain white shirt with a long dark blue skirt passed by, opening doors quietly, to check on each inhabitant. At a door to his left some light shone when she opened it, and she softly chastised the boy, telling him to go to sleep.
She continued on, and he looked around the hallway for any other means of leaving. He jumped down as quietly as he could and recommenced his journey, finding a wall grate for the conditioning of the whole house, fastened to the wall securely with bolts. He sighed and made his way downstairs, knowing the only real way out would be the front door. Then he stayed quiet on the landing when found that Ms. Marie Shallor sat in her office with the door open, and it faced the only way out.
He sighed, when he also noticed the maintenance guy, closing the maintenance closet, after a hard day of fixing that bathroom in the second hallway on the third floor.
"Night, Miss!" He called as she got up to see him out and locked the door behind him.
As soon as she headed back to her desk, he made it over to the closet as quietly as he could. He got in looking around in boxes until he found and grabbed a hex socket and a small mallet. He slowly, opened and closed the door, peering around the stairs to see Ms. Shallor stand up and move into a spot in the office he could not see.
He took this chance, and made for the stairs, quiet as a mouse. He split off down the hall with his room, turning off lamps as he went, adjusting to the lights. He made it to the vent, and slowly rid it off all its squeaky bolts, and moved it to the side, and crawl in. He covered the vent, best he could from within.
Jim sat at his desk, his daughter typing away on her laptop while he sipped away at a lukewarm cup of Joe and reviewed reports from earlier in the day. He'd occasionally glance at her, her red hair tied just above her shoulder. Her brow furrowed in concentration over whatever she was working on. She adjusted her wire-frame glasses, and looked up from the pale glow. She smiled.
He smiled back, enjoying the moment. "What are you working on, kiddo?"
She tucked away some loose hairs behind her ear, "Just some network security homework."
He nodded, pretending to know what that was. He knew so little of his daughter's life, since his wife had left six years before with both of their children. Barbara had only started living with him since she had begun college there and could focus more on her studies if she didn't need to worry about rent.
She seemed to notice the conversation dying, "Remember that time I helped you reboot that relay?" He chuckled, she had been only fourteen and had visited on summer break. Still she had put herself to use wherever she could in the office. James Jr., his son, had been less fond of the police station and had been picked up by his ex-wife. "Then Barney had gotten upset at me for it 'cause they gave him so much slack."
"Well he was outdone by a fourteen year old."
She rolled her eyes, grinning at the prospect. "True, but that was his own fault! He should have never downloaded that-"
"Hey, Jimbo," the door swung wide open, Harvey Bullock's hand still on the handle. He seemed cheerful enough, offering a wide smile, touching his brow with a nod towards Barbara. "Hey, Barb, didn't know you were here today too." He lost the grin, and seemed kind of sheepish, "So, Jim, you remember that kid that you escorted to the home? What was his name?"
"Jason Todd?" Jim offered.
"Yeah, that kid." He pulled his trench coat open to put his hands in his pants' pockets. "Well, he's missing. The lady, Ms. Shallor, says she don't know when he left, but he was seen before bed. Putting the escape maybe half an hour to an hour ago."
Jim begun to reach for his hat and jacket on the hook in the corner of the room. "Alright. Barbara, this may take a while. Maybe you can order some pizza tonight. I'll get Molly to call you a cab."
She nodded, starting to put away her things, until she paused and looked intently at his desk phone, "Lieutenant Gordon, there's been a strange death radioed in by Merkel, says the guy died laughing, and attacking another pedestrian."
Barbara stared at him.
Harvey seemed to read his mind at that point, "Jim, you can start the search with the kid, and I'll go check on Merkel, make sure the body gets here. I'll catch up with you later."
Jim nodded with agreement, and he looked at Barbara one more time, "Get home, and text me when you get there, got it?"
"Yes, sir!" She saluted, and slung her bag over her shoulder then passed them as she headed out to Molly.
Bruce landed on the platform below him, and brushed the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He held the bar tight, almost ready to make his assent up the salmon ladder again. He flexed his fingers one hand at a time, the wrap tight about them. Alfred watched a moment, as he jumped up, catching the bar on the first set of hooks. He made it to the top a second time, this time to drop down without the bar.
"Sir, the boy seems to have left the orphanage." Alfred stated.
Bruce sighed, and unraveled the wraps, and headed off to suit up. "When was he last seen?"
"Before bed at 9:30. Ms. Shallor says that she doesn't know how he got out or where he would go. He hasn't been opening up to the therapist, and they've had to do individualized sessions since the barber incident."
He nodded as he placed the armor onto himself, and Alfred deftly helped. "If the police hadn't noted him as a child of interest, then the adoption would have been set, and he wouldn't be out on the streets right now."
"Yes, but he is, because he has important information on Falcone."
"Where's Dick?"
Alfred seemed to pause at that, "He had said he would be at the library, though it should be closed by now. Should, I-?"
"No. If by chance he does decide to come home before I find Jason, send him out on the search as well."
"Of course, sir."
Barbara rushed up the stairs and into the room, putting her bag on the chair. She nearly threw herself on the floor, shoving her hand under her mattress and began to pull out her costume. She set it out, smiling at how she had manage to piece together a Batman outfit, and grabbed a shoe box from under her bed to grab the grappling gun and batarangs she had stolen from the evidence locker at GCPD. She dawned her uniform, and pulled over her cowl. She tied her boots tight, and set up her bed to seem as though she were asleep, though she assured herself that she would return before her father. She pushed open the window to the fire escaped and closed it behind her.
She, looked down at the street four stories below, and took in a deep breath, the fretfulness within her stomach still held childish excited. She knew it would be a fatal if not hospitalizing fall, but she couldn't stop herself. She steeled her nerves with another breath, launched the cable to a building across the street and held on as the wind rushed passed her. She felt her lips twist up in a smile and pulled herself over the edge, running, heading off into the night, her heart fluttering in its giddy dance.